Only when acid rises in your throat, bringing with it the rotten, putrid stench of food, does one realize through these physical signals that their mental fortifications are being cruelly eroded? The senses always move faster than that thing called “spirit.” Yang Wan’s memories of the imperial prison were almost entirely sensory.
Torture interrogation relates to bodily dignity; studying its history requires strong detachment and a sense of boundaries.
Yet now Yang Wan could feel that acidic fear constantly surging in her throat. The fear came from her knowledge of Ming Dynasty torture methods, and this body’s memory of pain, making her tremble uncontrollably.
“Chain her up, Commander Zhang will question her personally.”
Yang Wan looked around. For her interrogation, they had cleared the torture chamber of all other prisoners. The thick walls blocked out all outside sounds, leaving those inside unable to hear any human suffering, forcing them to focus solely on their situation.
Two officers grabbed Yang Wan’s arms, lifted her from the ground, and removed the shackles from her wrists.
In the center of the chamber stood a water-splashed torture rack. The officers unhesitatingly bound her to it, with one saying, “Just rope around the waist is fine, how much strength could a woman have?”
“Right, but make it tight.”
Yang Wan felt the rope suddenly constrict around her waist, making her retch.
The officer standing before the rack said, “A bit lighter, she’s gone pale.”
The person behind the rack peered around to look at Yang Wan. “You’ve gone soft because she’s pretty, haven’t you?”
Before he could respond, the speaker noticed that Zhang Luo had already seated himself in the high chair before the rack.
“Neck.”
He pointed at Yang Wan, and the officer quickly looped an iron chain around her neck, forcing her head back and immediately making it difficult to breathe. She couldn’t help but cough several times, making the rack shake and the chains restraining her clash together, their cold collision echoing several times in the silent chamber.
“Sir, everything’s ready.”
“Mm.”
Zhang Luo looked up at Yang Wan on the rack.
She wore the gray-white prison uniform, her hair had been let down and carelessly tied with a plain band over her shoulder. Her chest rose and fell due to her labored breathing. Unlike other prisoners, she didn’t seem prepared to speak at first, only looking down at him with emotions in her eyes that weren’t the hatred and terror Zhang Luo was familiar with.
“You know what I’m going to ask, don’t you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Fine, then we’ll start with three lashes. You’ll be clearer-headed once you see blood.”
He tossed a sheepskin whip to the officer before the rack.
The officer took the whip with almost no hesitation, stepped back three paces, and delivered the first lash across Yang Wan’s waist and abdomen.
Yang Wan’s first cry of pain was completely muffled in her mouth, not because the torturer showed mercy, but because such flesh-tearing pain had been almost extinct in modern civilization.
After the fall of feudalism, civilization abandoned most physical punishments, turning to more humane ways to discipline people. Later, as medicine advanced, it worked to minimize the duration and extent of physical pain. In nearly thirty years of life, Yang Wan couldn’t find any sound to match this present agony. One breath expelled almost emptied her lungs, and she couldn’t even draw another. Only tears emerged naturally, flowing down her cheeks and into her trembling lips.
The second lash that followed forced out Yang Wan’s scream. The rack shook violently with her body’s tremors. No one spoke; besides the sound of the whip and chains, Yang Wan could only hear her voice. As if everything else was illusory, only the solid reality of pain could make her sense that she was living in the present moment, like fish meat under the butcher’s knife.
The third lash fell on her legs. Though her neck was bound by chains, from the corner of her eye she could see the horrifying wound had torn through her prison clothes. The whip’s withdrawal sprayed a string of tiny water droplets that fell directly into her eyes. Yang Wan felt her entire body being pulled apart by those three lash wounds, and from her lungs to her nasal cavity was filled with a burning sensation.
The officer withdrew the whip and cleared the space before the rack.
Zhang Luo stood up directly and reached out to steady the shaking rack.
“I originally didn’t want to treat you this way, but you’re too cunning a woman. I have no choice but to torture you.”
Yang Wan gasped as she looked at Zhang Luo. “Let… my neck… loose.”
“Fine.”
Zhang Luo reached out to undo the chain around her neck. Yang Wan’s head dropped suddenly, and the blood that had been unable to reach her head rushed back, instantly reddening her face and eyes.
Zhang Luo lifted Yang Wan’s head. “Listen well. My first question is whether Zheng Yuejia and Consort Ning knew each other before.”
“How many… questions do you have? Ask them all at once… I’ll answer them together.”
Zhang Luo’s hand suddenly tightened, making Yang Wan’s whole body shake with pain.
“What game are you playing?”
“What can I do… I just want to take fewer lashes…”
As she spoke, she bit the skin inside her cheek, using this minor pain to fight against her inner fear. At this moment, she couldn’t let Zhang Luo break through her mental defenses. She still needed to find a way to deduce the truth behind the Hejiu case from this interrogation of herself.
Zhang Luo looked into Yang Wan’s eyes and finally saw the emotion he wanted to see—sorrow.
Since knowing Yang Wan, this was the first time he had seen an expression of weakness and helplessness on this woman’s face.
He no longer restrained her chin, even stepping back to give her time to recover.
“Very well, I’ll ask you everything. Did Zheng Yuejia and Consort Ning have an affair? Was it Consort Ning who instructed Zheng Yuejia to have the wet nurse strangle the prince?”
Yang Wan endured the pain, forcing herself to maintain enough clarity to trace the origin of the Hejiu case backward from these three questions.
The purpose of the last question was to place the blame on Consort Ning. Once Consort Ning was found guilty, Yang Lun would have to return to the capital immediately for questioning, and his leadership of the Southern land reform would be directly suspended. This must be the ultimate goal of the Hejiu case. As for the first two questions…
“Zhang Luo…”
Yang Wan looked up at Zhang Luo. “Who told you to ask that first question?”
After hearing this, Zhang Luo took the sheepskin whip from the officer and backhandedly lashed it across Yang Wan’s abdomen.
Yang Wan’s body lurched forward, her fingers and toes instantly curling tight, but she couldn’t suppress the scream in her throat.
“Please… no more… I beg you…”