Zhang Luo placed the whip on Yang Wan’s shoulder; even such light contact made her tremble involuntarily.
“I’m the one questioning you.”
“Yes… but… don’t you want to know who’s using you?”
A flash of confusion crossed Zhang Luo’s eyes. He couldn’t understand how this woman on the rack, clearly terrified and shaking with pain, could still engage in verbal chess with him.
“Using me? What do you mean?”
Yang Wan finally managed to steady her breathing after the pain of that lash. “Was it Director He who told you to ask this?”
Zhang Luo froze, but Yang Wan caught that momentary panic in his eyes.
“Even if you would question whether Zheng Bibi acted on Consort Ning’s instructions, you would never think to ask about an affair between Consort Ning and Zheng Bibi. Zhang Luo, think about it—why would the person who told you this not report it to His Majesty themselves, but instead have you question me?”
“…”
Zhang Luo didn’t answer, and Yang Wan seized the opportunity to add, “The Tongjia Academy incident—it hasn’t even been a year, have you forgotten already?”
A chill ran down Zhang Luo’s spine as he suddenly noticed Yang Wan looking at him from the rack. That sympathetic gaze pierced him, and he shouted to those around him, “Give her ten more lashes!”
When Yang Wan heard this number, she almost despaired.
She was indeed afraid of the pain that made her lose composure, but she was more afraid that after those ten lashes, she would break down in front of Zhang Luo.
This man, Zhang Luo, could truly make people betray their lifelong spiritual beliefs.
Yang Wan finally understood that the title “Official of the Dark City” wasn’t a joke, but came from someone who had walked naked through hell and, upon emerging, painted this demon’s portrait.
Zhang Luo returned to sit in the high chair, watching as the whip tore Yang Wan’s prison clothes to shreds.
After four lashes, she could barely cry out anymore, her shoulders shaking as she made some inhuman sound through her nose, like a frightened young beast or the weak cry of a fledgling bird.
“Stop.”
The officer immediately stepped back.
“Ready to talk now?”
Yang Wan’s heart and lungs felt like they would burst, and speaking had become difficult. “Zhang Luo… let me eat something…”
These words came out as mere breath. “Or let me have a drink of water…”
“How much longer do you want to delay?”
Yang Wan coughed weakly several times. “Please…”
Zhang Luo raised his hand slightly. “Let her have a drink of water.”
The officer dropped the whip and scooped a ladle of water from the wooden bucket, bringing it to Yang Wan’s lips.
Yang Wan ignored her burning lungs and took small sips until she had finished all the water in the ladle.
Using this bit of coolness to gather her last shred of reason, she spoke to Zhang Luo haltingly: “Zhang Luo, you’ve tortured me this far… if I confessed that Consort Ning… and Zheng Bibi had an affair, would you… dare report it to His Majesty? For His Majesty, this would be… a great humiliation. Consort Ning and Zheng Bibi certainly wouldn’t survive… As for you… you might not survive either. Zhang Luo… don’t let the Ceremonial Office use you, understand?”
After saying this, the last thread of clarity in her mind was finally snapped by the pain throughout her body.
When she spoke again, tears burst forth, finally revealing the fragility inherent in human nature.
“Please spare me, don’t do this to me…”
She looked at Zhang Luo mournfully, tears wetting the hair on her face.
Her young and beautiful countenance, though twisted with pain, was still moving.
“Let her down.”
“Yes.”
The officer complied and undid her restraints. Without the bonds, she fell like a cloud, floating down to Zhang Luo’s feet.
“Why are you so cruel to people…”
She asked a question that didn’t need to be asked, and Zhang Luo didn’t answer. He crouched down and asked in return: “Why are you telling me all this? Don’t you hate me?”
“I hate you, but not entirely.”
“Why?”
“Because… Deng Ying told me that although the Northern Suppression Bureau is like hell, it might also be a door for the powerless to seek justice, a path for the poor and servants to make their voices heard by heaven. In this regard, he said… you’ve done quite well.”