He Lingchuan walked up to the row of single-story brick buildings. This place had originally been a courier station. The front guest quarters and courtyard had all been caught in the crossfire of battle, but the row of stables in the back was mostly intact, save for one burned out at the far end.
Now, the prisoners sat in rows here with their hands tied behind their backs, leaning against the foot of the wall. Anyone who dared make a move would suffer for it.
Over a hundred men were gathered here, all slumped in dejection.
The petty leaders and lieutenant generals were locked away separately in the two adjoining stables.
He Lingchuan inspected the stables one by one. Soon, he discovered that a red light was actually emanating from one of the captives.
Strictly speaking, it was leaking from around his waist.
Intrigued, he crooked a finger to summon a guarding soldier over. "When was this man brought in?"
"Just now," the soldier replied. "He was skulking around the town, up to who knows what, when our men ferreted him out."
"Oh?" He Lingchuan was surprised. "The Xunzhou cavalry have all pulled out, yet he didn't flee? Has he been searched or interrogated?"
"Not yet. The officers haven't found the time." With the commanders swamped with duties, who had time to question an unremarkable lackey?
He Lingchuan, however, had time to spare. "Then I'll do it."
"Ah?" The soldier blinked. "B-but..."
"You don't know who I am?"
"I know, I know!" Even if he hadn't known before, after tonight's fierce battle, half the army recognized He Lingchuan's face. "You're Eldest Young Master He!"
"Then what's the problem with me interrogating a prisoner no one else has time for?"
Naturally, there was no problem at all.
At a nod from He Lingchuan, Shan Youjun and Jiao Tai stepped forward and plucked the chosen captive from the crowd.
The man shrank back. "What are you doing?!"
He was small and scrawny; how could he match two burly men? He was hoisted out like a chick.
He Lingchuan noticed that the moment Shan Youjun and Jiao Tai walked toward him, the red light at his waist vanished. He had been sitting hunched over, his hands tucked by his waist.
So it was controllable?
Too few single-story buildings had survived the battle, and every one of them was already occupied. He Lingchuan had no choice but to commandeer a tent, kick out its original occupant, and toss the prisoner inside.
The rock wolf casually padded to the entrance and sprawled across it—no strangers allowed.
Shan Youjun brought in two chairs, offering one to the young master and shoving the prisoner into the other.
He Lingchuan saw no need to beat around the bush. "What was that red light on you?"
The man looked completely bewildered. "What red light?"
He Lingchuan searched him himself. He pulled open the cloth at his waist—nothing. Then he stripped off the captive's outer light armor.
Still nothing.
Next came two more layers.
The man's face turned pale, his gaze darting erratically.
Watching He Lingchuan strip the prisoner down, Shan Youjun and Jiao Tai exchanged a bizarre look. They had been at the eldest young master's side for nearly a month, yet had never known he had such predilections.
This prisoner had neither looks nor physique—how had the young master taken a liking to him?
Heavens, if the young master ever decided to graze closer to home, should they submit or resist?
The two men stared at each other in silence, their minds reeling with wild thoughts.
Fortunately, at that moment, He Lingchuan ripped open the captive's undershirt with a sharp tear, and something hit the floor with a metallic clatter.
It appeared to be a short bronze scepter.
He Lingchuan picked it up. The short scepter was miniature, barely longer than his middle finger and as thick as a flute. At the top was carved the head of some unknown beast—resembling both a bat and a pig, with a pointed snout, a short nose, fine teeth, and tiny ears.
The entire shaft was engraved with countless patterns, resembling both illustrations and script, yet He Lingchuan could decipher none of it.
It wasn't even the ancient immortal language.
Yet their arrangement was symmetrical and neat, conforming to some inherent order, possessing a solemn and majestic beauty. Running his fingers along the etchings, a curious thought sprang into He Lingchuan's mind:
Could this be some sort of formation array?
Besides that, an oval gem the size of a quail egg was embedded in the shaft.
What color was it? Hard to say, because to He Lingchuan's eyes, a red substance swirled within it, resembling both liquid and gas, or rather shifting constantly between the two states.
It filled roughly three-quarters of the gem's volume, meaning it was nearly full.
Recalling the red glow he had seen outside the makeshift holding area, He Lingchuan felt a stir of realization. He turned to Shan Youjun. "Do you see this gem?"
Shan Youjun nodded.
"What color is it?"
"Dark red." Shan Youjun felt that his master had been acting a bit strangely this past half-hour.
Yet to He Lingchuan, it was a vivid, blood-bright red. "Look closely. Can you see the color flowing inside the gem?"
Shan Youjun looked even more bewildered, but the prisoner's face drained of color.
As expected, others couldn't see it either.
He Lingchuan smiled at the captive. "Looks like you have something to say, hmm?"
"N-no, nothing."
"You can see the abnormality inside the gem too, can't you?" he asked. "What is this thing actually used for?"
The captive stammered, "What abnormality? It's just a trinket I bought off a peddler."
He Lingchuan turned the short scepter over in his hands. He found no other mechanisms; the entire piece seemed cast as a single unit, without even a seam or joint.
Exquisite craftsmanship. A peddler selling this? Heh.
Then, he pressed down on the gem.
The eyes of the beast at the head lit up. Its jaws snapped open as though roaring at the heavens, and the carvings on the shaft began slithering like serpents across the bronze surface.
As He Lingchuan gripped the scepter, he felt something gathering toward it from all directions.
Within a few breaths, streak after streak of red light descended from the air and plunged into the beast's mouth.
In other words, it wasn't roaring—it was drawing things in.
He Lingchuan finally understood where the red light he had spotted earlier had come from.
Yet he still couldn't comprehend how the light formed. It almost seemed as though it was projected by the beast's eyes before being sucked into its maw.
He waved his hand across it; the red light passed straight through his palm as though through empty air.
The patterns along the scepter grew busy as well, flowing from the beast's mouth into the red gem, each groove glowing with crimson light.
When they slithered back out of the gem, they reverted to their normal state.
Back and forth they flowed.
He Lingchuan watched for a few moments and understood: the red light swallowed by the beast's mouth was transported by these patterns into the gem and stored there.
So the red substance inside the gem was formed by compressing this gathered red light?
Hm, curiouser and curiouser.
The prisoner stared at him in utter shock, for He Lingchuan's expression told him everything:
He could see exactly how this short scepter worked.
How was that possible?! Only acolytes like them, whose Heavenly Eyes had been opened through special methods, could see nightmare energy!
"Keep hiding it, and you'll face the full torture." This was an ultimatum.
The prisoner was struck dumb.
Shan Youjun stepped forward. "Master, let me handle it."
"Mm, he's yours." He Lingchuan crossed his arms and took two steps back. "Interrogate him thoroughly. We might turn up something unexpected."
Shan Youjun and Jiao Tai stepped up and swung their fists.
They were experienced, standing only to the prisoner's flank so that when a blow struck his abdomen, the vomit and blood spewing from his mouth wouldn't splash onto them.
The captive howled under the beating. After a few more blows to the face, his cheeks swelled high, squeezing his eyes into narrow slits.
Even so, he gritted his teeth and refused to confess.
Shan Youjun ordered a bucket of clear water brought in, grabbed a cloth, and pressed it into the bucket until soaked. Then, gripping the back of the prisoner's chair, he tipped it backward so the man hung head-down and feet-up, before draping the wet cloth over his face.
A wet cloth was suffocating enough on its own, but Shan Youjun also scooped up a ladle of water and poured it slowly over his nose and mouth.
The man made muffled cries, thrashing like a fish on a chopping board.
In truth, he suffered far worse than a fish out of water.
He Lingchuan knew this was water torture. It produced no blood and left no wounds, but the subject endured the dual torment of suffocation and drowning, their physical and psychological endurance repeatedly trampled.
As long as the torturer controlled the rhythm—fast and slow, speeding up and easing off, steady and unrelenting—the prisoner's agony would multiply exponentially.
He Lingchuan watched for a dozen breaths when a clamor rose outside, sounding like a large force arriving.
What happened?
He strode out of the tent to look. Sure enough, a column was entering the military camp through the main gate. There were roughly six hundred men—cavalry, foot soldiers, over a hundred wagons, and even laborers whose dress and demeanor made their role obvious at a glance.
Yet they were dispirited. Many were stained with blood and bore wounds, looking frail and exhausted. The moment they entered the camp, they collapsed onto their backsides, barely able to move.
He Lingchuan's heart sank.
This detachment had split from them only two days ago to take the route through Bailu Town and the Songhua Plain. They had numbered nearly a thousand—larger than He Chunhua's contingent. After the battle at Xinhuang ended, He Chunhua had sent scouts to Bailu Town to check on their safety, yet here this group was, having arrived first.
And wearing the classic look of a sound defeat.
The soldiers in the camp set down their tasks and watched them in silence.
The officer leading them, Wu Shaoyi, dismounted. Catching sight of He Lingchuan, he looked thoroughly ashamed. "Young Master, we were ambushed at Bailu Town! I only managed to bring back these few wagons."
He staggered as he hit the ground. He Lingchuan caught him by the arm and saw that he was pale, with a shoulder wound that had soaked his entire sleeve in blood.
By now, the east showed the first faint light of dawn. He Lingchuan exhaled a breath of cold air in the northern early spring.
"Xinhuang was attacked too."
The news Wu Shaoyi brought was truly the worst revelation of the night.
Baili Qing, the ghost ape, and Dong Rui escaping; the camp in Xinhuang thrown into chaos; He Chunhua losing men and officers... none of that compared to the shock of this final piece of news.
Wu Shaoyi hurried to see He Chunhua. Though the latter's expression was grave, he first summoned an army physician to treat Wu Shaoyi's wound.
Their conversation took place during the treatment.
The defenses at Bailu Town were stronger than those at Xinhuang. Wu Shaoyi and the other grain transport officer, Zhou Hongyue, had also placed their defensive focus on Jutang Pass, which they were scheduled to pass through a day later. Upon entering Bailu Town, they had ordered the troops to rest in place. Both men were cautious and had not wandered into the town, staying instead in civilian houses commandeered for the army. But Wu Shaoyi had drunk too much water and stepped out to relieve himself; before he could even finish shaking dry, a blast wave from an explosion knocked him flat on the ground.
Chapter 262