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Chapter 282: Wake Up
🕑 Added 2024-10-03 07:31:19 +0000 UTCThe neighboring countries didn’t fear Huanyou, but they avoided conflict with it.
Thus, when Li Zhouxuan heard about this, he was enraged. He knew that this must have been sanctioned by the Huanyou court. Huanyou's sects wouldn't have acted so recklessly without the court’s permission, especially when it risked disturbing the delicate peace between the two nations.
Moreover, after hearing Mo Yuanjiao’s description of the uniforms worn by the captors, Li Zhouxuan even recognized them as belonging to Jinwu Sect, one of Huanyou’s four major sects. Thanks to his spies in Huanyou, who often sent back all sorts of information, he was well-acquainted with their sect's clothing and mannerisms.
Li Zhouxuan also realized that if Huanyou dared to act so boldly, there must be a significant reason behind it—something valuable enough for them to risk antagonizing his kingdom. Furthermore, they likely had some newfound confidence that they could handle the consequences of provoking Pusi.
With this in mind, Li Zhouxuan said to Mo Yuanjiao, "The task of rescuing those villagers falls upon your sect. I’ve heard that your elder is currently residing in Shuisui Village. If needed, feel free to seek his help. As long as it concerns the safety of our citizens, the Li family will not stand idly by."
Then he fell into deep thought, furrowing his brows.
Back in Pusi, after hearing the conversation through Mo Yuanjiao’s recording, Lin Xiao focused on speeding up their journey.
The border between Pusi and Huanyou was long, but much of it was rugged and impassable, making travel difficult. Only specific passes were guarded and manned by soldiers. The route taken by the kidnappers led through a remote, unguarded area.
Once they reached the border, Lin Xiao, without hesitation, led the group across into Huanyou territory. Shortly after, Li Zhanying arrived, taking over the responsibility of transporting Han Weishu from Liu Yunan.
With Han Weishu guiding them, they pressed forward at full speed.
Meanwhile, in Huanyou’s royal palace, a guard was reporting to the king.
"Your Majesty, the extraction of the stones, as ordered by the royal advisor, has begun," the guard reported.
The Huanyou king, a rotund man with a distinct mustache, lounged lazily on his throne. Hearing the report, he lazily opened his eyes, staring into the distance with a slight smile.
"I didn’t expect the Jinwu Sect to act so quickly," he mused before asking, "Has there been any sign that Pusi has caught wind of this?"
The kneeling guard quickly replied, "So far, we’ve received no reports of Pusi detecting our actions."
"Good, keep a close watch. The moment there’s any movement, report back to me immediately," the king ordered, nodding in satisfaction. Then, with a sly smile, he added, "Once we’ve gathered enough of the Jishi stone, even if they find out, it won’t matter. They’ll be the ones dealing with the consequences, not us."
The guard, ever the sycophant, eagerly chimed in, "With the royal advisor’s aid, dealing with Pusi will be as easy as squashing ants. I congratulate Your Majesty in advance—eternal reign, with all nations bowing in tribute!"
Pleased with the flattery, the king glanced at the guard with a smile. “Well said, see to it that you’re rewarded.”
Nearby, a eunuch swiftly bowed and responded with a cheerful, “Understood, Your Majesty.”
For days, Tong Jialiang had been trapped in a surreal nightmare. Ever since he had been brought to this place, he felt as though nothing was real.
He had never imagined that ships could fly. He had never realized that some of the people, who looked just like any ordinary person, were not human. He never knew that mining stones could actually lead to death.
Looking over at the latest familiar villager who had just collapsed, bleeding from every orifice, Tong Jialiang felt like he was slipping into a bizarre, detached state.
This must be a dream, right? He thought. There was no other explanation for the horrors unfolding before his eyes.
All around him, the villagers who had been brought here, one by one, began dying the same way. Every single one of them bled from their eyes, ears, nose, and mouth before going gray and contorting in death, their bodies looking like twisted, grotesque versions of themselves.
And those overseeing the mining—they stood outside the mine, never stepping inside themselves. But their whips, seemingly alive, would stretch and contract at will, always lashing precisely onto the back of anyone who dared slow down.
"Do you still want to get out? Keep digging!"
Crack!
"Slacking off, huh? Get digging!"
Crack! Crack!
"You see those dead bodies? If you don’t want to end up like them, keep working!"
"Dig! Faster!"
Even though they stood outside, their furious shouts and the harsh cracks of their whips reverberated throughout the mine like the howls of demons, echoing endlessly in the depths of the cavern.
At first, they were told that if they dug enough of the stones, they would be allowed to go free. So, the prisoners worked tirelessly, hoping to earn their freedom.
They had no power to resist. Facing such formidable enemies, their only choice was to comply, to keep digging in hopes of survival.
But before they could gather enough stones, people started dying. One after another.
Each and every one of them died in the exact same way.
Was this place hell?
Yes, this had to be hell.
These stones—they were stones from hell.
And the overseers were demons, here to claim their lives.
But why? Why was he, who had never done anything wrong, thrown into this hell?
Tong Jialiang was in a daze. The images around him became blurry, layered with shadows. Maybe he was still asleep, he thought. Maybe all of this was just an illusion, a nightmare that he would wake from any moment.
Mindlessly, he continued raising his pickaxe, chipping away at the vibrant yet terrifying stones. All the while, he bit down hard on his tongue, repeating to himself:
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
Over and over again.
His mouth was already full of the metallic taste of blood. His tongue had long since gone numb, yet no matter how much he hurt himself, he still couldn’t wake up.
It was as if there was no escape from this horrible dream.
What should he do?
He had no idea.
In his daze, Tong Jialiang didn’t notice that the constant shouts and cracks of the whips had suddenly ceased. The menacing voices urging them to dig had fallen silent.
“Ah-Liang!”
He heard a familiar voice calling his name. Slowly, stiffly, he turned his head. His dazed, empty eyes finally managed to focus on the figure standing above him. The silhouette, framed by the light, seemed familiar.
Standing at the edge of the mine, Han Weishu felt her heart twist in sorrow as she took in the scene below.
The usually gentle and obedient Ah-Liang now stood covered in grime, his body a sickly gray. One hand rested against the stone wall for support, while the other held a pickaxe. His face—his eyes, nose, and mouth—was dripping blood. His entire face was a grotesque blur of blood and tears.
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