SF 6

Ling Xun drifted in and out of sleep until just before dawn, when he was suddenly dragged to his feet. He assumed it was those ball-less bastards preparing to torture him again, so he let himself go limp like a dead pig, not budging an inch. If he was going to be tormented anyway, he might as well squeeze in a bit more sleep beforehand.

But even with all his sharp instincts, he hadn’t anticipated this twist. Old Thief Qin, as usual, was not playing by the rules. Instead of ordering any further punishment, he merely had Ling Xun dragged from one cell to another and then left him there, completely ignored.

Ling Xun, shameless creature that he was, actually felt a bit uneasy once no one came to beat him. Giving up on sleep, he winced through the pain, pushed himself halfway upright, and squinted around in the dim light. What he saw was a floor strewn with rough men snoring loud enough to shake the walls.

He had no idea how long it had been since these people last bathed. The stench of sweat and grime hung thick in the air, layers of odors intertwining and fermenting into something that stung the nose and burned the eyes.

Ling Xun puzzled over it for a while but still couldn’t figure out what Old Thief Qin was up to. Had that whole dramatic display been for nothing, only to end with him downgraded from a private cell to this communal pigsty?

Maybe he had made too much noise when he was brought in. A few men near the door began to stir and soon noticed the newcomer.

Ling Xun’s face, no matter where he went, always drew attention. Those hook-like gazes locked onto him, raking over his features and figure. In that moment, he suddenly understood Qin Chao’s intention and could not help but curl his lips into a smile.

If the brats back at home saw that smile on their Boss Feng, they would scatter like startled deer, running as far and fast as they could, terrified that one of his deadly tricks would land on them. But the men in this prison had been locked away too long. It was hard for them to imagine that someone with a face as fair and striking as Ling Xun’s could be ruthless and dangerous. The few who had woken stared at him in a daze, half-convinced they were hallucinating after being starved of women for so long.

A burly man with a scar on his face nudged the wiry, bearded inmate beside him. His eyes had not left the soft curves of Ling Xun’s slender waist.

“Well now, got ourselves a new one? Why’s he look like such a broad?”

No one could say if that last word was some kind of prison slang, but it was loud enough to stir the whole cell. Every man, sleeping or half-awake, suddenly perked up like dogs catching the scent of fresh meat.

“Hey, newbie, what’s with that soft skin? You got a dick or not?” Scarface clearly thought he had dibs on the fresh catch, so he took the lead in addressing him. His words set off a wave of cackling.

“Heh heh heh, hard to say. Look at that sweet little face. Doesn’t look like someone who pisses standing up.”

“Think the guards saw how long we’ve been pent up and tossed in a little demon to let us vent some steam?”

While the others chattered away, Scarface decided to cut to the chase. He reached down to tug at Ling Xun’s trouser leg. But when the hem lifted, he caught sight of a wide, dark red bloodstain that stretched across both knees, at least the width of two palms.

This cell was known as the most fearsome place in the capital’s prison system. Everyone locked up here was a death-row convict, most of them vicious criminals and hardened killers. They had long been desensitized to blood and gore. And yet even among these butchers and monsters, the sight of Ling Xun’s injured legs drew a collective sharp breath.

The laws of Great Xia were very clear—even the illiterate knew this much. Whether it was caning or flogging, punishments were only ever dealt to the buttocks and thighs. At worst, if the executioner lacked virtue, a few blows might land on the back. No one had ever heard of anyone being beaten this viciously behind the knees.

What kind of crime did someone have to commit, or what kind of person did they have to offend, to end up in a state like this?

With Ling Xun’s ability to read a room, he could tell exactly what was on these men’s minds. He braced himself against the wall, letting his back press fully against it, and sat there openly as the other inmates stared at him. He said casually, “Apologies, gentlemen. Legs aren’t working too well right now. If you really want to check whether I’ve got something between them, I’ll need a hand or two.”

Bullies in prison thrived on fear. The whole point of teasing the new arrivals was to enjoy that sense of superiority, to feed off their trembling and shrinking away. But Ling Xun, despite being the latest to arrive, didn’t seem the least bit rattled by the den of monsters around him. That alone was enough to kill the fun. A few of the sharper ones took notice. He looked so calm, as if he were lounging in his own courtyard on a summer day, soaking his feet. Somehow, despite that delicate, feminine appearance, they began to sense there was something very different about this man.

“What did you do to end up like that?” Scarface was the one to speak again.

What did he do?

Ever since that senior official took an interest in him, nothing good had happened. And now that he was finally surrounded by people who might understand his plight, how could he pass up such a golden chance to brag a little? He thought about dressing it up as something noble. He could say he had refused to bow to power, stood firm against the eunuchs, and chosen death with dignity over a life of disgrace. When phrased just right, it almost sounded impressive.

He was just about to craft a dignified yet understated story, something moving enough to impress but not so dramatic as to seem boastful, when footsteps echoed outside the cell, light as a cat’s paw, barely audible. Ling Xun’s brow furrowed. The only people who moved like that were eunuchs, trained to walk soundlessly after years of service in the inner palace.

As expected, two eunuchs appeared at the door. One of them was a familiar face, the same junior eunuch who had stood beside Old Thief Qin the day before.

The moment Ling Xun saw that face, a sense of foreboding welled up in his chest. Every time he encountered this little bastard, something bad happened.

And the little bastard did not disappoint. He stood at the iron bars, staring coldly through the gate. His triangular eyes brimmed with malice. Then, in a shrill voice used for announcing titles in court, he pointed at Ling Xun with his orchid fingers and began to screech.

“Well, well, you filthy lowborn wretch. After all the favor the Chief Eunuch has shown you, you dared to betray him behind his back and fool around with the gatekeepers? How dare you? You should have had your dog legs smashed to pieces! You brought this fate on yourself. Rot here like the trash you are!”

The other eunuch hurried to speak before the first could draw breath again. He put on a gentle smile and softened his voice, pretending to offer comfort.

“There’s no need to fear, pretty boy. The Chief Eunuch still holds you in his heart. Perhaps once he calms down, he’ll bring you back out again. Until then, please take care of yourself.”

The two of them worked in tandem, spouting slander without a shred of proof, then slipped away with smug delight. After they left, Ling Xun noticed the entire atmosphere inside the cell had changed.

The curious and amused glances were gone. What replaced them was a wall of disgust and contempt. Those two words the eunuchs used, “pretty boy,” had landed like a final judgment, branding him once and for all.

He wasn’t just an object for others to play with. Now, in their eyes, he was something kept for the eunuchs’ amusement.

The smile faded from Ling Xun’s lips. He lowered his eyes and glanced at his battered legs. Thanks to those two sniveling eunuchs, he knew there would be no playing the fool in this cage anymore.