A muffled groan escaped his throat, but was abruptly cut off before it could fully escape. He clenched his back teeth tightly, his violently trembling body grinding the straw mat beneath him.

A feeling of suffocation washed over Cheng Muyun's chest like a tidal wave, and countless golden stars exploded before his eyes.

The torn flesh, the dull pain in the ribs—all the wounds seemed to be ignited at the same time, and the excruciating pain rose and fell like a symphony, surging out from the depths of the bone marrow.

Cold sweat soaked through his thin shirt, spreading dark watermarks on the cold ground. Only when the salty, fishy taste of blood filled his mouth did he manage to exhale the stale air trapped in his lungs, nearly fainting.

In a daze, the midday sun on the drill ground scorched my retinas once again. Cheng Yuguang's whip lashed through the air, and in the instant my skin was torn open, the splattered blood stained the Blue Sky with a White Sun flag red.

The stench of rotting wood and rust filled Cheng Muyun's nostrils. He tried to twitch his lips, but the movement aggravated the wound on his forehead, causing him to groan.

Bandaged fingers brushed across the mottled bloodstains on the straw mat. The dark brown marks were layered, some dried and clumped, others still glistening with dampness—it was unclear whether they were his or left by the previous 'resident'.

The cold iron bars gleamed under the moonlight.

Every corner of this prison was etched in his memory. The walls of the interrogation room still bore the marks of whipping, and the ever-swaying oil lamp at the end of the corridor cast his shadow in fragmented hues.

The image of the worker's calloused hands handing over the whistleblower letter suddenly flashed through my mind, along with Zhou Minhai's smug face and Cheng Yuguang's reddened eyes as he wielded the whip.

The words "dirty in his dealings" echoed in his ears. He chuckled self-deprecatingly, the vibrations in his chest causing excruciating pain in his wounds, but nothing compared to the bitterness rising in his heart.

Being locked up in his own prison, seemingly a punishment, was actually Cheng Yuguang's last line of defense for him—the only way to save his life against Zhou Minhai's fangs.

Cheng Muyun's cold sweat slid down his Adam's apple and into his collar, mixing with the blood seeping from his wound and spreading dark stains on his thin clothes.

It felt like countless steel needles were churning inside my head, and the throbbing, dull pain in my temples almost ripped my skull open. Every breath tore at the festering flesh on my back, as if scalding iron filings were being poured down my spine.

Just as he was about to be consumed by the pain, he heard a faint noise from next door.

Cheng Muyun turned his head sharply, the excruciating pain from his wound causing stars to explode before his eyes.

Under the dim, flickering oil lamp, he saw a familiar figure behind the iron bars—his adjutant's military cap was askew, as if he had just woken up, with bits of grass still stuck to his head.

"Young Marshal, you're finally awake! You've been unconscious for a whole day and night."

The adjutant's voice was so loud that it woke up the people in the surrounding cells, who all poked their heads out.

"Young Marshal! You're finally awake."

"Young Marshal, how are you feeling?"

Young Marshal, Young Marshal—Young Marshal, Young Marshal—Young Marshal, Young Marshal—

Cheng Muyun was completely baffled. "Why are you all in jail?"

The adjutant who first discovered Cheng Muyun was awake explained, "Young Marshal, we all came in to take care of you ourselves."

Cheng Muyun helplessly covered his forehead. "I'm not going to die in the cell. If you all come in, what will happen outside? Who will pass messages to us?"

These people are all incredibly stubborn.

"Young Marshal, there are still brothers who haven't been able to outmaneuver us. They'll come and deliver the message, so don't worry."

Cheng Muyun tried to stand up by holding onto the bare bed frame, but the pain from his wounds was too much, so he had to give up.

"It's damp, cold, and dark in here. What are you doing in here?"

"We're doing this to take care of the young marshal!"

Cheng Muyun lay on the cold wooden board and said helplessly, "Now I want a drink of water, who can bring me some? I want a thick blanket, who can cover me with it? I want my dressing changed, who can come in and change it for me?"

Everyone was stunned. Cheng Muyun chuckled, "Are you really going to take care of me? Just watch over me?"

One by one, the adjutants stood up, opened their own cell doors, and then came out and pushed open Cheng Muyun's cell door.

Cheng Muyun slightly raised his head, looking at the comical scene.

"Young Marshal, these cell doors are all unlocked."

Someone came in. "Young Marshal, would you like some water? I'll pour you some."

Someone turned and went out, saying, "Young Marshal, I'll go get you some bedding."

"Young Marshal, let me change your dressing."

Someone reached for Cheng Muyun's clothes buttons, and Cheng Muyun raised his hand and slapped them. "Alright, go back to wherever you want. I don't need anyone to wait on me here. Go back to the barracks!"

The people stood in the cell, heads bowed, none daring to speak.

A metallic, sweet taste surged in his throat, and Cheng Muyun clenched his teeth tightly.

In the deathly silent cell, the only sound was the crackling of the oil lamp wick popping.

Cold sweat clung to Cheng Muyun's drooping eyelashes, and his pale lips moved slightly, but he remained silent.

The adjutant opened his mouth several times as if to speak, but then stopped himself, and his words eventually disappeared into the moldy haystack.

The dim light flickered on Cheng Muyun's tightly closed eyelids, and the blood seeping out mixed with cold sweat dripped down his chin onto the cold stone slab.

A bold man spoke up: "Young Marshal, the Madam's letter has arrived, you..."

Cheng Muyun still didn't open his eyes, but squeezed out a sentence from the corner of his mouth, "Aren't you going to get it?"

The crowd scattered in all directions.

For Cheng Muyun, Xu Zhuohua's name was the most effective.

Cheng Muyun stopped saying they were in the way.