Chapter 123 This kind of wealthy prince, from a young age...
After King Midian ascended the throne of the West, all his brothers and sisters were either exiled or forced into prostitution. Hya, who was originally exiled to a remote island, secretly escaped back to the desert near the West. This was a major taboo for those in power, and he was afraid that others would know his identity, so he refused to reveal anything. In other people's eyes, he was just an ordinary citizen, and who would stand up for an ordinary citizen?
His biggest mistake right now is probably underestimating my counterattack.
As a prince who had been pampered and spoiled since childhood, he never imagined that the servants he had bought would have the audacity to rebel. All the servants indulged him and spoiled him, practically begging for forgiveness on their knees every day; how could they possibly dare to rebel? Even on that island, there were women like Daenerys who were so obedient, serving him like servants; how could anyone possibly attack him?
I never thought I would be able to fight back successfully. I thought he would resist, and I thought about how I would retaliate if he resisted. But I never expected that the process of binding him and beating him would go so smoothly!
God has finally opened his eyes to me this time.
I started whipping him and splashing him with cold water every day, and I even threatened him with a kitchen knife, saying that if he dared to resist, I would kill him. He went from cursing, threatening, and shouting angrily to crying, begging for mercy, and wailing incessantly.
I also successfully took over this inn and became its behind-the-scenes owner.
We told everyone that the male boss had gone out to collect debts, and that I was the new boss's wife.
I cut my hair into a buzz cut, dyed it orange-red, got tattoos on my arms, and wore men's clothing. I spoke in a gruff voice, trying to look like the kind of gangsters who hang out in the streets.
We have to present ourselves this way. This place is full of all sorts of people, and if others see you as weak and unassuming, they'll think you're easy to bully.
I had the young woman help me get a few young men to dig a hole about one and a half meters high, ostensibly to shelter me from the wind and sand. In reality, I threw Haiya inside and covered it with a thick wooden lid, leaving only a few small ventilation holes so that his shouts and curses could barely escape.
He usually stays inside during the day, and I only take pity on him at night and use a rope to pull him out so he can get some fresh air.
He sometimes tried to negotiate with me: "If you let me go, we can discuss anything you want."
I can't even be bothered to pay him any attention.
Sometimes he would have violent urges, but he couldn't do it, so he would struggle and roll around on the sand. Just when he was about to scream, I would gag him. The thick rag stretched his mouth so much that it was about to burst, and he couldn't make a sound anymore.
But after a few days, he went berserk again, his hands and feet twitching incessantly, his body rolling like a rotten log tumbling down a mountain, never stopping. I got annoyed, picked up the black whip and lashed him, striking him hard with each lash. Seeing that he still wouldn't calm down, I got even angrier, "Didn't you used to love carving words on other people's bodies? I'll carve words on your chest with a knife and see how you feel."
He listened, and a buzzing sound came from his mouth, which was stuffed with a thick cloth, as if he was laughing wildly. I smiled coldly, "Fine, I'm not as perverted as you. I'll deal with you in another way."
I had the young woman bring out the chamber pot from the inn and splash it directly on him. He immediately fell silent, and a few seconds later, a mournful, shrill howl seemed to escape his throat. He had probably never suffered such humiliation in his life.
"Now you know what it feels like to be humiliated and harmed, right?" I sneered. "Countless men and women have died at your hands. You've tried every perverse method to torture them. I've been merciful to you."
I ordered the young woman to bring out all the chamber pots and poured them all over him, one by one. His "pitiful howls" gradually turned into "incessant sobs," as if his strength had been exhausted.
Fortunately, there were no other guests at the inn that night, so our commotion went unnoticed.
From that day on, Haya became much more obedient, but he would still occasionally howl loudly. Stuffing his mouth with thick cloth didn't help; at most, it could only make his voice a little quieter.
I suspect he has a personality disorder, but I don't know which one, as I'm not a medical professional.
Every few days I would whip him, splash him with urine, and occasionally brandish a kitchen knife all over his body to scare him. Only then would his howls gradually subside until they disappeared.
I occasionally go out to buy goods, such as food and daily necessities at the nearby Oasis Market. When I come back, I see a young woman crying in fear. Haiya's bound hands can still choke her throat, preventing her from crying anymore.
"Damn, what a jerk!" I cursed too.
In the middle of the night, I dragged Haiya out of the pit, tied his limbs even tighter, and said to the young woman, "You, now you can shit on his head."
"Make him never dare to bully you again!"
The young woman was stunned, while Haya struggled desperately. When she couldn't break free, she banged her head against the ground, as if she would rather die than be treated like that.
I sneered, "You panicked like this just because someone shits on your head. When you were trying all sorts of weird and perverted methods on people, you never thought you'd end up like this."
The young woman refused to defecate on his head, absolutely refused. She looked at him with fearful eyes, trembling.
That's useless. If I didn't want to expose myself in front of others, I would have done it myself.
On the second night, there were no guests at the small inn, so I picked up the dog poop and camel poop I had collected during the day and threw them at Haiya. Haiya burst into tears, and his mouth, which was stuffed with a thick cloth, emitted pitiful sobs.
“You can still cry,” I said slowly. “Back then, the men and women you tormented couldn’t even cry anymore; they were in so much pain that they lost the ability to cry.”
I'm not lying. Back then, those burly men and delicate beauties didn't even have the strength to whimper in front of him, and their deaths were quite gruesome.
The suffocation game he played with Princess Yani was even more horrific. They would hold a man and a woman in the hot water of a bathtub and see who could hold the person the longest. When he won, Princess Yani was unhappy and they would play another round; when Princess Yani won, he was unhappy again and they would play another round; round after round, the corpses of men and women were dragged out one by one, a truly gruesome sight.
I still remember the beautiful hair floating on the surface of the bathtub, and the once muscular body with eight-pack abs and a defined waistline, which turned pale and lifeless when it was dragged out.
This suffocation game was Haiya's idea, and carving flowers on his chest was also part of Haiya's game.
Perhaps there are more, but I haven't seen them myself.
After that, Haiya became more well-behaved, and even his frequent bouts of mania became less frequent. Most of the time, he would listlessly huddle in his burrow.
This kind of rich prince, who has been reckless and arrogant since childhood, treats human life as worthless. Even after falling to the bottom of society, he still does not change his bad habits and bullies those weaker than him. The only way I can think of is to fight violence with violence.
Although he became more obedient, I did not let my guard down and would whip him every night. When there were guests at the post station, I would whip him less, and when there were no guests, I would whip him more.
Gradually, I discovered that when I lashed him less, he would look at me with eyes full of gratitude.
Only once or twice, when the inn was full, and I was afraid of making a noise, did I not whip him. When I dragged him out again, he almost knelt down to thank me, his face full of sycophantic gratitude.
"Godsloo syndrome," I muttered to myself.
When he became more mature, I felt the time was ripe. I tied him to a wooden stake, picked up a red-hot branding iron, and prepared to torture him severely. "Tell me, where did Diya and Atria go?"
I thought it would be a long and complicated process, but to my surprise, he immediately spilled the beans: "We had just arrived in the desert when we were besieged by a group of bandits and captured. They took us to their stronghold. The bandit leader took a fancy to my mistress and wanted to sleep with her. My mistress refused, and then the bandit leader tried to force himself on her. During the process..." He swallowed hard, "My mistress bit his... (life) A (root) hard. The bandit leader screamed loudly, which was heard by his subordinates, who rushed in. But instead of helping him, they took the opportunity to slash him and kill him, so they could become the new bandit leader."
I'm completely baffled. How could this be so melodramatic?!
“But the other men under the original bandit leader weren’t happy about it. They were dissatisfied with the new leader and started fighting.” He licked his dry lips and continued, “My mistress, Di Yaruo, her daughter, and I escaped in the chaos. But I didn’t want to be with Di Yaruo anymore. She was cunning, treacherous, and too scheming. I always wanted to get rid of her, so I took another route in the chaos. She wasn’t very wary of me and thought I was stupid, weak, and that there was little difference between me being alive and being dead. So, while she was busy saving her daughter, I put on bandit clothes and escaped with a few henchmen.”
"What about Daisy?" I asked, brandishing the branding iron in my hand. "Why didn't you take Daisy with you when you escaped?"
"The more people we take with us, the less hope we have of escaping. She's just a mistress; if we lose her, we lose her."
I sneered, "Daylyn has taken good care of you, hasn't she?"
"It's a huge blessing that I can sleep with her. With her looks, how could she sleep with a prince?" He scoffed. "Stop dreaming. I used to not even give that kind of woman a second glance. She's not my type."
I sneered repeatedly, but did not continue the conversation on the topic.
"How did you manage to take over this inn?" I asked.
He chuckled, "Robbery, of course. They specifically target lone travelers. After a few successful robberies, they've got the money."
My gut feeling was that something was wrong. "This amount of money probably isn't enough to take over the inn."
He grinned and said, "Hey, I can't hide it from you anymore, it really wasn't enough. When I stopped at this inn to rest, the innkeeper, a burly man, was taking a prostitute home to enjoy himself. When they were almost done, you know, when men are most relaxed, I tried to sneak away so I wouldn't have to pay the inn fee. But the innkeeper discovered me and rushed out to chase me. The prostitute, thinking the innkeeper didn't want to pay, also chased after me, throwing a big rock as she did so. Unexpectedly, the innkeeper was hit squarely, fell to the ground, and a sharp thorn pierced his temple. He died on the spot. The prostitute was terrified and fled in a panic, and this inn became mine."
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Author's Note: Please continue to support me and keep reading "Cinderella Wants a Satisfying Novel Script," "All the Male Gods in the World Are in Love with Me," and "Love of Ice and Fire"!! Actually, "My Girlfriend is a Genius" is also quite good; the male lead is a rare "simp" in my writing. It's not finished yet, but it's almost done~~
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