Chapter 16 Chapter 16 He carefully wrote down 'she' stroke by stroke...
Her heart began to pound.
Someone was asking her something; the voice was dull and muffled, as if she were trapped in a furnace.
"What kind of person do you want to become? What do you want to gain from coming here?"
Her body seemed to be on fire; she was in excruciating pain, yet she obediently answered, her voice filled with a desperate hope forced through her agony: "I want to become...like my brother."
The man seemed to chuckle, the meaning of which was unclear, before speaking again in a seductive tone: "Alright. How about you guess where your brother is... If you guess right, I'll take you there."
"Cultivating Taoism in the Immortal Sect...Upholding justice...Saving all living beings?" Thinking of her brother, 'she' always carried hope and a smile, even as she was about to burn herself out and turn to dust.
“You’re wrong.” Even though she couldn’t see the person’s actions or appearance, Meng Chiwan could roughly guess that he was probably shaking his head, watching her pained expression with amusement.
Faster, harder, don't get melted here!
Pain ravaged her body, while fear and unease roamed her mind, a feeling that nearly made her faint.
"I forgot to mention earlier. There is a punishment for mistakes." The man spoke slowly, then added fuel to the fire in her heart, suspending her boiling heart with silk threads, making her heartbeat sluggish.
“But I can give you another chance. You said you want to be like your brother? How about we play a game together? If you win, I can take you to meet your brother.”
The voice remained unhurried, but with each opening, the mist and the blazing sun moved in tandem, bringing her hope while mercilessly plunging her into an even more miserable state.
"What game...?" Meng Chiwan heard the body speak. But 'she' was already exhausted, every syllable was filled with gasps, and with each gasp, a fine, dense pain would rise in her chest, like being repeatedly rubbed on a rough, sandy ground.
She gently stroked her cheek, trying to find proof that 'she' was in extreme pain, but all she could find was blankness.
"Guess what I'm going to do next?" he said.
Something stirred beside me, and the scalding liquid surged up again.
She tried desperately to get away, but found that there was no way to avoid it or escape it.
"You must forge a sword!" she screamed almost hoarsely, hoping someone would hear her and save her from her misery.
But after a long while, apart from the physical pain and the unbearable sound of time passing as she counted her disordered heartbeats, there was no other movement.
She was almost in despair: "You must forge me... into the sharpest sword."
The man finally burst into laughter, stirring the liquid even faster. He seemed to be enjoying himself, his voice filled with pleasure: "Come on, get up. That's enough for today."
He reached out and pulled her up, the sound of chains clicking softly against the liquid.
Then, scalding hot chains covered her wrists and ankles.
Meng Chiwan heard him say again, "Next time, there will be even more interesting games."
The footsteps faded into the distance. She sat there blankly, unaware of where she was. Being blind, Meng Chiwan had no idea where she was, nor what the burning liquid had been.
Is it boiling water or lava?
What followed? What followed was a long, drowsy sleep and the unbearable itching and pain of the body regenerating.
She rolled on the ground, tearing off layers of flesh with each roll, almost fainting from the pain, yet she remained conscious throughout.
Everything was pitch black. But there was a faint warmth somewhere.
It's too cold here.
I don't know where the candlelight came from.
Meng Chiwan secretly hoped that if it was just a dream, then she would be taken away by anyone! If it was real, she would rather the girl die!
But she persisted.
Meng Chiwan kept asking herself: What is she still holding on to?
But no one could answer her.
Something made a clinking sound.
Something that looked like iron was placed on the table.
Then came that familiar voice again. And the body seemed to have a stress response to the voice, its whole body began to tremble slightly.
Even out of fear, they dared not act recklessly.
A cool touch came from her face, as if his hand was gently stroking her cheek, the movement so gentle that he seemed afraid of hurting her.
But the next moment, his words were as sharp as a steel knife.
"How about I sculpt a facial feature for you?"
The movements were no longer gentle. Every knuckle was rough and calloused, as if she were using her face as a blank sheet of paper.
"Didn't you always say... you didn't want this blank, white face?"
"I'll help you."
"You said you want to become like your brother?"
"Okay. I'll grant your wish."
This man was in high spirits all day, constantly talking to himself. He seemed oblivious to her trembling, her fear, and everything about her.
All he could see was the pleasure she was experiencing.
Cruel pleasure.
He didn't treat her like a person at all.
She unconsciously wanted to hide, burying her face deep into her body so that no one could find her.
But no, that won't work.
Her face was lifted up little by little, and the finger was like a sharp hook. Every movement made her tremble with pain.
I pick up my pen.
A slant.
The sharp edge of the sword extended all the way to where it should have been, to the brow bone. Sweet ink dripped from the vermilion tip of the "brush." The tip meandered little by little to the next spot.
She screamed. The sound of the chains grew increasingly shrill.
Until the man lost his patience and slapped her cheek to the side, the red "ink" splattering onto her ear. Then he raised his hand and gently wiped it away for her.
A single stroke.
When that stroke was made, the hands seemed to tremble slightly.
The one trembling even more violently was Meng Chiwan inside her body. She didn't know what was happening; had she entered a dream or an illusion?
But if it's just a dream, how could it truly cause her heart-wrenching pain?
I pick up my pen again.
A few strokes pierce the skin, a few strokes cut through the bone. Little by little, he writes with meticulous care, as if sculpting a work of art.
"Don't move. You're about to have a completely new face. You should be happy." His deep voice rang out, but she was already in a daze, and the voice seemed to come from the sky.
No. Perhaps "a low groan from hell" would be a more apt description. In short, it's making her life unbearable.
No, what's there to be happy about!
Meng Chiwan heard a mournful cry coming from the depths of her heart, unsure whether it was her own will or 'hers' will.
But until the last stroke, which reached her chin, was completed, she didn't utter a single word, only letting out uncontrollable screams and heavy breathing.
He wrote down 'her' life story, stroke by stroke.
Meng Chiwan raised her hand. Everywhere she looked, there was a sticky, sticky sensation. Everywhere she felt pain; there was no place she could stand idly by.
She endured the pain as she painstakingly deciphered the strokes of the brush.
Seeing her movement, the man put down his "pen," then laughed, his voice booming from nearby: "Do you want to know what the character is?"
She didn't speak, but touched him inch by inch. Each swipe of her fingertips brought a sharp pain, as if a thousand needles were piercing her flesh and bone.
A slant to the brow bone, a dot to the center of the brow.
A horizontal line across the pupil, two dots and a slant carved into the cheek.
He pulled his chin back. A vertical line connected his eyes and teeth.
The last vertical hook pierces through the facial bone.
She sketched it in her mind, stroke by stroke. More meticulously and attentively than the sculptor.
But every tiny detail filled her with increasing sorrow. She almost dared not piece it all together.
sword.
Yes. That's the word.
She suddenly began to sob. Silently. But with each tear that rolled down her cheek, her heart ached with a start.
She realized more clearly than ever that this might be part of the truth.
This could be considered the truth. But what exactly is this truth?
Is this the prelude or the intermission of that injustice?
"Your brother's sword seems not sharp enough, as it has caused you pain. In my imagination, he must love you so much that he wouldn't even bear to hurt you with his sword."
laugh.
He was still smiling.
The voice is unpleasant, but you have no choice but to listen.
It's disgusting.
At this moment, 'she' finally reacted: "It has nothing to do with my brother... My brother... is the best... the best... brother in the whole world."
"Really? Where was he when you were suffering?" He chuckled, finding it amusing.
The next moment, the sound of a knife piercing flesh rang out again.
This time, however, the hand holding the knife was covered in blood and wounds, and it was trembling uncontrollably.
The body snatched the knife. Unable to break free of the shackles, she plunged the knife in again and again until the man could no longer speak.
The chains rattled incessantly, like the sound of blood flowing.
Ten cuts.
Twenty cuts.
Thirty cuts.
...too many to count.
She suddenly gasped for breath, as if she had suddenly floated up from the water and come into contact with the air.
I still can't see anything clearly.
But she slowly rubbed the chain with the knife. Little by little... slowly but with all her might.
One sound, one sound.
She suddenly said, "You are not allowed to slander my brother."
But where is my brother?
She asked herself silently.
From the thunderous pounding of her heart, Meng Chiwan thought of the boy in the sword tomb.
The chains couldn't be broken in a short time. But she was in unbearable pain.
Will anyone come here? What should she do if she is discovered?
Meng Chiwan thought nervously. But the pain in her body immediately overwhelmed her again. Yet her hands holding the knife remained so resolute.
Just then, footsteps sounded again.
A note from the author:
I watched a movie yesterday and cried so hard I almost fainted [bursting into tears]. How could it be so heartbreaking?
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