Chapter 112: Not Treating People as People

When Guo Jing heard that Zhang Chu'an had captured this uncle-nephew pair, he paused in surprise, for he had always hated this man ever since reading The Legend of the Condor Heroes.

Upon learning that Zhang Chu'an intended to castrate the pair first, strip them naked, parade them through the streets, and execute them by a thousand cuts, Guo Jing immediately stopped him, for such public execution by a thousand cuts would harm future judicial development.

Simply having them write confessions, hold a struggle session, and then execute them by firing squad was enough—no need for such cruelty.

Upon learning their fate, Ouyang Feng and his nephew sighed in relief; death they did not fear, but to die as Zhang Chu'an described would be unbearable humiliation.

I have to say, Guo Jing is undoubtedly a truly decent person—if he fell into the hands of others, they’d surely mock him with glee.

“Alright, in a while we’ll hold a struggle session against the two of you and then execute you. Use this time to write detailed confessions exposing all your crimes over the years and admit your wrongdoing.” Back in the cell, Zhang Chu Lan delivered his final ultimatum.

“Ha! Write a self-criticism?” Ouyang Feng let out a bitter laugh. This bastard had tortured him and his nephew beyond endurance—and now demanded they confess their “crimes” to intimidate the martial world.

“You’re unwilling?” Zhang Chu Lan eyed Ouyang Feng suspiciously. “You’re in my hands now—if you don’t follow my orders, you’ll suffer.”

“Do you think I, Ouyang Feng, fear suffering or death?” Ouyang Feng’s lips curled into a sneer, his eyes brimming with mockery as he glanced dismissively at Zhang Chu Lan—a look radiating profound contempt for Zhang’s shallow understanding.

“Physical torment means nothing to warriors like us—it’s routine. Death is inevitable for everyone; how could that be called suffering? True suffering is watching the ones you love endure unimaginable humiliation and torment before your eyes.”

Zhang Chu Lan’s expression remained as still as a calm pond, utterly unruffled; yet it was this chillingly indifferent calmness that sent an inexplicable chill through Ouyang Feng, who had always been known for his ruthlessness, as if he were standing in a biting northern wind and involuntarily shivered.

Ouyang Feng had never felt such fear in his life—he had always feared nothing and no one—but now, facing this emotionless Zhang Chu Lan, he couldn’t help but feel terrified.

His voice trembled as he ventured, “Y-you… what exactly do you intend to do?” His tone betrayed unmistakable terror and unease.

“That Ouyang Ke isn’t your nephew—he’s your son, isn’t he?” Zhang Chu Lan asked with a sly smile.

Ouyang Feng’s eyes widened in shock and disbelief as he stared intently at Zhang Chu Lan, as if searching his face for some clue.

This secret had been known only to him and his sister-in-law—they had guarded it with extreme caution, fearing exposure. To protect it, Ouyang Feng had even killed his own brother. Yet now, this stranger had uncovered it effortlessly, leaving Ouyang Feng stunned and bewildered.

Ouyang Feng was consumed by confusion—how could this man possibly know? Had he and his sister-in-law carelessly left some trace?

“Actually, what difference does it make if everyone knows this secret? You, Ouyang Feng, have never cared about public opinion. But with so many beautiful women at White Camel Mountain, you have only this one son—and his mother is your elder brother’s wife. Clearly, you love your sister-in-law deeply.”

“Though we’ve known each other only briefly, you know my character. Can you guess what ingenious torment I might devise for the only son of the woman you love most?”

“Forget the riddles. Bring him in! Lock Ouyang Ke in the stable. Dose both of them with plenty of aphrodisiacs. When the show begins, make sure Old Master Ouyang gets a front-row seat.”

Time froze. Ouyang Feng’s mind went completely blank.

He scrutinized the Zhang Chu Lan before him—this man had all the outward appearances of a human, yet he did none of the things humans do. No, he lacked even the basic human qualities: thoughts, morals, and principles.

Ouyang Feng exploded in rage, howling like a rabid dog at passersby.

“Zhang Chu Lan, I #%*+%$&.”

“Do you even know who I am? I’ll chop you into pieces and feed you to the dogs!”

“I’ll make sure every person close to you is sliced to death and fed to the dogs!”

But suddenly, Ouyang Feng fell silent—he saw two large men dragging Ouyang Ke out.

“Keep cursing, Mr. Ouyang—you’ve got to keep going. After all, listening to your curses while watching your son’s little show is a rare pleasure.” Zhang Chu Lan patted Ouyang Feng on the shoulder and led him out to watch the spectacle.

Ouyang Feng wept. The once-feared, world-renowned “Poisonous Toad” of the Five Greats now wept silently, tears streaming down his face. His former arrogance and cruelty had vanished, replaced by boundless sorrow and humiliation.

Once a terrifying warlord who struck fear into the hearts of all, he now cowered in a corner like a broken old dog, whimpering for mercy. His eyes held nothing but helplessness and despair—as if all dignity and pride had been stripped away.

Once, he had been glorious, invincible, untouchable. Now, he was powerless to resist, helpless before humiliation.

“I’ll confess my crimes. I’ll accept trial and denunciation. I beg you—don’t torment my son. Do anything you want to me.”

For the first time in his life, the Poisonous Toad—who had never bowed to anyone—knelt and bowed his head in supplication, all just to spare his son a cruel fate.

“Doesn’t it feel awful to be treated like less than a human?” Zhang Chu Lan asked out of nowhere.

Ouyang Feng didn’t understand—he couldn’t fathom why he’d asked that.

“I used to think you were cruel, but you loved your son and kept your word—I actually admired you. I once considered recruiting you both. But the more I’ve seen, the more I realize I was a monster back then—for I never truly saw people as people.”

“I casually ignored the ordinary people you killed without a second thought. I fixated only on the famous, on their emotions, justifying their actions.”

“But don’t ordinary people have feelings? They may be common, but they fight desperately to feed their families. Don’t they suffer? They toil all year, yet their harvest is seized by officials and landlords—and still, they try to be good. What right did you have to kill them? Just because you were strong?”

“Ha! Even the strongest martial artist flees before an organized army—how much more so against the People’s Liberation Army? Ten thousand won’t do? Then a hundred thousand. Five hundred thousand. We’ll keep killing you martial arts masters until not one remains.”

This gentle-faced young man, when he unleashes his cruelty, will bring rivers of blood.