[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-the-cursed-blade-s-walk":3,"chapter-the-cursed-blade-s-walk-the-cursed-blade-s-walk-chapter-707":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","The Cursed Blade's Walk",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2263012,4415,"Chapter 707: Torture in the Prison","the-cursed-blade-s-walk-chapter-707",707,"\u003Cp>“Master, Master Kong has fallen!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang She’s knees buckled, and he crashed to the ground with a thud, forehead pressed against the icy floor tiles, his voice trembling with terror.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhao Qingxu slowly turned his head, the blank, pallid mask facing him, voice devoid of any discernible emotion:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Are you afraid?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even within this secluded courtyard, even before his only trusted subordinate, the eerie mask remained firmly fixed to his face, unmoving.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His voice, too, seemed muffled by an invisible barrier, indistinct, genderless.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I… I…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang She trembled violently, wishing he could bury his head into the ground and never see that mask again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>To outsiders, he was the fearsome, ruthless Incense Master of the Iron Anchor Society—but before this demon, he could barely speak coherently.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A faint, almost inaudible scoff seemed to emanate from behind the mask.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhao Qingxu no longer looked at him; instead, he turned leisurely, picked up the celadon water jug on the table, and slowly poured water onto the peach tree bonsai.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The water trickled over the strange rocks, producing a delicate, tinkling sound.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I remember—you weren’t always this pitiful.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You once charged into the Ministry of Justice’s prison with a chipped knife, knowing you couldn’t win, yet still carving a few cuts into me…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Where did that reckless, death-defying ferocity go?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The fire’s already at your door—why dredge up old history now?!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang She seethed inwardly, but dared not show a flicker of impatience, only stammered: “I… I don’t know.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhao Qingxu sighed, set down the jug. “People, once they gain something, fear losing it—until even their bones grow soft.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang She’s mind grew even more confused, utterly unable to fathom the depth of these words; he gritted his teeth and asked:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“M…Master, what exactly… are you getting at?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhao Qingxu finally turned fully toward him, the smooth, icy surface of the mask facing Wang She, his voice instantly chilling: “All these years, I’ve elevated you, granted you power, taught you martial arts—all because I valued your reckless courage!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He paused, and an invisible pressure surged abruptly:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You know very well—I never make losing investments.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang She’s mind screamed an alarm—as if an ice pick had pierced his spine!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Every doubt instantly crystallized into raw terror.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Almost instinctively, before he could even adjust his kneeling posture, he exploded forward with a burst of force, launching himself like a bolt from a crossbow.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was no ordinary man—having been forcibly boosted by Zhao Qingxu’s dark arts, he had at least reached Golden Core.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His lunge was swift as a hare darting, a hawk diving—lightning-fast.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Just as he lost his balance, he performed a kite flip, twisting to face the courtyard gate.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Civilians still lived nearby; imperial troops patrolled the streets beyond.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If he could just escape, he might still live.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet as his right hand neared the door—less than half a foot away—he froze.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>An indescribable, bone-deep cold surged through his entire body.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thud—!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His body collapsed like a puppet with severed strings, crashing lifelessly onto the cold ground.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He tried to struggle—but not a single finger would move.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Every muscle and tendon felt bound by invisible chains, leaving only his torso convulsing violently like a sieve in a storm.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then came an even more horrifying sight:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His skin rippled like boiling water, erupting in vast patches of red, raised hives.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>These hives spread and swelled as if alive, their surfaces turning blood-red and translucent, revealing clear, twisted patterns of ancient square-hole copper coins—soon crawling over his entire body.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Swish—!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The crisp snap of a folding fan opening echoed from behind him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zhao Qingxu leisurely unfurled the fan—the massive, blood-red character “ Qian ” glowed like dripping blood in the dim courtyard.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Everything has a price.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What I gave you—now, with interest, I reclaim it…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wang She could no longer hear any words; the bone-deep itching and soul-rending agony flooded his mind like a tidal wave.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In a haze, he saw the blue robe slowly approaching, then crouching down.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then, his vision darkened.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That cold, lifeless, pallid mask had sealed itself perfectly over his face…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>…………\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Xuan Sacrifice Prison, Cell Jia, the largest death row chamber.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This was the Enforcement Hall’s designated facility for detaining and interrogating high-profile prisoners.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The air was thick enough to squeeze water from—mingling the stench of decades-old blood seeped into the stone walls, the bitter tang of cheap healing herbs, and a deeper, more insidious odor—like the rot of ancient tombs—making one gag.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Torches crackled along the walls as a black-clad clerk with a scarred face walked forward, head bowed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was called “Old Knife,” thirty years in the trade of torture, a registered “Living Yama” in the capital’s Six Gates and Commandant’s Office.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No prisoner under his hands had ever kept a secret, no confession left unsigned.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But today’s case was different.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The heavy prison door slid open with a grating clang, the iron chains dragging with a piercing screech.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Old Knife” stepped inside, his boots pressing against the icy stone tiles without a sound.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He silently scanned the surroundings.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The walls were cast from cold iron, inscribed with talismanic runes, the grooves filled with congealed, blackened cinnabar.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This was the “Soul-Annihilating Talisman”—once the prisoner died, his soul scattered into nothingness.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even sorcerers capable of wandering as spirits had no chance to haunt.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Kong Hui was bound tightly to a heavy iron cross-frame.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The master of the Song Dynasty now looked like a demon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His arms twisted grotesquely, the bones shattered by Huo Yin’s punch, crudely splinted with filthy linen and wooden boards.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Blood crusts and pus clung to the fabric, reeking foully.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Two Guanchuan  wounds beneath his collarbones, each the thickness of a thumb, threaded through with iron chains that stretched to an iron ring in the corner.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The chains were taut, pinning him immobile.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The once dignified Confucian robe was now a ragged ruin, exposing a vast, terrifying purple-black depression across his chest.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The mark of broken ribs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Huh~ huh~”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Each weak breath rattled like a broken bellows.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Facing this horror, “Old Knife” was clearly accustomed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He stopped three feet from the iron table, unslung a glossy leather tool bag from his waist, and dropped it onto the table with a clatter.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Prisoner Kong Hui.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Old Knife” spoke softly, emotionless: “By imperial order, I question you. Will you speak?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Kong Hui’s eyes flickered slightly; his throat emitted a faint, choked “Huh”—as if bloodied gravel clogged his windpipe.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He cracked his dry lips into a mocking grin.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Oh…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Old Knife” nodded, leaned forward, and slowly opened the glossy tool bag.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A thick layer of waterproof oilcloth was lifted, revealing neatly arranged steel tools:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Unusual hook needles, thin as willow leaves, edges gleaming coldly; several hollow tubes of varying lengths, mouths polished into jagged canine-like teeth; flat blades with precise engraved markings; rows of silver needles—the longest nearly finger-length, the shortest finer than cowhair…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Old Knife” traced his fingers over them—but only took from the corner of the bag a small ink-black jade bowl.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Inside: thick, paste-like sludge, radiating a pungent yin aura, oozing yellow-black oily fluid.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“This is called ‘Yellow Spring Mud.’”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Old Knife” spoke calmly: “Harvested from the deepest, most impure depths of the ‘Corpse-Nourishing Pool,’ blended with ash from the ‘Corpse-Sealing Talisman’ in the Yunji Qiqian, mixed with cinnabar and black dog’s blood—rumored to have been crafted by Han palace witch-doctors…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“‘Yellow Spring Mud Seal the Orifices’?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before he could finish, Kong Hui interrupted, sneering: “During the Jingkang era, the Jin used this method to torture the Xuan Sect’s Protectors who refused to submit.”\u003C\u002Fp>",1260,"2026-06-19T18:28:35.913Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","f81df2b5f9c99dc626a41945572af2955b03734d5e013ac97276b1fb2ae0f29f","the-cursed-blade-s-walk-chapter-708","the-cursed-blade-s-walk-chapter-706",801,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fthe-cursed-blade-s-walk-cover.jpg"]