Sheng Rufei knelt on the ground, silent for a moment before lifting his gaze to Feng Rugao seated at the head of the hall.
“This disciple does not know what wrong I have committed.”
The words had barely fallen when a sharp crack split the air. The heavy disciplinary whip struck Sheng Rufei squarely, a fresh welt blooming bloodily across his back.
Lin Shijin hadn’t even reacted in time. The sight alone made his heart lurch… terrifying, brutal. The youth kneeling on the ground held his back ramrod-straight, enduring every blow without uttering so much as a single word of refusal.
“Shixiong—”
Lin Shijin felt pain simply watching him. An inexpressible fury rose in his chest, a hot, breathless sense of injustice on Sheng Rufei’s behalf.
Not even an explanation of what he’d done wrong. Just a beating, for no stated reason. How could anyone be so unreasonable?
“Shizun, what fault has my shixiong committed? Why do you need to punish him?”
He tried to keep his voice steady, but a hint of dissatisfaction slipped through despite himself.
Feng Qing, seeing the youth move as though to rush forward, quickly blocked him. His lord was already furious; if the boy dared to step in front of Sixteen right now, it would only provoke him further.
The Changming Lock had stirred. It was proof that within only a few days, Lin Seventeen had once again grown emotional. His shizun could not bear to punish him, so Sheng Rufei had been made to take the punishment in his stead.
To his master, Lin Seventeen was naïve and guileless, and his emotional entanglement stemmed from an unstable temperament. But more likely, it was Sheng Sixteen deliberately stirring things up.
Even though, in the secret realm, it had been the youth himself who initiated more often than not.
Sheng Rufei stayed kneeling, silent. From the main seat, Feng Rugao repeated, “Say it again. You truly do not know?”
“This disciple does not.”
His voice was cool. The whip came down again, slicing the air with a vicious hiss. Blood clung to the barbs, and another welt split across his back.
Feng Rugao had not held back. Each strike carried a crushing spiritual pressure. It was pain not only upon the flesh but sinking into bone, as though crafted to torment him, to make even kneeling upright a trial.
Lin Shijin kept pleading from the side. If Sheng Rufei faltered now, if he collapsed… it would be precisely what Feng Rugao wished to see.
One lash after another, red marks criss-crossed Sheng Rufei’s back. His face grew paler, yet he knelt rigidly, unmoving, refusing to dodge even once.
“Shixiong—”
A barrier shimmered into existence in front of Lin Shijin. Feng Qing had blocked him again, and the boy nearly crashed straight into it. Helplessly, he watched the whip fall again and again, each lash landing as though striking his own heart.
A dull ache pressed in his chest. He didn’t yet realise this was heartache. He simply couldn’t bear it. Why wouldn’t this stubborn idiot dodge?
His attention was fixed entirely on Sheng Rufei. Anxious, he grew colder, even curt, towards Feng Qing.
He tried to break the barrier directly, but nothing budged. Only now did he realise that if his cultivation were higher, this would not have stopped him.
He didn’t want Sheng Rufei to be hurt. No matter how frightened he was, the barrier would not yield. He could only watch, lips pressed thin, fingers clenched tightly.
The whip fell again, this time grazing Sheng Rufei’s face. A vivid line of blood cut across those handsome features. The barbs swept past, and bright red droplets slid down his cheek to the floor.
His face whitened further, fingertips digging into the ground, his entire frame swaying.
Feng Rugao meant to break his pride completely, to leave him collapsed upon the ground, and to let the youth see the fate of anyone who dared inspire feelings in him.
As the next lash surged down, blood trailing from Sheng Rufei’s jaw, his thin back shuddered, barely upright.
Lin Shijin felt something sear across his vision; his mind went blank. A taut string in his chest snapped with a violent twang.
“Stop…”
He poured every ounce of spiritual power into the barrier. A crack split across it, then, before Feng Qing could react, the barrier shattered in mid-air.
Lin Shijin broke through and, seeing the whip about to fall again, flung himself at Sheng Rufei without a second thought. The whip came straight for him; his heart lurched, but he held Sheng Rufei tightly and took the blow himself.
When it struck, he instinctively squeezed his eyes shut. His fingertips trembled, his ears rang, and pain like a blade driving into bone tore through his back.
He let out a muffled groan, eyes instantly stinging with tears. His vision blurred; he held onto Sheng Rufei, the pain nearly buckling his knees.
One lash alone nearly made him faint. Sheng Rufei had taken dozens. He must have been in agony.
“Young Master—”
Feng Qing was genuinely shocked. He hadn’t expected him to break the barrier. The whip had not been withdrawn in time and landed squarely on the youth.
Feng Rugao, recognising who it was, lessened his strength. But he did not retract the whip. Even so, the strike was searingly painful, leaving a bright mark across Lin Shijin’s snow-white robe.
The hall fell utterly silent.
Lin Shijin felt warmth under his fingertips. Sheng Rufei’s cheek was slick with blood.
“Shixiong…” he whispered, mind blank. That warmth tugged sharply at something inside his chest.
Sheng Rufei had not expected him to rush forward. Seeing how unsteady he was, he reached to support him, wanting to pull him fully into his arms. But his fingers only twitched. He didn’t dare.
“It hurts.” Lin Shijin’s lashes were damp. He was on the verge of tears from the pain, but with Feng Rugao and Feng Qing present… If he cried now, wouldn’t it be terribly embarrassing?
He forced the tears back. Then a thought struck him. He looked up at Feng Rugao on the main seat. Half the man’s face lay hidden in shadow, the whip hanging loosely from his fingers, his expression unreadable.
Lin Shijin realised what he’d done. He knelt beside Sheng Rufei, heart pounding, bracing for Feng Rugao’s judgement.
“Shizun, it’s my fault. Please don’t punish my shixiong. If punishment is needed, punish me.”
He genuinely didn’t know what Sheng Rufei had done wrong. They had been together these past days; if there was any fault, perhaps it was simply that Feng Rugao couldn’t bear them being together.
To say that aloud took tremendous courage. He was fiercely aware of who treated him well: whenever he felt unwell, Sheng Rufei cared for him. Yet Sheng Rufei was the one being whipped.
The cause was him. So the punishment should have been his.
The air in the hall grew unbearably heavy. After a long silence, Feng Rugao finally spoke.
“Feng Qing.”
His tone was as even as always, yet Feng Qing’s scalp prickled. This was Feng Rugao’s warning sign. Once rare, but now, because of this youth, happening far too often.
“Yes,” Feng Qing answered. He stepped forward, and before Lin Shijin could react, he was moved aside, another barrier rising around him. Feng Qing relayed the message in a low voice.
“Young Master, if you take one lash for him, he will receive twenty more. If you beg Sword Master again, every plea adds ten lashes.”
He glanced at Sheng Rufei on the ground, his expression briefly complicated.
Then the whip fell again, with far greater force than before. Lin Shijin froze as the meaning settled in. He looked up at Feng Rugao, a cold dread spreading through his chest.
His face drained of colour.
Changming Hall remained unlit. In the centre, the youth kneeling was covered in whip marks, blood staining his hair, dripping down to mix with the shadows.
The lashes continued relentlessly. Sheng Rufei’s complexion grew steadily whiter, his cold fingers pressed against the floor, barely able to hold his sword.
Blood touched his lips; his robes were stained through.
Lin Shijin tried to touch the barrier. It burned him instantly, reddening his fingertips.
He understood immediately: if he forced his way out, Feng Rugao would strike harder.
He could not break the barrier. He could only watch.
Helplessly, painfully, he watched Feng Rugao deliver all fifty lashes. The whip was soaked in blood; the ground was streaked with it.
He had never known a whipping could draw so much blood. Nor how Sheng Rufei could endure so many strikes without a single sound, without collapsing.
He opened his mouth, his throat tight, each word feeling impossible. If he begged now, it would only worsen Sheng Rufei’s suffering.
His own pain had faded into nothing. He stared fixedly at the youth kneeling in the centre of the hall, fingertips pressed against the barrier, the burn leaving red marks on his skin.
His vision blurred. His throat clogged as though someone were suffocating him. He couldn’t tell whether he felt more angry or more anguished. He rarely felt angry at all.
He had always been optimistic, uncompetitive, going with the flow. Hardly anything had ever upset him.
But this… this was the first time he had ever felt this kind of suffocating pain. Once, he could convince himself everything Feng Rugao did was for his sake. But now?
Why punish Sheng Rufei?
Why hurt the only person who sincerely cared for him?
And Sheng Rufei… he remained silent, stubborn, and unwilling to explain anything. Born with a quiet defiance, forever resisting Feng Rugao without a word.
Even if he were beaten to death today, he would never say the words “I was wrong.”
At last, when it was over, Feng Rugao said, “Take him away.”
Sheng Rufei barely managed to support himself. He lifted his gaze once, looking towards the corner where Lin Shijin remained behind the barrier. His cold eyes faintly distant.
Feng Qing answered, “Yes.” He looked once more at the bloodied youth, a flicker of admiration crossing his gaze, before taking him away. They vanished.
Only Lin Shijin and Feng Rugao remained.
The whip lay discarded on the floor; a pool of blood marked where Sheng Rufei had knelt.
Only now did Feng Rugao’s gaze fall on Lin Shijin.
“Come here,” he said coldly.
Lin Shijin remained rooted to the spot, staring at the bloodstains. His mind was far from the hall—utterly preoccupied with Sheng Rufei’s injuries.
He could not move. Didn’t want to.
Feng Rugao walked to him. A hand seized his wrist, forcing him to look up.
Cold, dark eyes met his… deep-set, carved in shadow, filled with restrained emotion and countless things he neither understood nor wished to understand.
