Wei King’s Mansion, dungeon chamber.
The candlelight flickered, and Ji Yanqing infused spiritual energy into his eyes to dimly make out his surroundings, flanked by several armored soldiers.
Since returning from Weiyuan Escort Agency, Ji Qingyan hadn’t spoken a word to him, as if deeply wounded emotionally. Dismounting, she fled to her temporary courtyard without a greeting.
By Lantern Festival, he’d better return her famed sword, Shadow Bearer, or the heroine might die of frustration from this yellow-haired villain.
Picturing Ji Qingyan’s tsundere trifecta—huffing, stomping, and glaring—Ji Yanqing shook his head helplessly, a faint smile on his lips.
In the original story, the Wei King’s Heir was a pure yellow-haired antagonist: no talent, no luck, low intellect, with vast room for improvement.
In contrast, Wei King Ji Yang’s portrayal in Canglan Goddess Chronicles was richer. Though a background figure, his shadow loomed over key events.
From Yanxia’s unification ending the chaos, to the Qi King’s rebellion, to the Ji clan’s extermination, Ji Yang was a thread woven throughout.
Emperor Taizu, Master Gu Yun, Qi King Han Yu, Sword Saint Lu Yi—countless prodigies rose and fell, as if the new era had no ship to carry them, yet Ji Yang stood ever at the stage’s center.
His shady father hid many secrets, but Ji Yanqing, in his past life, was too busy ogling spicy CGs to dig into main plot clues.
It didn’t affect romancing heroines, anyway.
The only certainty was the Ji clan’s tragedy held hidden truths. Wei King and Ji Wencheng, Earl of Qiucheng, were close friends.
From what Ji Yanqing knew of his cheap dad, Ji Yang wasn’t one to slaughter a friend for gain.
The truth behind it eluded him.
At the narrow corridor’s end stood a cell forged of black iron, a wooden bed at its center, surrounded by eerie silence, save for faint water droplets.
Step… step…
Footsteps stirred hope in the green-robed girl bound to the bed, but her struggles were halted by chains.
Creak—
The iron door was pushed open by soldiers, and a familiar voice reached her ears.
“Miss Tongyue, slept well these days?” Ji Yanqing asked gently, shielding her from a droplet aimed at her brow.
“Thanks to Your Highness’s concern, quite well,” Tongyue replied blankly, her fleeting panic replaced by numbness and chill.
“I’m curious—how does the Xiao clan train you? Few last three days in our dungeon, and this water-drip torture chamber drives most mad…” Ji Yanqing paused, adding, “Yet Miss Tongyue endured over two months. I’m truly impressed.”
The water-drip torture fixed a prisoner to a bed, head and limbs shackled, immobile, with a bucket overhead dripping water from a notch.
Imagine being bound, unable to move, tormented by this vile, cruel method, nerves perpetually taut, sleep impossible, mental collapse imminent.
The Wei King’s dungeon’s special version, refined by steward Mo Pang, used not water but a privately brewed venom—corrosive to skin, nerve-agitating, amplifying the torture a hundredfold.
Though a notorious flirt, Ji Yanqing didn’t lose his wits over beauty.
Punishing stubborn enemies, he was ruthless, without a shred of mercy.
Mercy to foes was cruelty to oneself.
Most would’ve spilled everything, broken, wailing like drowning dogs.
Tongyue’s calm was extraordinary.
“Spare your crocodile tears. Ask a thousand times, my answer’s the same: no comment. Please leave, Your Highness,” she said.
Ji Yanqing inhaled deeply, pressing a finger to her nearly festering brow, applying slight force. Pain surged through her like lightning, yet she didn’t make a sound.
“I advise you not to push yourself, Miss Tongyue. Speak now, and it’s not too late,” he said.
“Heh,” Tongyue sneered. “The Xiao clan’s methods for training girls are far harsher. Want to hear, Your Highness?”
“Please,” Ji Yanqing said softly.
“With your noble birth, never tasting hunger or cold, won’t my tales keep you awake?” she taunted.
Without waiting, she continued, “To craft elite assassins, the Xiao clan scours Yanxia for girls aged six to eight. For gifted ones, they ensure they’re orphaned.”
As nightmarish memories surfaced, Tongyue’s voice trembled. What horrors could make a girl unfazed by water-drip torture show such fear?
“They pair three hundred chosen girls, but only one pair survives. The rest become dog food. Then… they tell the two girls only one can live… Haha… hahaha… When I stabbed her, maybe I should’ve died!” Tongyue laughed bitterly, her tone hysterical.
“Sorry for stirring bad memories,” Ji Yanqing said.
“No need. It’s not your fault. We’re enemies—slitting my throat would be routine,” Tongyue said flatly, closing her eyes, sinking back into numb silence, like a corpse.
“If I’m your enemy, surely Miss Su Ningyue is your friend?” Ji Yanqing said, chuckling.
Her eyes snapped open, blazing with ferocity, as if she’d skin him alive.
“Touch a hair on Miss, and I won’t let you off,” she snarled.
“Such threats lack weight, don’t you think?” Ji Yanqing pinched her pale cheek, smirking. “Rest assured, Ningyue suits my taste. Why would I harm her before I tire of her?”
“Dream on! She’d never like scum like you,” Tongyue retorted, her chains rattling.
Ji Yanqing thought, ‘Your Miss just called me refined and virtuous.’
“Really? Her body’s enough for me. Who she loves? I don’t care,” he said.
He pulled out the marriage contract, reading it word by word, holding it for Tongyue to see the signatures.
“Soon, Su Ningyue will be mine.”
“Jie jie jie jie…” he cackled.
A strike to the heart!