Cold water dripped from the moldy ceiling of the dungeon, landing directly onto the raw, blistered skin of Xuan Jing’s shoulder. Each drop felt like a needle tapping against an open nerve. He did not cry out, though his massive chest heaved with every shallow breath. Suspended from two heavy iron rings bolted into the stone wall, his feet barely touched the slimy floor. His wrists were raw, the skin scraped away by hours of hanging his immense weight from the unyielding metal. He was a large man, a monk whose physical bulk had once been a source of gentle humor among his brothers. Now, it was just more flesh to torture. Every breath felt like inhaling ground glass. The smell of his own scorched skin hung thick in the stagnant air of the cell, sweet and sickening. It was a scent that clung to the damp walls, promising a slow, agonizing death. Across the dark chamber, a coal brazier glowed with a dull, angry orange light. The heat radiating from it was suffocating, thick with the stench of burning charcoal. It was a light that offered no warmth, only the promise of more pain. Liu, the imperial inquisitor, stood by the coals with his back turned. He was a slender man, dressed in fine silk robes that seemed entirely out of place in this damp tomb. In his hand, he held a branding iron, its square head glowing a faint, lethal cherry-red. "Your order teaches detachment from the physical world, does it not?" Liu’s voice was conversational, almost pleasant. He turned slowly, the glowing iron held before him like a dark priest carrying an unholy relic. Without waiting for an answer, Liu pressed the glowing metal against Xuan Jing’s left forearm. The scream that tore from the monk's throat was primal, a raw animal sound that echoed off the damp stone walls. White smoke rose from his flesh, accompanied by the sharp, terrifying crackle of burning skin. Pain exploded through Xuan Jing’s entire nervous system, a white-hot wave that threatened to drag him into unconsciousness. He fought the darkness, biting his lower lip until blood ran down his chin. He had to stay awake. Biting his lower lip, he focused on the agony. He knew that if he fainted now, he would never wake up. The inquisitor would simply keep carving away at him until there was nothing left but a cold corpse. Liu pulled the iron away with a sickening peel, looking entirely unsatisfied by the brief scream. "Still too quiet," the inquisitor muttered, shaking his head. He walked back to the brazier, placing the iron back into the coals to reheat. "We have all night, monk. You will tell me where the relic is hidden." Alone in the dim shadows once more, Xuan Jing gasped for air, his body shaking violently. The agonizing heat from the brand was radiating through his arm, causing his left wrist to swell rapidly. The skin puffed up, pressing hard against the cold, rusted iron of the cuff. Sweat dripped into Xuan Jing's swollen left eye, stinging like liquid salt. His breathing was ragged, his vision swimming with dark spots. Yet, beneath the pain, a cold realization began to take shape in his mind. Instead of panicking, he felt a strange, desperate clarity wash over him. The swelling in his wrists actually tightened the fit of the cuffs, locking them in place, but it also numbed the nerve endings just enough for him to ignore the pain of movement. He looked down at his bare feet, covered in dirt and dried blood. Wiggling his fingers, he felt the slickness of his own sweat and blood acting as a lubricant. He pulled downward, ignoring the tearing of his skin as he forced his hands deeper into the metal rings. He needed just a little more play in the chains. Beside the wooden table where Liu kept his torture instruments, a small brass key ring lay glinting in the firelight. It had slipped from Liu’s belt during his earlier movements, landing just a few feet away on the stone floor. It was his only chance. Carefully, Xuan Jing slivered his right foot forward. The heavy chain connecting his ankles clinked softly, a sound that made his heart leap into his throat. He stopped, freezing in place as Liu adjusted the coals with a long iron poker. Satisfied that the inquisitor was still distracted, Xuan Jing stretched his leg further. The iron links of his ankle chains scraped against the wet stone, but he timed his movements with the crackle of the burning charcoal. His toes reached out, hovering over the cold iron key ring. Using a lifetime of martial flexibility and discipline, he manipulated his toes like fingers. He pinched the heavy iron key between his big toe and the second, gripping it with a firm, desperate strength. Heavy sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes as he slowly lifted his leg. The strain on his lower back and core was immense, his muscles screaming under the pressure of holding his heavy leg aloft. He bent his knee, bringing his foot up toward his bound hands. Slowly, with absolute precision, he guided the iron key toward the lock of his left cuff. His leg trembled with exhaustion, the key hovering inches from the keyhole. One mistake, and the key would fall, clattering onto the floor to alert Liu. Holding his breath, he slid the key into the keyhole. It fit perfectly. He twisted his foot, utilizing the strength of his ankle to turn the key. A heavy, satisfying click echoed in his ears as the left cuff popped open. Catching the loose metal ring with his free hand before it could slam against the wall, he quickly grabbed the key from his toes. His fingers were stiff and swollen, but he moved with lightning speed, unlocking his right cuff in a single fluid motion. Suddenly, both of his hands were free. The sudden rush of blood back into his hands was not a relief; it was a violent shock. It felt as if a thousand needles were piercing his skin, sending a wave of raw, electric energy through his upper body. Along with the blood came a terrifying surge of violent intent. For twenty years, Xuan Jing had practiced the path of peace, chanting sutras of mercy and practicing non-resistance. But the sight of his own burned flesh and the scent of his blood broke something deep inside his soul. Rage, hot and ancient, flooded his mind. It was a direct violation of his monastic training, a betrayal of everything he had sworn to protect, and it left him trembling with a mixture of horror and dark exhilaration. He did not want to forgive. He wanted to destroy. Years of peaceful meditation crumbled into nothingness in the span of a single heartbeat. His hands shook, not from weakness, but from the sudden, overwhelming urge to tear and break. He was a monk no longer; he was a caged beast that had finally found its teeth. Liu was still facing the brazier, humming a soft, tuneless melody as he waited for the branding iron to heat up again. He had no idea that the prey behind him had just turned into a predator. Quiet as a phantom despite his massive size, Xuan Jing lowered his feet to the stone floor. He took two silent steps forward, his eyes locked onto the back of the inquisitor’s neck. The heavy iron chain of his cuffs hung between his hands, a makeshift weapon of cold steel. Sensing a change in the air, Liu's humming cut off abruptly. He began to turn his head, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What is that—" Before he could finish the sentence, Xuan Jing lunged forward. His massive frame moved with terrifying speed, fueled by decades of repressed physical power and raw, unadulterated anger. With a vicious snap of his wrists, he wrapped the heavy iron chain around Liu's throat. Pulling back with all his might, he buried his knee into the inquisitor's lower back to leverage his weight. The metal links bit deep into Liu's flesh, instantly cutting off his air supply and crushing his windpipe. Liu’s eyes bulged with sudden terror, the pupils dilated so wide they looked almost entirely black. His hands flew up, clawing frantically at the iron chain, his fingernails tearing as he tried to pry the metal away from his throat. Desperate clawing did nothing against Xuan Jing's immense strength. The fat monk stood like an unyielding statue of stone, his muscles locked, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth threatened to shatter. "This is the reality of your world," Xuan Jing whispered, his voice a low, terrifying rumble against Liu's ear. "You speak of detachment, but you fear the end just like any beast." Thrashing wildly, Liu knocked over a heavy wooden stool, sending a tray of scalpels clattering across the floor, but the noise did not bring help. The dungeon was deep, isolated from the rest of the fortress. Darkness was closing in on the inquisitor. His thrashing grew weaker, his hands dropping from the chain to flutter uselessly at his sides like dying birds. He was slipping away, his body turning limp in Xuan Jing’s iron grip. Suddenly, Xuan Jing loosened the chain by a fraction of an inch, allowing a single, desperate gasp of air to enter Liu's lungs. "Who ordered this?" Xuan Jing demanded, his voice trembling with a dark, violent hunger. "Who wants my skin?" Before Liu loses consciousness, he gasps out, "Your master... he was the one who signed the warrant for your skin."

Chapter 2: Red Rust and Cold Steel