Chapter 3: The Top Scholar

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As the pill entered his mouth, although Cheng Ruoyi swallowed hastily, a lingering bitterness still spread across his tongue. Yan Kuang was right; it truly would hurt. A fiery blaze seared through his abdomen, causing waves of dizziness and nausea.

So this is what a deadly poison tastes like—this is what death feels like?

Cheng Ruoyi spat twice, muttering, “Truly foul.”

Yan Kuang said nothing, watching as Cheng Ruoyi clenched his teeth, enduring the pain to tidy his hair and straighten his collar. A flicker of confusion crossed his eyes.

Sensing Yan Kuang’s puzzled gaze, Cheng Ruoyi smoothed his disheveled hair and lifted his chin. “I want to leave with some dignity… what’s wrong with that?”

Yan Kuang shook his head.

Nervously swallowing, Cheng Ruoyi asked, “May I ask, Lord Yan, when will this medicine take effect?”

“In half a quarter of an hour,” Yan Kuang answered frankly.

Half a quarter…?

A tight knot formed in Cheng Ruoyi’s chest. Though he longed for death, the thought that only half a quarter remained of his wretched, unlucky life filled him with sorrow.

The burning pain in his belly persisted, and the fear of death gnawed at his mind. Perhaps because he realized he would never speak again, Cheng Ruoyi cast caution aside, desperate only to speak freely.

“I’m not willing,” he declared, raising his head with a sniffle.

His gaze fell, heavy with loss. “I worked hard to enter the capital city… I hadn’t even seen enough of its splendor. But because I was born into a humble family, and the honorable He Xianggong I relied on was defeated by Han Shaozhen…”

Seeming to catch a key phrase, Yan Kuang suddenly lifted his eyes and asked, “You were once a student of the former chief minister He Yanzhou. Why did you later switch allegiance to Yuan Shanqi?”

Cheng Ruoyi sneered coldly. Though uncertain why Yan Kuang asked, having someone to talk to before death was not a terrible thing.

If he was to be mocked, let it be. His dignity had long since been trampled into the mud, reduced to nothing. Whether it was the King of Hell or some other fiend, his foolish, chaotic life was nearing its end. Right and wrong, good and evil, grudges and favors—all no longer mattered.

Feeling a weight lift, Cheng Ruoyi poured out his heart: “I was fortunate to be favored by Minister He, taken in as a student, and recommended as the top scholar. But he was upright and honest, unable to outmatch the cunning Minister Han… After he resigned and returned home, I was pushed aside. Though I was the top scholar, I was always ranked below the second and third, even behind the second-tier graduates…”

“I am the top scholar! I am the top scholar!”

Seeing his agitation, Yan Kuang took a water pouch from behind and offered it to him, but Cheng Ruoyi rejected it, pushing it away and continuing—

“I made mistakes in everything, failed at every turn… The Emperor even banished me from the capital to Fengzhou, a poor and hostile place… No one there treated me as a top scholar. The local bullies even bullied me…”

Seeing Cheng Ruoyi’s unstable mood, Yan Kuang pressed down firmly on his shoulder.

“Calm down. Too much agitation won’t help your wounds.”

Cheng Ruoyi cried out in pain, resenting Yan Kuang’s composed manner. The mention of wounds was laughable. Wasn’t he already close to death? What did wounds matter now? He wanted to speak further but dared not with that iron hand on his shoulder, so he bit his lip and endured silently.

Seeing he no longer raged, Yan Kuang spoke again: “So you defected to the Yuan family, forged ominous prophecies, framed others, and committed murder?”

“Does it matter?” Cheng Ruoyi was stunned. His earlier emotional outburst had drained his strength. He exhaled slowly and slumped back.

Yan Kuang nodded solemnly: “Of course it matters. Confess and accept the law—only then can you be punished.”

Cheng Ruoyi thought either he was mad, or this grim-faced Yan Kuang was.

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Cheng Ruoyi shrugged helplessly. “Lord Yan, listen to the nonsense you’re spouting. Haven’t I already accepted my punishment?”

Yan Kuang’s deep gaze measured him from head to toe. “You can still speak to me, still breathe, still curse, even recite poetry. How can you say you have accepted punishment?”

At those words, Cheng Ruoyi felt something was wrong.

The burning sensation in his belly, which should have intensified as the time approached, instead faded almost entirely. Even the pain from his wounds seemed to lessen.

He tasted the bitterness in his mouth again. Bitter, but oddly familiar.

“...What exactly did you give me to take?” Cheng Ruoyi asked, puzzled.

Yan Kuang said nothing, feigning mystery. He reached out to feel Cheng Ruoyi’s forehead again. “Very good. The fever has lessened.”

“...?”

Cheng Ruoyi glared at Yan Kuang in frustration. He thought to himself, There’s no poison in this world that tastes like ordinary medicine, that doesn’t cause bleeding from all orifices, and even relieves pain and fever!

He felt like a little mouse held down by its tail, slapped repeatedly and dizzy, unable to live or die.

And Yan Kuang was the cruel black cat toying with its prey in his palm.

Cheng Ruoyi pushed Yan Kuang’s hand away. “Is this fun for you, Lord Yan? To torment a dying man like this? You are truly wicked, utterly malicious…”

Yan Kuang wore a look of helplessness. “When did I say this was poison?”

“How could you not…” Cheng Ruoyi started to retort but then recalled that indeed Yan Kuang had never admitted it outright.

Damn it… what a trickster. Cheng Ruoyi cursed silently, curling into a ball from the pain. Though the fever had subsided somewhat, the wounds still throbbed and festered as Yan Kuang had said. The earlier deceit and emotional turmoil left his mind hazy. He closed his eyes, unwilling to argue further.

“Fine, if you don’t want to speak, I will,” Yan Kuang said, straightening his clothes and rising. “Miss Yuan came to the town inspection office yesterday causing a scene, demanding to see you. I had her escorted back to the Yuan estate.”

Cheng Ruoyi twitched his eyelids but kept his eyes closed.

“She hired assassins to kill the Du family girl, didn’t she?”

At these words, Cheng Ruoyi’s eyes snapped open. In their cloudy, bloodshot depths flashed surprise and a trace of fear.

Yan Kuang looked into his eyes and continued: “Yet you are willing to shoulder the blame, and she was willing to make a fuss before the Emperor, begging the Empress on your behalf. Such loyalty is truly moving.”

Cheng Ruoyi shook his head repeatedly. He lifted his gaze to Yan Kuang, his voice softening with a plea: “No… it really wasn’t her. Lord Yan… in any case, I’m doomed. You don’t want to offend the Yuan family or the Empress, do you? Just pin it on me, please, on me… I beg you…”

Suddenly, Cheng Ruoyi began coughing violently. Speaking so long had drained him. Though Yan Kuang had tricked him into taking the fever medicine, the wounds did indeed ache and fester. The cough caused fresh bleeding from the unhealed injuries.

He wished he had the courage to bash his head against the wall to die but did not. The pain was too intense. He had no time to think and could only beg the very cause of his suffering.

“Lord Yan… kill me. That way I can sign all the confessions you want.”

“Please… make it quick. The blade falling fast. After all, I’m no hero—my cheap skin and bones can’t endure much more…”

Yan Kuang’s brow tightened. Slowly, he reached toward Cheng Ruoyi’s neck.

Cheng Ruoyi thought he was about to be strangled. That would be better—no blood everywhere, no further shame.

But then, with a ripping sound—

Flesh tore. Cheng Ruoyi screamed in pain, “What are you doing?!”

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Yan Kuang yanked open his collar, exposing skin marred with scars and wounds, where dried blood clung to fabric. The separation of flesh and cloth brought fresh agony, tears streaming from Cheng Ruoyi’s eyes as he grabbed Yan Kuang’s sleeve, pulling down hard.

Red-eyed and gritting his teeth, Cheng Ruoyi struggled: “Yan Kuang! A scholar may be killed, but must not be humiliated! Let go… you… you don’t even dream it!”

“...?” Yan Kuang frowned in confusion, unsure how to respond, but then withdrew another bottle from his bosom.

Cheng Ruoyi trembled, staring at the dark red veins on the porcelain bottle. “What… what medicine is this?”

Yan Kuang held the bottle solemnly and explained, “This is healing medicine. Applied to wounds, it prevents inflammation and swelling. Within two days, they will heal.”

“Wonderful. Lord Yan, you see, I can’t apply medicine right now. I’m wounded in the back, so you deliberately took it out to mock me.”

Cheng Ruoyi sneered again, “You truly are no man. The title ‘King of Hell’ suits you perfectly…”

“The King of Hell and judge of souls is naturally not a man.” With that, Yan Kuang removed the stopper and dusted the powder onto the whip marks on Cheng Ruoyi’s chest.

The powder tingled softly but did not sting. Cheng Ruoyi pursed his lips, frowned, and drew back slightly, pondering: “Are you trying to be kind, hoping I’ll help you implicate others? You want me to live to testify falsely before the Emperor? No, no… the Emperor favors the consort, wishing I were dead to please her. He would never see me again. So you must have been bribed by Minister Han to torment me…”

“No one can buy me.”

With those words, Yan Kuang suddenly lifted his gaze sharply. Cheng Ruoyi shivered under the fierce look and dared not speak further.

Cheng Ruoyi’s main wounds were on his upper body and back. After treating his chest, Yan Kuang gripped his shoulders and pulled him out of the corner, stripping off his outer garment to continue. Cheng Ruoyi winced and cried out in pain.

“The clothes are stuck—oh, Lord Yan, they’re stuck and it hurts…”

Seeing the bloodstained lining, Yan Kuang pondered a moment before rising and leaving.

Cheng Ruoyi was stunned as he watched him go. The prison door stood wide open. He thought, This King of Hell really isn’t afraid I’ll escape… Then again, he’s hardly capable.

Not knowing what act Yan Kuang would perform next, Cheng Ruoyi adjusted his thin clothes and looked around. His mind raced through countless ways to end his misery. Before deciding, footsteps interrupted his thoughts.

Outside the cell stood the tall, grim King of Hell, carrying a bucket of water with a cloth draped over his shoulder.

Not again?

The thought of the icy bucket from before made Cheng Ruoyi wary. He closed his eyes and recoiled—

But the expected cold splash never came.

Peeking through barely opened lids, he saw Yan Kuang dip the cloth into the water, then gently moisten his undergarment, softening the matted blood and flesh before carefully rolling and removing the garment.

The King of Hell’s touch was gentle; Cheng Ruoyi felt no pain.

By the dim light of a small oil lamp on the table, Cheng Ruoyi glimpsed a hint of compassion in the demon’s eyes.

“Lord Yan…”

Yan Kuang acknowledged with a grunt, nudging him to turn. He scattered powder onto the wounds on Cheng Ruoyi’s back and slowly rubbed it in with his fingertips.

Cheng Ruoyi pressed his lips together, face against the wall, voice muffled.

“Lord Yan… I don’t want to harm anyone.”