Chapter 21: Dungeon Turmoil
When he was first deceived and brought to the dungeon, Xue Yan was not very flustered.
As a noble of Chang'an, he was destined to become a pillar of the imperial court in the provinces, so naturally, he did not fear this group of monks.
He devised many strategies in his mind, waiting for the opportunity to make a move in Anguo Temple, to let his parents and uncles know that he was already twelve years old and no longer a child.
When he first learned that the monks intended to starve them, Xue Yan was even a little disdainful.
Other than being punished by his parents for being mischievous as a child, Xue Yan had never experienced hunger; he thought being hungry was nothing more than craving food a little.
He was already a twelve-year-old man—surely he could endure a bit of craving!
But after going more than a day without eating, all that remained in his mind were memories of delicious food.
At first, the hunger grew worse and worse, so unbearable that he even considered biting his own fingers.
Slowly, just as Xue Yan thought he could get used to the hunger, the warrior monks would start eating right outside the cell.
Let alone biting into a drumstick—just the crisp sound of them eating a single peanut, the melody of the nut dancing between their teeth, would make Xue Yan relive countless times in his mind the blissful experience of eating peanuts.
The hopeless hunger sliced at his soul like a small knife over and over again.
At such moments, he could only force himself to listen to the nonsense of the newly arrived girl beside him.
Among this group of second-generation nobles from Chang'an who loved to flaunt their family backgrounds, this girl was undoubtedly the type with a better memory.
Xue Yan not only learned that she was the third daughter of the Yang family, but also knew who her grandfather was, who her father was, who her uncles were, how many relatives she had, and what positions they held.
In the end, Xue Yan not only ended up hungry, but was also forced to gather intelligence on the Yang Third Miss’s entire family—he hadn’t even understood his own family this thoroughly!
In a daze, Xue Yan would occasionally recall those emaciated corpses he saw outside Chang'an, remember the starving people fighting over gruel during his family's charity work, recall the roadside children with grass signs, the kneeling men, the women selling themselves...
He had never understood, nor had he been interested in understanding, the sufferings of these lower-class people.
He thought they were like weeds—flourishing when the weather was favorable, withering under thunder and frost.
If weeds withered, then let them wither—who mourned the loss of weeds?
They would grow back next year anyway; the land had never lacked weeds.
Until he lay in this filthy, stinking dungeon full of the stench of excrement and urine, he finally realized he was no more noble than a weed.
He would lower his head like a weed, sell himself like a weed, and in the end, wither like a weed.
The world had abandoned him.
Heaven’s justice had abandoned him.
If one day their roles were reversed, he would also let them know what cruelty meant!
Just as this twelve-year-old boy believed he had grasped the truth of the world, a pair of twin brothers descended from the heavens and burst into the cell, interrupting the blackened enlightenment he was brewing.
Though the brothers also managed to trap the monk Benzhi who had been aiding Ciji Courtyard’s evil deeds, Xue Yan still found them incredibly foolish.
They knew it was a trap—so why did they still come in?
Though appealing to the authorities might be futile, if An Liu could stir up enough trouble, perhaps they could force Anguo Temple to release their group.
Not to mention, they even thought of blocking the dungeon door to starve Benzhi to death—
Even if, by the most far-fetched chance, they succeeded in starving him, what good would it do?
Wouldn’t the two of them still be trapped here?
One person being unlucky, versus two people plus an enemy being unlucky—which was better?
No matter how he thought about it, Xue Yan believed An Liu should have abandoned An Wu instead of coming to die with him.
Were these commoners so dismissive of their own lives?
Moreover, by blocking the door, An Wu and An Liu not only offended the bald monks of Anguo Temple, but also angered the people in the cell.
Not everyone was so hard-boned; even Xue Yan himself had given up.
Before An Wu and An Liu arrived, some people had already begged the warrior monks for food, saying they were willing to comply.
But Anguo Temple seemed to have a set procedure—they had to starve people for a certain number of days before moving to the next step.
After An Wu and An Liu blocked the door, not only could Benzhi not leave, but the rest of them, the victims, couldn’t leave either.
A day later, the warrior monks, seeing that An Wu and An Liu refused to sleep and insisted on guarding the door, began eating fine food and drink just outside.
While Xue Yan and the others starved, they were told that their hunger was An Wu and An Liu’s fault for blocking the door.
The tactic was effective.
Though Xue Yan said nothing, the others began to complain about An Wu and An Liu.
When An Wu and An Liu gave no response, the complaints turned into insults, the insults turned into resentment.
In the end, they even believed that their hunger was entirely the fault of An Wu and An Liu, cursing them to get out of the way and stop blocking the door.
In that moment, both the perpetrators and the victims united in a shared hatred, denouncing their common enemies together.
Yet An Wu and An Liu still gave no response.
Xue Yan really wanted to know how they felt.
Emotionally, they had trapped the monk Benzhi, which counted as a bit of revenge for Xue Yan and the others.
Logically, by blocking the door, they were also protecting Xue Yan and the rest from being taken away by the warrior monks.
Yet no one appreciated them.
Everyone resented them for causing more trouble.
Outside the cell were the enemy’s jeers and abuse; inside were their own people’s insults and resentment.
But the two of them were like rocks—silently enduring the waves of malice.
Let the storm rage; I remain unmoved.
Xue Yan’s gaze toward them shifted from initial disdain to nothing but incomprehensible curiosity.
What exactly were they holding on to?
What exactly were they waiting for?
What exactly... were they?
By the third day, everyone was exhausted, all waiting for the moment An Wu and An Liu collapsed.
Everyone knew that moment wouldn’t be far—three days without food, water, or sleep, even a Messenger couldn’t endure that.
Xue Yan lay on the filthy straw.
Having not eaten anything for six days and only drunk water, even staying conscious was now a luxury.
I'm going to die, Xue Yan thought.
That’s fine.
He could die with his name clean, without dishonoring the Xue family.
In the next life... may he live in a world where no one dies of hunger...
In a haze, he seemed to see someone walk up to him.
Then a pill mixed with water was stuffed into his mouth.
The pill melted instantly, its taste full of medicinal herbs, but not bitter.
Thump.
His heart pounded with powerful force.
The hunger in his stomach faded rapidly, his foggy mind began to clear, and even his body—days without any food—was recovering strength at an unimaginable speed!
Xue Yan opened his eyes and sat up, seeing An Liu giving water and feeding pills to the collapsed crowd.
Those who took the pill got up one by one.
Though they were thin and pale, their energy and spirit visibly returned!
"I'm not hungry anymore! I'm not hungry!"
"Give me another one, I feel much better after taking it!"
"What kind of miraculous pill is this?"
"Healing Pill!" Compared to the ignorant crowd, the well-informed Xue Yan revealed the truth in one breath: "This is an elixir only found in secret realms. You actually have so many of them!"
The commotion in the cell naturally caught the attention of the warrior monks.
Seeing the people who had been starving for days getting up one after another, and hearing Xue Yan's voice, they immediately sensed something was wrong.
They planned to split up—one to keep an eye on the cell, the other to notify the rest.
And just at that moment—
Whoosh.
With a breath like a long river, An Wu’s body, blocking the dungeon door, suddenly swelled with muscle.
Blue veins popped out.
Though his outer appearance was still that of a small, thin boy, the powerful surge of vital energy and blood made it impossible for anyone to ignore his presence!
Any Messenger would instantly recognize what had just happened to An Wu!
"You actually changed class!?" The warrior monk couldn't believe it. "In this place, at this moment—how could it be—"
Zheng!
A White Iron Straight Blade suddenly appeared in An Wu’s hand.
He swung it, sending out two arcs of Moonring Blade Light, instantly slicing through the iron bars of the dungeon cell!