Chen Yang's heart sank even further. He knew all too well that there were far worse fates than death, especially for a young woman. There were countless horrific, unbearable things that could be done to her.
Cheng Jianhua continued, "Moreover, you're the Chosen One. The Chosen may die, but they never take their own life. Because as long as there's a breath left, there's hope. Isn't that right?"
Chen Yang replied coldly, "You're far too confident." He paused before adding, "Once I'm gone, why should I care about what happens after? When my soul scatters to the winds, leaving no trace in this world, why would I concern myself with Qin Moyao's fate among the living?"
Cheng Jianhua smiled faintly. "It seems you still haven't accepted your fate."
"Accept my ass," Chen Yang spat.
Cheng Jianhua's tone remained calm. "You should know that blasphemy carries infinite sin. Your disrespect towards me is blasphemy against the Buddha himself. I ought to teach you a lesson about the endless consequences of verbal transgressions and karmic retribution."
Chen Yang's eyes widened in fury, his anger giving way to bitter laughter. The audacity of Cheng Jianhua to compare himself to Buddha was infuriating. He wanted to unleash a torrent of curses, but he bit his tongue at the last moment.
Damn it, he thought. A wise man doesn't court trouble unnecessarily. In his current predicament, lashing out would only bring more suffering upon himself.
Meanwhile, Cheng Jianhua instructed Li Yang, who stood behind him, "Slap him ten times."
Li Yang complied, stepping in front of Chen Yang.
Chen Yang's heart raced. Never in his life had he endured such humiliation. But Li Yang showed no emotion as he proceeded to deliver ten resounding slaps across Chen Yang's face in quick succession.
Li Yang's strikes were forceful yet calculated.
The blows left Chen Yang seeing stars, his cheeks swollen and bloody. When Li Yang finished, Chen Yang spat out ten bloody teeth.
Li Yang returned to his position behind Cheng Jianhua.
Cheng Jianhua regarded Chen Yang impassively.
Chen Yang's eyes blazed with hatred as he glared at Cheng Jianhua, saying nothing. He knew better than to continue hurling insults—it would serve no purpose. But without a doubt, this was the greatest indignity Chen Yang had ever suffered in his life.
"I will kill you," Chen Yang snarled through gritted teeth, his voice dripping with ice-cold venom.
Cheng Jianhua met Chen Yang's gaze, the two locked in a silent standoff. After a long moment, Cheng Jianhua suddenly burst into laughter. When he finished, he said, "Chosen One, I know you're seething with hatred, wishing you could tear me to pieces. But the reality is, I will extract your destiny, and then I will end your life. Here, in this place, no one in heaven or on earth can save you. Grievously wounded as you are, you have no hope of saving yourself." He paused, standing up. "You have sixteen hours left until midnight. Savor these final moments of your life. Once your destiny is extracted, you'll find that even if you continue living, your existence will be worse than that of a dog."
With those parting words, he turned and left with Li Yang.
The heavy door of the alchemy chamber slammed shut, plunging the room back into darkness.
Chen Yang collapsed to the ground, utterly defeated.
Certainly. I'll continue the translation from where we left off:
The stinging pain on his face had yet to subside. Chen Yang's entire mouth felt numb. With his internal injuries slowing his blood circulation, his wounds were healing at an agonizingly slow pace.
In that moment, Chen Yang wanted to roar in fury, to unleash his formidable strength and shatter everything around him. But the harsh reality was that even the slightest exertion of his qi would cause his wounds to reopen, leading to more severe bleeding. This overwhelming sense of powerlessness was crushing. What good was his burning hatred in the face of such cruel reality?
A miracle—could there be one?
This was the real world, not a wuxia novel. Miracles were far and few between.
Chen Yang clenched his fists, his eyes bloodshot. He maintained this posture for a long time until exhaustion forced him to relax his grip.
Was it truly time to accept his fate?
Was this really how Chen Yang's story would end?
A profound sense of predestination washed over him. But he quickly dismissed the thought, realizing this was exactly the effect Cheng Jianhua wanted. If he truly resigned himself to his fate, if his will wavered, then his destiny would indeed be stripped away.
And once his destiny was taken, he would truly be finished.
Over the years, Chen Yang had lived life on the edge, brushing shoulders with death numerous times. It wasn't that his skills were invincible, allowing him to cheat death every time. Rather, his luck had been exceptionally good. How many mercenary kings, far more skilled than Chen Yang, had met their end from stray bullets?
In this world, while strength was important, luck accounted for at least seventy percent of survival. Only thirty percent came down to actual ability.
Time ticked by relentlessly. Soon, it was five in the afternoon.
During this time, no one had come to bring Chen Yang water or food. The alchemy chamber seemed like a forgotten place.
It made sense, in a cruel way. After all, Cheng Jianhua was planning to begin the "refinement" at midnight. A day without food or water wouldn't kill Chen Yang, so why bother providing for him?
Despite his severe injuries, Chen Yang's recovery abilities were still somewhat superior to an average person's. After nine hours of rest, he found he could slowly stand and walk. Of course, he wasn't ready to accept death just yet. Knowing his luck hadn't completely run out, he clung to a sliver of hope, desperately searching for a way out.
Chen Yang first approached the main door. It was made of iron, tightly shut and locked from the outside.
If he had been at full strength, he might have been able to break the lock. Now, he could only stare at it in frustration. In his desperation, Chen Yang began to entertain wild fantasies of finding some forgotten elixir or magical pill hidden in the alchemy chamber.
He was grasping at straws, hoping for a miracle.
But of course, this was pure wishful thinking.
After searching for a while, he was utterly exhausted. His physical condition was comparable to that of an 80-year-old woman. With no other option, Chen Yang sat down cross-legged to rest. Even the Great Sun and Moon Technique was useless now. While it was excellent for nourishing the body and improving blood circulation, it had no healing properties.
At the end of the day, martial arts weren't as miraculous as stories made them out to be. Chen Yang had no internal energy to heal his wounds. He could only recover quickly when his body was healthy.
As night fell, the room grew darker.
By eight o'clock, moonlight was streaming through the small window. Chen Yang's thoughts became increasingly chaotic. The approaching moonlight seemed to signify his growing proximity to death. Death itself wasn't frightening, but waiting for it was terrifying. His thoughts turned to Qin Moyao, and he felt a surge of guilt.
After all, this entire ordeal was an undeserved calamity for Qin Moyao. It was Chen Yang who had dragged her into this mess. Otherwise, she would probably still be happily working as a squad leader in Binhai City.
Chen Yang tried to reassure himself that Qin Moyao wouldn't be violated. After all, Cheng Jianhua, Long Xuan, and Li Yang, despite being villains, weren't the type of lowlifes to commit such despicable acts.
Then another thought struck him—wasn't this whole situation just as much an undeserved calamity for himself?
What did the grudges between Cheng Jianhua, Bai Yinshuang, and their so-called Patriarch have to do with him? What possessed him to jump into this mess?
If he hadn't come here, he'd still be living a carefree life in Binhai City, sneaking peeks at Sister Qing in the shower. How peaceful that would have been.
As Chen Yang's mind wandered, he suddenly had a chilling realization.
Was this what Bai Yinshuang meant by the mysterious threads of fate?
Had an invisible hand of destiny led him here? Was this to be the end of his life's journey?
He pondered many things but came to no conclusions.
His gaze eventually settled on the dragon-engraved alchemical furnace. Curiosity struck him—what kind of elixirs were made in such a furnace?
Chen Yang knew about alchemy in Xianxia novels, but those were fiction. In ancient times, some did attempt to create elixirs for emperors, but those concoctions were often made of mercury and lead—fake elixirs that often hastened the emperor's death rather than granting immortality.
Chen Yang mused that the Xuanyi Sect, being true masters of the mystic arts with deep knowledge of fate, feng shui, and magnetic field convergence, surely wouldn't create fake elixirs. So what exactly did they make in that furnace?
Try as he might, he couldn't figure it out.
Just then, footsteps sounded from outside.
It was Li Yang.
Chen Yang remained seated cross-legged, wondering, "What does he want now?"
The iron door swung open, allowing pale moonlight to flood in.
Li Yang stood there in all black, his handsome face as cold and expressionless as ever.
Chen Yang looked at Li Yang, recalling how it was Li Yang who had slapped him earlier. Even if Li Yang was just following orders, he had struck with unnecessary force. The contempt in his eyes had been enough to infuriate Chen Yang. Given the chance, Chen Yang would definitely kill Li Yang.
But for now, that was just a pipe dream.
Li Yang entered, pulled up a chair, and sat down in front of Chen Yang, looking down at him.
"What do you want?" Chen Yang spoke first.
Li Yang replied coolly, "I wanted to see if there's any difference between the Chosen One and ordinary people."
Chen Yang asked, "And what did you see?"
Li Yang responded coldly, "Disappointment. You're no different from ordinary people when facing death."
Chen Yang lowered his gaze, his interest waning. "If you have nothing else to say, you can leave now."
A flash of anger appeared in Li Yang's eyes. "You look down on me, don't you?"
Chen Yang glanced at Li Yang before saying, "Despite your cold facade, I have to say, you're quite sensitive inside. Why so sensitive? Is it because you're a traitor? Someone who would sell out their own country—do you really expect me to regard you any differently?"
Li Yang suddenly became agitated, his eyes reddening. He lashed out with a kick aimed at Chen Yang's neck.
With a thud, Chen Yang was violently thrown to the ground, his face scraping against the floor, leaving bloody marks. Li Yang coldly pressed his foot onto Chen Yang's neck, sneering, "You bastard, you dare mock me?"
Chen Yang couldn't help but cough up blood, feeling utterly humiliated. His fists clenched and unclenched. The hatred he felt was overwhelming, but the most tormenting aspect was the psychological despair.
Because he had no hope of turning the tables.
What people fear most isn't death, but the absence of hope.
At this point, Li Yang removed his foot. Chen Yang struggled to sit up.
"Weren't you all sharp-tongued earlier? What happened? Cat got your tongue?" Li Yang taunted with a cold smile. "Do you want to kill me? Are you feeling desperate?"
Chen Yang took a deep breath and closed his eyes.