Even women who travel through time can become prime ministers and nobles.

Chapter 481 Torture and Injustice

Choi Ji-ho was awakened by the pain.

The musty smell in the cell, mixed with the stench of rotting wounds on my body, seeped into my nostrils, and every breath felt like swallowing tiny razor blades.

He tried to move his fingers, but found that his wrists were chained to the iron rings at the head of the bed, his fingertips were bluish-purple, and there were still scabs of blood from yesterday's nailing in his fingers.

Although the thin iron nail did not pierce the bone, it did embed itself in the flesh. At the slightest touch, excruciating pain shot up the fingertip and up the arm.

He opened his eyes, his vision was so blurry that he could only see a sliver of light coming in from the window, and he guessed that it was already morning.

The wounds on my body were simply wrapped in a tattered cloth, but the seeping blood had already soaked through the cloth, sticking to my skin and flesh, and every movement caused excruciating pain.

Lei Zhao acted like a madman, using every torture instrument available in the interrogation room.

After the nails were driven into his fingers, salt water was poured over his body. The cold salt water seeped into the chapped wounds, causing him to convulse in pain. As soon as the salt water was over, he was put on a standing cage. The wooden splinters in the cage pierced his soles, causing them to bleed. He was not allowed to fall down even when his legs were weak.

Even for meals, they only gave him spoiled rice porridge, and sometimes they didn't give him any at all, hoping that he would give in because of hunger and pain.

But Choi Ji-ho refused.

He would rather chew on dry grass to stave off hunger, and rather writhe in pain at night, than utter a single word about Shi Wanxia or the account books.

He had only one thought in his mind—hold on, wait for Cui Jiu to deliver the account books to the capital, wait for His Majesty to order the arrest of Prince Rongyang, and then all of this will be over.

"Clang-"

The cell door was suddenly pushed open, interrupting Choi Ji-ho's thoughts.

He strained to lift his eyes and saw Lei Zhao clutching a secret letter, his face as black as the bottom of a pot, followed by two jailers carrying new instruments of torture.

A wooden stick covered in coarse sand, clearly used for beating flesh.

Lei Zhao walked to the bedside and slammed the secret letter onto the straw mat in front of Cui Zhihao. The letter unfolded, revealing messy yet sharp handwriting filled with rebukes: "Lei Zhao is incompetent! He can't even pry a prisoner's mouth open, can't retrieve the account books, and even allowed the Cui family members to escape to the capital! If you ruin my important affairs, you'll come back with your head!"

This is a letter written in Rongyang King's own handwriting.

Choi Ji-ho glanced at the words on the letter, a faint smile tugging at his chapped lips: "Lord Lei... this means... you got scolded?"

"Shut up!"

Lei Zhao kicked the bed leg hard, causing the bed to shake and tearing at Cui Zhihao's wound, causing him to groan and break out in a cold sweat.

Seeing his appearance, Lei Zhao's anger intensified. "It's all your fault! If you hadn't been so stubborn, how could I have been scolded by the Prince? How could I have ended up in this situation!"

He stepped forward, grabbed Choi Ji-ho by the collar, and forced him to sit up.

Choi Ji-ho's body had long been exhausted from the torture, and he could only let him pull on him. The wound on his chest was torn open, and blood dripped down his clothes.

"Choi Jiho, I'm asking you one last time,"

Lei Zhao's voice trembled, half with anger and half with the anxiety of being driven to the brink.

"Where exactly is Shi Wanxia? Are there any copies of the account books? Tell me, and I'll heal your wounds, give you good food and drink, and even let you leave!"

Looking at the urgency in his eyes, Choi Ji-ho suddenly found it laughable.

He coughed twice, the phlegm tinged with blood, yet his smile remained resolute: "Lord Lei... don't waste your energy... even if I die... I will never... let your conspiracy succeed..."

"Good! What a fine 'I'd rather die than'!"

Lei Zhao suddenly released his grip, and Cui Zhihao fell heavily back onto the bed, the pain making his vision go black.

Lei Zhao turned and roared at the jailer, "Bring me that sand cane! Even if I have to break his bones, I'll make him talk!"

The jailer dared not hesitate and quickly handed over the sand stick.

The sand stick was covered in coarse sand, its body hard and heavy. Lei Zhao took the sand stick, weighed it in his hand, and stared at Cui Zhihao's leg with a fierce look: "I know you come from the Cui family of Qinghe, and you value your life very much."

"But if you keep being stubborn, I'll break your legs first, then your arms—even if the prince blames me, I'll accept it!"

Cui Zhihao closed his eyes and said nothing more. He knew that Lei Zhao wasn't bluffing.

Lei Zhao's temper has become increasingly volatile these past few days, clearly driven to desperation by the Prince of Rongyang's scolding, and he has lost all his previous restraint.

"Snapped!"

The sand-covered stick landed heavily on Choi Ji-ho's left leg, the stick's coarse sand instantly tearing through his skin and flesh, the burning pain drilling into his bone marrow.

Choi Ji-ho shuddered, his teeth grinding together, his fingernails digging deep into the old wound on his palm, breaking the newly formed scab.

"Don't tell me!"

Lei Zhao swung his stick again, this time landing on his right leg.

"I...won't...say..."

Choi Ji-ho's voice was hoarse like a broken gong, yet it remained firm.

One blow after another, the sand stick landed on legs, back, and arms, each strike accompanied by the sound of flesh being scraped and torn. Blood quickly soaked through the straw mat, forming small pools of blood on the ground.

Choi Jiho's body began to tremble uncontrollably, the pain almost making him faint, but he gritted his teeth and swallowed all the cries of pain, only occasionally letting out a muffled groan.

The jailer, watching from the side, turned pale and couldn't help but whisper, "Sir... if you keep beating him, Young Master Cui might really not make it... what if the Prince finds out..."

"What are you afraid of!"

Lei Zhao abruptly stopped, the sand stick clattering to the ground. He gasped for breath, looking at Cui Zhihao's bloodied and mangled body on the bed, his eyes filled with resentment.

"If he dies, it's his own fault! I refuse to believe there's anyone in this world who isn't afraid of pain!"

He crouched down, grabbed Choi Ji-ho's hair, and forced him to look up.

Choi Jiho's face was bloodless, his lips were cracked and dry, and his eyes were half-open, but his gaze was still unyielding, like a lone wolf on the verge of death but still vigilant.

“Choi Ji-ho, remember this,”

Lei Zhao's voice was as cold as ice, "Today is just the beginning. As long as you don't say anything, I'll come every day! I want to see how long you can keep up this stubbornness!"

After saying that, he violently shook off Cui Zhihao's hair, stood up, and ordered the jailer, "Keep an eye on him! Don't let him die! When he wakes up, keep him hungry. Only give him food when he comes to his senses!"

The jailer quickly agreed, and Lei Zhao glanced at Cui Zhihao on the bed with a complicated expression.

There was anger, resentment, and a hint of admiration that even he himself didn't realize.

He gritted his teeth, turned around and walked out of the cell. The cell door slammed shut, and the previous deathly silence returned.

Choi Ji-ho lay on the bed, his consciousness gradually fading. He could feel the blood still flowing through his body, and the pain in his wounds growing more intense, yet a slow smile crept onto his lips.

He recalled his father's words: "The sons of the Cui family should be loyal to the emperor and love their country, and would rather die than dishonor their principles."

He did it.

If we can just hold on for a few more days, and if Cui Jiu can successfully deliver the account books to the capital, then it will all be worth it.

He closed his eyes, letting the darkness engulf his consciousness, with only one thought in his mind—hold on, he had to hold on.