Chapter 35: The Style of the Jiang Group

Luo Yucheng watched in agony as Xu Hanfeng continued to suffer inhumane torture. In a state of desperate anxiety, she screamed, "Stop! Please, stop! Don't hit him anymore! Wasn't the agreement twenty lashes? That’s twenty-two already—have you no integrity at all?"

Beside her, Jiang Hanchuan wore a pained expression, his eyes narrowed into slits as he stared at his 'leader' being lashed. His own body trembled involuntarily, and he had lost track of how many blows had been struck. Hearing Luo Yucheng’s cry, he jolted back to reality and chimed in, "Exactly! You bunch of dog-brained scum, have you no honor?"

The executioner breathed heavily, veins bulging on his forehead. Upon hearing the shouting, he halted his whip and strolled forward, his eyes filled with contempt. "I’ll hit as many times as I damn well please! What business is it of yours? Around here, I’m the one who decides!"

Jiang Hanchuan, burning with rage and beyond caring about the consequences, continued to curse, "You're the one who’s full of it! Who do you think you are?"

"Hmph! A dead duck with a stiff beak—you're next!" The mercenary sneered, waving his hand to signal his subordinates, who dragged Jiang Hanchuan out.

Even as two burly men hauled him away roughly, Jiang Hanchuan remained defiant. A mocking smirk curled his lips as he shouted, "Come on then! If I let out a single sound—"

Before he could finish, a sharp *swish* cut through the air. A pitch-black whip struck him with the ferocity of a gale.

"Ah!"
"Urgh!"
"Ya!"
"..."

A chorus of shrill, harrowing screams rose and fell, sounding like ghosts weeping in the night. Unable to bear the cruel spectacle, Luo Yucheng turned her head away, squeezing her eyes shut, desperate to keep these bloody, brutal images from etching themselves into her mind.

Inside the shipping container, the shadows of the whip danced like serpents. Each strike was accompanied by a heart-wrenching shriek. Old Sun, with his frail, aged body, had endured twenty lashes, but he was left clinging to life by a thread, collapsing onto the floor, barely breathing.

Little Huihui experienced a mix of fortune and tragedy. Xu Hanfeng, acting like a protective tiger, had shielded her with his own body, absorbing the rain of lashes. He was now battered and covered in wounds, yet he clenched his teeth and persevered.

Tears welled in Luo Yucheng’s eyes. Of everyone present, only Little Huihui and the infant in the swaddling clothes remained unbound. Luo Yucheng whispered into Little Huihui’s ear, and the girl produced some mandrake roots she had retrieved from beneath Luo Yucheng’s clothing—the last of her medicinal herbs. She distributed them to Xu Hanfeng, Old Sun, and the others. As they chewed, a numbness spread through their bodies, and the agony seemed to recede slightly.

However, before they could catch their breath, a new nightmare descended upon the family of three. The man was dragged out to the open ground, the whip falling like a torrential downpour. He wailed as if the Grim Reaper had him by the throat. The woman sobbed in inconsolable grief, but her screams garnered no mercy.

The mercenaries remained expressionless, their whips swinging with ever-increasing violence. The screams echoing within the container were enough to shatter one's eardrums.

"Shut up! You bunch of pigs!"

The executioner, losing patience, roared and dragged the man out of the container like a dead dog to continue the beating. Moments later, the man was tossed back in, barely recognizable as a human being.

Then, the mercenary’s gaze fell upon the infant in the swaddling clothes. A cruel smile played on his lips.

"Next, it’s his turn!" He pointed at the baby, his voice cold as ice.

"You beasts! How can you target a baby?" someone in the crowd cried out, but the voice was weak, like a flickering candle in the wind.

"We are just following orders!" The mercenaries remained cold, stepping forward to snatch the child. The mother tried desperately to shield her baby, but with her hands bound and her strength failing, she was kicked aside ruthlessly.

She fell to the ground, but she did not give up. Crawling to the executioner’s feet, she slammed her forehead against the ground, over and over, pleading, "Please! Please, spare my child..."

The mercenary crouched down, grabbed the woman by the throat, and gave her a playful look. "Begging me is useless, unless..." He dragged out the word, a malicious glint in his eyes.

Though her clothes were tattered and her face smeared with dirt, the woman’s natural beauty was undeniable. Understanding his implication, and for the sake of her child and her own survival, she gritted her teeth and whispered a few words with great difficulty.

"As long as you spare my child, I... I will do anything!"

The mercenary made no immediate promise. With a cold flick of his hand, he ordered his men to drag the woman away. He turned and followed with a steady, heavy stride, his footsteps echoing through the empty yard.

A moment later, the hatch opened again, and the woman was tossed back inside, hitting the floor with a thud. From the doorway, that icy voice pierced the air like a cold winter night.

"The whipping ends here for today. We continue tomorrow!"

As soon as he spoke, the heavy hatch of the container slammed shut with a *clang*, as if severing all hope and light from the outside world.

The woman before them now had bloodshot eyes; her clothes were torn, revealing mottled bruises; her hair was a disheveled mess, and her pants were shredded and stained with blood.

Yet, she seemed oblivious to it all. Ignoring the strange looks from the others, she crawled into the corner and curled up beside her child and her dying husband, as if they were the only refuge she had left in this world.

Inside the container, the light was as dim as the final embers of twilight. Everyone had lost track of day and night. They only knew that when those cruel tormentors returned to swing their whips, it meant another day of agony had passed.

A deathly silence filled the container. No one spoke; their eyes were hollow and dull, as if their very souls had been devoured by this endless torture. They all seemed to wish for a quick death to escape the torment of their shredded flesh.

Jiang Hanchuan lay motionless on the floor, his former bravado and spirit long gone. Blood still seeped from his wounds, staining his once-neat clothing in patches.

He opened his mouth slightly, his voice as thin as a thread. "Leader... Linyu, will he... come back to save us?" Xu Hanfeng, also severely wounded from shielding Little Huihui over the past two days, was pale as a sheet. He had no energy to address Jiang Hanchuan’s question, merely enduring the pain in silence.

Luo Yucheng, though also badly hurt, struggled to interject. "I... believe in Linyu! He... will definitely... come to save us!" Her voice was faint, yet carried a firm strength.

She then struggled to turn her head toward the others, her eyes shining with an unyielding light. "Everyone, stay... strong!" She seemed to pour all her remaining strength into those words, hoping everyone would hold on and not abandon that final shred of hope.

Jiang Hanchuan stared toward the hatch, his eyes vacant and unfocused. His eyelids felt heavy as lead, ready to close. He muttered, "Li Linyu! You... son of a bitch! Hurry... hurry up and come..."

Before he could finish, his eyelids finally gave way. He closed them slowly and drifted into unconsciousness.