Chapter Two: The Demon’s Cage

"My name is Hawk Nine, warden of the cages. You need only remember one thing: do not attempt to escape, for that is nothing but courting death. If you wish to kill yourself, that's your own affair."

Nan Luo wanted to ask what this was all about—why he had been brought here, what purpose any of this served—but before the words could leave his lips, Hawk Nine reached out a skeletal hand, tapping him on the forehead.

His fingers were black and thin, the nails as dark and sharp as blades. Fear surged in Nan Luo’s heart; he tried to dodge, but found his body already frozen, unable to move. He felt with chilling clarity those knife-like nails etching into his forehead, a searing pain as if the mark were being carved into his very soul. Blood trickled down his cheek. Every stroke felt engraved into his heart, and suddenly Nan Luo realized: the mark must be the number nineteen. A wave of humiliation overwhelmed him, momentarily blotting out the unbearable pain.

At last, those bony fingers halted. Nan Luo’s eyes were now bloodshot, the veins on his forehead starkly visible.

Hawk Nine flipped his hard, blackened hand, revealing a spotless white jade tablet in his palm, just the width and length of Nan Luo’s brow. Without hesitation, he pressed it against Nan Luo’s forehead. A flash of golden light enveloped the jade, then vanished instantly.

Suddenly, Nan Luo found he could move again.

His right fist shot out, intent on shattering those cold eyes, on breaking those cruel hands. Never had he so fiercely desired to kill someone. He threw all his strength into the blow; in his heart, this man’s loathsomeness rivaled even the white wolf’s.

Bang! Nan Luo was kicked hard in the stomach, sent flying to crash against the iron bars of the cage, then crumpling to the ground with a smack.

The pain was so intense it left him unable to even sit up. As Hawk Nine approached step by step, Nan Luo struggled to rise, to straighten his back, but it was agonizingly difficult—no matter how he tried, his body would not obey.

Hawk Nine’s face remained as cold and inhuman as ever, as though wearing a human mask but forgetting to paint on any expression. Grabbing Nan Luo by one leg, he dragged him across the floor toward a small cage.

With a thud, Nan Luo was thrown inside. The iron door slammed shut with a metallic clang.

Nan Luo rolled on the ground, biting his lip so hard to stifle any sound that blood seeped from the corners of his mouth.

A white jade slip landed on the ground with a slap, tossed by Hawk Nine. Nan Luo saw clearly the two defiant characters inscribed on it—Nineteen.

"This jade slip contains the cultivation method you are to practice. It’s the same for everyone. Simply press the jade to your forehead and follow its guidance." Hawk Nine looked down at Nan Luo. "For a human to make it here is already an honor. Do not attempt resistance; it will only lead to a meaningless death."

His voice was as rigid and cold as his expression. Without another word, just like the Third Young Master and the white-haired old man before him, he turned and left. He didn’t even bother to hear if Nan Luo had anything to say.

In that moment, Nan Luo noticed how similar the three looked from behind. From beginning to end, Hawk Nine had said nothing about Nan Luo’s attempted attack, as if brushing dust from his sleeve—would anyone bother to speak to dust?

The sky was a brilliant blue, but the wind carried a chill that seeped into the bones.

A solitary cliff rose, looking down upon the land with the disdain of a king, its arrogance unbridled over all living things below.

The stabbing pain in Nan Luo’s body finally began to subside; his form, curled like a shrimp, slowly loosened. He tried to avert his gaze from the white jade slip and the two blood-red characters—Nineteen—on the blue stone slab, but no matter how he tried, they remained inescapable. Even with his eyes closed, they burned in his mind, on his heart, and upon his brow.

A gust of wind brushed by. Nan Luo felt a faint itch on his forehead; reaching up, he found the skin there unnaturally smooth.

He slowly sat up and looked around. The round cage contained three others, seated at the points of a triangle. One sat with closed eyes, meditating as if he cared nothing for the world beyond himself. Through the other’s disheveled hair, Nan Luo saw two golden characters on his forehead—Sixteen.

A sudden, inexplicable dislike for "Sixteen" welled up in Nan Luo’s heart; he was certain the man was cultivating the method from his jade slip.

Of the other two, one was slight of build. When Nan Luo’s gaze fell on him, he immediately looked away, shrinking like a frightened rabbit, hiding his face in his knees and peeking out only in secret. Nan Luo couldn’t make out what number was on his forehead.

The third was tall, taller even than Nan Luo, but he seemed oblivious to Nan Luo’s scrutiny, instead sizing Nan Luo up and down at his leisure. His forehead was smeared entirely black, the skin a stark contrast to the rest of his face, obscuring any mark. Nan Luo guessed he’d deliberately covered the number with dust.

"They must be Seventeen and Eighteen," he thought.

Nan Luo inched over to lean against the bars like the others, finding in that posture a small sense of safety.

His eyes were drawn again to the jade slip, its blood-colored inscription stabbing at his heart. He resolved that even if he died, he would not touch that jade slip. His loathing for Sixteen, who cultivated so diligently, only deepened.

Hunched over his knees, Nan Luo suddenly heard a cold, mechanical voice. Looking up, he saw it was Hawk Nine.

"This is a fasting pill. It will keep you from hunger for a month." Hawk Nine had appeared outside the cage without a sound, his face as hard, his voice as chilling as ever.

He tossed a golden pill into the cell; it rolled to a stop at Nan Luo’s feet. The sight of it, the same color as the mark on his forehead, filled Nan Luo with bitter irony.

Without another word, Hawk Nine departed. Nan Luo didn’t notice where he went. Glancing around, he sensed that in the distant, towering buildings, unseen eyes were watching him. Even the pill on the ground seemed to mock him from its golden perch.

Time seemed to freeze, or else rush by so quickly that Nan Luo could no longer distinguish reality from dream.

Suddenly, the sky darkened.

Nan Luo looked up, but saw no sun. It was as if the sun had never existed here. A mass of ink-black clouds had silently gathered overhead.

Out of nowhere, a silent spray of sparks flickered through the clouds, casting the cage in fitful flashes of light and darkness.

A bolt of lightning—soundless, blinding—stabbed down, exploding with a crack beside Nan Luo’s ear. His mind went blank, a roar filling his skull, the image of burning lightning seared into his thoughts, his consciousness suspended in eternity.

The instant the lightning struck, Nan Luo was flung into the center of the cage, his limbs twitching uncontrollably.

Thunder boomed, and rain poured down in torrents. The icy drops shocked Nan Luo awake. In a daze, he tried to rise, but his limbs were numb, trembling violently. Panic gripped him as he gasped for breath; water streaming across the blue stone floor threatened to drown him.

Lightning continued to flicker, illuminating the three others in the cell, their golden numbers—Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen—glaring in the storm. In their eyes, Nan Luo thought he saw ridicule and schadenfreude.

Though the lightning had left him paralyzed, lying helpless on the ground, Nan Luo felt the rain’s chill stabbing into him like needles. Only hours before, the air had been warm as spring, but now it was the dead of winter.

"Let me die. Let me die! Death would end this pain, free me from this humiliation. Just let me die," was all Nan Luo could think. In the end, he couldn’t tell if he was conscious or lost in oblivion; the world outside had become numb and distant.

The night was long, but inevitably passed. The sun leapt from the eastern horizon, its rays piercing Nan Luo’s eyes and waking him.

He had thought he would die last night, yet somehow he survived. Struggling, he returned to his spot. The other three had not moved either: Sixteen sat meditating as before, the timid one—his clothes soaked from the rain—now seemed even smaller and frailer, and the number on his forehead was Seventeen. The one who had been eyeing Nan Luo was Eighteen. The black smear on his face, washed away by the rain, revealed the number at last.

Glancing at the larger cell across from them, Nan Luo saw its occupants lined up by the bars, all meditating like Sixteen. He felt only contempt and disgust—no matter how much they cultivated, were they not still caged, bred like livestock? What difference was there between them and the animals raised by his clan?

Death seemed preferable to this.

The sun soon climbed to its zenith, blazing overhead. The memory of last night’s icy rain still haunted Nan Luo, yet now the sunlight felt like fire roasting him alive. Sweat poured from him, evaporating instantly, sapping his strength and spirit. Sixteen, Seventeen, and Eighteen, however, all sat calmly cultivating, seeming to resist the heat with ease. Even Seventeen and Eighteen had less sweat on their faces than Nan Luo.

Nan Luo glanced at the white jade slip lying undisturbed on the stone, its bloody inscription glaring up at him. He quickly looked away.

A wave of hunger seized his belly. He hadn’t eaten since being brought here the previous morning. How could a mortal body not feel hunger? He hadn’t touched the fasting pill that could stave off hunger for a month.

Stubbornly, he refused to look at the tempting golden pill. To eat it would be to become one of these caged creatures, no longer truly human.

Sweat streamed down his face, only to be instantly vaporized, draining his spirit further.

Minute by minute, time crawled by. As the sun set, Nan Luo finally collapsed. He no longer had the strength even to sit slumped. Lying on the scorching stone floor, the fasting pill and the cultivation method—so close, yet so far—beckoned him with the promise of relief from hunger and protection from heat and cold.

Nan Luo felt his senses fading, his whole body light and weak.

Night fell again. The stone floor cooled, as if some bottomless abyss beneath sucked every trace of warmth away. The chill seeped up relentlessly.

The cold night was windless, moonless, starless—a darkness complete. Even so, Nan Luo could still see, with painful clarity, the golden fasting pill, the white jade slip, and the two blood-red characters—Nineteen.

He shut his eyes, not wanting to see them anymore. As he did, something soft and cold drifted onto his brow and lashes, melting into droplets that trickled down the corners of his eyes.