“Why… why can they see it? Weren’t they not supposed to…?”
Chen Youzai muttered incoherently, no longer feeling the pain in his crushed hand.
In his mind flickered images of his mother, his classmates. A boundless sorrow surged upward.
Is it… truly impossible to return?
Darkness claimed him once more.
In his dreams, endless quarrels rang in his ears—angry accusations, shrill screams. He frowned faintly, feeling someone gently stroke his cheek.
The touch was as tender as his mother’s—reserved only for times when he was ill.
The Third Prince gazed down at the man beneath him.
Ever since he had dispatched trusted aides to secretly monitor Mu Xueshi, troubling reports had arrived in succession. Now, to think that vile wretches had dared to lay hands upon this pure and spotless person—
The Third Prince’s eyes twitched, his expression darkening.
His fingers lingered for a moment too long against that smooth skin before he abruptly withdrew, cutting off his own wandering thoughts.
Taking brown inked clay, he carefully smeared it across Mu Xueshi’s face, watching with a faint smile as peerless beauty turned unsightly and coarse.
Mu Xueshi… I await the day you beg for mercy.
When Chen Youzai awoke again, nothing had changed.
The warmth of the dream evaporated like mist.
The wooden cangue on his hands had been removed at some unknown time, though shackles still bound his ankles—likely to prevent escape.
He searched himself thoroughly, every place that might conceal an object.
No coin.
Realization dawned.
There was no turning point left.
With a wail, Chen Youzai burst into tears.
He no longer cared about dignity. No one here knew him.
He only wanted to go home.
The thought of living out his days in such misery filled him with terror and regret. Had it not been for his reckless curiosity, he could have continued an ordinary life.
What use was being handsome here?
He would still suffer like this.
His sobbing drew countless vacant stares. Half-delirious, he looked up at the numb faces around him, pleading desperately.
“Let me go home… I want to see my mom… I want… I want to go to school… Take me back… please take me back…”
He grabbed at the clothes of the man beside him; the fabric tore instantly to shreds.
When that one ignored him, he turned to another, pulling and begging, nearly mad.
Though the prisoners were wasted by hardship, they still possessed basic strength. And this body of his was frail beyond measure.
Several men lunged at once.
His clothes were ripped apart entirely. He lay flat on the ground, unable to move.
Their gazes burned.
Despite the hideous face, the exposed skin was astonishingly smooth and pale. The nearly translucent neck stood in stark contrast to the coarse features above—like a stranger’s head fixed upon another’s body.
Futile Devices Scans 
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