In a dark and damp dungeon, thick with the stench of blood and mildew, a slender figure was imprisoned within a cell.
The young man's head was bowed, his messy, ink-black hair hiding most of his face. Special silver-black chains bound his hands. Long gashes had been cut into both of his wrists. A special concoction seemed to have been smeared on the injuries, preventing them from ever healing.
Crimson-gold blood trickled down from his wrists, forming a continuous stream that fell into the earthenware jars placed below.
Once full, someone would come and take the two jars of blood away.
It had been like this for the past six months.
CLANK.
The iron door opened.
A faint sliver of light streamed in, illuminating the visitor's form and face. Yun Qi's fingertips twitched, but he otherwise remained motionless. To an unknowing observer, he might have passed for a corpse.
"Qi."
