Naming Technique of the Night

Pain.

Excruciating pain.

As the numbness faded, boundless pain enveloped him like thousands of needles piercing his skin, while the burning sensation of his wounds felt as though he was being roasted over flames.

Qing Chen slowly opened his eyes and found himself lying in a decrepit room.

Finger locks and wrist shackles remained tightly clamped around his fingers and wrists.

"Why am I here? Was someone able to save me? No, I haven't been saved," Qing Chen silently pondered.

He had briefly regained consciousness once before when he was clearly on board an airship; whoever had saved him shouldn't have brought him to a place like this.

Moreover, anyone capable of intercepting an airship would surely have had the means to unlock the finger locks and wrist shackles.

Qing Chen looked around, enduring the pain.

The house was small with wooden, worn-out walls.

In the corner, there lay a pile of logging tools.

In the center of the room, a stove burned, upon which sat an old, black iron kettle emitting white steam from its spout.

The place was not particularly cold, with freshly added wood in the stove indicating that someone had not strayed too far.

Qing Chen took stock of his injuries in silence; he had been dressed in a worn cotton-padded jacket with bandages nearly enveloping his entire body underneath.

The slightest movement made it feel as though there wasn't a single part of his body that wasn't in pain.

He closed his eyes, catching his breath quietly.

It was as if he had suddenly returned to the No. 18 prison he had just escaped from, facing that overwhelming predicament.

Only this time, Qing Chen knew he might not find another Uncle Li Dong.

At some point, he recalled something Shadow had said to him.

"The 599 meters up the green mountain's sheer cliff were walked with your predecessor's guidance, but the last meter is for you to walk alone."

Qing Chen didn't know if he still had a chance to survive, but perhaps this was what they called the last meter.

No one could help him now.

He had to help himself.

Time passed, he wasn't sure how long.

The door creaked open.

Someone entered, and the cold outside wind gushed in, chilling the already weak Qing Chen to the bone.

He had never felt as weak as he did now, so weak it seemed to hinder his thoughts.

The agony that riddled every nerve was an indescribable torment at every moment.

The seven people who entered were all too familiar to him; they were none other than Jindai Yunhe's arresting squad.

Jindai Yunhe, dressed plainly, looked at Qing Chen and said, "You're awake? That's rare. After waking up, you didn't try to escape. Have you given up?"

Qing Chen replied calmly, "Hiding in the chill outside, expecting me to attempt escaping only to be captured again—this is to break me down, time and time again, to collapse my psychological defenses. It's a typical psychological warfare tactic of yours, isn't it?"

In a hopeless situation, once a person sees a glimmer of hope, they invest their entire being into it.

When that hope shatters, their mind is on the verge of collapse.

Too many cannot bear the cruelty of having their last lifeline taken away.

Unfazed by having his strategy exposed, Jindai Yunhe signaled his subordinates to start cooking, then approached Qing Chen with a sneer and said, "The renowned Qing Chen Inspector from Intelligence Department One, your will to live doesn't seem that strong."

Saying this, he pressed hard against the wound on Qing Chen's right ribs inflicted by a wolf's bite.

In an instant, Qing Chen felt as if a branding iron seared his flesh, his body involuntarily curling up like a shrimp.

But to the surprise of others in the hut, the frail young man didn't make a sound from beginning to end.

Jindai Yunhe said serenely, "It's normal for humans to cry out in pain. There's no need to resist it. Just grunt, grunt once, and I'll let go. See, you don't even have to beg."

Yet, Qing Chen remained silent.

The will's barrier does not distinguish forms of capitulation; whether it's pain or pleading, it's fundamentally a retreat.

He could back down this time and maybe it wouldn't matter.

But incremental retreats could eventually herald the collapse of one's will.

So what Qing Chen could do was not to retreat, not even a single step.

Jindai Yunhe raised an eyebrow, "Futile resistance... You, come torture him elsewhere until he cries out."

After he spoke, he let go and another subordinate took over.

The subordinate's hand, like iron tongs, gripped Qing Chen's right arm wound, watching as fine beads of sweat formed on Qing Chen's forehead, quickly soaking through his clothes.

The young man's muscles trembled; this pain was not fake.

In that moment, Qing Chen closed his eyes and tried to sink into the world of moral persuasion to avoid the suffering.

But it was to no avail.

Suddenly, Qing Chen's consciousness was involuntarily submerged in memories.

He returned to that night scaling the green mountain's sheer cliff.

Over and over, he climbed, braving Cao Wei's crossbow arrows.

Over and over, he leaped that final meter.

Over and over, he watched the sun rise like an ocean.

And there were the names carved by predecessors.

Alongside the eternally young.

For some reason, Qing Chen's heart suddenly stilled.

Perhaps he truly couldn't escape, but his current life wasn't much worse than it had been at the beginning.

Just as bereft of everything, facing adversity the same way.

Never giving up all the same.

Qing Chen opened his eyes and stared fixedly at the assassin beside him.

Truth be told, this Jindai assassin had interrogated many, and sure, there were tough ones around, but he had never encountered someone who remained silent through the pain.