Even women who travel through time can become prime ministers and nobles.

Chapter 480 Iron Bones Endure Torture

The torches in the interrogation room crackled and popped, sparks flying onto the damp stone walls before being extinguished instantly.

Choi Ji-ho was still chained to the rack from yesterday. The branding wound on his shoulder blade had just scabbed over, but now, illuminated by the torchlight, it gleamed a hideous dark red.

He hung his head, his long hair clinging to his sweaty neck, his chest rising and falling with his heavy breathing, each breath causing his wounds to ache.

"Kang Dang"

With a bang, the door to the interrogation room was kicked open, and Lei Zhao burst in.

Today he was only wearing a dark-colored casual suit, the collar of which was wrinkled, and his eyes were bloodshot.

Last night, the men he sent to chase Cui Jiu and Meng Feng didn't even catch a glimpse of them. Then, a letter from the Prince of Rongyang arrived overnight, scolding him for his incompetence. He said that if he couldn't find Shi Wanxia's whereabouts or stop the accounting records, he would be dismissed from his post.

Having suppressed his anger all night, Lei Zhao walked up to Cui Zhihao, grabbed his chin, and forced him to look up.

Choi Jiho's face was deathly pale, his lips were cracked and peeling, but his eyes, even though they were bloodshot, still showed a defiant spirit, staring at him as if they were made of ice.

"Cui Zhihao, I'll ask you one last time—where is Shi Wanxia? Are there any copies of the ledger?"

Lei Zhao's voice was hoarse, and his knuckles turned white from the force he exerted, as if he was about to crush Cui Zhihao's chin.

Cui Zhihao twitched the corners of his mouth, letting out a hoarse laugh: "Lord Lei... instead of wasting time with me... you should check... whether your people... have already been dealt with by Meng Feng."

"you wanna die!"

Lei Zhao suddenly released his grip, and Cui Zhihao's head slammed heavily against the wooden bar of the rack with a dull thud.

His vision blurred, but he didn't utter a sound. He simply slowly raised his eyes, his gaze filled with even more mockery.

That look ignited Lei Zhao's fury. He turned and roared at the jailer at the door, "Bring me that barbed whip! I want to see just how tough he really is!"

The two jailers exchanged glances, and one of them hesitated before speaking, "Sir, the Prince said that Young Master Cui's life must not be taken..."

"Cut the nonsense!"

Lei Zhao kicked the wooden table next to him, and the torture instruments on the table crashed to the ground.

"If he's willing to talk, he won't have to suffer like this! If he's stubborn, then don't blame me for being impolite! If anything goes wrong, I'll take responsibility!"

The jailer dared not persuade him any further and hurriedly ran to the corner of the wall to drag over a wooden frame. Hanging on the frame was a black whip with fine barbs wrapped around its tip, which looked eerie even in the sunlight.

Another jailer stepped forward, picked up the whip, and swung it in his hand. The barbs made a soft "whoosh" sound as they cut through the air.

Choi Ji-ho looked at the whip, and his face finally paled.

It wasn't that he wasn't afraid of pain, but he knew that once he opened his mouth, Shi Wanxia and Fang Wen would be in danger, and the Cui family's generations of loyalty would be ruined in his hands.

"Do it!"

Lei Zhao turned his back, but clenched his fists tightly, his ears perked up, listening to the sounds behind him.

"Snapped!"

The first lash struck Choi Ji-ho's back, the barbed tip instantly tearing through his already tattered clothes and embedding itself deeply into his flesh.

Choi Ji-ho shuddered, and cold sweat poured from his forehead, trickling down his cheeks and dripping into his collar, sending a chill down his spine.

"Say or not?"

Lei Zhao didn't turn around; his voice was as cold as ice.

Choi Ji-ho gritted his teeth, swallowing back the cry of pain that was about to escape his lips, managing only to squeeze out a single word: "No..."

"Crack! Crack!"

Two more lashes landed on his arm and side, respectively. The barbs hooked into his flesh, pulling deep gashes that revealed bone, and blood dripped down the rack.

The blood dripped onto the ground, quickly forming a small puddle. The stench of blood mixed with sweat and the smoke from torches filled the entire interrogation room, making one feel nauseous.

Choi Ji-ho's body began to tremble uncontrollably, not from fear, but from pain.

Each lash felt like countless needles piercing his bones, causing him to feel dizzy and his consciousness to blur.

He clenched his teeth so hard they rattled, drawing blood from his lips and staining his chin red, but he didn't utter another word.

The jailer's arm ached from cracking the whip, but seeing that Cui Zhihao still wouldn't give in, he secretly glanced at Lei Zhao, his eyes pleading for instructions—if the beating continued, the man might not be able to withstand it.

Lei Zhao also heard Cui Zhihao's increasingly faint breathing. He turned around abruptly and looked at the mangled body on the rack.

Choi Jiho's clothes were tattered and hung on his body, revealing not a single patch of unscathed flesh, but rather rolled-up skin and congealed blood clots. His hair was stuck together with blood and sweat, plastered to his face, leaving only his eyes half-open, staring intently at him like a dying wolf that refused to yield.

"stop!"

Lei Zhao roared, his voice carrying a hint of panic that he himself was unaware of.

He walked up to Cui Zhihao, pointed his finger at his nose, and his hand trembled with anger: "Fine, you've got guts! You won't talk, huh? Fine, then don't blame me for being impolite!"

He turned to the jailers, his eyes filled with a frightening ruthlessness: "Bring out all your skills! Cages, finger nails, salt water, branding irons... anything that can make him talk, do it all! I don't believe he can keep holding on like this!"

The jailers' faces changed. Nailing fingers and using salt water were no joke. Nailing fingers involved slowly driving thin iron nails into the gaps between the fingers, and the salt water would be poured onto the wound. The pain was even more unbearable than being whipped or branded with a hot iron.

But Lei Zhao had given the order, and they dared not disobey. They could only tremble as they moved the instruments of torture to the side—the clamps were already prepared, the iron nails for nailing fingers were placed on the tray, and there was a pot of steaming salt water that looked chilling.

Cui Zhihao looked at the instruments of torture, the shadows in front of him growing heavier and heavier. He knew he was about to collapse, but deep in his consciousness, the image of Shi Wanxia smiling as she handed him the account book, and his father's voice saying, "The sons of the Cui family would rather die than dishonor their loyal name," became clearer and clearer.

With his last ounce of strength, he forced a smile and, facing Lei Zhao, hoarsely uttered a few words: "You...can never...win..."

As soon as he finished speaking, his head slumped down, and he lost consciousness completely.

Lei Zhao looked at the unconscious Cui Zhihao, his chest heaving violently, a mixture of anger and inexplicable irritation.

He stared at the bleeding wounds on Cui Zhihao's body, and suddenly remembered the instructions of the Prince of Rongyang—"Do not kill him." His fingers clenched tightly, and finally he gritted his teeth and ordered: "Wake him up first! Don't let him die! After he wakes up, use the nail-fin technique! I don't believe his fingers can be harder than his mouth!"

The jailer quickly grabbed the saline solution and poured it onto Choi Ji-ho's wound.

The icy salt water seeped into the torn flesh, and Cui Zhihao, who had been unconscious, suddenly convulsed, his brows furrowing tightly, but he did not wake up.

The torches in the interrogation room were still burning, and the smell of blood grew stronger. Lei Zhao stood there, looking at the lifeless Cui Zhihao on the rack.

For the first time, I felt that this young master of the Cui family of Qinghe might really be like a piece of iron that cannot be melted or broken. Even if you use all kinds of torture, you may not be able to pry open his mouth.