When Tang San woke up again, he discovered that he was already inside a prison cell.
He had worked within the intelligence system for nearly a year, and during the series of operations to eliminate the remaining remnants of the Clear Sky Sect, he had spared no effort and made outstanding contributions.
With just one glance, he recognized the structure around him—
The floor, walls, and ceiling were cast as a single unit using high-grade reinforced concrete, with embedded precision-refined tungsten steel plates.
There was a narrow iron door that required one to bend over to pass through, forged from special metal as thick as a baby's arm, and it could only be opened from the outside.
His hands and feet were tightly locked in bright silver shackles. He tried to circulate his soul power, but unsurprisingly, there was no response at all. Even his Purple Demon Eyes were heavily weakened and suppressed.
Clearly, these restraints were custom-made, engraved with soul-guiding formations, specifically designed to imprison high-ranking Soul Masters.
Seeing all this, Tang San directly gave up any thought of resistance.
He knew the methods of the Dark Division very well—after all, a considerable portion of them had been learned from Shimura Danzō, then proposed and refined by himself.
No matter how arrogant, brutal, or invincible a Soul Master might be, once they took a trip through this place, they would return as docile and obedient as a sheep.
The true value of the "Darkness of the Ninja World," huh… tsk.
After a moment of daze, Tang San recalled what had happened before he lost consciousness.
In an instant, tears poured from his eyes. The overwhelming sense of grievance burst forth like a mountain flood, completely unstoppable.
The things Oscar had intended to accuse him of—dozing off while on duty, kneeling in prayer without sufficient reverence, and the like—weren't serious crimes at all.
Under the Heavenly Kingdom's five levels of punishment—criticism and education, fines and detention, forced labor, imprisonment, and death penalty—those offenses didn't even qualify for the lowest tier.
It was his own skittish paranoia that had made him think even the smallest mistake was unforgivable, allowing himself to be threatened.
In reality, even if those matters were exposed, so what?
As long as Nangong Lingyun still had a sense of shame, he shouldn't execute a meritorious intelligence officer over something so trivial.
He was ridiculous.
The suffering he had endured over the past year—most of it had been completely unnecessary.
Not only had he been ruthlessly bullied, suppressed, extorted, and humiliated by that despicable villain Oscar—
But in the end, over a "crime" that would merit at most a few words of criticism, he had committed a truly unforgivable offense.
Attempting to control an intelligence department official with poison, and planning to coerce him into committing crimes—
That was outright treason, attempted murder, conspiracy to conduct terrorist activities, and espionage, all rolled into one.
Even if Nangong Lingyun hadn't disliked him to begin with, that alone would be enough to die four or five times over.
As these thoughts ran through his mind, Tang San suddenly slapped himself hard across the face.
One slap wasn't enough. Two weren't enough. Three still weren't enough.
Even when the pain made tears spray from his eyes, he gritted his teeth and continued slapping himself.
Too stupid.
He was truly, utterly, incomprehensibly stupid.
How could a person be this stupid?
After an unknown amount of time, with his face swollen nearly into that of a pig's head, Tang San suddenly seemed to recall something.
He crawled toward the cell door and cautiously scanned the outside.
Then he shrank back into the corner, quietly slipping a hand into his chest to feel around.
In just two seconds, his entire body began to tremble violently, restrained only by tremendous willpower.
But this time, it wasn't pain or anger.
It was excitement.
All prisoners had their personal belongings confiscated, including storage-type soul tools. His Twenty-Four Bridges Bright Moon Night was gone.
But the Fei Xian Token was still there.
When not activated, the Fei Xian Token was just like an ordinary feather—completely devoid of any aura or fluctuations.
Unless seen directly with the naked eye, even the strongest spiritual sense couldn't detect it. To perception, it simply didn't exist.
Moreover, he had always hidden it extremely well, sewn into the inner layer of his clothing right against his chest.
The heart was a vital area that people instinctively protected. As long as he wasn't struck directly in the heart, there was no risk of it falling out.
This instinctive action might very well have saved his life.
Tang San felt a surge of excitement.
Although his spiritual power was suppressed, he could still mobilize a tiny portion—more than enough to trigger the trial.
And the Third Fei Xian Trial would conclude in another half year.
Avoiding a death sentence entirely would be difficult, but surviving six months without execution was still possible.
According to Dark Division penal regulations, there were several situations in which a death sentence could be postponed:
Pregnancy, rendering outstanding merit, or being involved in other major cases that had yet to be fully investigated.
As long as he deliberately confessed to some intelligence that would be extremely difficult to verify in the short term—such as claiming that remnants of the Clear Sky Sect were still hiding and planning major terrorist attacks—
Even if he suffered daily torture, compared to preserving his life and entering Fei Xian City to achieve immortality, everything else was trivial.
Having made up his mind, Tang San flipped over and lay facedown on the ground.
The prison conditions were terrible, but there was still a layer of straw beneath him.
He hid the Fei Xian Token in the straw aligned with his forehead, closed his eyes, and pretended to have fallen asleep from overwhelming grief.
In reality, he immediately entered the trial.
One difference between the Third Trial and the Second was that its duration was not fixed.
The trial could be interrupted at any time and resumed at any time.
No matter when he entered, it always resumed from the exact point where he had last exited.
Entering and exiting eight times in a single day posed no problem at all.
Inside the stables of the Wu Kingdom's royal palace, Tang San slowly opened his eyes—this time without shackles.
The stench of horse manure and the sharp, fermented odor made one want to vomit, but he didn't care at all.
Clenching his fists tightly, a resolute—almost desperate—light flashed through his eyes.
Previously, he had tried to perfectly reenact history, modeling himself after Goujian.
He hadn't even spared the act of tasting excrement to inquire after illness—he had truly gritted his teeth and eaten that thing of Fuchai's.
Yet perhaps his performance lacked certain details. He had already died more than a dozen times—
Either at the hands of Fuchai, or at the hands of Wu Zixu.
Finding that narrow balance between those two extremes was simply too difficult.
Goujian might have been psychologically twisted, but he was unquestionably a top-tier hegemon—not someone an ordinary person could imitate.
So this time, Tang San decided to change strategies.
He would pretend to be insane.
Fuchai and Wu Zixu's endless humiliations were actually meant to continuously erode his authority as the former King of Yue, allowing them to better govern the former Yue territories.
If he endured everything submissively, once his prestige fell to a certain level and he lost the loyalty of his followers, there would be no hope of ever counterattacking Wu.
But if he didn't endure it, he would be deemed a threat and eliminated outright.
Therefore, the correct answer was neither option A nor option B—
But a third option that wasn't presented at all.
This, he believed, was the true essence and core of the trial.
Otherwise, merely copying Goujian would be far too simple and completely unworthy of a trial designed to grow harder with each stage.
With the plan decided—
Bing Qingyu Jie picked up a tool used to shovel horse manure and viciously hacked at the royal horse that Fuchai loved and cherished the most.
After striking it down until it collapsed, he mounted another horse and charged madly toward the Wu royal palace—
Cursing loudly the entire way, venting his fury without restraint.
In just ten minutes, Fuchai—burning with rage—ordered him to be burned alive.
Once again, Tang San appeared at the peace negotiation scene.
Behind him, the civil and military officials of Yue and its army knelt across the ground.
In front of him stood the arrogantly towering Fuchai, the watchful Wu Zixu with eyes sharp as lightning, and countless armored soldiers gripping blades.
Tang San kowtowed sincerely and begged:
"This lowly criminal, Goujian, begs the wise, benevolent, and mighty King of Wu for mercy."
"Goujian is willing to become a slave, to serve personally at the King of Wu's side."
Pretending to be insane also required timing.
You couldn't start acting crazy from the very beginning—otherwise, it would be seen through.
~~~
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