"Sissy." someone called again.
"You've got gravel on your face."
Then dumped more.
Qin Zhu lay there, breathing mud, limbs twitching.
No qi.
No power.
No glory.
Just dust, chains, and aching joints.
Qin Zhu spat out a clump of gravel.
His hands trembled.
Not from effort, but from the weight of a single, agonizing realization—
He should never have tried to rob that freakishly terrifying young man in the first place.
That damned convenience store.
That damned smiling owner.
And now… Qin Zhu was here.
Stripped of everything.
He didn't deserve this.
He didn't.
He - !
Another rock slammed into his foot.
"Move faster, Sissy!" someone barked again.
He gritted his teeth and shoved the pain down. Deep.
Because the truth was?
No one here got to complain.
The prisoners - slaves, really - had all done something.
Some were swindlers.
Some were killers.
Others burned villages, scammed sects, sold forbidden pills to children.
