Chapter Thirty-Two: Caress, Press, Kill

"Escape?" Zhang Qing wanted to flee too, faced with Lei Yan approaching slowly, but in her grave condition and without innate internal strength, even moving was nearly impossible, let alone escaping. Watching Lei Yan draw near, anxiety surged in her heart and she hastily said, "Aren't you here for the brocade box? Let me go, and I'll tell you where the real box is."

"What's wrong? Afraid?" With his extraordinary ability, Lei Yan could sense everything in the surroundings; escaping his grasp was impossible. He clearly felt Zhang Qing's body trembling involuntarily.

Soft words had failed, so Zhang Qing shifted tactics. She steadied herself and declared, "My master is Song Ming, the Lotus Hand. If you kill me, my master will never let you go!"

Lei Yan smiled. A dagger slid from his sleeve into his palm. With a soft hiss, the blade sliced open the fabric of Zhang Qing's trousers at her leg, yet his skill ensured not a scratch touched her skin.

"What is he doing? Is it..." Zhang Qing's expression changed. At the same time, she felt a warmth rising from her calf and shivered, biting her lip as she tried to move her leg away from Lei Yan's touch.

"Your skin is truly delicate," Lei Yan remarked, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes, and he deliberately softened his voice.

"Beast!" Hatred burned in Zhang Qing's gaze—this was an insult to a martial artist and to her as a woman. She swore that if Lei Yan spared her life, she would not rest until she ground his bones to dust.

Lei Yan's body had always been incapable of cultivation; whether martial arts or the methods of the spiritual practitioners, none worked for him. Even now, his body could only support intense physical exertion, unable to cultivate internal strength. Yet all techniques required such a foundation, even the True Force of the cultivators, so he had to forge his own path. On his way to Maple Birch Town, he had realized: since fate had abandoned him, he would seize this opportunity, through killing Zhang Fa, to thoroughly understand the human body and create a skill uniquely his own—the art of killing.

Seeing Zhang Qing's hateful glare, Lei Yan smiled, no longer toying with her. His ability locked onto every detail of the surroundings; his right hand pressed gently to her calf, feeling the subtle thrum beneath his fingertips. Then, his fingers traced along the muscles, slowly searching for their connections.

"What does he want?" Zhang Qing noticed that Lei Yan simply moved his fingers up and down her muscles, as if searching for something. Yet the constant touch of a man upon her body filled her with shame and fury.

Suddenly, Lei Yan asked without warning, "How many have died by your hand?"

Zhang Qing's heart skipped. Her eyes showed determination. Ready to kill, even if it meant dying together. She had mastered a strange technique that required no internal strength, only focus—a way to ignite her own body completely. Yet she did not wish to die, so she hesitated.

"What poison did you use on the brocade box? Let's study it," Lei Yan seemed to perceive Zhang Qing's shift, withdrew his hand, and smiled. "If you don't want to, that's fine. Perhaps this is an opportunity."

"Opportunity?" Zhang Qing fell silent. Lei Yan's words rekindled her hope—she did not want to die, so she had to carefully consider her answer.

"Under emotional agitation, muscle states change; there seems to be a pattern," Lei Yan's hand returned to her calf.

Then, a strange poison name slipped from Zhang Qing's lips, its properties sounding particularly cruel.

Lei Yan listened, then smiled. The dagger flashed before her eyes, and with a series of soft hisses, Zhang Qing's clothing was stripped away, leaving her fully exposed before Lei Yan.

"You make it sound convincing, but do you really think I know less about poisons than you?" Lei Yan stared at her and smiled.

Humiliation and rage! Zhang Qing's eyes blazed with murderous intent, but wounded as she was, she could not move. She could only struggle to shield her private parts with both hands.

Lei Yan looked into her eyes and said, "Stay calm; only then can you find your chance."

Overwhelmed with shame and fury, Zhang Qing seemed to understand. She laboriously moved her hands away and closed her eyes, as if preparing to endure Lei Yan's violation. Yet in her mind, she plotted how to kill him without resorting to suicide.

Lei Yan's touch traced from her calf upwards, ten times or more, indifferent to what Zhang Qing might be thinking. His ability kept every movement under control, ready to react instantly to any action.

Even the gentle caresses brought a flush of shame to Zhang Qing's cheeks. She only hoped this demon would finish soon, but as the thought formed, Lei Yan's hand pressed harder, and she felt a sting. His right hand no longer traced her muscles gently, but pressed deeply into her flesh, leaving red marks each time he lifted his hand.

After a dozen repetitions, Lei Yan seemed to find a pattern. Each press reached directly to Zhang Qing's bones, slow and deliberate.

For two hours, Lei Yan repeatedly pressed all over Zhang Qing's body. He mapped her bones against what he had read, though his impressions were not precise. He sighed inwardly, "Simply relying on touch cannot yield complete understanding."

When his right hand pressed her shoulder again, fingers connecting through flesh to bone, Zhang Qing suddenly understood. "He is exploring all my bones; before, he was mapping my muscles," she realized with a chill. "What kind of technique is he cultivating?"

The redness and swelling on her body chilled her heart. The pain was tolerable, but Lei Yan's actions amounted to profound humiliation, pushing her to the brink of eruption. Yet a thread of hope lingered—perhaps Lei Yan would release her after he finished, or she could kill him when he dropped his guard.

"How many people have died by your hand? If not a thousand, at least several hundred, right?" Lei Yan repeated the question countless times over those hours.

Zhang Qing had grown numb to it. She had killed many, but refused to answer, facing his questions with silence as before. This time, however, Lei Yan's hand slid to her neck. As her throat gave a faint crack, her head lolled to one side, powerless. To the very end, Zhang Qing never imagined that her lingering hope for life would ultimately cost her own.