Shen Yuan could see his breath; the floor was cold, bruising stone beneath his knees. He was tied hand and foot with Immortal Binding Cables, and trapped in a cell no bigger than two meters by two, with three walls of the same white stone as the floor. The fourth wall was an opaque curtain of water, roaring loud enough to deafen and smelling faintly of acid.

It was the waterfall that tipped him off: he was in the prison beneath Huan Hua Palace, and that meant he was totally, utterly boned. In his terror, Shen Yuan wasn't able to hold back a pathetic little whimper, chewing his lower lip as the waterfall suddenly split down the middle like a curtain, the volume dropping down to a dull murmur, and a shadowed but all too familiar figure entered his cell.

Oddly it was that pathetic little sound that gave him hope: he remembered this scene, and Shen Qingqiu had remained stoic until the very end. Refusing to beg for mercy, to show any hint of weakness...it was a long shot, but lacking any better options...

"Binghe," Shen Yuan whispered through a throat so tight it ached and lips so dry they'd cracked. Horribly his captor only hummed quietly, as if to show he was listening: as Binghe came closer Shen Yuan could see a small, gentle smile on his face. It wracked him with terrified shivers, even moreso than the additional length of binding cable in Binghe's hands. In the book one of the most paradoxical, and thus terrifying aspects of Luo Binghe's character was how he hid his hatred and rage behind smiles, his most loathed enemies lulled into a false sense of security by shows of kindness and gentility.

Shen Yuan tried again. "Binghe," he croaked. "This, this master entreats you, listen to him, please..."

"It seems as though this lord has wasted far too much listening to you already, Shizun," Luo Binghe said, still so gently. He was walking closer, his hands unwinding the binding cable. "But this lord supposes he can listen to his old master once again, for old time's sake."

"This master --" Shen Yuan choked into silence as Binghe walked behind him, leaving his line of sight. He tried to turn his head, but Binghe grabbed his hair and held him still; only when Shen Yuan stopped moving did he let go, giving Shen Yuan a little pat on the head like a dog. Shen Yuan nearly choked again on his terrified humiliation; even though it was technically in his favor, giving him more time to get his shit together, the way Binghe was dragging this out was a torture in its own right, nearly making Shen Yuan wish he'd just get it over with already.

But only nearly. "This master wishes to beg for his life," Shen Yuan began again, unable to make his voice rise above a hoarse whisper no matter how hard he tried. "He...this master is not the one injured his student. That was the real Shen Qingqiu, who hurt you. This master was merely forced to wear his face, I...I haven't done anything." His voice was shaking worse than ever by the time he finished speaking; on 'anything' his voice cracked, coming dangerously close to a sob.

Binghe hummed again, stooping down behind Shen Yuan. He couldn't tell what exactly Binghe was doing, but he felt the ropes wrapped around his wrists tug oddly, pulled into some new shape. "How very interesting, Shizun," he purred. "So you claim not to be the teacher who tormented this lord in his youth?"

"I'm not," Shen Yuan agreed. He could hear Binghe standing up, moving somehow -- there was a rustling of fabric, a...a quiet thump? He didn't understand what Binghe was doing, he was sure he didn't really want to know...

"You aren't the teacher who threw hot tea in this lord's face? Who beat him until he bled? Who forced him to sleep in a woodshed instead of a proper bed?" Binghe still spoke so calmly, so genially, but each question hit Shen Yuan like a blow. He didn't dare point out that it had been Ming Fan and the other disciples who had hounded Binghe out of the dorms; the things Shen Qingqiu had done were bad enough.

"No," he agreed, "that wasn't me." He didn't dare turn his head, but out of the corner of his eye he could see Binghe tying the other end of the rope to a hook in the wall. What was that for?

"Then this lord supposes you were likewise not the teacher who threw this lord into the Endless Abyss?"

It felt as though Shen Yuan's heart froze in his chest.

"No," he whispered. "That wasn't me."

Binghe sighed.

"Oh, Shizen," he said mournfully. "Do you think this lord can't tell when you are lying?"

And he yanked on the rope he'd tied to the hook in the wall, the rope whose other end had been tied to Shen Yuan's wrists. Shen Yuan shrieked as he was suddenly pulled to his feet, and then higher, his boots leaving the ground as his arms were wrenched into an unnatural angle and his shoulders strained, strained and suddenly released --

Shen Yuan woke up screaming, screaming and thrashing against the cables he imagined still bound him so tightly.