After leaving the tavern, he and Yue Ning checked into an inn. When he had set out from Qingfeng Prefecture, he had brought with him some "good stuff," all of which was made by his wife’s hand. This was his greatest reliance and confidence for this trip. No matter what, he had to ensure his own personal safety. Otherwise, if something happened to him, who knew how genuinely worried his wife would be upon finding out. He loved her, but this love was not his weakness; rather, it was his strength. For her, he had to take even better care of himself. Besides, he was acting as an elder brother. Since he had brought Yue Ning out, he had to ensure that she returned exactly as she had come, not missing a single hair. They had to go back together! The two of them stayed on the second floor of the inn, and upon entering the room, Shujun unhitched the small cloth bag from his shoulder. Although the bag looked small, it was actually quite heavy. Once opened, it was filled with various small bottles and jars, each labeled with a slip of paper detailing its use. "Come on over!" Shujun waved Yue Ning over, and the two began to divide the "spoils." Apart from these bottles and jars, there were also some packets of butter that contained powders of various colors: white, pink, purple, cyan, gray, and black. Licking his lips, Shujun said, "This time, we’re going to pull off a big one!" Yue Ning seemed to half understand. Narrowing his eyes and smiling happily, Shujun exclaimed, "We’re doing Heaven’s work!" This was a dark room containing a wooden frame, to which a man with a drooping head was bound, his arms tied to the frame. His body, bearing no clothing, was covered in ugly scars. Some were old scars that had healed, others fresh from yesterday, with pus oozing from some wounds, their surrounding necrotic flesh emitting a foul stench. That he was still alive despite such horrific abuse was indeed remarkable. Beside him was an iron rack divided into three sections, displaying various torture instruments. There were whips, candles, knives and saws of various sizes, and most terrifying were rows of transparent bottles. The material of these bottles was unclear, but one could see inside clearly: within the yellow liquid, some were soaking bloodied eyeballs, while others contained hands, feet, entrails, and most horrifically, one bottle actually contained a human head. These limbs and organs all came from the servants in the back courtyard of He Mansion, who had been married to He Su as male concubines. Without exception, all of them had met with misfortune. The clanging sound arose; outside, a gaunt man carrying a food box walked towards the dark room. This man was Luo Yang, He Su’s main husband. Luo Yang had once lived a life of luxury. Even though He Su’s heart was set on Phoenix Blood, and his affection for Luo Yang was not particularly strong, he had always valued him, never letting him suffer the slightest hardship. But all that had changed since Pei Yu returned. After Luo Yang entered the dark room, he lit the candleholder, and the dim candlelight illuminated a small corner. Zeng Feiyang, the once domineering favored husband, now had fallen to such a state, eliciting unavoidable sighs. Luo Yang looked down at himself, feeling as if he were in prison, like a death-row inmate, dragging heavy shackles. He gave a bitter smile. Wasn’t he indeed in prison? Now, He Mansion was no longer the He Mansion of the past. And its inhabitants had, because of Pei Yu, turned it into a prison of their own.