In his seventeen years of life, Jiang Baiyan had experienced countless forms of pain.

The sharp sting of a blade cutting into flesh and blood, the searing ache of a whip that seemed to penetrate deep into the bone, and the dull, suffocating thud of a fist landing against his body. All these varieties of torment had long become routine to him.

Yet on this day, at this very moment, it was the gentlest of touches that unsettled him to his core.

He wanted to retreat, and yet, against all reason, found himself leaning closer.