The dungeon had no windows. Lu Xingchen could not tell whether it was day or night outside. He could only judge time by the dim yellow oil lamp in the corner—burning who knew how many years, its flame weak as if it might die at any moment, yet stubbornly alight. Much like his mood right now. His hands and feet were locked in special shackles forged from shadow clan forbidden gold; light spirit power could not melt them. He had tried several times. Each attempt scraped another line of blood int...