Ch.4
Disclaimer: "HAH! Shows what YOU know. I'm more than just a pretty face…I've got a damn sexy body, too!"
"GAAAAAACK---COUGH---AACK---SPUTTER--GAH!" That was how Gan Ning woke up. Coughing and sputtering and dripping with ice cold water. His eyes flew open, and horror of horrors, the Wicked Witch of the Wei was standing there to greet him, the now empty bucket still in her tiny hands. She batted her lashes and flashed him a smile as sweet as honey. Hmph. Poisoned honey, most likely. "You'd better have a damned good reason for this, you vile little Hell-spawn!" Her syrupy-sweet façade was immediately replaced with a sadistic smirk. "Or you'll do what, exactly?" She queried, arching her eyebrows and eyeing his bound and immobile form with cold amusement. Gan Ning growled. "I see your master has failed to discipline you properly, Wench. In Wu, servants are taught to keep a civil tongue in their heads and be respectful when addressing their superiors. Were you my servant, Wench, you'd be flogged as soundly as any sailor or soldier who dared show such impertinence."
The arrogant whelp had the audacity to actually laugh in his face. He could almost feel his blood boiling. Gan Ning, who was once the most feared pirate in the South China Sea, the mention of whose very name once made merchant sailors tremble, and was now one of the most respected Generals in the Wu army, was being laughed at by some scrawny serving wench. And he couldn't do a damn thing about it. He swore to himself that if---no, when---he got out of this, the wench would pay for her insults most dearly. "What's so damn funny, Wench?" He had to force the question through clenched teeth. She slowly brought her laughter to a halt, and, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes and fixing him with a smile most unpleasant, replied: "Since when is a sex slave superior to a servant?"
Gan Ning's rage was replaced with shock, and an icy fist of fear and confusion gripped his brain. "Wh-what…did you just say?" He spoke slowly, his voice dead calm and dangerous. The wench merely shook her head, laughing cruelly. "Oh, nothing, nothing." She sang, rolling her eyes to the ceiling in mock innocence. "You'll find out on your own, soon enough. But I didn't come here to have a chat." She spat, her face suddenly darkening. "I have duties to attend to." She moved towards him, and Gan Ning flinched instinctively. She laughed again, and began unwrapping his chest bandages. He glowered at her, suspicious and still somewhat shaken by her last comment. Sex slave? What the Hell was that supposed to mean? She was far too young for that sort of thing, and he wasn't aware of any eligible women in Wei who might wish to use the captured general as a source of such…amusement…so what in the hell was she talking about? The Wench was being purposely cryptic, playing with his head. He could not let her manipulate him psychologically; he had to stay in control.
He'd have to worry about it later though, as he was currently more concerned with what she doing right now. "What are you up to, wench?" She hummed and continued unwrapping the bandages, pretending not to hear him. He narrowed his eyes. She wasn't going to let him in on whatever she had planned. He'd have to wait and see, and hope for the best. Yeah, right. She finished removing the bandages, and he watched her scuttle out of the room. She returned with another malevolent grin, and something hidden behind her back. Gan Ning eyed her like a mongoose tracking a cobra, an accurate analogy, since the wench was certainly venomous. "What have you got there, Wench? No games, now." Her grin widened, and he swore he could see the evil actually radiating off her. He shivered involuntarily. This would not end well. "No games." She agreed, and pulled from behind her back an innocent looking jar labeled Ointment.
"For your injuries." She explained, and set the jar down on the night table on the right side of the bed. He glanced at it apprehensively, and asked, "What sort of devilry is this, eh, Wench? What torture are you scheming now? Answer me, damn you!" But the horrible young creature would not. She dipped her fingers into the jar and brought up a quivering, green, jelly-like glob with flecks of dark plant matter suspended within its transparent form. He wrinkled his nose as a harsh, chemical smell of medicinal herbs and fermentation assaulted his unprepared nostrils. Realization hit him, followed by dread. He knew that scent. The herbs he smelled in the ointment, while possessed of wonderful healing properties, were very rarely used. This was because there were other plants that had the same properties, but without the horrible, burning, stinging sensation that was a known side effect these particular flora had when applied to raw flesh or an open wound.
Gan Ning had five, rather deep, rather wide, open wounds, vertically spanning his chest from clavicle to waist. That was a lot of raw flesh. And the fermentation he smelled, while also sterilizing and beneficiary to the healing process, was also famous for its horrible sting. He struggled vainly against the ropes. He wasn't scared of a little pain, but a lot of pain made him nervous. And massive, concentrated onslaughts of intense, burning, physical agony were where he drew the line and officially became scared as hell. Unfortunately, he didn't think the wench gave two shits about where he drew the line.
THIS LINE INDICATES THE PASSAGE OF A FEW HOURS. POLICE LINE. DO NOT CROSS
It had been hours since Wench (which was now her official name, as far as Gan Ning was concerned,) had applied the "ointment from hell", and he was still in terrible pain. It did not fade or become less intense with the passage of time, and if anything, it seemed to grow worse. He seethed, stewing in his own helpless rage. After "tending to his wounds", Wench had taken his bandanna, claiming it was dirty and needed washing. Gan Ning knew that his bandanna had not been dirty in the least. In the process of "washing" it, she had managed to "accidentally" tear several large holes in the unique, hand dyed silk cloth, which he'd…acquired…from a merchant ship off the coast of India in his early days of buccaneering. It had been one of his most treasured personal items.
It had survived years of fighting, traveling, and weather, but alas, it was no match for the implacable force of senseless destruction and evil that was Wench. She had also "misplaced" his beloved crimson feathers, which had come from a charming exotic bird he'd been terribly fond of. The bird had been a pet he'd bought himself in an African market place to add cheer and color to the long months spent at sea, and it had proved to be a delightful companion. He'd even taught it to speak. It had passed away some years ago, and, since he'd cherished it quite strongly, decided to keep some feathers to remind him of the dear little creature that had brought him such joy. So far, she'd over-looked his adored bell necklace, and could only pray that she would continue to fail to notice.
However, some good had come from this day. He had discovered Wench's weakness. Just as Gan Ning was defensive about his past, she too, had a subject that raised her hackles. Her height was the key, or rather, her lack thereof. It had first occurred to Gan Ning when he had been pondering Wench's inherently evil nature. He had likened her to one of those small, foul tempered terrier dogs, the kind that snapped and snarled at everyone but their master. These dogs always seemed to think they were larger and much more intimidating than they really were, and Wench was no exception. Gan Ning was of the opinion that what these dogs (and Wench) needed most was a good, swift kick, and a muzzle to silence their incessant yapping. If only he weren't tied up, he would be happy to give Wench what she so desperately needed.
Trying to distract himself from the pain as much as to irritate Wench, he had mentioned this conclusion to her, and immediately noticed its effect. She had turned bright red, and, face filled with hate, had made as if to slap him, though she hastily checked herself and drew back. Seeking to further test his discovery, Gan Ning had made another jibe about her diminutive stature, and after becoming completely inarticulate and choked with fury, she'd stormed out of the room in a huff, a veritable whirlwind of embarrassed rage. Seems the poor dear was rather sensitive about her height, and didn't appreciate being teased. Served her every bit right, though. Wench should've known better than to think she could insult him and get away with it, but apparently, she hadn't expected her "helpless victim" to strike back with a verbal assault of his own. Well, now she knew that he was more than just some muscle-headed lunk. Gan Ning had brawn and brains. Not to mention his good looks. In fact, Wench still hadn't returned, and his confidence and triumph over his victory were rapidly being deflated by thoughts of what horrible revenge she was probably planning. The door to the room swung open, and Gan Ning tensed, expecting to see a vengeful Wench with some new form of torture. He was inexplicably relieved—and almost happy---when he saw it was Zhang He.
Hoo doggies! That were a long ass chapter! I can't begin to tell you how much fun it was to write Gan Ning being tortured…or how hard it was to think of the torture methods. Apparently, hippies just aren't good at that sort of thing. I sat there wracking my brain for a good half hour or so, trying to think of a torture that wouldn't be ACTUAL torture. I knew I wanted to have some element of physical pain, but I didn't want to actually hurt him. And heck, everyone hates having stingy stuff sprayed on boo-boos, right? Even big boys like Gan Ning. I actually found myself laughing aloud (and rather maniacally) as I writing this chapter. I can only hope you guys did the same while reading it.
