The tongue was pulled out. It was cold and smelled of rust, and it was dragged out of my mouth. The pain made me take a breath from the bones, but I could only make a low hoarse "ho ho" sound.
What was poured in was wine. The strong alcohol was so spicy that my throat felt like it had been cut open with a knife. It flowed down my esophagus and into my stomach hot. Someone pinched my chin, and the knuckle bones pressed against my jaw with such force that it didn't look like a eunuch. The taste of the medicine was mixed with the wine. It was bitter, very bitter. It was so bitter that I felt nauseated from the depth of my throat, but my body could not move.
I heard someone crying. If it weren't for my crying, I would have stopped crying long ago. Someone next to him was sobbing quietly, suppressing his voice, as if he was afraid of disturbing something.
He took another sip.
"Your Majesty, it's time to hit the road."
