Chapter Seventy-Three: Signs

Chapter Seventy-Three: Clues

Bai Zeshao gazed deeply at Ye Mao, then turned his head toward An Guoming, a smile playing at his lips as he picked up a whip from the table. “Well, do you have anything you’d like to say?”

“Pah, you dog of a secret agent!” An Guoming spat at Bai Zeshao with unyielding defiance.

“Heh, it seems you bear quite a grudge against me. Oh, by the way, you probably don’t know this yet—the bullet wound you suffered before was my handiwork,” Bai Zeshao continued, unfazed by An Guoming’s attitude.

“Hmph, someday you secret police will get what’s coming to you,” An Guoming shot Bai Zeshao a glare, then lowered his head, biting his lips hard to keep himself from crying out.

For at that moment, the end of Bai Zeshao’s whip had already been thrust deep into An Guoming’s wound, twisting relentlessly, as bright red blood slowly seeped out.

Waves of pain crashed over him, making An Guoming’s lips tremble uncontrollably.

“How is it? Not a bad appetizer, isn’t it?” Retracting the whip, Bai Zeshao smiled at An Guoming before turning to Ye Mao behind him. “Group Leader Ye, I’m new to this—if there’s anything I’m not doing right, please don’t hesitate to correct me.”

Ye Mao said nothing, though his expression was unpleasant.

Rip!

Just then, Bai Zeshao suddenly tore open An Guoming’s shirt. Staring at the crisscrossing, hideous scars on the man’s chest, Bai Zeshao’s eyes narrowed.

For the wounds on An Guoming’s body were still raw and bloody, as though they had been inflicted only in the past few days.

This made Bai Zeshao recall how, when he left Number One Chunhe Road yesterday, Mr. Li had “accidentally” mentioned that there was a day when the special commissioner’s whereabouts in Shanning were a mystery.

Could it be that, during that single day, something happened, resulting in these wounds on An Guoming’s body?

“Bai Zeshao, stop right there!” Before Bai Zeshao could ponder further, Ye Mao, seeing him tear off An Guoming’s clothes, hurriedly called out to halt him.

“What’s the matter, Group Leader Ye? I haven’t even started the real interrogation yet. Or do you have any suggestions for me?” Bai Zeshao feigned ignorance, blinking at Ye Mao.

“No, what I mean is, let me handle the pace of the interrogation. Red Party members are not so easily broken, so there’s no need to rush to severe measures,” Ye Mao suppressed his inner fury, explaining in soft tones.

“Is that so?” Bai Zeshao murmured lightly to himself, then picked up an iron bramble brush from the table and waved it gently in the air. “How about we give this a try?”

When An Guoming saw the iron brush in Bai Zeshao’s hand, his pupils widened in terror. The memories of what had happened just a few days ago surged in his mind like a recurring nightmare.

Four days ago, when he had just arrived in Shanning, he’d been tracked by the secret service. No matter how he tried to shake them off, he failed, and was finally arrested in secret. At first, like other captured Red Party members, he stood firm for his beliefs, refusing to yield no matter how much pain he suffered.

But when those agents used the iron bramble brush to scrape his flesh over and over as though plowing a field, then rubbed salt into his raw wounds and set trained military dogs to lick his injuries, the relentless torture pushed him to the brink of collapse. In the end, he became a shameful traitor.

That scene had become a lifelong nightmare for An Guoming, so when he saw Bai Zeshao raise the iron brush again, he shuddered with dread. Truthfully, he had developed a deep psychological fear of that instrument.

Bai Zeshao, noticing An Guoming’s reaction, felt a spark of suspicion, but still pressed the iron bramble brush to An Guoming’s chest.

Rip!

The already mangled flesh on An Guoming’s chest was further ravaged by Bai Zeshao’s motion. Chunks of torn flesh, mixed with dark blood, fell to the ground as An Guoming let out a hysterical scream.

Even Bai Zeshao felt a twinge of pity, but he steeled his heart and did not stop, all the while keeping a careful eye on Ye Mao’s reaction.

What he saw was intriguing: as An Guoming screamed in agony, his gaze sought out Ye Mao, eyes full of desperate pleading.

At first glance, there was nothing suspicious about An Guoming looking at Ye Mao—it was only natural, since Ye Mao claimed to be in charge of the interrogation, and An Guoming would hope Ye Mao would step in to stop Bai Zeshao’s torture.

But the oddity was in Ye Mao’s response: rather than ignore An Guoming’s plea as he ought, Ye Mao gave the slightest shake of his head.

This discovery made Bai Zeshao’s suspicions deepen. He unconsciously increased the pressure with the iron brush.

“Ah!” The compounded pain finally broke An Guoming’s restraint, forcing a cry from his lips.

“That’s enough!” At this moment, Ye Mao suddenly stood, loudly stopping Bai Zeshao’s actions.

Bai Zeshao smiled, said nothing, and withdrew the iron brush. In the silent interrogation room, only An Guoming’s ragged breathing and intermittent moans echoed.

“Section Chief Bai, let’s end today’s interrogation here. The prisoner’s wounds are far too severe—have him treated first. And from now on, you are not to use torture at will,” Ye Mao shot Bai Zeshao a stern look as he spoke.

“Very well, Group Leader Ye, as you wish. Oh, by the way, I happen to have a bottle of ‘obedience water’ on hand. Once we force him to drink it, we can get whatever answers we want without any need for torture. Simple enough.”

“Obedience water?” Ye Mao’s expression shifted. He knew it well—it was a kind of nerve-numbing drug that made people sluggish, even hallucinatory.

He just hadn’t expected Bai Zeshao to possess such a thing.

“Yes,” Bai Zeshao nodded with certainty in response to Ye Mao’s suspicious gaze.

“You may leave now.”

“Understood.” With that, Bai Zeshao left the interrogation room. But as soon as he stepped out, his smile vanished; worry shadowed his face as he made his way toward his office.