Inside a dark, damp secret chamber, a faint reek of blood and urine hung in the air. From time to time, little pitch-black creatures could be seen crawling across the floor and walls, squeaking "squeak, squeak."
The jailer pinched his nose as he opened the door. After glancing at the person inside, he averted his gaze and bowed slightly to the visitor, lowering his brows submissively.
"Director, the prisoner is being held here. Careful, the floor is slippery."
Zhang Qianyue waved a hand, signaling for the jailer to leave, then turned his gaze toward the half-dead figure on the floor.
With a casual wave, Lan Shuli's battered body was uncontrollably flung against the wall with a dull thud.
"Stop playing dead. Your injuries are all superficial; you should have recovered long ago, shouldn't you?"
Zhang Qianyue looked down at Lan Shuli, his tone teasing.
"Heh, death is nothing but death. What difference is there between dying early and dying late?"
Lan Shuli sneered and spoke lightly, clearly having long since cast life and death aside.
"Heh, your backbone is pretty hard."
Zhang Qianyue spat, flicked his thumb, and a torture device appeared out of thin air.
Sets of sharp instruments gleamed with icy light in the dim room, making one shudder with fear.
"Don't worry. I generally practice humanitarianism and won't use violence on prisoners."
Zhang Qianyue smiled, then continued. "Talk. Who is behind you?"
"The Heavenly Demon Cult."
Lan Shuli answered as though savoring honey, the words practically leaving his mouth without hesitation.
The entire room fell silent for a second.
The smile on Zhang Qianyue's face froze for a moment as well. Clearly, he had not expected Lan Shuli to answer so readily.
But he was, after all, an old hand in the world. He burst into laughter