Confession

Central Police Station, Xuelihua Road, French Concession. Underground interrogation room.

Under Fang Yuantu's desperate struggle, Captains He Shaohong and Zhang Xian personally held him down and escorted him from the inspector's office on the second floor all the way here, under the bewildered gazes of the station personnel left behind.

Fang Yuantu was certainly no stranger to this place. He was an ambitious man. In the past, he had arrested members of both parties, along with wealthy young masters, hooligans, and the like. The first thing done with those brought in was to take them downstairs for an interrogation. Sometimes the purpose truly was to interrogate them; other times, it was simply to squeeze some money out of them—the police station's usual method.

He had tortured plenty of others before, but now that his hands and feet were bound and he sat in a cold, hard chair stained dark red with old blood, his mind went blank. He knew he was finished.

Given Wang Yan's character, since he had brought him here today, whether Fang had done anything or not, the final verdict would be that he had. There was an idiom called "coercing a confession through torture," and another called "framing the innocent." Besides, was he really innocent?

He quickly came to his senses. With something stuffed in his mouth, he could only struggle furiously, utterly heedless of the shackles grinding his skin raw. Veins stood out along his neck, bloodshot filled his eyes, and he leaned forward, glaring at Wang Yan, who sat before him with one leg crossed over the other, leisurely drinking expensive foreign liquor, eating peanuts, and smoking.

Qi Si had brought everything over from the office. Wang Yan had looked after Qi Si since he was nine years old. Although Qi Si appeared to