"Cheng Yin" froze. Could he really talk about killing someone so casually?
He ran with a gang, but he had never even taken part in a group fight, let alone killed anyone.
"Cheng Yin" looked at the knife with terror in his eyes.
The screenwriter pinched the director's arm hard. The pain nearly made him cry out, only for the producer on his other side to clap a hand over his mouth.
The executive director continued reading his lines without emotion. "If you won't do it, I'll have no choice but to suspect you."
In a flash, "Cheng Yin" snatched up the knife, his eyes filled with the madness that followed terror, a grotesque smile on his face.
Both hands trembled constantly around the knife. Fear made his breathing suddenly quicken, and his smile looked like both laughter and tears as he kept making strange, unintelligible sounds.
To a stranger watching, he would have looked no different from a madman.
Yes, Yan Ningke had no technique, but he had experienced extreme terror. When people were pushed to a certain limit, they could go mad.
At this turning point, "Cheng Yin" was not driven by viciousness, but by fear pushed into madness.
The suspected moles kneeling on the ground were thinking about how to clear their names, but "Cheng Yin," a nobody at the bottom, had only one thought: fight back!
Before anyone could react, "Cheng Yin" suddenly turned and decisively stabbed the person forcing him, again and again.
The director abruptly sat upright, his gaze fixed on him.
"Forcing me? You deserve to die! Die! Just die!"
"Cheng Yin's" eyes were bloodshot and unfocused as he repeated the same motion over and over.
"Cut!"
Yan Ningke slumped to the floor and closed his eyes, slowly calming the emotions inside him.