The First Interrogation, Zhang Qian's Threats

From the corridor outside the iron door came the crisp jingle of clashing keys and a guard's hoarse wake-up call, like an icy wedge splitting open the stifling sleep of cell 107.

Lin Feng's eyes snapped open almost instantly.

He had barely slept in the latter half of the night, partly because of the harsh conditions and his physical discomfort, and partly because the faint but real mental link to his beggar death soldier, Wang Wu, kept echoing in his mind. It was an extraordinarily strange experience, as if he had gained an extra sense reaching far into the distance. Though vague, it allowed him to perceive Wang Wu's general condition and location-following his orders, Wang Wu was wandering and observing the early-morning streets around XX University like a ghost.

That thread of connection was the only thing in this abyss of despair that gave him even the slightest sense of possessing something.

"Everybody up! Make your beds!" Scar bellowed in a rough voice, the first to climb off the shared sleeping platform.

The cell immediately filled with the rustling sounds of men getting up. No one dared dawdle. Lin Feng silently rose with the others, folded his thin mattress into a barely acceptable tofu block, and placed it in the designated spot.

Skinny Monkey sauntered over to him and pointed his chin at the squat toilet in the corner. "Hey, newbie, the toilet. Same as usual." His tone was matter-of-fact, his contempt undisguised.

Lin Feng said nothing. He silently picked up the brush and bucket and repeated yesterday's humiliating task. Icy, filthy water and a pungent stench enveloped him once more, but his eyes held more coldness beneath their restraint than they had yesterday. He knew this was not the time to resist.

Breakfast was as watery and meager as ever, and the few pieces of pickled vegetables were divided up entirely among Scar and the men close to him. Lin Feng received only a scant half bowl of porridge so thin he could see his reflection in it, and half a steamed bun as hard as a rock. He swallowed it expressionlessly, as tasteless as chewing wax, but at least he finally had something in his stomach to dispel a little of the chill.

Just as he swallowed the last mouthful of bun, the heavy iron door was opened from outside.

A guard stood in the doorway, his gaze sweeping around the cell before settling on Lin Feng.

"1078, Lin Feng. You're wanted for interrogation."

Several glances of uncertain meaning immediately turned his way: some curious, some indifferent, but more gleeful at his misfortune. Scar snickered and murmured to the man beside him, "Can't be anything good. Just wait and see."

Lin Feng's heart tightened instinctively, but he quickly forced himself to calm down. He stood silently and, at the guard's signal, held out his hands.

Click.

The cold handcuffs locked around his wrists once more.

The same familiar route to interrogation, the same familiar oppressive corridor. But this time, Lin Feng's state of mind was already different. He was no longer entirely that frightened, helpless university student. In a corner deep inside him, a cold observer was silently recording everything.

When he was pressed into that cold metal interrogation chair again, he could almost feel the lingering aura of his own despair from yesterday on its surface.

Soon, the interrogation room door was pushed open.

Zhang Qian walked in.

Today she had changed into a crisp police uniform, her hair pinned meticulously behind her head. Her face still wore that same stern, solemn, unquestionable expression. She carried a folder, bulging with what presumably was the case file containing the "mountain of ironclad evidence" against him.

She sat down across from him and threw the folder onto the table with a smack, the sound especially loud in the enclosed space. She did not speak immediately. Instead, she first looked Lin Feng up and down with her sharp eyes, as if searching his face for signs of fear or collapse.

Lin Feng lowered his head slightly, avoiding her direct gaze and assuming a timid posture in keeping with the original body's personality. Yet from the corner of his eye, he calmly observed every subtle expression and movement Zhang Qian made.

"Looks like life in the detention center hasn't taught you to behave," Zhang Qian finally said, her voice even colder than yesterday, carrying a deliberately cultivated pressure. "You've had a night's sleep. Is your head any clearer? Have you figured out what you're going to confess?"

Lin Feng remained silent, not answering immediately. He was waiting, and assessing.

"Speak!" Zhang Qian tapped the table impatiently with her finger. "My time is valuable. I don't have time to waste here with you!"

"Officer Zhang... I have nothing to confess." Lin Feng raised his head, his voice hoarse and trembling with a deliberately feigned quiver. "I really didn't do it... Sun Tingting framed me..."

"Framed you? Framed you again!" Zhang Qian's lips curled into a mocking arc, as if she had heard something utterly ridiculous. "Lin Feng, is that the only thing you can say, over and over? Where's the evidence? What have you got to prove she framed you? Just your lips flapping together?"

She abruptly opened the folder, pulled out the written confession, and thrust it almost into Lin Feng's face. "Then how do you explain this?! Did someone else hold your hand and write it for you?! Huh?!"

The edge of the paper nearly scraped Lin Feng's nose. He could clearly see the humiliating handwriting and the red fingerprint on it. The original body's emotions were stirred up again, anger and grievance surging to the surface, but he forcibly suppressed them.

"It was Teacher Li Jing... she told me to write it... she said everything would be fine if I did..." He tried to shift the focus to Li Jing's attempt to smooth things over.

"Teacher Li was giving you a chance! She was trying to save you!" Zhang Qian's voice rose abruptly as she cut him off, every word ringing with certainty, as though this were an unquestionable truth. "She's your teacher. Would she harm you? She wanted you to recognize your mistake and seek lenient treatment! And what do you do? Not only are you ungrateful, you turn around and bite the hand that helped you! A student like you is the perfect example of a failed education! Scum of society!"

She placed particular emphasis on the words "scum of society," filling them with personal contempt and disgust.

Lin Feng's pupils contracted slightly. It was precisely this kind of baseless, subjective conviction, this way of working laden with intense personal feelings, that had driven the original body into a dead end.

Just then, the thread of connection to his beggar death soldier Wang Wu fluctuated ever so faintly in his mind, and a vague, intermittent fragment of information came through-Wang Wu was curled up near the university's side gate, listening to snippets of conversation among several students who had risen early: "...Sun Tingting... postgraduate recommendation... in the bag... heard... only one spot... her family..."

The information was incomplete, but combined with what he had overheard before, it pointed in a very clear direction!

Lin Feng's heart jolted. A cold fury rose within him, mingled with a strange sense of control. Look, they were out there enjoying the fruits of victory, while this woman was here using her own "intuition" and prejudice to drive him to his death!

He could scarcely restrain himself from throwing this information in Zhang Qian's face.

But he held himself back with all his might. If he said it now, it would only be dismissed as a madman's ravings and might even expose Wang Wu's existence. He needed more concrete evidence.

To Zhang Qian, his silence and slightly trembling body looked more like signs that she had struck a nerve and left him unable to argue back.

She leaned back, folded her arms, and adopted a tone that seemed "heart-to-heart" but was in fact even more dangerous. "Lin Feng, let me be frank with you. The facts of your case are clear, the evidence is conclusive, and once it reaches court, you will lose, one hundred percent. What judges hate most is someone like you who refuses to admit wrongdoing even with the evidence right in front of him."

She paused, watched Lin Feng's reaction, and continued in a coaxing tone. "But you're still young. You have a long road ahead of you. If you show a better attitude now, honestly admit your mistake, and give a clear, complete account of exactly what happened, I can add the words 'good attitude in admitting guilt' and 'shows signs of remorse' to the report sent to the procuratorate. That will be very favorable when it comes to your sentencing. You might even get a suspended sentence and not have to serve time."

She leaned forward, lowering her voice a little, yet making it even more oppressive. "This is your last chance. Don't refuse a toast only to be forced to drink a forfeit. Once you're in court, with this confession of yours in black and white, do you think the judge will believe my objective and impartial report, or these feeble excuses you're making now?"

Threats, inducements, a psychological offensive.

She used her interrogation techniques skillfully, trying to shatter his psychological defenses completely and obtain the confession she wanted. She did not care about the truth at all. She cared only about closing the case, only about proving her "judgment" right.

Lin Feng raised his head and looked into Zhang Qian's eyes, full of superiority and impatience, certain she had everything under control. The icy anger inside him almost solidified into substance.

On the surface, however, he showed just the right hint of struggle and fear. His lips moved wordlessly, as though a fierce battle were raging within him, before it finally gave way to deeper despair and silence. He lowered his head again, his shoulders slumping as though all his strength had been drained away.

This appearance perfectly satisfied the other party's assumption about the case: he was a cowardly criminal, powerless to resist after his lies had been exposed.

A flicker of just-as-expected satisfaction and undisguised contempt crossed Zhang Qian's eyes. She lost the last of her patience.

"Looks like you're determined to follow this road into the dark." She snorted coldly, closed the folder, and stood up, her movements showing obvious displeasure. "You were given a chance, and you chose not to take it. Then wait for the law's severe judgment!"

She pressed the call button on the table.

The guard came in shortly afterward.

"Take him back!" Zhang Qian ordered icily, not even bothering to look at Lin Feng again.

The handcuffs tightened around his wrists once more. The guard pulled Lin Feng out of the chair and led him toward the door.

As he turned to leave the interrogation room, Lin Feng cast one last glance at Zhang Qian's indifferent, stubborn profile.

There was no longer any anger or despair in his heart, only an icy, deathly stillness and an incomparably clear hatred.

Every word this woman had spoken, every expression she had made, was like a carving knife, cutting his vow of revenge deeper.

He was shoved along the way back to the cell, the handcuffs biting painfully into his wrists, but his thoughts were unusually clear.

Though the information Wang Wu had conveyed was vague, it was highly significant. It proved that his death soldier was not useless, that he was serving a purpose.

And Zhang Qian's performance today had only strengthened his resolve.

The justice the law could not give him, he would reclaim a hundredfold in his own way!

Just wait. All of you.

He kept his head lowered, and in the shadows where no one could see, his lips curved into an utterly cold smile.

Judgment? Yes, judgment will come.

But who will judge whom remains to be seen.