Provocation and Escalating Violence

Standard interrogation room B. The fluorescent lights cast a stark white glow on the room, and the air still carried the faint smell of cheap ham and bread. Zhao Zhiyong leaned back in his chair, his handcuffed hands resting casually on the edge of the table, his fingertips unconsciously and very lightly tapping the cold metal surface, producing an almost inaudible "tap, tap."

The blood on his face had been cleaned, revealing bruises and swelling beneath. Simple medical treatment and food and water restored some of his vitality, but the weariness and a certain unfathomable calm in his eyes were even more pronounced than before.

Karl Miller sat opposite him, his hands crossed on the table, leaning slightly forward, maintaining a professional and imposing interrogation posture. Tony Rodriguez leaned against the wall by the door, arms crossed, his eyes sharp as an eagle, making no attempt to conceal his observation of Zhao Zhiyong's every subtle movement and change in expression. Two armed guards stood on either side of the door, as if facing a formidable enemy.

The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the ventilation vents and the occasional tapping of Zhao Zhiyong's fingers on the table. Silence spread, carrying an unspoken tension and struggle. Karl was waiting for Zhao Zhiyong to "regain his strength" and initiate a conversation, or at least give a signal. Tony, however, was impatient; he preferred direct questioning to this seemingly "civilized" confrontation.

A few more minutes passed.

Finally, Zhao Zhiyong moved. He raised his handcuffed hands, his movements stiff and slow, his fingers twirling in the air as if sensing something. Then, he looked up, his gaze passing over Karl and landing on Tony's face, who was leaning against the wall.

His gaze was calm, even somewhat empty, but deep within it seemed to lie something indescribable.

He opened his mouth, his chapped lips moved, and he said in a hoarse but much clearer voice:

Do you have any cigarettes?

The sound wasn't loud, but it was particularly jarring in the quiet room.

Karl paused, taken aback. Tony raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips, revealing undisguised mockery. A cigarette? What was this? Trying to enjoy himself before death? Or was this old man deliberately stalling for time, or trying to put on airs?

Karl looked at Tony, his eyes questioning. Tony shrugged, pulled a crumpled pack of Marlboro from his pocket, took one out, and then pulled out a lighter. He didn't go over; he just stood there, raising his chin, as if to say: come and get one if you want, or wait.

Zhao Zhiyong glanced at the cigarette in Tony's hand, then at the condescending expression on his face. He didn't move, but continued to look at Tony with that calm gaze, slowly and clearly repeating:

Do you have a cigarette? Give me one.

There was no pleading in his tone; instead, it carried an almost commanding calmness.

Tony's mockery deepened. He chuckled, took the cigarette and lighter, and walked a few steps to the table, standing to Zhao Zhiyong's side. Instead of offering the cigarette directly, he shoved the filter end roughly between Zhao Zhiyong's chapped lips with a condescending, cat-and- Rat malice, the movement even poking his gums.

"Have a smoke, old man," Tony said flippantly, "Finish this 'final smoke,' and think carefully about how you're going to talk to us."

Zhao Zhiyong's lips stung from the cigarette butt, but he didn't even flinch. He tilted his head slightly, gently bit the cigarette with his teeth, and then raised his handcuffed hands, making a gesture to light it.

Tony lit his lighter with a "click," the leaping flame close to the cigarette butt. Zhao Zhiyong leaned in and took a deep, forceful drag. The pungent, irritating smoke from the cheap tobacco flooded his dry, aching throat and lungs, causing a violent coughing fit. His body trembled, and his face flushed red.

But he didn't stop. Instead, between coughs, he took a second, then a third, deep, greedy drag. Smoke slowly billowed from his mouth and nose, swirling and rising under the pale fluorescent light, blurring the tired yet calm expression on his face, and also blurring his unfathomable eyes.

He closed his eyes, seemingly savoring this brief, painful solace. A few seconds later, he opened them, the thin veil of calm in his eyes appearing to have been partially dispersed by the smoke, revealing something deeper beneath... a cold glint?

He didn't look at Tony, nor at Karl; his gaze seemed fixed on some empty point in the air. Then, he spoke. His voice was hoarse from smoking and coughing, but every word was like a nail hardened with ice, clearly piercing the ears of everyone in the room:

"I have evidence of Lin Feng's tax evasion."

This statement is like a boulder thrown into a still pond!

Karl Miller's body tensed instantly, his pupils contracted, and his crossed hands clenched tightly! Wasn't this what he had been waiting for?! Evidence! Evidence directly implicating Lin Feng! This wasn't just a confession; it was irrefutable evidence that could completely nail that mysterious Great East to the spot! A surge of immense joy and professional excitement instantly flooded his mind!

Tony Rodriguez's mockery and impatience vanished instantly, replaced by the hunter's burning gaze, as if he had finally caught the scent of blood. He instinctively took a half-step forward, leaning forward, staring intently at Zhao Zhiyong's face shrouded in smoke. "Evidence? What evidence? Where?!"

This is the key! Zhao Zhiyong is the "front man," and he definitely has substantial evidence of Lin Feng's transfer of funds and tax evasion—contracts, ledgers, recordings, secret bank transfer records... Any one of these would be enough to drag Lin Feng into an abyss of no return!

Zhao Zhiyong did not answer immediately. He took another deep drag of his cigarette, then slowly exhaled the smoke from his nostrils, forming two straight plumes. Behind the smoke, on his scarred face, the corners of his mouth slowly curved upwards.

That wasn't a smile. There was no warmth, no compromise, no fear. It was a twisted expression, a mixture of utter exhaustion, endless mockery, and a cruel, almost cruel cruelty. Combined with his eerily calm eyes, it appeared exceptionally unsettling.

Under the watchful eyes of Karl and Tony, and with the two guards unconsciously tensing their muscles in vigilance, Zhao Zhiyong slowly raised his handcuffed hands.

Then, under Tony's burning gaze, which was almost unable to contain his impatience to interrogate him again, Zhao Zhiyong raised his handcuffed hands to chest level. He lowered his head, looking at his hands and the cold handcuffs on his wrists, then raised his head again, his gaze sweeping over Tony's eager and greedy face, finally settling on Karl's expectant and scrutinizing face.

Then, in a voice that was almost Whisper, yet clear enough for everyone in the room to hear, with a strange rhythm, he spoke, word by word:

"The evidence... is..."

He deliberately dragged out the tone, relishing this brief moment of manipulating the other person's emotions.

Then, as Karl and Tony waited, almost suffocatingly, Zhao Zhiyong slowly raised one middle finger from his handcuffed hands.

That middle finger, short and stubby from years of hard work, with prominent knuckles, calluses, and scars, stood straight and insultingly upright in the air, directly in the direction of Karl and Tony.

"This."

After Zhao Zhiyong finished speaking calmly, he added the second half of his sentence, his tone as indifferent as if he were saying, "The weather is nice today," as the two men's expressions suddenly froze.

I left him at your mother's house.

These words were like a thunderclap!

"You fucking—!!" Tony Rodriguez erupted in fury! The muscles in his face contorted violently, his eyes bloodshot with extreme anger and humiliation, turning crimson instantly! He felt like he'd been played! To be publicly mocked and humiliated in the dirtiest and most vicious way by a prisoner he considered an ant, someone he could crush at any moment! That raised middle finger, that extremely malicious insult, were like a red-hot iron, branding his dignity and authority!

The immense humiliation and furious rage at being fooled instantly shattered Tony's remaining rationality and professionalism! The string of "restraint" in his mind snapped!

"You're asking for it!!" Tony growled like a wild beast. He didn't even look at Karl, nor did he heed any procedure. He whirled around, rushed to the control panel in the corner of the interrogation room, found the inconspicuous red button, and slammed it down with all his might!

"Beep--"

A soft electronic beep. Inside interrogation room B, all the indicator lights on the recording equipment instantly went out. On the monitor screen, the synchronously transmitted video turned into static. Tony had severed the real-time connection between this interrogation room and the external observation room, as well as all backup systems!

He's going to make this bastard pay! In the most direct and painful way! Right here, now, immediately!

Karl Miller was also shocked by Zhao Zhiyong's sudden and extremely rude provocation, but he still retained a sliver of reason. Seeing Tony rush to turn off the monitor, he was startled and instinctively tried to stop him. "Tony! Wait..."

But his words were completely drowned out by Tony's actions and subsequent rage.

After shutting down the surveillance, Tony, like a completely enraged bull, whirled around and strode up to Zhao Zhiyong! Looking down at him, his eyes blazing with fury, he stared intently at Zhao Zhiyong's calm yet mocking face, forcing out a hoarse voice through clenched teeth:

"You dare to play me... I'll make you spit it all out the way you swallowed it!!"

He completely ignored Karl's existence and any possible consequences. At this moment, all he wanted was to use his fists, to feel pain, and to use the most primal methods to smash every bone in the yellow-skinned Monkey who dared to insult him!

Karl saw Tony turn off the monitor, and seeing his murderous look, alarm bells rang in his head. He knew Tony's explosive temper, and he knew what Tony might do in this out-of-control state. He instinctively wanted to step forward to stop him, but stopped abruptly. He looked at Zhao Zhiyong, at that still calm face, even with a strange "I knew it" expression, and a complex feeling welled up inside him—anger, doubt, and a hint of... unease. Had Zhao Zhiyong deliberately provoked Tony? Why?

In that split second of hesitation, Tony had already made his move.

Without any unnecessary words or fancy moves, he clenched his right fist, thrust his waist forward, and delivered a heavy, swift, and furious straight punch, like a cannonball, that landed squarely on Zhao Zhiyong's abdomen!

"Bang!!"

A muffled thud, the sound of a fist striking a soft abdomen, deep and unsettling.

"Ugh--vomit!!"

Zhao Zhiyong's body arched backward abruptly, like a shrimp whose spine had been removed! His eyes bulged out instantly, and the eerie calm on his face was shattered by extreme pain! He opened his mouth wide, letting out a short, forcibly suppressed cry of pain, which then turned into uncontrollable, violent retching!

"Wow--!!"

The ham sandwich crumbs he had just eaten, not yet fully digested, mixed with stomach acid and filth, gushed out of his mouth like a flood! They splashed onto the metal table in front of him with a loud "crash," and a strong, sour stench instantly filled the room! Some of the filth even splattered onto his own clothes, hands, and... Tony's trouser leg, which was right next to him.

Zhao Zhiyong's body convulsed violently. Because his hands were handcuffed in front of him, he could not curl up to relieve the pain. He could only bend over in agony, his forehead pressed against the cold table covered in vomit, emitting suppressed, painful groans and gasps. Each breath pulled at his aching abdomen, making him tremble all over.

Tony stared at the disgusting vomit on the table, at Zhao Zhiyong's writhing in pain, but felt no pity whatsoever. Instead, his rage burned even more fiercely! Humiliation! He would make this bastard taste double the humiliation!

He stepped forward, stretched out his right hand, his five fingers like iron clamps, and fiercely grabbed Zhao Zhiyong's short, graying hair, the back of his head covered in sweat and filth! The immense force forced Zhao Zhiyong to painfully raise his head, revealing a face contorted with pain and suffocation, tears streaming down his face, covered in filth.

Tony forcefully pressed Zhao Zhiyong's head down onto the still-warm vomit he had just expelled on the table!

"Eat!" Tony's face was contorted with rage, his voice a hoarse roar like a demon crawling out of hell, "You fucking eat this thing!! Spit it out?! I'll make you lick it all clean!!!"

Zhao Zhiyong's face was forcibly pressed against the thick, sour-smelling vomit, his mouth and nose blocked, making suffocating "hoarse" sounds. He struggled in vain, but his hands were cuffed, and the disparity in strength was too great; he couldn't break free from Tony's iron grip. The filth smeared his face, entered his nostrils, and choked him, bringing extreme nausea and pain, both physically and psychologically.

Tony pressed his head down hard, relentlessly, as if trying to shove his face into the filth, crushing his last shred of dignity in the most primitive and disgusting way.

Karl Miller stood by, arms crossed, watching the scene with a grim expression. He didn't speak up to stop it. On one hand, Zhao Zhiyong's vicious provocation had enraged him; on the other hand, he knew he couldn't stop Tony in his current state, and forcibly stopping him would only make things worse. Besides... perhaps letting Tony vent, breaking down Zhao Zhiyong's psychological defenses in this most direct way, wasn't a bad thing? After all, the surveillance cameras were off. Everything that happened here would leave no record.

He chose to remain silent and observe coldly. He looked at Zhao Zhiyong's eyes, which were still wide open and bloodshot despite being in the filth, yet seemed eerily calm. The unease in his heart spread quietly, like ink dripping into clear water.

Is Zhao Zhiyong... really just needlessly provoking and enduring?

In interrogation room B, only Tony's frantic roars, Zhao Zhiyong's painful gasps and struggles, and the nauseating, sour smell remained. The shadow of violence, like a thick fog, completely enveloped this room that was supposed to be a place for "civilized negotiation."