Lu Yu: "..." You're kind, my ass.

System: "..."

If it hadn’t tailed its host this long, the System might’ve bought it.

"So what are you planning to ask?"

Zixia Chen didn’t mind; her mood was flat as still water. They were criminals anyway. If Nana Toki got nothing, fine. If she did, it shaved hours off Zixia’s workload.

"Mm, skip that for now. Tell me who runs this bunch first?" Nana Toki eyed the iron bars like black bamboo; she wouldn’t waste daylight interviewing one by one.

"Their boss... Er Mazi, that man who won’t stop staring at us."

Nana followed Zixia’s gaze. In a corner behind the bars, she spotted Er Mazi crouched like a weasel hiding in reeds.

"We checked his file. Prostitution, drugs, arms. Out three years, back to old tricks, and we nabbed him. You’re going after him?"

Zixia blinked. "That one’s slick as oil. Even if you ask, nothing useful drips out."

"No worries. He’ll do." Nana liked silver tongues; they made the game more fun.

Er Mazi was tall and reed-thin, with shifty eyes like knife slits; from afar, he was a sly weasel skulking through a flock.

Hearing he’d be questioned, he curled a sneer in the corner, like a stray dog baring teeth. A woman with makeup like stage paint and a cutesy outfit—what tricks could she have?

Even ten minutes later, when Zixia arranged them a separate room, his swagger held like a bad grin carved in bark.

Strapped to a chair, Er Mazi lounged as if on a couch, lazy contempt in his eyes as he looked up at Nana. "Who are you?"

"Who am I? A background extra like you doesn’t deserve to know." Her smile deepened, a crescent sharpening like a new moon.

Er Mazi: "..." Was this maid-costumed woman sick in the head?

"You’re that new policewoman sent to bait me, right?"

Bound tight, he dropped the questions and changed the tune, his face snapping back to smug like a mask. "Give it up. You won’t pry a single word."

"Oh."

Her reply was lukewarm as tea left out. She didn’t care; this was the same old play. The questioned always puffed their chests first, trying to exist like thunder that never strikes.

As an old hand, Nana almost laughed. Give it time; let’s see that mask crack.

While he talked, she had already slipped behind him, crouched, and layered more rope on his wrists, coils tightening like cold snakes.

"What are you doing?"

He couldn’t see her face. The binding bit deeper, and a chill climbed his spine like night wind. Panic flickered, small as a moth but hot.

"Think your willpower’s strong?"

Her sudden question hung like frost. Before he could answer, a cool kiss touched his wrist, then a blade-bite of pain slashed in. He almost cried out.

"What did you do?"

Nana came around, her step light as a cat. He gritted his teeth, a hard glint flashing through his face—this woman dared hurt him.

"Nothing. I’m just curious what color human blood is. So I slit your wrist to take a look."

She put on an innocent face, pale as winter moonlight.

Er Mazi: "..." Psycho. If you’re curious, cut your own. Why mine?

"Oh, and by the way, I wedged a chunk of ice between your wrists. I heard cold keeps wounds from closing. You’ll bleed an hour or two just fine."

An hour or two? Even if he didn’t die, half his life would pour out like water from a cracked jar.

Staring at her gentle smile, a cold bloom unfurled in his chest like black ice. Was she going to kill him?

"No need to worry about the ice melting. I’ll check from time to time. If it starts to heal, we’ll pick another spot and make a fresh cut."

"Miss, the Public Security Bureau doesn’t allow violence against prisoners, as I recall." He forced a smile thin as paper, fear seething under it. "You’re breaking rules."

"Yep," Nana said, righteous as a drawn blade. "So what?"

Rules were made to be broken.

System: "..." My host seems stuck in an edgy teen phase. What now?

Feeling the cold, slick, viscous touch at his wrist, Er Mazi shivered as if a draft leaked under a door. He still forced the words out. "Aren’t you afraid I’ll report you when I get out?"

"Heh. Think you’re getting out?"

Her smile tilted wicked, like a fox’s shadow. "This booth’s soundproof. Unless someone comes in, no one hears a thing. Relax, and stay put."

"If I die in the Bureau, you won’t end well!"

His voice cracked like dry wood. The easy mask fell; panic spilled in sweat beads, bright as dew on his brow. It was the terror of a slow death, the fog of not knowing.

"Maybe I won’t end well. But I bet you don’t know me."

Nana smiled, a spring blade hidden in silk. "I’m with the Si Family."

Bang.

Her words hit his heart like a sledgehammer. Breath hitched. Eyes trembled.

"You’re... with the Si Family?"

The name washed his face pale, like ash after fire. If she was Si Family, then his business with that lord...

"Yeah. Whatever you and Si Kunwu have been doing, our young lady knows it all. Even if you die here, I’m fine. At worst I’ll be detained a few days. Next year, same day, I’ll stop by to sweep your grave."

She didn’t know the details, but bluffing was a knife; it gleamed enough.

Er Mazi’s heartbeat sped like hooves on a bridge. His body urged him to talk, instinct pounding like surf.

"I don’t quite get what you’re saying."

He turned his eyes away, like a fish dodging a hook. His shaken face sold him out.

"Suit yourself."

She rolled her eyes. There was definitely something dirty with that Si Kunwu. "When you’re ready to talk, we’ll chat. I’ll be right here. But hold on tight. Blood loss makes you faint. Live or die, that’s your own fate."

She threw him a meaningful smile, fetched a small stool from the corner, and sat a little ways off, calm as a stone under pines.

Then she started cracking sunflower seeds, each snap a tiny firework.

Crack... crack...

Crack... crack...

The room was quiet as a winter pond. Only that intermittent crackling stitched time like falling sand.

Thump-thump-thump...

Thump-thump-thump...

Er Mazi’s heart pounded like a drum. The ice gnawed at his wrist; numbness crept in like frost. He couldn’t see behind him, and doubt crawled up his neck like ants. But the air carried a metallic tang—blood, iron, night.

Nana rose now and then, peeking at his bound wrists like a warden checking chains. The invisible cruelty ground his mind like a millstone.

"H-How... how is it?"

His voice trembled like a torn flag. Vision blurred; breath came ragged, the way it does when blood runs thin.

She only answered with a gentle smile, sat back, and cracked another seed. The chair under him turned to needles.

Fear, doubt, unease, suspicion—black water flooded his chest, swamping reason, pushing him toward the brink.

A sudden crack rang out, sharp as a knife entering bone. His blood froze, then surged hot to his skull. Dizziness blossomed; his chest twisted with sudden pain.

He jerked toward the sound. His face contorted; his eyes bulged; scarlet veins crawled across his whites like thorny vines. He looked terrifying.

"Well? Can we talk nicely now about you and Si Kunwu? What’s the goal behind smuggling arms?"