Chapter 33: Interrogation

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By the time dawn began to break, Zhong Yuan had already returned and reunited with Zhong Da and the others.

The bald man was still unconscious. After having Zhong Da dislocate his jaw, Zhong Yuan “woke” him.

The bald man’s mouth hung open as he sucked in ragged breaths. It took him a long while to regain a semblance of calm. Then he glared at Zhong Yuan, who stood before him, with such hatred that he looked ready to devour him alive.

“Do you know where this is?” Zhong Yuan asked. He spoke in Chinese, and as soon as he finished, Xiao Hua translated his words into Southern Thai.

The bald man turned his head away and ignored him.

Zhong Yuan smiled and continued, “I was going to give you a way out if you cooperated. We’re less than half an hour’s drive from the border. If you cooperate, we’ll let you go once we’ve finished questioning you. All you’ll have to do is walk for a few hours to cross into Myanmar. By then, the people above you will assume you’re already dead. As long as you don’t come back, you can still live comfortably in Myanmar. But since you refuse to cooperate, there’s nothing I can do.”

With that, he waved over Zhong Da, who was smoking nearby. Xiao Hua had already translated everything Zhong Yuan had just said into Southern Thai.

The bald man remained unmoved.

“Give him a little attention. Just leave him alive and able to talk,” Zhong Yuan said, handing Zhong Da the bloodstained butterfly knife in his hand.

Zhong Da held the cigarette between his lips, took the knife, and squatted down in front of the bald man. Then he pushed a finger into the bloody hole that had been stabbed into the man’s shoulder. Finally, he twisted his wrist, stirring his finger around inside the wound.

The violent pain instantly changed the bald man’s expression. His body, pinned against the tree trunk, went rigid, and his upper legs kicked two deep hollows into the ground.

But the bald man was tough. Though his dislocated jaw kept him from making any loud cries, he could still make smaller sounds. Yet aside from sucking in hissing breaths, he made no sound at all.

Zhong Da raised his brows slightly.

He withdrew his hand, wiped the blood from his finger on the bald man’s body, and casually spun the butterfly knife in his right hand. Then he lowered his wrist, bringing the tip of the blade down onto the man’s stomach. With a light flick, he cut open the thin shirt, exposing the pale flesh beneath.

“I’ve heard that when a person’s stomach is cut open, he doesn’t die right away,” Zhong Da said blandly. Xiao Hua’s translation followed immediately. After hearing the string of Southern Thai words, the bald man’s already unpleasant expression twitched.

At that moment, Zhong Da gently pushed the knife tip forward. The sharp point pierced the bald man’s stomach, and blood began to seep out like beads of moisture. Before long, it was trickling down over his pale skin.

The bald man closed his eyes, his eyelids trembling incessantly.

Seeing this, Zhong Da gradually increased the pressure of his grip. Inch by inch, the blade sank into the flesh, the sharp, distinct pain growing more intense with every moment.

If the bald man’s senses had been keen enough, he might even have felt the instant the blade finally broke through the layer of skin covering his stomach and entered his abdomen.

More and more blood seeped out. It gathered at his waistband before spreading sideways across the fabric.

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The bald man’s breathing grew increasingly labored, wheezing like an old bellows.

Suddenly, Zhong Da’s hand slashed sharply to the right.

The knife tip swept across the surface of the bald man’s stomach, leaving a line of blood in its wake.

The bald man opened his mouth and let out a cry.

His closed eyes finally opened. Alongside the hatred in them, there was now a trace of fear.

Zhong Da smiled. “I hear a person’s stomach has eight layers. Don’t worry. I’ll cut through them one by one and make sure you feel every layer.”

As Xiao Hua translated his words, Zhong Da drew the butterfly knife across the wound again.

The blade followed the bloodline he had just made. The small cut immediately gaped open, revealing the yellowish fat beneath.

The bald man’s pupils jolted. His eyes rolled upward, and then his entire body began to tremble. His mouth, still unable to close, could no longer produce any sound. Only saliva continued to dribble down.

It took him a long while to recover.

“Looks like it’s time for the next cut,” Zhong Da said. After waiting for Xiao Hua to finish translating, he prepared to bring the knife down again.

At that moment, the bald man shook his head violently. His terrified gaze darted first toward Zhong Da, then toward Zhong Yuan.

“Dazi!” Zhong Yuan called.

The tip of Zhong Da’s knife, already resting against the fat, stopped moving, though he did not withdraw it.

“Have you made up your mind?” Zhong Da asked. “You only get one chance.”

After Xiao Hua translated, the bald man nodded frantically.

Seeing this, Zhong Da turned to Zhong Yuan. “Brother, are you asking him, or am I?”

“You ask,” Zhong Yuan replied. “I’m going to have a cigarette.”

As he spoke, he glanced down at the wound on the bald man’s stomach. It gaped like a huge mouth, with a little blood smeared across the pale yellow fat beneath. The sight was revolting.

Where the hell had this little bastard learned such methods?

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After cursing Zhong Da inwardly, Zhong Yuan turned and walked away.

Unaware of what was on Zhong Yuan’s mind, Zhong Da wiped the blood from the butterfly knife onto the bald man’s trousers, then rose to his feet.

“What’s your name?” he asked. At the same time, he took out a cigarette, lit it, and slowly drew in a breath.

After Xiao Hua translated, the bald man opened his mouth and made several attempts at speaking.

Zhong Da raised a brow and said calmly, “Sorry. I forgot you can’t talk.”

Yet after saying this, he made no move to reset the man’s jaw. He simply stood there, smoking leisurely.

The bald man grew frantic. The fear in his eyes deepened, and his open mouth began to produce a stream of muffled sounds.

Zhong Da watched him with an unreadable half-smile. Only after finishing his cigarette did he squat down. He reached out, gripped one side of the bald man’s jaw, lifted it, and snapped it back into place with a click.

Then he clamped one hand over the bald man’s mouth. With the other, he pressed the still-burning cigarette butt directly against the corner of the man’s eye.

The searing pain made the bald man struggle desperately. But every movement only worsened the pain in his stomach.

“You’d better not shout. First, even if you do, no one here will come to help. Second, you might have been able to survive, but if you shout too hard and tear open the wound in your stomach, you may not live through it,” Zhong Da said. After Xiao Hua translated his words, they reached the bald man’s ears.

A flicker passed through the bald man’s eyes, and he nodded faintly.

Zhong Da released him.

The bald man opened and closed his mouth a few times, then spoke a sentence in Southern Thai.

Xiao Hua translated: “He says his name is Baldy. The people under him call him Brother Bald.”

“Tell him to share everything he knows about the Buddha Hand Gang, including this operation—who sent them here, and where they got the information,” Zhong Da said, lighting another cigarette.

To be honest, even he found the layer of fat inside the bald man’s stomach somewhat nauseating.

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