On the eve of the fall of Liaodong, he led his troops in a remonstrance against the young marshal.

"For the sake of Northeast China?"

Zhang Xueming repeated those four words.

Then he reached out and grabbed Ishihara Kanji by the collar, dragging the blood-covered Japanese soldier in front of Zang Shiyi.

"So you sold Northeast China to the Japanese?"

Zhang Xueming's tone was as cold as a knife, "So you sold the people to the Japanese?"

Zang Shiyi was trembling all over. He shook his head desperately, his lips trembling as if he wanted to say something, but his Adam's apple bobbed up and down a few times and he couldn't utter a single word.

"Chairman Zang had a long and pleasant talk with the Japanese just now, didn't he?"

Zhang Xueming's voice was devoid of any emotion. "What were you talking about? The Prime Minister? Manchukuo? Someone second only to the Emperor?"

Zang Shiyi's eyes were so wide they looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets.

Zhang Xueming straightened up; he was too lazy to waste even a single word on this kind of person.

He turned his head and said something to Zhanlang.

"Take these two people away. Ask them what needs to be asked, and find what needs to be found."

"I need to know the list of all those involved in the rebellion, from Fengtian to Jilin, and from Jilin to Qiqihar."

"The exact route, troop deployment, and supply stations of the 2nd Division of the Kwantung Army heading north from Lushun."

"I need to know all their channels of communication with the Japanese, their methods of contact, and their codes and passwords."

"Take every single word out of their heads."

Wolf Warrior nodded, then asked:

"Commander, are we willing to use any means necessary?"

Zhang Xueming glanced down at Zang Shiyi, who was slumped on the ground, and Ishihara Kanji, who was leaning against a chair, having lost too much blood.

His gaze lingered on those two pale, distorted faces for less than a second before shifting away, as if he were looking at two worthless pieces of trash.

"what ever."

Wolf Warrior didn't ask any more questions.

He gestured behind him, and four burly assassins stepped forward, one on each side, and dragged Zang Shiyi and Ishihara Kanji off the ground like dead dogs.

Ishihara Kanji had lost too much blood; his face was deathly pale, and his head slumped limply against his chest.

Zang Shiyi's struggles were meaningless in the face of the assassin's strength. His hands were tied behind his back, and his legs kicked wildly on the ground.

He kept shouting:

"Injustice...Spare me...I'm a man from Northeast China..."

But the sound grew fainter and fainter, more and more fragmented, and was eventually drowned out by the heavy footsteps of the assassins.

Zhan Lang led his men through the moon gate behind the main hall and arrived at a secluded woodshed in the backyard of the Zang residence.

The woodshed was small, with exposed blue bricks on all four walls, no windows, and only a low wooden door.

A thick layer of straw covered the ground, and several sickles and hoes hung on the wall.

The assassins tied Zang Shiyi to a grand chair that had been moved from the main hall, while Ishihara Kanji was thrown onto a pile of straw in a corner.

Wolf Warrior took a small leather tool bag from his waist, unfolded it, and laid it out on the bench next to him.

The toolbox was neatly filled with various exquisite tools.

Steel needles as thin as a hair, copper skewers with barbs, pliers of various shapes, and files.

He pulled out a slender steel needle, examined it carefully under the light, and then slowly wiped the tip of the needle with a white cloth.

His movements were light, slow, and meticulous, like a jeweler appraising a precious artifact.

Zang Shiyi was tied to the armchair, his whole body trembling like a leaf.

He stared at the tools lined up on the bench, each one reflecting a chilling glint that sent shivers down his spine. His crotch was already soaked.

"What...what are you trying to do? I am the Chairman of Liaoning Province! You can't touch me! I want to see Zhang Xueming! I want to see the Young Marshal! I shed blood for Northeast China..."

Zhan Lang didn't look at him. He was still wiping the needle, but when Zang Shiyi's voice cracked, he said calmly:

"Chairman Zang, save your energy, you'll be the one calling later."

Zang Shiyi's breathing began to become rapid.

He was tied to the armchair, his hands were pinned behind his back, and the hemp rope cut into his wrists, causing him pain with every movement.

He tried to struggle, but his body was beyond his control; all the muscles in his body were spasming uncontrollably, and his knees were clattering together.

His gaze was fixed on the needle in Zhan Lang's hand, his pupils shrank to the size of a pinhead, and his eyes were bloodshot.

"What...what are you going to do?"

His voice was high-pitched, "I am the Chairman of Liaoning Province! I am a respectable civil servant!"

"The law does not apply to high-ranking officials."

"You can't touch me! I want to see Zhang Xueming! I want to see the Young Marshal! I've rendered meritorious service to the Northeast! I kept vigil for the Old Marshal..."

Wolf Warrior didn't look at him.

He had finished wiping the needles, folded the white cloth and put it back in the tool bag, then walked up to Zang Shiyi, bent down, and pinched Zang Shiyi's right index finger with two fingers.

"Chairman Zang, there's dirt under your fingernails." Zhan

The wolf's voice was calm. "Let me clean you up first."

He aimed the tip of the steel needle at the deepest part of Zang Shiyi's index fingernail.

That spot is right next to the nail bed, with nerve endings so dense that every square millimeter looks like a bare front tooth.

The needle tip gently pierced through, separating the thin, cicada-wing-like keratin layer between the nail and the nail bed.

Zang Shiyi's body suddenly stiffened.

The four legs of the armchair scraped violently against the ground, producing a piercing screech.

"ah!!"

He opened his mouth wide and let out a scream like a chicken squawking.

The scream pierced through the woodshed door and echoed throughout the entire Zang mansion, causing all the servants in the courtyard to kneel on the ground in fright.

The steel needle penetrated less than two millimeters.

Zhanlang stopped, leaving the needle in place, and waited for Zang Shiyi's screams to turn into whimpers before slowly continuing to push it in.

His technique was extremely precise; the needle tip was pushed little by little into the nail crevices, avoiding the main blood vessels, yet precisely stimulating every nerve ending.

The pain shot straight to the top of the head, an excruciating pain that made it impossible to think.

Zang Shiyi's eyes rolled back instantly, and saliva dribbled from the corner of his mouth, dripping down his chin onto his chest.

His legs were kicking wildly on the armchair, his leather shoes thumping against the chair legs.

He wanted to pass out, but the excruciating pain kept pulling him back to consciousness, as if a hand was gripping the back of his neck and pressing his head underwater, pulling him out to catch his breath every time he was about to suffocate.

Zhanlang pulled the needle out and wiped the blood off the needle tip with a white cloth.

His face remained expressionless; under the kerosene lamp's glow, half his scarred face was in light and half in shadow, like an emotionless sculpture.

Next, the needle tip was moved to the second joint of the index finger.

The second needle was inserted... the third needle...

The needle tip travels upwards along the finger joints, from the index finger to the middle finger, from the middle finger to the ring finger, and from the ring finger to the little finger.

Each needle was precisely placed at the most sensitive spot in the joint, and each needle was met with a scream that was distorted in tone.

Within ten minutes, Zang Shiyi's voice went from hoarse to completely silent. He opened his mouth wide, hissing sounds coming from his throat.

Wolf Warrior switched hands, from his right hand to his left, and then back to his right.

After all ten fingers had been pricked by steel needles, he took out a barbed copper skewer from his toolbox.

The copper skewer was several times thicker than the steel needle, and its surface was covered with fine barbs, giving it a dull brass luster under the light.

He heated the copper skewer over the flame of the kerosene lamp, and the tip of the skewer quickly turned slightly red. Then he squatted down and looked at Zang Shiyi's feet.

Zang Shiyi could no longer make a sound.

His voice was completely ruined; he could only produce a hoarse, panting sound, like a broken bellows.

His face was covered in tears, saliva, and snot, all mixed together, and his hair was soaked with sweat, sticking to his forehead in strands.

He saw Zhan Lang crouch down, and saw the copper skewer in his hand glowing a dark red in the firelight. He felt a surge of strength welling up inside him, and he began to struggle and break free.

"Sizzle!"

The copper skewer pierced the sole of his foot, and Zang Shiyi's body suddenly arched up, like a bow stretched to its limit.

The back of the armchair creaked and cracked as he slammed it against his back, and the hemp rope dug deep into the flesh of his wrists as he struggled, drawing out dark red beads of blood.

His feet are covered with acupoints, and the density of nerve endings in the soles of his feet is second only to that in his fingertips.

Once the barbs on the copper skewer pierce the skin, each rotation hooks onto the fascia and muscle fibers, forcibly peeling them off the bone.

That was no longer pain; it was a bioelectrical signal that transcended the limits of pain perception and directly impacted the cerebral cortex, as if someone had lit a fire under his feet and then poured a spoonful of boiling oil into it.

Wolf Warrior's methods are extremely sophisticated.

He controlled the depth of the copper skewer, pushing it in inch by inch, stopping and rotating it every half inch to let the barb stir in the subcutaneous tissue before pushing it in another half inch.

He wasn't interrogating Zang Shiyi; he was enjoying the process.

Time passed by, second by second.

The woodshed was filled with a smell that was a mixture of blood, sweat, urine, and burnt odor.

Beneath Zang Shiyi's armchair, a small pool of dark red blood and urine had accumulated.

More than a dozen tiny holes were pierced on the soles of his feet by copper skewers, each oozing blood that dripped down his heels onto the blue brick floor.

His consciousness was already blurred, his mouth was half open, and he was making unconscious gurgling sounds in his throat, as if he was saying something, but no words could be heard.

Just then, the door to the woodshed was pushed open.

Zhang Xueliang stood at the door, his brows furrowed, his expression complex.

He had been standing outside the door for almost twenty minutes, hesitating whether or not to come in.

He had long heard the heart-wrenching screams coming from inside. The sounds made him restless, and he shifted his position several times on the stone bench in the courtyard before finally deciding to push the door open and go in to see what was happening.

He stepped over the threshold, his gaze sweeping across the room: the kerosene lamp, the toolbox on the bench, the bloodstains on the floor, and Zang Shiyi slumped unconscious in a chair.

Then he frowned and looked at Zhan Lang.

"Did you manage to ask?"

Zhan Lang raised his head, the copper skewer in his hand still stuck in Zang Shiyi's calf muscle.

He glanced at Zhang Xueliang, then shook his head:

"no."

"He's a tough nut to crack; he's very stubborn!"

Zhang Xueliang's brows furrowed even more.

He took a step forward, about to say something, when he heard a voice.

The voice was extremely faint, as if it were coming from underground, so hoarse that the syllables were almost inaudible.

"What...do you want to know...just...ask away..."

The air in the woodshed froze instantly.