Mastering the Sword Manual, sweeping across the globe

The system is full of hidden talents; who knows which family has connections, or which department above sent someone on a secret investigation—although the possibility is extremely low. He temporarily suppressed his displeasure at being addressed by his first name and kept his tone polite: "May I ask what brings you here?"

"Yes, there is something." The young man nodded, took out his phone from his pocket, unlocked the screen, and read aloud: 'Attention-seeking! Shameless attempts to grab attention! Just wait, do you really think the imperial court is a pushover? We'll drag you out in a minute!'

It was exactly the same comment Zhao Dezhu made just a few minutes ago, word for word.

The smile on Zhao Dezhu's face froze instantly, and his pupils contracted slightly.

"Who are you?" He jumped up from his chair, his voice wary. "How did you get in? Where's the security guard downstairs?"

"Heh," the young man chuckled, "You wouldn't understand the technical details anyway."

As he spoke, the young man strolled in slowly, his gaze sweeping over Zhao Dezhu's bewildered face, and said indifferently, "Don't you always say... the internet is not a lawless place?"

"Who are you! What do you want!" Zhao Dezhu took a half step back, his back pressed against the filing cabinet behind him, and his hand quietly reached for the internal telephone on the desk.

This time, the young man did not answer him, but walked straight to Zhao Dezhu's desk, his eyes scanning the slightly messy surface.

Next, the young man picked up a bronze paperweight with the words "Honest, Prudent, Diligent, and Public-spirited" printed on it, and then picked up a plastic pen holder. He poured the pens inside onto the table and tested the stability of the pen holder.

Seemingly not satisfied, he opened a drawer and pulled out two thick, hardcover policy compilations that appeared to have never been opened before.

Under Zhao Dezhu's astonished gaze, the young man used a paperweight to hold down the base, a pen holder as a pillar, and two thick books on the left and right as support and reinforcement. In no time, he had erected a simple but quite sturdy mobile phone stand in the center of the desk.

Then, he took out a cell phone, placed it horizontally, and wedged it into the groove formed by the pen holder and the thick book.

The camera lens was steadily pointed at Zhao Dezhu, whose face was deathly pale.

What's there to not understand!

"Security! Security! Someone come here!" Zhao Dezhu was terrified. He screamed and hurriedly retreated towards the door, trying to get away from the seemingly calm but terrifying young man and the camera pointed at him.

His desk was at the back, and the door was behind the young man. He didn't dare to rush over and could only shout in vain.

"Okay, that's fine." Zhang Qiliang adjusted the angle of his phone to make sure the viewfinder captured Zhao Dezhu and the "Governing for the People" slogan on the wall behind him. He even tapped the screen with his finger, seemingly testing the focus and lighting. "You go ahead and do your work."

Security guards quickly arrived at the scene after hearing the sound.

In fact, it's not just security guards.

Zhao Dezhu's incessant chatter just now nearly alerted the entire second-floor office area.

The sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor. The doors of seven or eight adjacent offices opened one after another, and more than a dozen heads popped out. Several people even ran over and blocked the door of the "General Affairs Room" office. They were all colleagues who had come to help—well, to watch the commotion.

Pushing through the crowd at the door, two uniformed security guards entered the office.

They first glanced at Zhao, the deputy head of the building, who was huddled in the corner, his face ashen. Then, turning their heads, they saw a young man with a smile on his face who seemed quite calm. The security guard breathed a sigh of relief—it didn't seem like an extreme situation where someone was about to commit violence.

“Sir,” the older security guard began, trying to make his voice sound calm and persuasive, “this is the government office area. Please remain calm. If you have any questions, we can help you contact the relevant departments. It is the right way to protect your rights rationally.”

Another security guard quietly moved his feet, trying to block part of the line of sight between the young man and Zhao Dezhu.

“I’m very rational.” The young man’s smile seemed to deepen as he slowly reached his right hand towards his lower back.

In the United States, everyone would be ready to flee by now.

However, in Da Yang, everyone assumed that the young man was going to take out his ID or some kind of document.

The materials the young man pulled out were particularly substantial: everyone saw a pistol.

It was entirely black, with sharp, cold lines, and gleamed with a dim sheen under the white fluorescent lights of the office.

"despair."

With a satisfying metallic clang, the pistol was placed on Zhao Dezhu's desk, not far from the simple phone stand.

Time seemed to have been paused.

In the office, at the door, and among everyone who witnessed this scene, the sound of breathing instantly ceased.

Like waves of wheat swaying in the wind, the dense crowd at the entrance all shrank back in unison. In the blink of an eye, four or five of the more timid people disappeared, leaving only a few who barely managed to steady themselves, their faces equally pale, still staring wide-eyed, determined to see the whole spectacle!

The two security guards turned pale instantly, and sweat beaded on their foreheads.

Because of their duties, they couldn't just turn around and run away like their other colleagues. Or rather, in Da Yang, everyone still had a strong sense of侥幸心理 (a mentality of taking chances).

The younger security guard's Adam's apple bobbed violently: "This... sir, this kind of joke is unacceptable... Using a toy gun to threaten or intimidate is illegal, and in serious cases, it's considered a crime..."

“Yes,” the young man nodded in agreement.

Then, to everyone's horror, the young man reached for his pistol and pointed it at Zhao Dezhu, who was huddled in the corner, trembling like a leaf.

“So,” the young man pulled the trigger, “I’m using the real thing.”

"Bang--!!!"

A deafening gunshot rang out in the office!

The sound was far more violent than the sound effects in movies and TV shows.

On the middle shelf of the solid wood bookshelf to Zhao Dezhu's side, next to a thick book titled "Compilation of Labor Laws," sawdust suddenly exploded!

An irregular hole with charred edges suddenly appeared, piercing through the back panel of the bookshelf.

Fine wood chips and scraps of paper flew up, and a pungent smell of gunpowder mixed with the acrid smell of burning wood quickly filled the air.

The echoes of the gunshots seemed to still be buzzing in the room.

Zhao Dezhu let out a short, inhuman scream, his legs went weak, and he slid down the filing cabinet to the floor, a dark, wet stain quickly spreading across his crotch.

His eyes rolled back, his mouth was wide open, but apart from gasping for breath, he couldn't utter any meaningful syllables; he was terrified.

The remaining crowd at the door erupted in suppressed gasps and screams, no longer caring about the spectacle, and scattered completely, leaving behind the sounds of chaotic footsteps and overturned tables and chairs echoing down the corridor.

The two security guards stood frozen in place, too afraid to move, their faces pale, and cold sweat trickling down their foreheads.

The gun in the young man's hand still seemed to have a trace of smoke left. He glanced at the shocking bullet hole on the bookshelf, and finally looked at Zhao Dezhu, who was almost unconscious on the ground, his mind blank.

This is fucking real!

People will die!

The young man lowered his hand holding the gun: "When you leave, close the door behind you."

35 Waste

Without a doubt, the two security guards ran away in a panic.

What a joke! You, Zhao Dezhu, are a government employee with a permanent position, while we are just temporary workers on labor dispatch, earning a fixed salary each month. We're not even colleagues!

Perhaps due to extreme fright, the two forgot to close the door behind them when they fled—or perhaps their brains simply didn't have enough extra brain cells to process the last audio information they received.

So Zhang Qiliang could see that the area in front of the office was indeed cleared out, but through the open door frame, he could still see that behind the half-open door of the office opposite, and in the shadow of the corner of the bathroom diagonally across, several pairs of bright eyes, filled with "This is fucking exciting" and "You'll regret it if you don't see this," were still stubbornly embedded.

The spectator mentality of the Great Yang Dynasty could, at times, actually outweigh the fear of guns and violence.

Zhang Qiliang didn't bother with this minor flaw. He turned around and looked at Zhao Dezhu in the corner, who seemed to have lost all his strength.

"Are you done? Should we report this to the authorities?"

Zhao Dezhu's lips trembled violently. He wanted to say something, but his upper teeth pounded against his lower teeth, producing only a series of rapid "de de de" sounds.

"You're not going to report it, right?" Zhang Qiliang nodded understandingly, glancing towards the doorway. "That's right, your colleague... should already be reporting it for you."

As he spoke, Zhang Qiliang walked back to his desk and gently tapped the surface with the barrel of the pistol that had just been fired, producing a dull thud.

"Come and sit down."

Zhao Dezhu didn't move, or rather, he couldn't control his limp body at all; the only difference was that the "clattering" sound of his teeth clattering became louder.

Zhang Qiliang raised his right hand, which was holding the gun.

The "de de" sound abruptly stopped.

As if pulled by an invisible thread, Zhao Dezhu immediately unleashed astonishing potential, scrambling to his feet and staggering to his office chair, where he plopped down, his body stiff as a puppet, right in the center of the phone camera's focus.

“Tell me,” Zhang Qiliang pulled over a chair prepared for visitors and sat down to the side. “In all your years in office as the ‘General Manager of the Labor Service Dispatch Office,’ what illegal, corrupt, bribery, dereliction of duty, and perverted justice have you done?”

"I...I didn't..." Zhao Dezhu blurted out reflexively, his eyes darting around in a panic as he glanced at the phone camera pointed at him, his facial muscles contorted.

This is an instinctive defense formed over many years of immersion in the system, especially when one realizes that they are being recorded and that every word and action could—no, absolutely could—be posted online. The fear of facing the camera even temporarily outweighs the fear of the gun.

"Tsk." For the first time, Zhang Qiliang showed disgust on his face. "No wonder you're almost fifty years old and have been working in this government office for a full thirty years, and you're still just a deputy head... You haven't even managed to get a proper ninth-rank official position certified by the Ministry of Personnel."

Zhang Qiliang shook his head, his tone tinged with pity, but even more so with disdain: "This is truly... a complete lack of understanding of the situation."

"No, really... I, I was just doing my job... No, don't shoot! I'll talk! I'll talk!" Zhao Dezhu was terrified when he saw Zhang Qiliang's finger twitch slightly.

“It’s not that I couldn’t let you take your time to think and speak,” Zhang Qiliang smiled, his gaze sweeping over the faintly swaying shadows at the doorway. “But you insisted on making things so lively… Now everyone’s time is a bit tight.”

As he spoke, Zhang Qiliang's gaze swept across Zhao Dezhu's desk: "Tsk, how come you didn't even prepare a roll of tape? When people come to handle matters and want to report some problems, they don't even have a small tool to seal their mouths. How inconvenient."

“Forget it,” Zhang Qiliang shook his head, giving up the search: “Let’s just leave it at that.”

As soon as he finished speaking, Zhang Qiliang leaned forward slightly, reached out with his left hand, and grabbed Zhao Dezhu's right hand, which was gripping the armrest of the chair tightly out of fear.

Then, he pinched the tip of Zhao Dezhu's right little finger with his thumb and forefinger.

"No...no! I'll tell you! I'll tell you everything! I've received...ah—!!!"

The plea for mercy and the confession were abruptly interrupted by a scream that suddenly rose in pitch and was so shrill it was inhuman!

Zhang Qiliang began to apply pressure with his fingertips.

A steady, continuous, inward and downward crushing force turned the pinched fingertips into small pieces of soft metal being slowly processed by the hydraulic press.

"Ughh ...

Zhao Dezhu's body suddenly sprang upwards, but Zhang Qiliang pressed his shoulders down and forced him back into the chair.

His head snapped back, veins bulging in his neck, eyes nearly popping out of their sockets, and a continuous, almost tearing roar of pain emanating from his gaping mouth.

This time, without the obstruction of tape, the screams filled with extreme pain, fear, and despair erupted without reservation, echoing in the office, bursting out of the open door, and spreading throughout the silent second-floor corridor.

"Crack... Thud..."

The faint, teeth-grinding sound of bones cracking was clearly audible amidst the screams.

The fingernails first turn purple and black due to the immense pressure, and the distal phalanges of the fingers below begin to deform and collapse.

The pain was sharp and penetrating, as if a red-hot drill had pierced through the spinal cord and into the brain.

Zhao Dezhu frantically scratched at Zhang Qiliang's arm with his left hand, while his legs kicked wildly on the ground, causing the chair to creak under the weight.

Snot, tears, saliva, and even the urine that had just been incontinent were made even more of a mess by the violent struggle and twisting of the body.

Half of the eyes that had been peeking through the door disappeared instantly.

The rest was also filled with horror.

Even from a distance, the horrific screams and the visible, cruel torture inflicted on the most vulnerable parts of the body are enough to make anyone with empathy feel physically uncomfortable and chilled.

Zhang Qiliang, however, seemed to block out all the noise. His movements remained as steady as ever, and he even had time to slightly adjust the angle to ensure that the crushing process was more "thorough" and "uniform".

A dozen seconds later, when Zhao Dezhu's screams became hoarse and intermittent due to exhaustion and excruciating pain, Zhang Qiliang released his grip.

Zhao Dezhu's little fingertip had become a flat, torn, and bone-exposed meat pie—or rather, a pancake—forming a horrifying contrast with his other intact fingers, which were covered in cold sweat and blood.

Zhao Dezhu slumped in his chair, only able to breathe heavily and sob intermittently. His eyes were completely unfocused, as if he no longer had the strength to think.

“Now,” Zhang Qiliang’s voice rang out again, “can we begin?”

……

I don't know what's going on, but today, the express bus system in Y City is unusually slow to respond.

Zhang Qiliang originally only planned to spend three to five minutes getting Zhao Dezhu to explain two or three things, enough for him to send him in. — With this damned position and ability, success was out of the question, but things probably wouldn't turn out too badly either.

As a result, he patiently asked for seven or eight minutes.

Zhao Dezhu was terrified and answered every question without hesitation. He confessed to abusing his position to accept "consulting fees" from small business owners for obstructing employment registration, to favoring local businesses when mediating labor disputes, to improperly reimbursing personal expenses, and even to exceeding the budget for his son's wedding banquet and accepting gifts from those under his management and service.

But outside the window, apart from the usual traffic noise on the distant street, there was still no piercing siren approaching.

After quite a while, almost fifteen minutes in total, Zhao Dezhu's "confession" began to veer off course, detailing in detail how he had stolen his deskmate's aluminum lunchbox in high school and torn magazine inserts in the library during college...

“Never mind,” Zhang Qiliang shook his head, deciding to proceed with the final steps: “That’s it… Um, how long do you think someone like you should be in there?”

"I... I'll be sentenced?" Zhao Dezhu was shocked.

Indeed... Zhang Qiliang thought back carefully and realized that this bastard was even more incompetent than he had imagined. He made a lot of small mistakes, but he had never made any big ones.

There were instances of demanding bribes and favors, but the amounts were not large enough to qualify as "relatively large amounts"; there were instances of abuse of power, but the consequences did not seem to constitute "significant losses"; lifestyle issues and irregularities in handling affairs... these are more likely to fall under the category of disciplinary violations.

"Useless!" Zhang Qiliang raised his hand and slapped him twice.

Zhao Dezhu couldn't even scream. His head was slapped violently to one side, then bounced back. Several bloody teeth flew out of his mouth, landing on the smooth floor tiles and spinning around.

Half of his face swelled up at a visible speed, his mouth cracked, and blood and saliva dripped uncontrollably down.