Tang Ziyi began casually—light conversation, harmless questions, warm smiles. It was the type of chat one might have at a café or on a long train ride. To Ms. Murong, it was a transparent tactic: lowering her guard, building a false sense of rapport.

She braced herself for a long interrogation, fully intending to drag it out. It wasn't guilt that made her wary—she had done nothing wrong, or so she believed—but she could guess what Spirit Fox wanted: leverage, intel, the missing thread that could pull apart something far bigger.

But she wasn't going to play along. She had come to Province N on a quiet, personal trip—nothing more. The firearm, while questionable, was a necessary habit for someone in her line of work. She had friends here from high school, people who knew nothing about her life now—only that she had become wealthy. No one asked how. No one knew the price.

Seeing them again had been unexpectedly warm, nostalgic even. But that warmth was exactly why she kept her distance. Involvement meant exposure. Exposure meant retaliation—and she wasn't afraid for herself, but for them.

Tang Ziyi's conversation flowed smoothly for several minutes. Ms. Murong, confident in her mental defenses, kept calm and observant. Spirit Fox can't be this shallow, she thought, mildly amused at how civil everything was.

Then, out of nowhere, Tang Ziyi asked a direct question.

It caught Ms. Murong off-guard—not because of the question itself, but because her mouth started answering.

Unbidden. Without her consent.

Her eyes widened. She gasped, clamping a hand over her lips. What the hell?!

Tang Ziyi tilted her head with mock concern and asked again—another sharp, pointed question.

Again, Ms. Murong responded.

Her voice moved faster than her will. Each answer slipped out with unfiltered truth, without hesitation. Names. Places. Movements. She tried to fight it, to mentally grip the leash on her tongue, but something inside—some compulsion—kept dragging the truth out of her.

Even though the details she spilled at first were minor, mostly unrelated to Spirit Fox, her panic began to rise. She saw Tang Ziyi's smile—calm, knowing, almost affectionate in its cruelty.

This woman had planned everything.

Then came the questions that struck closer to the recent attacks—intel she had been actively avoiding, information too dangerous to share for her friends here if she was exposed.

Who knew whether Spirit Fow was trustworthy? She knew these women took her in to find out what she had inside, during the escort before arriving here.

And she told it. All of it.

Only once did she manage to resist—her body tensed, jaw locked, lips trembling. She refused to answer or so she thought.

But the effort turned her face pale. Sweat glistened on her forehead. Her chest rose and fell in short, shallow breaths.

The silence lasted a few seconds until she conceded and described everything.

Then Tang Ziyi leaned back, amused. "Interesting," she murmured. "I didn't expect you're stronger than most. Or maybe the effect isn't as good as injection. Who knows I have never try?"

"What trying? What do you mean?" Ms. Murong demanded, her voice laced with confusion and alarm.

Tang Ziyi said nothing. She simply watched, unblinking, as she continued her psychological assault—not with fists or threats, but with calm, relentless questioning.

Each word was a scalpel, and Ms. Murong was being flayed alive.

Secrets she'd never told anyone—locked memories, guarded truths—spilled uncontrollably from her lips. She tried to resist. She bit her tongue. She dug her nails into her thighs to maintain control. But the moment she hesitated, a new question would strike, splintering her fragile defenses.

The sensation was unbearable. Her mind felt stretched beyond its limits, as if her thoughts were being unraveled by invisible hands. There was no physical pain, yet the invasion was so thorough, so intimate, it became a form of psychological torture.

"This is sick," she gasped in disbelief. "You're sick!"

Tang Ziyi only smiled brighter, which infuriated her even more. The smile wasn't mocking. It was worse. It was entertained.

Ms. Murong seethed. She cursed, swore, and flung every insult she knew at Tang Ziyi in between involuntary confessions. But her rage was impotent, her resistance crumbling under the weight of whatever was manipulating her mind.

Was this hypnosis? She had heard of deep-layered suggestions, psychological triggers buried in the subconscious and activated later. But no—this was too seamless, too precise.

Conscious hypnosis? Drugs? She couldn't think. Every time she tried, another question slid past her mental barriers and forced her mouth open.

She hated that smile. That polite, calm smile. She'd rather be punched.

She collapsed back into the chair, drenched in sweat. Her muscles ached from tension, and her breath came in broken gasps.

She had told everything—names, operations, contacts, even personal moments she thought buried forever. There were only a handful of trivial details left unsaid, like scraps of paper in a storm.

And Tang Ziyi didn't stop.

Her voice continued, unhurried, cutting straight through what was left of Ms. Murong's defenses. Suddenly—

"What's the most embarrassing thing that ever happened during puberty?"

Ms. Murong's face turned crimson.

"No," she whispered. "Don't—"

But her lips moved on their own, betraying her yet again.

She confessed. Then more followed. Her romantic failures, her moments of insecurity, the color of her underwear today—everything was exposed in raw detail, spoken aloud like a diary torn open in a crowded plaza.

This wasn't just interrogation.

It was violation.

Ms. Murong felt herself unraveling. Her sense of identity thinned. She was a trained mercenary, forged through war and death. But here, stripped of every layer, she felt small, vulnerable, even humiliated.

She wasn't afraid of being killed—but she was terrified of being known.

Tang Ziyi must have sensed the breaking point. She finally stopped and leaned back in her chair, hands resting on her lap. The silence was suffocating.

Five full minutes passed.

Ms. Murong didn't speak. Couldn't speak.

Her eyes stared forward, dull and defeated. Whatever spark had once danced in them was dimmed now, her will crushed under the weight of exposure.

She wasn't just broken.

She was laid bare.

Tang Ziyi coughed softly, a flicker of guilt surfacing.

She had merely intended to tease—poke a little, maybe have a bit of fun with the famous mercenary. But she'd gone overboard. Had Ms. Murong been a notorious criminal, Tang wouldn't have batted an eye. But this woman… wasn't bad. Suspicious, yes. Armed, yes. But evil? No.

Still, Tang Ziyi couldn't deny her satisfaction. The serum's effect was beyond impressive—frighteningly effective, even. She had obtained exactly the information the previous Spirit Fox operators suspected during the apprehension. With the intel confirmed, Athena had already relayed it to Su Ruomei, who would be planning the next course of action.

From there, Athena's vast databanks and analytical prowess began cross-referencing details, gradually stitching together the bigger picture. The motive behind the unprecedented coordinated attack on Spirit Fox was beginning to surface. Unconfirmed, yes—but it made sense now.

Tang Ziyi shifted in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable. She wasn't a psychologist. She didn't deal with minds—she dealt with facts, bodies, combat. Unknown emotional fallout like this... unnerved her.

She hesitated, then asked, "Are you okay?"

Ms. Murong's face was pale, her shoulders trembling slightly. She looked up with glistening eyes, a single tear trailing down her cheek, catching the sterile glint of the fluorescent light.

"Do you think I should be okay?" she hissed.

Tang Ziyi didn't flinch. "Well… thank you for your intel. You helped us a lot."

"By violating me."

"It couldn't be helped." Tang Ziyi shrugged, regaining her usual poise. "The stakes were too high."

Ms. Murong stared at her for a moment, her voice low and flat. "What was it?"

Tang Ziyi knew exactly what she meant. She supposed the woman deserved to know, especially if she hoped to win her over—however coercive that goal might be. At the very least, honesty now was a form of respect.

"Truth serum," she said bluntly.

Ms. Murong blinked. "...What?"

"Truth serum," Tang repeated. "A biochemical verbal compulsion agent."

Ms. Murong froze. The term sounded like something out of a science fiction movie. But suddenly, her instincts screamed that it was real. That everything she'd just gone through was horrifyingly real.

Her heartbeat quickened. The water—yes, it must've been the water. She'd only drunk from the cup Tang Ziyi had given her. "Wait. That water?"

Tang Ziyi nodded.

"But… you drank it too," Ms. Murong said, brows knitting in confusion. "I saw you."

Tang Ziyi gave a half-smile. "It wasn't the same water."

Ms. Murong stared at her. "How?"

Tang Ziyi leaned back, folding her arms. "An ancient mechanism. Diversion-based design. Athena helped craft it. I only copied from famous assassination devices—the kind that splits poison and drink down different channels. In this case, I got the water. You got the serum."

A bitter smile tugged at Ms. Murong's lips. "You really spent that much effort… on me?"

She wasn't sure whether to feel honored or terrified. It meant she was valuable. But it also meant she was in too deep. And she'd been outplayed so cleanly, so effortlessly, she almost respected the deception.

Tang Ziyi noted her rising apprehension and softened her tone. "Don't worry. We're not going to hurt you. I swear."

Ms. Murong narrowed her eyes. "Really?"

"In fact," Tang Ziyi continued, "this might actually be good for your future."

"How? Apart from undressing me? You think I'll ever be the same again." Ms. Murong sneered, her voice low and bitter.

"Hey, only I know the information and I am not the type that will gossip around," Tang Ziyi promised and tapped the table, leaning closer. "I want you to join us."