The tension crackled in the air like an exposed wire.
"You believe everything they say? No way, no way?" Ye Chenfeng's voice dripped with sarcasm, cutting through the confined space. He paced back and forth, eyes narrowed, assessing the three captives who looked increasingly panicked.
"How could it be such a coincidence that something so blind would attack at such a critical moment?" he continued, the edge of disbelief sharpening his tone.
The captives shifted uneasily, their faces a mix of confusion and sudden dread.
"Damn it, I believe everything you say? Do you think I'm stupid?" Ye Chenfeng's sudden exclamation made their hearts pound faster.
The trio, realizing this situation was veering wildly from what they expected, exchanged anxious glances. The script in their minds—where a few contrite apologies would set them free—was rapidly dissolving.
"W-We really are students of Mingzhu Academy," one of them stammered, voice cracking.
"Yes, yes! Our mentor is Bai Hong," another chimed in, desperation lending urgency to their words.
"I was wrong! I shouldn't have been so petty and caused trouble for Mo Fan," the last added, eyes darting toward the silent onlookers.
Mo Fan's gaze flickered. Their tone didn't have the rehearsed polish of deceit. And Bai Hong—he knew that name.
"Old Ye, they really are students from Mingzhu Academy," Mo Fan muttered, half-convinced.
Ye Chenfeng shot him an incredulous look. "Have you been with Lingling so long that your brain's turned to mush?" His voice dropped to a sharp whisper. "Being students and being members of the Black Church aren't mutually exclusive, Mo Fan. Who says a student can't hide their true allegiance?"
Mo Fan's brows drew together. The Black Church's reach was infamously insidious—even the military struggled to contain them. Schools, in comparison, were porous.
"But there's no proof," he argued, uneasy. "And they might be innocent."
Ye Chenfeng wagged his index finger, a cynical grin forming. "Nonono. You're too wrapped up in your own world. Think, Mo Fan. How often do people openly fight for Mu Nujiao? Or cause trouble for her?"
Mo Fan's mind clicked through past incidents. The answer surfaced slowly.
"It's... rare," he admitted.
"Exactly. The smart ones know better. They might grovel, but they don't risk their futures over her. The real power behind her isn't just her beauty—it's her family. Anyone truly interested would be careful. Even if she favored someone, the Mu family would cut that thread before it could tighten."
Ye Chenfeng's gaze zeroed in on Jia Wenqing, who sat stiff, trying to appear composed but failing as sweat dripped down his temple.
"And he—who attacked someone close to Mu Nujiao? That's an act of suicide for a Mingzhu student looking to climb into an aristocratic circle."
Mo Fan's eyes widened, the realization like ice down his spine. His voice came out low, stunned. "Then... they really could be members of the Black Church?"
Ye Chenfeng's laugh was hollow. "Have you noticed? It's always the ones with noble ties who stir up trouble."
The captives' eyes flared with panic. One opened his mouth, but Ye Chenfeng silenced him with a glare. Mo Fan watched the doubt drain from their expressions, replaced by a dread so thick it seemed to choke the room.
"What do we do now?" Mo Fan asked.
"Leave that to me," Ye Chenfeng said, voice cold as winter.
Before they could react, the captives were knocked out. When they came to, they were in a dimly lit room, bound and shivering. The first scream echoed off the walls as Ye Chenfeng held up bloodied pliers, a detached nail clinking to the floor.
"Are you from the Black Church?" he asked, the casual question made monstrous by its repetition.
"Ye Chenfeng! This is insane!" cried one of the remaining captives, but their outrage quivered, deflated by terror.
"Wrong answer," Ye Chenfeng said, not looking up as he gripped another finger.
By the third nail, Jia Wenqing broke.
"Yes! I am! I am from the Black Church!"
The confession sent a shockwave through the room. Mo Fan, from his post outside, felt an invisible weight press on him. The other captives' eyes bulged with horror, tears spilling as they realized the depth of their predicament. Innocence was no shield now.
"And the rest?" Ye Chenfeng continued, voice steady.
With each question, Jia Wenqing, now shattered, recited details with grim clarity. The others knew: whether by truth or association, they would never escape this shadow unmarked.