Chapter 6: Confrontation

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Though it was only the light rainy season now, with the rain not too intense, no one dared to challenge the thunderstorm-filled grasslands at night. Even well-trained special forces wouldn’t choose to venture into the open wilderness at such a time.

Tang Mi struggled to press her face against her shoulder, trying to wipe away the rainwater that kept dripping onto her face. The wounds on her arms and calves stung sharply from being soaked; these were scars from dodging bullets earlier in the day.

“If I stay in this any longer, the wounds might get infected,” she thought, curling up. Her hands and feet were tied, her jacket stripped away, and the cold seeped through every pore of her body, impossible to resist even as she bit down hard.

All around was pitch-black, with thorn-like flashes of lightning streaking overhead, violently striking distant mountain peaks. The thunder echoed with the earth’s pulse, trembling in sync with her heartbeat.

In the darkness ahead, however, an odd flicker of fire ignited, the orange glow flaring and dimming like a beacon on the sea, or like a seductive enchantress, luring the lost while proclaiming itself as the true master of the night. It was a light that could guide Tang Mi out of her predicament, her only reliance now. All she had to do was surrender unconditionally.

Arthur stood there, and she knew it. He was watching her intently through the weak firelight, as still as an ice-sculpted statue.

Her every movement, expression, even her breath—nothing escaped his gaze. But he wouldn’t act until she exhausted her last bit of strength, collapsing at his feet, begging for mercy. Only then would he lower his eyes, smile gently, and say, “Look at you, so pathetic—I almost feel sorry for you.” Then he’d end her life with a bullet to the chest, as effortlessly as crushing an insect.

A seasoned hunter waits patiently, letting his prey wear itself out before closing in, but Arthur was more like an all-powerful demon than a hunter.

To this day, Tang Mi couldn’t understand how he had uncovered her background and secrets. Her foster father had spent nearly ten years to bury that terrifying past, yet this stranger, whom she had known for barely half a day, had pried it out with ease, as if using some sinister mind-reading ability.

Tang Mi didn’t believe in magic, even though she herself had a special ability: she could understand and communicate with animals. But that only applied to what was “spoken,” not secrets buried deep within. Judging by Arthur’s interrogation style, it seemed like some form of forced hypnosis.

The technique of forced hypnosis is extremely domineering, not much different from torture. For humanitarian reasons, most countries prohibit its use during interrogations, but for certain covert organizations and military units, it remains the most effective secret weapon.

Who exactly is he? A mysterious and unfathomable businessman?

A man with a gentle smile?

Chaotic and blurry memories overlapped, as though it was a dream that wouldn’t fade.

Who exactly was he? A mysterious, elusive businessman? A sniper with a gentle smile? Or a ruthless hypnotist?

Perhaps he was all of these things but not entirely any one of them—like peering at a leopard through a straw, able to see the fine details of its spots but never its whole form.

Enduring the torment of cold and exhaustion, Tang Mi forced her eyes wide open, becoming more certain: even if she obediently revealed the hidden location of the memory card, this terrifying man wouldn’t let her go. Besides, she wasn’t entirely without hope, as the “reinforcements” she had waited so long for had finally arrived.

Hearing the deep, gradual hum drawing nearer, she breathed a small sigh of relief, silently whispering, “Thank goodness you’re finally here, Emma.”

The rain stopped, clouds parted, and a faint line began to separate heaven and earth. Then a white lioness appeared, standing in the dim light of dawn and slowly approaching them. She was like the first edge of snow sharpened into a blade, slicing through the thick darkness, causing all beneath her path to shudder with awe.

Arthur wasn’t too surprised when he saw the white lioness. Nighttime was a prime hunting period for animals, and this area was home to many large predators. Normally, they stayed away from the light in the tents, but outside the circle of light’s protection, they became the fiercest killers, ready to strike at any moment. What intrigued him more was how the person crouched in the grass would react. If the rainy grassland couldn’t make her surrender, would the sharp teeth of a predator pierce her proud heart?

Just the thought of her screaming, crying, and finally breaking down in his arms made his blood surge, and a twisted, alluring flower seemed to bloom in his mind, filling his vision with its seductive hue.

Earlier in the tent, she had given him a soft smile, radiant and almost fragile like glass, yet defiant, unafraid to challenge everything, including the dark soul he hid. She was so beautiful he wanted to destroy her completely.

In the art of interrogation, Arthur preferred breaking a person’s mind and will over physical torture.

While many of his peers took pleasure in the violent aesthetics of broken flesh and agonized screams, he saw that as a sign of weakness and incompetence. He preferred a clean and thorough method of destruction, like the highest-ranking vampires who wouldn’t let a single drop of blood spill when they fed.

“Guess I really am a cold-blooded demon,” he murmured, exhaling a puff of smoke, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

But then again, wasn’t everyone in this line of work a demon?

The white lion continued to approach, its broad paws soundlessly pressing through the low grass. Apart from the steady drip of rain, everything was eerily silent.

The emerging moonlight outlined its taut, sleek body, casting a shimmering glow as water droplets clung to its silver fur, scattering a crystalline aura with each graceful movement. Yet the instant those droplets flung off, power surged along the path of its stride.

The lion stopped in front of Tang Mi, its pale jade eyes sweeping over her with a steady, fierce gaze that didn’t linger. Instead, they locked directly onto Arthur, muscles in its upper jaw pulling back to reveal sharp fangs flashing white in the night. Its whole body tensed into an attacking stance.

The instinct to identify the strongest opponent first is innate in all animals, and lions are no exception.

Arthur’s eyes met those of the lion, and he calmly shifted his hand toward the gun at his waist.

But the lion didn’t leap at him. Instead, it let out a few warning roars, then lowered its head and began sniffing Tang Mi, as if, after scaring off the stronger rival, it was carefully assessing the “meal” for freshness.

Watching this scene, Arthur’s face remained expressionless as he dropped the umbrella in his hand and swiftly unlocked the safety on his gun, aiming at the massive feline. He should have fired immediately, yet he hesitated, feeling a flicker of fear, something he wouldn’t admit to but couldn’t ignore. He hesitated because he was waiting—for that stubborn woman to cry out for his help. And fear crept in because he couldn’t deny he didn’t want to see her die.

It had been like that from the beginning. If he truly wanted to kill her, he would have ended it with the first bullet. But he hadn’t.

Was it her allure, or the last scrap of conscience buried within him? He didn’t know. All he knew was that something seemed different this time.