Fang Zhiyi frowned. "Aim better before you throw. You almost hit me."
Wang Meng entered with a sly grin, earning a displeased glare from Guan Xiong.
"Using living people as test subjects—your crimes are indeed worthy of judgment," Fang Zhiyi said.
The bald man panicked. He hadn’t expected the name of the Jackals to fail in intimidating them—even their two bodyguards had been dealt with!
When he was strapped to the terrifying bed in the basement, Fang Zhiyi began arranging the bizarre-looking tools. The bald man finally broke, pleading desperately, but no one paid him any heed. Fang Zhiyi glanced toward the other end of the basement, where several emaciated figures were bound to wooden frames, barely clinging to life. He bowed deeply to them.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the show is about to begin."
He didn’t recognize the drugs, relying entirely on Mei Ming to identify them one by one. With each identification, he injected a dose into the bald man. The pleas turned to curses, then dissolved into screams.
Soon, even the screams stopped. Mei Ming remarked, "That one causes temporary muteness. He was too noisy."
The surviving test subjects watched with grim satisfaction, some even shedding tears.
Once, they too had begged this black-market doctor to spare them, only to be mocked for their desperation and ignorance.
The bald man was barely alive when Dace suddenly grabbed a scalpel. Just as he was about to plunge it into the doctor’s chest, Fang Zhiyi caught his wrist.
"I’ll do it," he said, his tone brooking no argument.
After dispatching the wicked doctor, Fang Zhiyi turned to the bound figures. They didn’t need to speak—the sight of the knife in his hand alone made their eyes fill with gratitude.
He bowed solemnly to each, then swung the blade before moving to the next.
The basement reeked of something foul.
As flames consumed the clinic, Marilyn’s car careened into the Lower District due to a malfunction.
Panic seized her—until a man appeared, like a prince from the fairy tales she’d read, scattering the thugs surrounding her car and offering his hand.
Marilyn was mesmerized by Ye Xiao. With just a casual wave, the menacing crowd parted into two lines. Ye Xiao made a sweeping gesture of invitation.
"Welcome to the Lower District, my delicate little princess."
He had waited so long for this day. The naive, radiant girl was finally within his grasp.
At this moment, nothing else existed in Ye Xiao’s eyes.
"Host, the male lead is fully love-struck. Now’s your chance to expand your influence," the system reminded him. "I’ve got talismans to help—like this puppet charm—"
But Fang Zhiyi didn’t move. He was busy counting stacks of cash with Mia—all looted from the black clinic. As Mia put it, since they’d gone this far, leaving anything behind would be a waste.
Beep beep beep.
The communicator buzzed again.
Fang Zhiyi glanced at it, and Mei Ming pressed the green button for him.
A child’s voice trembled through.
"My mom gets beaten by Dad every day. She’s sick now… Can you help?"
Most people here came from broken homes. At these words, everyone perked up.
Seeing Fang Zhiyi nod, Mei Ming asked gently, "Where are you, little one?"
Kusk was a drunkard whose job was mining for the Jackals. The Lower District’s work conditions were brutal, and the overseers were cruel. Frustration turned Kusk into a tyrant at home. He saw his wife as a worthless castoff, burdened with a stepchild. Women in the Lower District had few options, so mother and daughter endured silently.
Lately, rumors of the Jackals’ young master’s expansion plans had forced workers into grueling overtime. Slackers were whipped. After taking too many lashes, Kusk took it out on his wife with his fists.
The little girl watched, too afraid to cry—her stepfather had threatened to toss her into the mines if she made a sound. Then one day, a backpack-carrying sister stopped and asked if she needed help, handing her this strange device.
Now, her mother’s leg was broken, her fever raging. Remembering the sister’s words, the girl activated the communicator.
The door burst open. Kusk stormed in, face smeared with grime. He glared at the "brat," spat a curse, then marched to the kitchen. A roar followed.
"Why isn’t dinner ready? Trying to starve me?" He charged out like an enraged bear, kicking the bedroom door open.
The girl clapped a hand over her mouth, trembling.
The woman on the bed stirred weakly. "I think… I’m sick today—"
"Sick? You don’t get to be sick!" Kusk yanked her hair, dragging her toward the floor.
The girl finally screamed—her mother was dying—when a hand settled on her shoulder.
She turned. A sister knelt beside her. "Mom will be okay. Come wait outside with me, alright?"
The girl recognized the voice—the one from the device. "But Mom—" She pointed, only to see her stepfather’s wrist caught by a towering figure.
"Guan Xiong," Mei Ming called.
He glanced back, meeting the girl’s wide eyes. After a pause, he forced a smile—more grotesque than reassuring.
"Let’s go," another sister urged, guiding her outside.
"Who the hell are you?!" Kusk bellowed. Home invasions were common, but no one robbed dirt-poor miners—especially not in Jackals’ worker housing.
"So annoying." Guan Xiong’s face went cold. A palm strike to the jaw sent blood gushing from Kusk’s mouth. He tried to howl, but his jaw wouldn’t move.
"Move. You’re in my way," Dace snapped, lugging a medical kit.
Then came the agony of tearing flesh—the gaunt, terrifying man had seized Kusk’s ear, ripping it as he flung him aside. Blood streamed down his neck.
"High fever. Fractured leg. Bruised mouth…" Dace muttered.
With each symptom listed, Guan Xiong snapped one of Kusk’s fingers. Seven breaks later, Kusk passed out.
"That’s it?" Guan Xiong asked.
Dace scoffed. "You want more? She’s already critical."
"Then I’ll improvise." Kusk woke to fresh torment.