After ending the video call, Ruan Chaoxi sat motionless for a long time. Her phone screen had already gone dark, reflecting her bewildered and uneasy face.
Why did Miya-gege care so much? Even… suffer?
Just because she agreed to be the peacock’s “girlfriend”?
She had already explained it clearly.
This was just like agreeing to attend the lecture or go to the shooting range before—purely out of curiosity and a detached, playful mindset.
But Miya-gege’s gaze, that suppressed anguish, that obsessive concern… still made her heart flutter with unease.
His care and protection for her seemed… to have crossed the boundaries of “siblings”…
Miya-gege… boyfriend?
No, how could Miya-gege be a boyfriend!
He was family, had always been since childhood, a bond tighter than blood.
Maybe he thought her “game” was too reckless, too unsafe, and that’s why he was angry?
Although Jiang Yaoci was flashy and a bit annoying, he didn’t seem like someone who would dare to do anything excessive, and she wasn’t without the ability to protect herself.
So… what exactly was the reason?
Ruan Chaoxi irritably ruffled her hair.
She truly couldn’t figure out what she had done wrong, only feeling that this “observation game” seemed to have hurt him. The excitement born from “fun” was also replaced by guilt and confusion.
She wanted to call Miya-gege again immediately, to explain clearly, to ask him what was wrong, to see if he was okay…
But looking at the darkened screen, she hesitated. She didn’t know how to start, let alone how to face those eyes filled with pain.
In the end, she sighed and buried her face in the pillow.
Forget it, let it be for now.
Wait until tomorrow night’s video call, and see how Miya-gege is then…
Thousands of miles away, in Myanmar.
The air in the interrogation room was thick with the smell of blood and rust. The walls were lined with various chilling instruments of torture, gleaming coldly under the stark white light.
In the center, a man was suspended by iron chains—the traitor captured yesterday. Seeing Samia walk in, a flicker of fear flashed in his eyes, but he still forced a cold smile. “Samia… you… won’t get anything out of me…”
Samia didn’t look at him, only leisurely rolled up his sleeves, revealing his muscular forearms.
“Tool,” he extended his hand.
The executioner immediately handed him a steel whip with barbs.
Samia took it, weighing it in his hand. Then, his arm swung out violently!
“Crack—!”
The whip tore through the air, whistling as it struck the prisoner’s body. The barbs hooked into flesh, tearing it open viciously and sending a spray of blood into the air. The prisoner let out a piercing scream.
He needed this violent catharsis to divert and suppress the pain inside him that was almost tearing him apart.
His Xixi now had a nominal “boyfriend.”
Even if it was just “observation.”
That word, that identity, repeatedly tore at his nerves.
Samia swung the whip again and again, his movements precise and ruthless.
Each crack of the whip was like a warning bell striking his heart—his Xixi had agreed to someone else.
Each wail of agony felt like a mockery of his own powerlessness, forever confined to the role of “brother.”
Blood splattered, a few drops landing on his cold, stern face and clothes, but he seemed oblivious. Only his eyes, under the dim light of the interrogation room, churned with a crimson madness.The traitor’s screams, initially piercing and shrill, gradually grew faint and intermittent, until only hoarse, gasping breaths remained.
The adjutant and executioner stood by with hands at their sides, not daring to make a sound.
It was only after an unknown length of time, when the traitor had fallen unconscious, leaving behind only a broken body twitching faintly, that Samia finally ceased his actions.
He casually tossed the bloodstained steel whip onto the ground, breathing slightly heavily, a few strands of sweat-drenched black hair clinging to his sharply defined temples.
Taking the damp towel handed to him by the adjutant, he wiped the blood from his face and hands, his movements regaining their previous elegance, a stark contrast to the Asura he had embodied moments before.
“Clean this up. Don’t let him die too easily.”
“Yes, sir!” the adjutant replied immediately.
Samia no longer glanced at the hellish scene behind him and walked straight out. Jealousy and rage had not subsided; instead, they had grown sharper with the stimulation of bloodshed. But at least the suffocating feeling that had nearly driven him mad was temporarily suppressed a little.
He stood on the observation deck of the command post, lighting a cigarette. The night wind carried the damp, earthy scent of heat, yet it could not disperse the gloom in his heart.
He raised his head and looked northward. The moonlight fell upon his handsome, ruthless face, the turmoil in his eyes darker than the night itself. All his fury, pain, and killing intent were buried deep within, leaving only a layer of icy coldness.
Xixi, you can play your little “observation” game.
But the ending of the game will be written by me alone.
Every inch you fly is within my measure.
Your so-called “boyfriend”…
He exhaled a cloud of smoke, the corner of his mouth curling into an utterly cruel smile.