Chapter 203: The Lion's Maw Reopens, Seeking Ten Thousand Strings

The bloody smell still lingered in the basement; Zhang Ming's corpse lay on the floor, silently bearing witness to everything that had happened there.

In the dim light, Lin Yu slowly raised his pistol, lightly touching the uninjured half of Wang Zhenwu's face with the cold barrel.

"Battalion Commander Wang, sacrificing life for righteousness?" Lin Yu's face showed a playful, almost mocking smile. "Such loyalty—tsk tsk—truly moves heaven and earth. Thirty million, that sounds about right."

Wang Zhenwu's body trembled slightly from humiliation and the cold gun barrel, but he forced himself to stay composed: "Commander Lin! We've brought the money! All we ask is that you keep your promise and release our young master! My life, Wang Zhenwu's, is at your disposal!"

Lin Yu holstered his gun and paced slowly back and forth in the cramped cell. He occasionally glanced at the corner where Sun Lingyun, frightened into a daze, sat with a thoughtful expression.

"Promise? Hmm..." He pretended to ponder, "Let me think. Your young master has been eating well and living here for over half a month, right?" He suddenly stopped, turned to Wang Zhenwu, and said, "This place—every inch of land is precious; guards, three meals a day, medical care—nothing comes for free."

His tone grew increasingly aggressive: "Your Sun family's efficiency is too low—taking this many days to deliver the money. During this time there are late fees, custodial costs, and..." He paused meaningfully, then added, "Well, my compensation for mental anguish also needs to be calculated."

Alarm bells rang in Wang Zhenwu's mind as an ominous premonition settled over him. His voice trembled: "Commander Lin... what do you mean by this?"

Lin Yu abruptly stopped, turned to face Wang Zhenwu. His smile instantly turned cold and direct, each word driving into Wang Zhenwu's heart like a nail: "It's simple. The original price is now void. Now it's thirty‑five million. Not a cent less. Do you understand?"

Those words struck like a heavy hammer, slamming into Wang Zhenwu's chest. Five million—added just like that, with no warning, no leeway.

He opened his mouth but could not make a sound. The air in the basement seemed to freeze, even Sun Lingyun's sobs ceasing.

Lin Yu seemed to enjoy this feeling of total control. He raised his pistol again, playing with it in the dim light: "How so? Battalion Commander Wang, you couldn't possibly think that in Shen City anyone could still bargain with me, could you?"

The air instantly turned viscous. Wang Zhenwu trembled all over, his long‑suppressed anger finally breaking the shackles of reason. His voice, hoarse from repressed fury, shook with every word:

"Thirty‑five million?! Lin Yu! You..." His chest heaved violently, "You're simply bullying people too much! Going back on your word, utterly devoid of integrity!"

Before his words even faded, Lin Yu's eyes turned icy. He moved so fast there was no time to react, raising his hand and delivering two sharp, crisp slaps to Wang Zhenwu's face.

"Slap! Slap!"

The sound of the slaps echoed in the basement. Wang Zhenwu staggered back from the force, his shoulders slamming hard against the damp wall. Fresh blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, mixing with earlier stains and dripping down his chin. The burning pain on his face was nothing compared to the humiliation and despair in his heart.

He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms, blood seeping from between his fingers. The once‑steadfast look in his eyes began to scatter, as if something inside his heart had shattered completely.

In the corner, Sun Lingyun curled up in fright from the sudden violence, letting out a muffled whimper. But no one paid attention to his reaction.

Lin Yu acted as if he had merely done a trivial thing. He leisurely pulled a delicate silver cigarette case from his pocket, took out an expensive cigarette. Feng An behind him immediately understood, stepped forward respectfully, struck a match, and lit it for him.

The flame flashed in the dim basement, illuminating Lin Yu's face with its cruel smile. He drew a deep breath; smoke drifted from his nose and mouth, swirling in the air and blurring his expression.

"Battalion Commander Wang," his voice cold and condescending, "It seems you still haven't learned. Here," he gestured with the fingers holding his cigarette, ash falling lightly as he moved, "the rules are set by me. My word is the law."

He stepped forward, closing in on Wang Zhenwu. The thick smoke mingled with the smell of blood, making one nauseous: "All you need to do is nod, or..."

He didn't finish, but the threat was clear as day. The corpse of Zhang Ming on the floor was proof enough.

"You have no right to haggle." Lin Yu slowly exhaled his last puff of smoke, which formed a hazy veil before his face, "I hope you now understand this perfectly."

Wang Zhenwu stood rigid, his whole body stiff. The military pride he cherished was shattered in that instant, reduced to fragments scattered on the ground, mingling with the bloodstains, never to be picked up again.

The basement fell into a brief silence, broken only by the faint sound of Lin Yu's smoking and Wang Zhenwu's heavy breathing. The mingled odors of blood and tobacco filled the enclosed space, making it hard to breathe.

Wang Zhenwu covered his swollen cheek, the blood at the corner of his mouth already dried. His voice hoarse, he said with the last vestige of struggling dignity: "Commander Lin, leave a line, so we may meet again someday. Aren't you afraid that the world will scorn you for going back on your word?"

Lin Yu let out a low, mocking laugh at those words. Smoke drifted from his mouth, looking especially grim in the dim light: "The world?" He sneered, repeating the word, "How they see me—do I need to care? Reputation?"

He flicked ash from his cigarette and sneered, "That's something only the weak need."

Before his words even faded, his smile vanished, replaced by a bone‑chilling cold. His tone turned icy: "I'll give you one last chance to choose. Thirty‑five million—yes or no?"

He slowly turned, his gaze toward the back of the cell. From there came Sun Lingyun's stifled sobs, unusually clear in the quiet basement. "If you say no..." Lin Yu's voice carried a cruel calm, "Then it's simple—tonight I'll have someone take your young master on a one‑way trip, letting him reach paradise early so he won't suffer here."

He gave a meaningful glance at Zhang Ming's corpse on the ground, "On the road to the underworld, he surely won't be too lonely."

Those words struck like a heavy hammer, slamming into Wang Zhenwu's chest. His body jerked as if all strength had been drained from him. Sun Lingyun's safety was his bottom line; the words Sun Dingyuan had spoken before departing still rang in his ears. A living Sun Lingyun versus a cold corpse—the answer to this multiple‑choice question goes without saying.

Wang Zhenwu closed his eyes, forcing down the surging blood and endless humiliation. When he opened them again, the once‑determined gaze had dimmed. His voice dry, as if squeezed from deep in his throat: "... Commander Lin, I..."

He paused, as if speaking the next words would drain all his strength: "This time I came under orders, bringing only thirty million in cash..."