Chapter 55: The Example

The pale light of the incandescent lamp fell into the room, partitioning shadows in neat, crisp intervals.

Here, time was shattered, broken apart, then pieced together again, assembled, rotating ceaselessly, like an ant crawling clockwise to its death on a mirror. It crawled past the four characters meaning “Maintain Public Order” on the wall, crawled past the four characters meaning “Be Loyal to Duty,” and finally stopped on the halted clock—a deliberately placed clock. Interrogated suspects would see it the moment they looked up, yet no matter when they looked, its hands always pointed to zero-zero. In this windowless interrogation room where night and day were indistinguishable, the stagnated clock exerted tremendous psychological pressure. Time, in perception, was stretched infinitely long, as if the suffering would be boundless as long as resistance continued.

Here, confession wasn’t necessarily liberation, but it was the only possible ending.

“October 13, 2017. 4:35 PM. Pingjiang City Second Executors Team Leader, Yu Mi. Second interrogation. Please say, ‘Begin,’ to unlock.”

“Begin.”

A hoarse electrical current hissed faintly. Two voices appeared in this suffocating interrogation room. The first was the mechanical electronic voice, the second belonged to the man sitting on the long chair. The man was wearing loose hospital scrubs. The long chair beneath him looked like something from a dental clinic, though its structure was more complex. Countless black wires, like those for an EKG, extended into the man’s scrubs, cold and sticky against his skin. They all connected to a pitch-black iron box—a bizarre instrument, crude and rough, looking like an old box television from thirty years ago. On its screen were four fluctuating lines and a single red dot resembling a warning light. The lines rose and fell, mapping out every hidden corner and crevice of the man’s every spoken word. Before it, nothing could hide.

This long chair was called the Leniency Chair. Executors internally referred to it as the Honesty Chair, but among the Inner Circle, its name was the Pig Cage. Sitting on this chair was like being locked inside an invisible pig cage. A person was no longer a person, but a sheet of naked truth, exposed. Right ahead was a massive One-Way Mirror, upon which every secret was laid bare in minute detail. The person, bound to the long chair, was like a trussed-up pig awaiting slaughter.

“Name?”

“Yu Mi. Yu as in ‘rational concept,’ Mi as in ‘to seek.'”

Green light lit up.

“Age, sex, and city of residence.”

“Born in ’83, so I’d be thirty-four now. Male. I’ve lived in Pingjiang my whole life, from birth until now. Never relocated anywhere else.”

Green light lit up.

“When exactly did you join the Executors? What year, what month? And through what means did you join?”

“April 2006. I graduated from Pingjiang University then, received a recommendation letter, and participated in the Executor assessment. After that, I joined the Execution Division. It’s been eleven years now.”

Still green.

“In the past month, have you made contact with any suspicious individuals? Have you communicated your work content to any outsiders in any form? Please answer with yes or no.”

“No.”

Green.

“Were there any fabricated sections in the report you previously submitted? Any alterations? Please answer with yes or no.”

“No.”

Green.

“Do you harbor any tendencies of dissatisfaction towards the Executor System? Do you believe there are errors in the current methods of handling patients?”

“No.”

Red light blazed, its sound piercing.

The mechanical electronic voice paused for a moment, as if recording something, before continuing with the next question:

“Have you violated the Executor Code of Conduct in any form? Have you neglected your duties, or shielded law-breaking patients in any way?”

“No.”

This time, it turned green again.

“…”

Li Yuan removed her headset, pulled her gaze away from the One-Way Mirror in front of her, took a deep breath, bent over, and covered her face with her hands.

“What is it?” Fang Qi, who had been taking notes in an illegible scrawl, stopped his pen and looked at her. “Do you have any points you want to raise?”

“Fang Qi, you know exactly what I want to say. This isn’t treatment. This is interrogating a criminal,” Li Yuan kept her voice low, speaking rapidly. “And then what? Once this session is over, are we just going to execute Yu Mi? Better to kill a thousand by mistake than let one go, right? We’re just patients anyway, aren’t we?”

Everything was happening with surreal speed. She had brought Tian Xi back to the Investigation Team, only to learn upon arrival that Yu Mi had already been taken away by the Pingjiang City First Executors Team. Worse, the First Executors Team Leader had conducted the arrest personally, fully equipped with the Pipa Needle Shroud. It didn’t look at all like apprehending a colleague; it looked more like capturing a murderous, unrepentant killer. And now they were even using the Leniency Chair. Wasn’t Yu Mi a victim of the Lake Cutter? He’d proactively reported his own condition the moment he suspected he might have been affected by the Lake Cutter, so why was he still being subjected to this degree of suspicion and hostility?

Fang Qi didn’t say anything in response to the anger in her tone. He just shook his head, refuting her statement. “It won’t go that far. If the results show that Team Leader Yu was merely affected, with no issues of his own, then he’ll be placed under protective custody for six months. After passing a review, he can be reinstated. And if Team Leader Yu was colluding with the Lake Cutter in some way—and I mean if—he wouldn’t be shot. He’d be sent elsewhere—I mean, somewhere like Northern China.”

He paused, then added, “In our line of work, getting shot is actually quite difficult. To be directly executed, you need two things: first, sufficient crimes, and second, a lack of importance. Team Leader Yu meets neither of those criteria.”

Li Yuan stared at Fang Qi, momentarily stunned. She felt it was absurd and wanted to sneer coldly, but couldn’t manage to lift the corners of her mouth even after several attempts.

“Li Yuan, I know what you’re thinking, but I advise you not to say it aloud here. This is Team 1. Someone could be listening,” Fang Qi tapped his brow, speaking in a low voice. “What I want to say is simple. If I were the one sitting on that Honesty Chair right now, and Yu Mi was sitting where I’m sitting, he would say the exact same thing I just told you. That’s the resolve required in our line of work—”

“What resolve? The resolve to be a dog?” Li Yuan retorted. “So you think Yu Mi’s current situation is justified?”

“Yes,” Fang Qi nodded openly, his voice deep. “Do you remember what Insiders call us? Black Dogs. They’re not wrong. We are the dogs raised by the law. We will uphold it at any cost, even if it seems cold and impersonal, even if its existence isn’t designed to protect people like us. That’s the resolve Executors must have.”

He spread his hands and continued, “If the Executors themselves aren’t willing to obey the law’s arrangements, then why should those patients be willing to abide by the rules? Why should other patients have to sit in the Leniency Chair while we Executors get a free pass? There’s never been such a principle. Let alone the fact that he, Yu Mi, is an Execution Division Team Leader.”

Li Yuan knew the term Black Dog. Because the Executors’ uniforms were primarily black, the nickname was a mockery, implying they were the higher-ups’ pet dogs, groveling gratefully for scraps that slipped through their fingers. It was a severe insult… She just never expected to hear it from Fang Qi’s mouth. The irony was beyond surreal. For a moment, she didn’t even know what to say in response.

She began to understand Fang Qi’s unspoken implication. Her tone turned bitter. “So, even if Yu Mi has no problems whatsoever, he still has to endure the highest level of treatment reserved for criminals. It’s to appease the other patients’ discontent. The higher-ups want to make an example of Yu Mi for everyone to see—See? We don’t spare even our own dogs when it’s time to beat them. So stop complaining, tuck your tails between your legs, and behave. Is that it?”

Fang Qi said softly, “Li Yuan, I know you can’t understand these things yet. It’s okay, it’s normal. Every Executor feels that same indignation and discontent at the start… But trust me, as time goes on, you’ll understand what I’m saying.”

Why? Because you just get used to it, numb to it all? Li Yuan forced herself to hold back that barbed remark. She knew that Fang Qi was, at his core, a genuinely good person—good to the point of foolishness. Maybe what he said wasn’t right, but he himself truly believed it and acted accordingly. Even if he were the one strapped to that long chair, he’d say the exact same thing.