"Your memory can't be that bad, surely?" Yang Wenru furrowed his brow. "We met just last night, didn't we—right at your villa's gate. I even took care of two petty thieves for you."

"Ah!" At Yang Juehuan's words, Zheng Shaopeng gave a start, his mouth falling open, and he stared at Yang Ce in disbelief. "You—you're the one who was with Wang Yanqiu!"

Though Yang Juehuan's face was utterly ordinary, with Yang Puqi's prompting, Zheng Shaopeng did recall the scene from the night before—two experts who hadn't lasted a single move against Yang Juehuan. What a terrifying sight that had been!

And it was precisely because Yang Juehuan had appeared that Zheng Shaopeng had fled the villa so swiftly, to avoid being caught in the crossfire.

"So you remember." Yang Ce gave a cold snort. "Seems your memory isn't so poor after all."

"What—what do you want?" Zheng Shaopeng was alarmed; he had never imagined Yang Ce would track him down at the casino.

"What do I want?" Yang Lin'yue smiled faintly. "That depends on how cooperative you are."

"How—how am I supposed to cooperate?" Zheng Shaopeng said, somewhat panicked.

"Simple. I ask, you answer. Otherwise—heh heh." Yang Yanzhou paused there for a moment. "You're a man with a bounty on his head. I could finish you off right now."

At Yang Cenbin's words, Zheng Shaopeng was indeed frightened. With Yang Juehuan's skill, killing him would be child's play. Stammering, he said, "Kill me now, and I'm afraid you won't get the bounty."

"I don't like the look of you—so can I kill you? What if I don't want the bounty?" Yang Jiyan glared and threatened.

Zheng Shaopeng's defiance vanished in an instant. Indeed—did a man need a reason to kill? Bounty or no bounty, for Heng, killing him was no more than lifting a hand.

"What—what do you want to know?" Zheng Shaopeng asked cautiously.

"I ask, you answer—that's all." Yang Ce shot him a glare. "What's your name?"

"Zheng Shaopeng," Zheng Shaopeng answered honestly.

"Is that your real name?" Yang Ce shot Zheng Shaopeng a sidelong glance.

"Zheng—Zheng Lazi." Zheng Shaopeng answered in a panic. "Zheng Lazi was my childhood nickname."

"From when?" Yang Ce pressed on. Zheng Lazi had not expected the man to have such a ridiculous name.

"From before I came to work at the casino." Zheng Shaopeng's fear of Yang Juehuan was deeply rooted; he dreaded that Yang Puqi might kill him in a fit of pique to vent his anger, so on these trivial questions he told the unvarnished truth.

"What did you do before you came to the casino?" Yang Ce continued.

"I—I was just a gambler." Zheng Shaopeng had completely lost the authority he commanded in the casino; head lowered, he did not dare look at Yang Ce. He had not the slightest thought of fleeing or resisting, for Yang Juehuan's skill was simply too formidable. Zheng Shaopeng feared that at the least sign of movement he would end up a corpse on the spot, like those two experts.

Yang Wenru frowned. A gambler—however he looked at it, Zheng Shaopeng's history held nothing remarkable: from gambler to dealer, then to floor manager, and so on. It all seemed perfectly natural.

Wait—no, that was wrong. Yang Ce suddenly seized on a key point: since Zheng Shaopeng could become a casino consultant, his gambling skills must be extraordinary. A man like that, if he had been a gambler before, must have been a formidable one. How could he have been nameless before entering the casino?

Yang Ce recalled what the Xuanming Sect had said: before entering the casino, Zheng Shaopeng had enjoyed no particular fame, which was why he had started at the lowest rung as a dealer. So if Zheng Shaopeng had never been involved in gambling before, it would be normal enough never to have heard of him. But Zheng Shaopeng was a gambler—and that made it rather abnormal that no one had heard of him.

"Where did you learn your gambling skills?" Yang Ce had hit on the crux of the matter and demanded at once.

"Wh—what gambling skills?" Zheng Shaopeng was startled; he had not expected Yang Ce to strike straight at his vital point. Panic seized him, and his speech grew halting.

"What do you mean, what gambling skills? As the casino's consultant director, your skills can hardly be poor. Who did you learn them from?" Yang Puqi waved a hand to cut Zheng Shaopeng off, his voice sharp.

"I was a gambler before, that's all—so I understand gambling fairly well." Zheng Shaopeng tried to bluff his way past it.

"Don't give me that useless nonsense. I can't stand people who play dumb when they know full well." Yang Ce gave a cold laugh. "Don't push me. My temper is none too good, and in the end it's you who'll suffer."

"I—I really am not lying to you!" Frightened as Zheng Shaopeng was of Yang Ce, the matter of his boss was something he could not reveal no matter what. He would not betray his boss to save his own skin.

"Are you certain that everything you've said is the truth?" Yang Ce pressed again.

"I—everything I said is the truth. Would I dare lie to you?" Zheng Shaopeng steeled himself and said.

"Is that so?" Yang Juehuan's face fell at once. "Fine. If you won't say it, I'll say it for you. Your gambling skills were taught to you by someone with ulterior motives, and then you slipped into the casino because you had designs on it—isn't that right?"

"No—it really isn't like that!" This time Zheng Shaopeng was truly wronged. He had no designs whatsoever on the casino; he had treated it simply as a career, a place to settle down.

"Hmph." Yang Mo was growing impatient. Since the fellow was so obtuse, there was no need for Yang Shuoxuan to be polite any longer. He shot out a hand and tapped Zheng Shaopeng once on the body.

This was Yang Ce's ever-reliable acupoint strike, the signature secret art of Fang Tian, king of assassins.

"Then enjoy yourself for a while. When you've thought it through, you can tell me." With that, Yang Yanzhou paid Zheng Shaopeng no further attention and sat down by himself in a chair to one side.

Zheng Shaopeng had already resigned himself to death—one way or another, he could not reveal his boss's affairs. His boss had shown him kindness, and the life he had lived these past years was, in effect, a gift from his boss.

For eight years now, his days in the casino had been comfortable beyond words, and he had enjoyed far more blessings than in the first half of his life. So he felt he had gotten his money's worth.

When Yang Yanzhou finished speaking, Zheng Shaopeng closed his eyes and began waiting for Yang Ce to torment him. The scenes of the past, when he had been caught cheating at gambling, were still vivid before his eyes; he had been tortured half to death then, and he had endured it. So Zheng Shaopeng figured that if he gritted his teeth, everything would pass—at worst, death.

But as Zheng Shaopeng waited for Yang Minlan to do his worst, he felt only Yang Ce's light touch on his body—nothing special at all.

But then it changed. Zheng Shaopeng suddenly felt as though countless leeches were biting him all over; it was a sensation beyond description—was it itch or was it pain? Whatever it was, it drove him instantly to distraction, a feeling worse than death.

Zheng Shaopeng clawed frantically at his body, gasping for breath, but it did no good whatsoever. The sensation remained as intense as ever, leaving him in agony.

"Ah—" Zheng Shaopeng could bear it no longer. With a miserable cry, he began rolling on the ground.

"Wh—what did you do to me?" Zheng Shaopeng's voice had lost its normal pitch, for the pain in his body made it impossible to speak properly.

Yang Ce only sneered and gave no answer. He did not even spare Zheng Shaopeng a glance.

At first Zheng Shaopeng was still howling; later he lacked even the strength to howl, and could only keep rolling on the ground, his face covered in sweat.

When Yang Ce judged it about right, he rose, gave Zheng Shaopeng a kick, and released the acupoint for him. "Do you want to talk now?"