Suddenly, the scene changed, and Yang Cheng saw a unfamiliar setting.
It was a dark and damp basement, the air filled with a pungent stench of decay, and the walls were covered with various torture tools, making it look like some kind of interrogation room.
A man was bound by chain to a pillar, his body covered in wounds and his clothes tattered, hair disheveled, face obscured.
"Are you going to talk or not?"
A cold voice rang out.
The man lifted his head, revealing a face covered in blood and grime, though unrecognizable, Yang Cheng still recognized him.
It was his father—Yang Feng!
"Dad!"
Yang Cheng shouted, wanting to rush over, yet found he couldn't get close, only able to watch helplessly.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Yang Feng's voice was hoarse, but his tone firm.
"Hmph, stubborn."
That cold voice chuckled, a shadow raised a whip in hand, and lashed it hard upon Yang Feng.
"Snap—!"
