Smartphone reading: With spring warming and flowers blooming, everything thrives with vibrant energy. The Eighty-Eleven E-book As the saying goes, "It's not enough to fear thieves stealing—what worries you even more is when thieves keep watching." Now, Qin Feng doesn't fear the Death Angels taking action—he only fears they won't act at all. When they don't act, Qin Feng and the women around him remain on high alert for 24 hours a day. Over time, such constant tension begins to affect one's thoughts. Therefore, he must either compel the Death Angels to act—or create an opportunity for them to do so. That morning, he drove his Jeep out of the house, making a grand announcement to his neighbors before leaving, stating he was going to inspect a piece of land and open a new factory. He drove alone to the outskirts, reaching a point thirty kilometers outside the city, where the landscape stretched out in a sea of lush green wheat fields, with the surroundings remarkably open and spacious. This was the ideal setting for an assassination—should the Death Angels still hesitate, Qin Feng would have no choice but to face a complete impasse. Far off, a flash of white light appeared Then, a sharp gunshot rang out, and the bullet whistled past. The opponent had indeed been fooled—his lips curled slightly upward, and as the bullet approached, he focused his intent, guiding it precisely into Naji's palm. As for himself, he feigned a wound, collapsing to the ground and rolling into a dry gully beside. A kilometer away, the marksman lifted his head. Dressed in a camouflage uniform nearly indistinguishable from the wheat fields, he remained unseen to Qin Feng unless the reflection of the scope caught his position. Of course, Isabel had already locked onto him; should Qin Feng fail to evade, she would step in promptly. At this moment, Qin, the young lord, stood at the peak of his Zhen Period cultivation, capable of calmly absorbing the high-velocity bullet from a sniper rifle. As a seasoned marksman, his first action after hitting the target was to confirm through the scope that the target had indeed fallen. Should the target still move, he would immediately follow up with a second shot. Qin Feng had stumbled into a dry ditch, and the sniper instantly lost his target. He was confident in his shooting skills—his recent shot had felt solid, and there was no reason it should have missed. Otherwise, how could the target have fallen? Yet, he felt it necessary to verify that the man was indeed dead. Only by taking a photograph could he officially complete the mission and claim his due compensation. He picked up his rifle, one eye fixed on the scope, moving steadily and deliberately toward the spot. It took him twenty minutes to cover the one-kilometer distance. As for Qin, the young noble, he lay half in the ditch, his mouth holding a slender stalk of grass, growing increasingly impatient. While this approach was undoubtedly cautious, it carried a risk: if the target hadn't actually died, the twenty-minute delay might allow him to escape the effective range of the sniper rifle. Thus, excessive caution could sometimes prove detrimental, easily costing valuable opportunities. Finally, the footsteps grew clearer. He dropped the grass stem and murmured, "The one who's supposed to come will eventually come. I've been waiting—well, I've been waiting all this time!" The gunman took a swift step to the edge of the ditch, still hadn't had time to identify his target, when a flash of white light erupted, followed by a crisp crack. The gun barrel was severed right at the gunstock, the cut clean and smooth, and the gunman himself stood stunned. What weapon could cut through the high-strength alloy steel barrel so cleanly? He looked up—and there, suspended in midair, was a sword, an ancient-looking blade glowing with a soft cyan light. Its owner, Qin, stepped out from the dry ditch and said, "Brother, you finally moved! I've been waiting for you a long time!" The gunman instinctively dropped his now-useless long spear and reached for his handgun at his waist. "I advise you not to do that," Qin said coldly, "because this time, I'll cut off your fingers as well." Of course, the gunman wasn't ready to surrender so easily—he believed his own gun-drawing speed was swift. Unfortunately, even the fastest of his movements couldn't match the speed of Qin's flying sword. Yet, Qin Dashi found himself in a sorry situation: just as the Qinggang sword was about to make the final move, the beautiful instructor's dagger had already been pressed against the gunner's neck. At that moment, the gunner's fingers had barely touched the grip of his pistol. "If I were you," said Isabella firmly, "I would simply stay perfectly still." The gunner shivered, feeling a steady chill running through his neck, realizing the dagger was sharp, and moreover, he couldn't underestimate its owner, since he had completely failed to notice how she had silently approached him from behind. He realized that winning back the situation would be extremely difficult, and began to lick the teeth that concealed the poison. *Thud...* Isabella delivered a sharp blow to the back of his neck with her hand, causing him to miss the poison-laden teeth entirely and instead bite his own tongue. Of course, he felt no pain at all, as he had already been knocked unconscious. Qin Feng stepped forward, holding a screwdriver in one hand and pliers in the other, using both to pry open the man's mouth and extract two teeth laced with potent poison. "Shasha, you're still the best," he sincerely remarked. "Of course—I'd never be qualified to protect Qin Dai Zhi otherwise." The beautiful instructor smiled warmly. "This one seems more resolute than the three we faced last time. Getting information out of him won't be easy!" "He's a true iron-lipped man," he chuckled. "I've always talked about the Ten Most Brutal Punishments of the Qing Dynasty, but I've never actually used them. Over the past few days, I've studied them thoroughly. If this man refuses to speak, I'll have to conduct some experiments on him!" The instructor gave him a withering look. "Severe physical interrogation isn't a legally recognized practice!" "But back on the Island of Death, interrogation techniques were a mandatory course of study, weren't they?" "He smiled even more slyly: 'And by the way, this course seems to be one you're teaching, doesn't it?'" The beautiful officer deliberately turned away and didn't look at him. "Is that so? I didn't have a choice—I've taught a number of courses. Do you really think I've taught this one?" Of course you'd forget it, but I wouldn't. Back then, to pay back the favor, you even had me stand up in front of everyone to demonstrate—nearly killed me in the process. Isabel must have remembered that incident; otherwise, how could she have been so distracted and hesitant to look at him? Qin, the young noble, lifted the man by the collar like he was dragging a dead dog, and walked him toward the parking spot. The beautiful officer watched his back, murmuring softly: "Honestly, how can you still hold a grudge? I certainly gave you a hard time back then, but when you launched your island assault, I nearly died under your attack. How come you never mentioned that?" Qin drove the man to a quiet, unoccupied farmhouse in the outskirts of the city, where he began his experiment on the Ten Most Brutal Punishments of the Qing Dynasty. The foreigners were tied to a freshly erected cross, with a charcoal fire burning beneath them, containing a hot iron, and iron chains and ropes hanging nearby—right away, the setup looked just like a TV production. Qin, the young man, was only a few steps away from wearing the uniform of a prisoner, his arm clearly visible in the light, a perfect scene straight out of an ancient costume drama.