FWF Chapter 123 This type of noodle soup is perfect for calcium supplementation.
Chapter 123 This type of noodle soup is perfect for calcium supplementation.
The temporary base of the Southwest Border Defense Corps was converted from a former abandoned military factory, and the place was filled with the smell of a mixture of machine oil and rust.
A dozen or so Type 96 main battle tanks drove into the garage with a dull rumble, their tracks grinding against the concrete floor with a teeth-grinding screech.
The entire camp was heavily guarded, with guards every three steps and sentries every five. The air was filled with the lingering smell of gunpowder and a sense of impending doom.
The deepest cell in the base has now been converted into a private suite for this top "Young Master Zhao" of Handong Province.
The walls were covered with soft foam padding to prevent suicide by banging one's head, and the only window was welded shut with steel bars as thick as a finger, so that not even a fly could fly out.
Apart from that bare iron bed, there wasn't even a toothbrush left for him in the room.
This level of treatment is usually reserved for serious criminals who possess nuclear weapons codes or top-secret national secrets.
Zhao Ruilong was like a lump of mud, thrown onto the iron bed by two fully armed soldiers like trash.
His broken right leg, after simple battlefield bandaging, still had dark red blood seeping from the splint. The painkiller had just worn off, and the excruciating pain made him writhe on the bed like a maggot in heat, groaning as he exhaled but did not inhale.
A series of hurried and heavy footsteps came from the corridor outside the door.
Qi Tongwei, who had just finished treating his wounds, was shirtless with thick white bandages wrapped around his shoulders and waist, and blood was faintly visible under the bandages.
He was holding a large stainless steel tea mug, which was still steaming. The overpowering aroma of garlic mixed with braising liquid was particularly pungent, even in the corridor filled with the smell of disinfectant.
"Director Qi, you cannot go in now."
Zhong Kui stood like a door god blocking the entrance, his usually expressionless face showing a rare hint of anxiety.
"According to regulations, the suspect is currently in an extremely weak state, and given the seriousness of the case, the interrogation must be conducted with representatives from both the Discipline Inspection Commission and the Procuratorate present, and the entire process must be recorded. Your current physical condition does not permit this..."
"Regulation?"
Qi Tongwei stopped and didn't speak. He simply lowered his head and blew on the layer of red oil floating on the surface of his teacup. Then he raised his eyelids, his eyes devoid of any emotion, only a cold indifference that seemed to have seen through life and death.
"That was for living people. The one inside was already dead the moment Zhao Lichun gave the order to fire."
"That won't do! This is procedural justice!" Zhong Kui stood firm, refusing to back down.
He was a member of the Central Commission for Discipline Inspection and a staunch supporter of the academic style of Hou Liangping. Even if Zhao Ruilong deserved to die, he should die in court, not in a vigilante trial.
"Click".
A crisp metallic clang interrupted Zhong Kui's sermon.
Zhong Kui felt a chill on his temple.
He turned his head stiffly and saw a woman in a tattered red silk dress looking at him with her head tilted to the side.
Ye Cunxin's current appearance is enough to make any normal man's blood vessels burst.
The priceless red dress had been riddled with holes during the previous battles and escapes. The skirt, which originally only covered the upper thighs, was now shockingly short, exposing large areas of her smooth, fair skin to the air. It was stained with dried mud and bloodstains, but instead of looking dirty, it exuded a suffocatingly cruel beauty.
Since there were no women's clothes available at the base, she could only wear a men's training jacket that was several sizes too big. The oversized jacket was open at the collar, revealing the deep cleavage below her delicate collarbone, which rose and fell slightly with her breath. The subtle visual impact was practically testing the limits of human physiology.
She walked barefoot on the cold cement floor, her ankles slender and fair, like a perfect work of art.
But at this moment, this "work of art" is holding a Browning pistol that is still hot, and the muzzle is pressed against Zhong Kui's forehead without any hesitation.
"Get out of the way."
Ye Cunxin's voice was soft, slightly hoarse from crying, and carried a wildness that seemed to emanate from her very bones. "My man has something to do. Are you deaf or do you want me to crack open your head?"
The mist in her peach blossom eyes hadn't yet dissipated, yet it still carried the arrogance and cruelty unique to daughters of wealthy families. She wasn't joking; if anyone present dared to utter a word of dissent, she really would pull the trigger.
Zhong Kui's Adam's apple bobbed.
He was a master, but he couldn't afford to gamble on whether this crazy woman's gun would accidentally go off.
"I'll only give you half an hour." Zhong Kui gritted his teeth and stepped aside to make way for him.
Qi Tongwei smiled, reached out and pinched Ye Cunxin's face, which was full of collagen. The smooth texture made his fingertips go slightly numb.
"Be good, stand guard at the door, don't let anyone eavesdrop."
"Mmm." Ye Cunxin put away her gun and nodded obediently like a kitten. Then she leaned against the door frame, not caring whether the rough cement wall would chafe her delicate skin. Her long legs were casually crossed, posing in an extremely alluring way, and she stared at Qi Tongwei's back with infatuation.
"Clang!"
The heavy iron gate was pushed open and then slammed shut again.
In the originally dimly lit solitary confinement cell, a high-powered incandescent light suddenly shone, its glaring light shining directly onto the iron bed.
Zhao Ruilong curled up like a frightened mouse, raised his hand to cover his eyes, and let out a muffled scream.
"Who...who is it...I need to see my dad...I need to see Qin Chuan...give me water...give me a doctor..."
"Slurp—"
A very loud slurping sound of noodles rang out in the quiet room.
Zhao Ruilong was stunned.
He slowly lowered his hand, and after his eyes adjusted to the bright light, he saw Qi Tongwei sitting confidently in the only chair opposite him.
The man was holding a huge stainless steel tea mug and a pair of disposable chopsticks, engrossed in his work.
The tea mug contained the most hearty dish in the military mess hall—braised pork trotter noodles.
It was a large pig's trotter that had been stewed in old braising broth all night. The skin was tender and the meat was soft and juicy, with a bright red color. The noodles were topped with a thick layer of golden-fried minced garlic and bright green cilantro. The steaming hot air, carrying the meaty aroma that went straight to the top of one's head, filled the narrow, enclosed solitary confinement room.
For someone who had been fleeing in the jungle for two days and two nights, had a broken leg, lost too much blood, and was mentally broken, this taste was more deadly than the world's most potent drug.
"Gulp."
Zhao Ruilong let out a loud swallowing sound. His stomach instantly began to convulse violently, the hunger feeling like a barbed hand scratching at his internal organs.
Does it smell good?
Qi Tongwei picked up a piece of pig's trotter, skin and tendons still attached, and shook it under the light. The trembling skin was covered with red oil, and broth was still dripping down.
Zhao Ruilong's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, his gaze fixed on the piece of meat, unable to look away.
"Give me...give me a bite..."
This once powerful young master Zhao, who could command respect in Handong Province and eat the equivalent of several years' wages for an ordinary person in a single meal, was now as humble as a stray dog on the street. He even forgot the pain of his broken leg and struggled to get out of bed.
Qi Tongwei stuffed the pig's trotter into his mouth, chewing it with a loud smacking sound, his mouth dripping with oil as he ate.
"This is the army's mess hall, not as refined as the Michelin-starred chefs at your Shanshui Manor." Qi Tongwei swallowed the meat in his mouth, picked up the towel next to him and casually wiped his mouth, speaking as if he were chatting with an old friend.
"However, the advantage is that the portion is large and filling. Especially the soup, which is made from big bones and is good for calcium."
"Please... Director Qi... Qi Tongwei... Brother Wei..."
Zhao Ruilong rolled off the bed and fell to the ground with a thud. He was in so much pain that his whole body convulsed, but he still used both hands to claw at the ground, crawling like a worm towards Qi Tongwei's feet.
"Give me a sip of soup...just one sip...I have money...I have three hundred million dollars in a Swiss bank...I'll give it all to you...just give me a sip..."
dignity?