"Is this the punishment for guessing wrong?" he managed to squeeze out a smile from his face, "How would I know if my guess is right... or wrong?"
Memory fragments of obsession flashed crazily, skimming through Zhuang Wenxian's mind.
...
"Whoever moves, this is the punishment!"
The middle-aged man seemed to be smiling, but his expression had already taken on a sick, crazed look.
The pliers in his hand slowly retracted, and on the arm of Zhuang Wenhui, who was sitting on the far left, a clear trail of blood began to emerge.
"Continue now."
The man returned to his own seat, crossed his legs, holding the pliers in his hand, and stared unblinkingly at the three sisters seated with their backs to him.
His eyes were filled with mockery, a numb pleasure rising in his heart, his gaze incessantly sweeping over the three, the iron pliers in his hand seeming ready to fly out at any moment - he didn't care which part of their body it would strike.