I was a prince in the Middle East

Chapter 29: Three sentences that terrified the prince and broke his guard!
The Ritz-Carlton's penthouse suites feature heavy curtains that shut out the noise and prying eyes of the outside world.

The lingering scent of cigars, mixed with the aroma of top-quality incense, still filled the air.

Prince Bandar, dressed in a luxurious silk robe, sank into a large, soft armchair.

His posture was languid and relaxed, with an undisguised hint of mockery and contempt at the corner of his mouth. His gaze swept towards the doorway as if he were examining prey, as if he were waiting for the show to begin.

The door opened.

Walid led the way, with Angari Jr. following like a shadow.

Following them were Muhammad and Turki, who were merely witnesses today.

Bandar's gaze swept over the four of them, the corners of his mouth curving into a mocking smile, cold and hard like a weathered stone blade in the desert.

"Ha! What a grand display! The little lion of the Talal family has brought your future crown prince and prince to visit me, this prisoner?"

He slowly picked up his coffee, took a sip, and his cloudy eyes were full of provocation.

"What, Walid? Is it because your 'merciful' father couldn't wait any longer and sent you to deliver this ultimatum?"

Or are you trying to pull some new tricks on this old man, so you can submit another pledge of allegiance to your master?

After being under house arrest for so many days, Prince Bandar's heart, which had been steeped in lust for power, had begun to taste the true nature of things.

What a load of bullshit betting!

The earth-shattering racetrack event two weeks ago was clearly a grand spectacle meticulously planned by the little lion Walid bin Khalid!

This also signals that the Talal faction is betting everything on Muhammad!
He, a powerful and influential figure who had dominated the Middle East for decades, became, inexplicably, the first stepping stone for this little brat to ascend to the throne of power!

That deafening cheer, that glory that everyone was watching, was all staged by stepping on Bandar's spine!
This feeling of humiliation made his heart ache, and he almost vomited blood.

It has to be admitted that Walid played this move brilliantly, ruthlessly and cunningly, taking down this old hand by surprise.

But this beauty was bought with the sacrifice of Bandar's formidable reputation and immense power!
The thought of this lingered in his mind, bringing with it the humiliation of being fooled, used, and trampled on.

At that moment, seeing Walid's young, indifferent, and all-powerful face appear at the door, Bandar felt a surge of anger rising to his head.

He slammed down his cup with a loud clang, leaned forward slightly, and let out a mocking laugh.

"Save your breath, kid! Royal family members are immune from legal proceedings!"
This is an ironclad law etched into Shariahfa and our very blood! What can you do to me? Hmm?

He spread his hands, striking a pose of nonchalant bravado, like a dead pig unafraid of boiling water.
"Using methods? Isn't that just about not eating, not drinking, and not sleeping!"
Ha! Walid, when I was playing with these things, you were still playing in the mud!

He leaned back in his chair, raised his chin, and gave off an arrogant "come on, do it if you dare" vibe.

"Come on, throw me into the Inquisition! Let those old geezers rip my mouth open in public! Let's see who really loses face!"

Muhammad's face darkened.

Bandar hit the royal family right where it hurts – their reputation.

Turki's neck twitched, and his fists clenched and unclenched repeatedly.

He swore to God that if Bandar were out on the road today, he would definitely beat that old bastard to a pulp.

However, Walid seemed deaf.

He strolled slowly to the sofa opposite Bandar and sat down, looking even more relaxed than Bandar.

He reached out and picked up a plump, purplish-red grape from the silver plate on the coffee table, and slowly peeled off its thin skin in the dim light of the wall lamp.

The light danced on his slender fingers and the glistening fruit flesh, obscuring the storm raging in his eyes.

"Royal immunity?"

Walid finally spoke, his voice as calm as if he were discussing the weather.

"Your Highness, you are right."

Immunity protects your physical body from overt and visible punishments that leave a mark.

I understand the rules.

The dignity of the royal family is inviolable.

A cold smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he picked up a toothpick and toyed with it in his hand.

"But who says that to make someone open their mouth, you have to leave some... unsightly mark on their precious skin?"
"You're a veteran in intelligence; you should know that there are still interrogation techniques in this world that leave no trace, right?"

Bandar looked at the toothpick in Walid's hand, sneered, and stared at him as if he were an idiot.

"You think using a toothpick to prick the corpus cavernosum is like..."

"Walid!"

Before Bandar could finish speaking, Muhammad shouted sharply, his voice filled with warning and urgency.

"Watch your step! Torture is absolutely forbidden for members of the royal family! That's a red line! What are you trying to do?!"

Turki also came to his senses, his voice trembling: "Brother! Have you gone mad?!"
Torture is unacceptable! Absolutely not! It can be detected through testing.

Walid didn't even bother to lift his eyelids; his gaze remained fixed on Bandar's old face, which was beginning to change color slightly.

He waved his hand casually, as if shooing away flies.

“Angari, little one.” The voice wasn’t loud, but the commanding tone left no room for argument.

Little Angari, who was in the shadows by the door, immediately stepped forward, bowed, and said, "Your Highness."

Walid uttered a few words in a steady voice, as if ordering afternoon tea.
"Prepare a few things: a starving desert ibex with the roughest tongue; a bottle of the finest, thickest date syrup..."

"Hahahaha!"

Prince Bandar suddenly burst into laughter, interrupting Walid's instructions.

He leaned back in his chair, his face undisguisedly mocking, his murky eyes fixed on Walid as if watching a clown performing tricks.

"Laughing torture?"

He drew out the words, his laughter tinged with contempt.

"You've really gone to great lengths, kid, to even dig up tricks from ancient books like this!"
Not bad! Better than your father's men! But..."

He raised an eyebrow playfully. "Guess whether this old bone of mine, which has rolled in Washington and the desert, can withstand this little 'tickling'?"

Walid was not angry upon hearing this; instead, he nodded very seriously.

He even showed a very sincere expression, his gaze calmly meeting Bandar's.

"I trust His Highness's words. It was indeed my oversight."

His voice carried a peculiar respect, as if the other person had genuinely offered a valuable insight.

He then turned his head, his gaze returning to the bowing and waiting Angari, his tone returning to its previous calm, as if the earlier incident had never occurred:
"In that case, let's skip the Laughing Torture."

He then smoothly continued issuing instructions, seamlessly picking up where he left off:

"Find a few... about ten, the most mischievous mice with long tails, a bundle of thin hemp rope, and..."

He paused, as if recalling something, "Hmm... the finest mulberry paper, cut into palm-sized pieces, prepare ten sheets. Go now, be quick."

"As ordered."

Xiao Anjia remained expressionless, as if she were just going to get a document. She turned and quickly left, the heavy door closing silently behind her.

The air in the suite instantly froze into a block of ice.

Turki's mouth could fit an egg.

He was completely dumbfounded.

Looking at the calm Walid, then at Bandar whose face had suddenly turned pale, he asked in confusion,
"Brother! What do you need these things for?"

Mohammed took a step and stood in front of Walid.

"Walid! Stop your crazy ideas immediately! Once torture is used, there will be marks on the prisoner's body! This is irrefutable evidence!"

"Torture? Traces?"

Walid smiled.

"My two older brothers... you two are so... innocently adorable."

He stood up, strolled over to Bandar, looked down at the former crocodile, and smiled at Bandar, whose face was turning green.

“Your Highness, you are different from them; you are an old intelligence officer.”

You should be well aware that there are still many methods of torture in this world that will not leave any scars.

So I thought…

You've probably heard of ancient Eastern torture techniques like "the rat playing the zither" and "the sticky tube," right?

At this point, he turned to look at the bewildered Muhammad and Turki, and gave a short, snickering laugh.
"Today, I'll show you what it means to...make irrefutable evidence vanish into thin air."

What truly constitutes 'seamless inquiry of the heart'?

Turki's face froze in shock, and Muhammad's eyes were filled with disbelief.

Bandar's pupils contracted sharply when he heard the words "Wuhen Wenxin".

As the former ruler of darkness, he seemed to have understood something!
Walid began pacing around the living room, his tone as steady as if he were telling a historical story, but every word struck the most sensitive nerves with precision.

"The first type,"

He stopped in front of Bandar, his gaze sweeping over him. "It's called 'Tie Jia Guan'. It's an elegant item from the Eastern court, meant to bring good luck in 'rising step by step'."

He picked up a thick cushion and gestured towards Bandar's face.

“Take a piece of dry mulberry bark paper and gently cover the prisoner’s face.”

Walid softened his voice, with an eerie gentleness.

"Then, with saliva or strong liquor in your mouth, 'pfft'..."

He simulated the spraying process, explaining, "As the water mist falls, the paper immediately softens and clings tightly to every inch of your face, especially here..."

He touched his mouth and nose.

"The first one is a little hard to breathe, but you can still bear it. Don't rush, promotions and advancements must be done step by step to show your status."

He held up one finger: "The second wet paper is applied... At this point, you start to have trouble breathing."

The third one... breathing became like a bellows, the wet paper clinging tightly to the skin and flesh.

By the fourth one…

Walid paused, looking at Bandar's gradually widening eyes, and said softly,
"Your lungs feel like they're being gripped tightly by an invisible hand!"
Every struggle drains the meager amount of oxygen from your lungs even faster.

When the fifth sheet of soaked mulberry paper was placed tightly on top…

Walid's voice suddenly turned cold.

"Congratulations, you're basically out of breath. Your consciousness is blurred, your vision is blacking out, your body is desperately craving oxygen, and your soul is trying to break free of this body."

This is the moment when you most want to speak up; your survival instinct overrides everything.

You would grasp at a straw, desperately trying to spill all your secrets, just to... breathe a breath of fresh air.

He paused, savoring the fear rising in Bandar's eyes.

"Of course, if your bones are so hard that even instinct can crush them... or if the higher-ups just want you to shut up forever, then keep posting."

Six sheets, seven sheets... up to ten sheets. The soaked paper will slowly dry, becoming as hard as an iron plate, completely sealing off the last bit of air.

In absolute silence, you will clearly feel life slipping away bit by bit, and finally breathe your last in silent despair.

The whole process,

He gently patted the cushion. "Clean, presentable, without a single scratch."

The deceased's face was covered with a dried paper mask, like a promotion to a higher rank—what a glorious end.

Turki's face turned pale, and he subconsciously rubbed his face.

Muhammad pursed his lips and unconsciously swallowed.

Bandar's breathing became heavy and rapid, his chest heaving violently, and his face turned from white to blue. His previous arrogance had vanished, leaving only a deep-seated fear.

He was the master of torture, and he knew all too well how terrifying it was to slowly suffocate and consciously perceive death approaching.

What's even more terrifying is that it leaves no trace!
Walid was very satisfied with the effect. He strolled to the center of the room, under the magnificent chandelier, and looked up at the sturdy structure.

When it comes to interrogation techniques, other countries are utterly incompetent; we have to look to our Chinese ancestors.

"The second type,"

He turned to Turki and Muhammad, his tone even carrying a hint of "education," yet it was all the more chilling.
"It's quite lively and poetic, it's called 'Mouse Playing the Zither'."

"Tie the prisoner's ten fingers together with thin hemp rope and hang him up."

Walid stretched out his hands, fingers spread, simulating being suspended.

"Then, a lively mouse was tied to the end of each rope."

He walked up to Bandar, bent down, and his breath almost hit Bandar's face.
"Then, light a small clump of glowing red charcoal under the tip of each mouse's tail."

"squeak--!"

Turki seemed to hear the screams of rats and the sizzling sound of burning flesh. He suddenly covered his ears, but then felt a pain in his fingers and quickly put them down, staring at his ten fingers in horror.

Walid straightened up, his voice carrying a cruel rhythm.

"Imagine that scene. The pain of having its tail singed by scorching hot coals could drive a rat completely insane!"

Screaming, struggling, running around frantically!

Every kick, every frantic twist…

Walid's voice, like cold, hard strings, plucked at the deepest fears in people's hearts.
"That brute force will be transmitted through that thin hemp rope that cuts into your flesh, without leaving a trace, to your tightly bound fingertips!"

His gaze was like a scalpel, precisely cutting into Bandar's nerves.

“It’s not a sudden pain, Uncle Bandar.”

It was endless; you couldn't guess when the next wave would come. Ten fingers were being torn and twisted by ten different forces of madness at the same time.

It's as if ten invisible, crazed hands are desperately plucking at the nerve strings between your finger bones.

It made a creaking sound... and the pain went right to my bones.

Can you imagine that scene?

Walid laughed, “Ten fingers are like ten living strings, and the terrified mice are ‘playing’ for you non-stop with their dying hopping.”

This 'mouse zither' piece can keep you playing for hours, until your fingers go numb, or..."

He leaned down slightly, getting close to Bandar's old face, which was covered in sweat and looked deathly pale.

“...Every string in your mind has been completely snapped by this endless 'symphony'.”

Walid paused deliberately, admiring the slight twitching of the other's cheek muscles from holding his breath too long, before slowly speaking again.

"Your Highness, why are you sweating?"
Don't worry, I've never actually seen it either, but I've heard Chinese friends talk about it and imagined it.

Let's give it a try today; I don't know if what they're saying is right.

"vomit--!"

Turki could no longer hold back. He suddenly covered his mouth, letting out a suppressed retching sound. His body bent over like a shrimp, and his face turned from deathly pale to ashen.

"Walid! You're a monster! Aren't you afraid of killing him?!"

Walid straightened up, looking at Turki with a calm expression, even a hint of confusion, "Why should I be afraid?"

Turning around to face Bandar again, a cold smile slowly spread across his face as he spoke deliberately.
"Of course, I admit that during these two punishments, you may not be able to endure it, or... you simply don't want to endure it and you will die."

He shrugged, casually fiddling with his fingers.
"But it doesn't matter. All I want is a record of your statement, not a guilty plea in court."

Anyway, either of these two methods,

He spread his hands. "We can't find any injuries. You either suffocated or you were scared to death."

We could easily say that you committed suicide out of guilt or died from excessive fear.

The royal family, in the end, only cares about appearances. As long as there are no visible injuries, nobody cares how you died.

He leaned slightly forward, his voice lowered, like a devil's whisper.

"As for the statement, I can write it however I want."

As for the fingerprints on the statement? After you're dead, I can press them anywhere. As many as I want.

Muhammad looked at Walid with an extremely complex expression.

Amidst his fear, a subtle excitement, which he himself was unaware of, crept in—an excitement stemming from this ruthless tactic.

Every form of "scarless" torture described by Walid, including the earlier laughing torture, precisely targets humanity's most primal and irresistible fears.

Unstoppable itching, suffocating sensation with conscious awareness, and excruciating pain that tears at the nerves!

What's even more terrifying is his indifference, which shrouds cruelty within a calm narrative...

And that cold logic of "no trace means no crime" completely overturned Muhammad's understanding of power struggles.

This is no longer a conspiracy; this is a naked, crushing, and spiritual torture!
This level is too high!

That's totally his type!
He hadn't figured out how to use Walid, but now it seems that this guy is best suited for this job!

Turki pressed his back against the cold wall, his eyes filled with pure, deep-seated horror as he looked at Walid, as if he were seeing his younger brother for the first time.

Confession...handprint...

Prince Bandar's fate was sealed the moment Walid stepped into the room, written by the cold tip of his pen.

At this moment, Walid is simply playing a cat-and-mouse game!
This kid...

terrible!

Do not!
So perverted!

Just as Turki's fear reached its peak, almost crushed by Walid's depiction of hell—

Walid, who had his back to him, turned around and shoved a tablet computer into Turki's hand.

"Brother, if you're not used to these things, you can go out first. While you're at it, find me a place to charge my phone; it's almost out of power. I'll need it later."

Turki instinctively caught the cold tablet; the screen was lit, and he looked down at it blankly.

The screen clearly displays the Weibo content translated into Arabic.

Turki's eyes widened instantly!
A tremendous sense of absurdity and a feeling of being both amused and exasperated suddenly dispelled the fear that had almost frozen him.

He suddenly looked up at Walid, who then winked his left eye at him.

Turki: "..."

Damn! It was all an act!
The shock of the huge information gap almost made Turki lose his composure and curse out loud.

He bit his tongue hard, swallowing back the rant that was about to come out of his mouth, his facial muscles twitching slightly from the effort of suppressing it.

Turki turned and walked out without saying a word.

He felt that if he had been a second later, he would have lost his composure.

He knew that Walid was still waging the most crucial psychological warfare at this moment, and he couldn't afford to cause trouble.

But at this moment, he felt a strange warmth in his heart.

This brother of yours is truly worth the effort!
Meanwhile, Prince Bandar ibn Sultan was keeping his head down...

All the pride, scheming, and decades of mental defenses that this former "Bandarb" had built crumbled like a sandcastle in the face of Walid's calm and even cold narration, especially Turki's genuine reaction of fear.

As the director of the General Intelligence Directorate, which had cooperated with the CIA for many years, he was an expert in torture.

And it is precisely because he understands that he can more deeply appreciate the terror of these two "traceless" methods originating from the East.

What drove him to despair was Walid's attitude:

This is not a threat; it is a statement of a cold, hard fact that he will absolutely carry it out.

The new lion king of the Talal family doesn't care about his life or death at all; he only cares about that piece of paper with his handprint on it!

But what made him even more desperate was that he could see that, apart from Turki, both Walid and Muhammad in the room had a certain... in their eyes.

excited!

As a veteran intelligence officer, he knew all too well what this excitement meant.

Those two ruthless bastards really want to try out those 'sticking on official positions' and 'rat playing the zither' tricks today!
"Ho... ho ho..."

Bandar gasped for breath like a broken bellows, his body trembling violently.

He abruptly released his grip on the armrest, his knuckles turning white, and slumped completely into the large armchair as if his spine had been removed.

The expensive silk morning robe was crumpled up, and an indescribable stench filled the air.

Extreme fear caused him to lose control of his bladder!
Raising his head, Bandar's face was devoid of any arrogance, only a deathly stillness and a deep-seated fear remained.

He exhaled a long, long breath, his lips moving, making a hoarse, weak sound like sandpaper rubbing together.
"The lion of the Talal family..."

Each syllable was exhausted, carrying a sense of utter surrender.
"You...you've won! Tell me, what do you want?"

Walid's sense of control was instantly replaced by an extremely obvious and almost undisguised disappointment.

Before his carefully prepared "game" even began, his prey was completely paralyzed.

This dampened his spirits, as if he had been doused with cold water.

That's it?

So you confessed already?

This is a waste of the strategies of my 100,000 strategists!
Bandar caught a glimpse of that moment of disappointment, and a feeling of relief at surviving a close call welled up inside him.

That little pervert!
Thank goodness, thank goodness I spoke first!

Walid sullenly curled his lip, his tone becoming somewhat uninterested:

"No, Your Highness, it should be... what can you offer to... satisfy me?"

……

(End of this chapter)