William Foster stared intently, his face utterly bewildered as if he'd just taken a critical hit.

The surname is Li, given name Bai—nothing wrong with that.

But seriously, have you no shame?

Still, one thing’s for sure: no matter how impressive the The Foster Family is, they can’t possibly be more famous than the Immortal Poet Li Bai.

The chicken-scratch bickering between them completely neutralized the intimidating show of force that the The Foster Family’s legal team had tried to deliver through secret signals—it was wiped out in an instant.

Round one: Abraham Lincoln wins.

Opponent: William Foster, so naïve, so clueless...

Witnessing the exchange, the prosecutor’s office staffer Mr. Harris gave Abraham Lincoln a thumbs-up. Even though every department in law enforcement had been approached by the The Foster Family through all sorts of connections and favors, nobody liked this scumbag.

Having gained nothing, William Foster sulkily followed into the consultation room, and the door quickly closed behind him.

“Please, have a seat. Relax. Just treat this like a casual chat.”

Abraham Lincoln began the process, starting with a simple one-on-one “interview.”

After all, this wasn’t an interrogation. The subject needed to be as relaxed as possible to undergo some basic tests, which would also involve a few suggestive or hypnotic techniques.

For a psychologist, hypnosis isn’t a required skill, but most seasoned professionals have at least some mastery of it.

As the other party was attaching EEG electrode patches to his own head, William Foster pulled out a bank card and said, “There’s a million in this card. As long as you write a few words I want, it’s yours.”

Just as he finished pressing down the last electrode patch, Abraham Lincoln said in surprise, “That’s a lot of money!”

Even with inflation and the yuan not being as valuable as before, a million is still a hefty sum—enough for a down payment on a small apartment, with plenty left over for spending money, to eat whatever he wanted, buy whatever he liked.

“It is, a lot of money!”

William Foster laughed, as if he’d forgotten their earlier argument.

He’d met many people, and there were very few who wouldn’t bend for a little money.

“Take it back. I’ll only write what’s true.”

A mere million was obviously not enough to buy off someone who’d once stirred up storms in another world.

If such a big villain could be bought so cheaply, then, heavens, could we have a dozen more?

“Three million!”

William Foster didn’t even blink. No matter how debauched a rich second-generation kid is, he still knows the value of money.

Abraham Lincoln shook his head and continued strapping on the blood pressure cuff. In fact, the equipment he was attaching to William Foster was almost identical to the polygraphs used by the police, all meant to monitor physiological changes caused by psychological fluctuations.

“Five million. That’s enough to buy a life. You know, if you run someone over, the mandatory insurance only pays out up to 120,000.”

William Foster gritted his teeth. This doctor wasn’t just greedy—he was probably heartless.

“Keep it for yourself. Now, start taking deep breaths and silently count from one to a hundred.”

Abraham Lincoln was completely unmoved, even frowning as the client failed to get into the right state.

“Ten million! Buy my life, or buy yours!”

The bodyguard secretly handed over ten bank cards, each with a million on them. William Foster made no attempt to hide his blatant threat. If he couldn’t get this report, he was finished. Even if his sentence was commuted from death with reprieve to life, and then reduced, he wouldn’t get out in less than fifteen years.

On the monitor beside them, the EEG waves surged higher and higher, and both heart rate and blood pressure kept climbing.

“Could you please cooperate a little?”

Abraham Lincoln was about to use some techniques on this guy when his wrist suddenly felt lighter, as if something had dropped to the floor with a smack.

“If you don’t give me this report, I, I…”

William Foster tried to continue threatening, but his eyes suddenly widened in terror as he pointed behind Abraham Lincoln, letting out a piercing scream.

“Snake! Snake! Giant snake!”

A blue flood dragon, as thick as a water tank, suddenly appeared in the consultation room. It lazily yawned with a mouth big enough to swallow a grown man whole, its fangs as thick as an adult’s arm, flicking its crimson tongue, glancing around as if searching for someone to devour.

The laws of this world were different, spiritual energy was stagnant, and cultivation had become difficult. After finishing her morning bite of blood essence, the demoness detached from Abraham Lincoln’s arm, revealing her true form and curiously examining this strange world.

Doors, windows, tables, chairs, walls, and floors—all of it was novel to the demoness Qingyao.

Snake?

Abraham Lincoln glanced back in confusion, then rolled his eyes at William Foster.

“There’s no snake!”

It was clearly a flood dragon, okay? That prominent single horn was right on its forehead, and yet he didn’t see it.

What kind of eyesight is that?

The blue flood dragon flicked the light switch with the tip of its tail, causing the lights in the consultation room to flicker on and off, making it feel like a haunted house.

……

Section 5: KO in Three Rounds

Just one glance into those cold, shattered golden snake eyes, and William Foster’s psychological defenses instantly collapsed. He let out a heart-wrenching scream, threw himself at the door, and scrambled out, rolling and crawling.

Strangely, the The Foster Family bodyguards waiting outside weren’t surprised at all. Instead, they stopped their young master, who was wailing like a banshee. Their expressions carried an indescribable strangeness.