Fang Cheng followed the sound and looked up.

He could clearly feel a penetrating gaze shooting from the shadows and falling on him.

It wasn’t just a simple glance, but an examination as if with substance, carrying the pressure cultivated by someone who has long been in authority.

The interrogation room was large, yet it had no windows, appearing exceptionally cold and gloomy.

Only a single overhead lamp cast a dim yellow glow, barely illuminating over half the area.

In the center of the light circle, there stood a solitary metal chair.

A few meters away, behind the wide interrogation table, sat the person who had just spoken.

On the table, besides the Ancient Bronze Bell, there was a laptop, a mechanical timer, a pen, and a score sheet.

The young staff member who had brought Fang Cheng in walked straight to the left side of the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

Then he typed a few words on the laptop, seemingly recording something.

He was evidently one of the examiners for this interview.

As for the examiner sitting to his right, most of his body was hidden within the shadow where the light couldn’t reach.

It was as if an energy field interfered with others’ sight.

Not only was his silhouette very blurry, but even the surrounding air was slightly twisted and fluctuating.

He resembled a dormant iceberg, exuding a mysterious aura that warned strangers to keep away, his face entirely unclear.

Only the shadowy hands placed on the table were vaguely visible, with skin as dry as tree bark, and powerful knuckles.

He seemed like an expert in external martial arts who had practiced for many years.

Fang Cheng adjusted the golden glasses on his nose.

Deep in his pupils, a faint golden glow flashed and disappeared.

With the aid of extraordinary eyesight, the darkness was dispersed like thin fog.

The examiner became slightly clearer in his view.

Hooked nose, deep nasolabial folds, temples graying.

He evidently was quite old, but those eyes were as bright and sharp as blades, staring intently at him.

Fang Cheng sharply perceived the aura of authority without anger emanating from the old man.

He immediately withdrew his gaze, not continuing to probe, to avoid causing unnecessary alert.

He acted as if unconcerned, walked to the metal chair, and bowed slightly:

"Hello, examiner. I am candidate number 263, applying for the Special Search Team’s medical post."

"Hello, candidate. Welcome to today’s interview."

The young examiner responded first, his tone official.

Once Fang Cheng was seated, he began to read the rules according to procedure:

"This interview operates on a double-blind mechanism. Examiners do not possess your name or identity information, only knowing your interview number; you don’t need to know our identities either."

"The entire process is recorded and filmed, please do not disclose any names, exam numbers, work units, or graduate schools, pay attention to your words, or you will be treated as violating the rules."

"Are you ready?"

Fang Cheng nodded to show he understood.

This is both to prevent nepotism and protect examiners, avoiding disgruntled candidates, who failed, harbor resentment and subsequent vengeance.

"Alright, the interview officially begins now."

After receiving Fang Cheng’s confirmation, the young examiner finished speaking and pressed the mechanical timer on the table.

"Click, click."

The sound of the second hand moving in the room was infinitely amplified, with each tick seeming to strike a nerve.

Meanwhile, a noise came from the corner.

Accompanied by a light "beep," a point of dazzling red light lit up.

A camera, flashing red, silently recording all happenings here.

The elder examiner in the shadows leaned slightly forward.

With an aggressive gaze sweeping over Fang Cheng as if scrutinizing prey trapped in a snare.

This highly invasive stare lasted for a full ten seconds, its pressure enough to psychologically collapse an ordinary person, leaving them at a loss.

Yet Fang Cheng simply sat quietly, his hands resting on his knees, his gaze clear and straight, without any hint of evasion.

"Good psychological strength."

The older examiner suddenly spoke, his voice hoarse and deep, carrying the dignity of someone long in charge:

"You applied for the medical post... it seems you have great confidence in your medical skills."

"Usually, medical students claim to be benevolent, aspiring to heal the world as their life’s ideal. I wonder if your heart is the same."

Fang Cheng subtly leaned forward, his tone humble:

"Treating illness and saving lives is a doctor’s duty. I wouldn’t dare claim benevolence, but I will do my best."

"Do your best?"

The old examiner snorted coldly, his tone dismissive.

But he didn’t dwell on that topic, immediately presenting another question:

"Young man, don’t speak those high-sounding cliches. Tell me, why do you insist on squeezing your way into the Special Search Team?"

His tone wasn’t like an interview but more like interrogating a suspect attempting to infiltrate the Special Search Team with malicious intent.

Fang Cheng pondered briefly and gave a prepared answer:

"For my future."

He adjusted his glasses and straightforwardly met the examiner’s gaze:

"The Special Search Team is an enforcement agency symbolizing national power, possessing high social status and generous remuneration."

"I believe with my medical skills, here I can obtain better resources and a development platform compared to a regular hospital, while also realizing my life’s value."

This answer neither contained hollow "serve the people" clichés nor seemed overly materialistic.

Instead, it appropriately showcased the ambition and practicality a young person should have.

The elder examiner noncommittally tapped the table, then presented the second question:

"If during an urgent operation, your team leader is gravely injured and urgently needs treatment. Right beside, lies a criminal who holds critical intelligence for a terror attack, and is also in critical condition."