Everyone, in the darkest times of their life, searches for something to serve as a source of strength to support them through the darkness.

This object doesn't necessarily have any special meaning, unlike those portrayed in movies where it has to be family photos or religious ceremonial items.

It could be a pen, a book, a poster, or even a hair clip.

People instinctively assign special meanings to these insignificant objects, like the pen was gifted by someone, or it can write with the power of light.

For example, the book contains deeply moving stories that inspire one to fight bravely.

Or, perhaps it's the beautiful poster that accompanied one through countless nights, still carrying one's unique scent, giving life a bit of joy as long as it remains.

For example... a hair clip.

For the young, objects gifted by others often hold special meanings, and they enjoy attributing such meanings to them.

These items can become their courage to support them through difficult times, propelling them forward continuously.

The audience enjoyed ninety minutes as they never had before, although it became more subdued later, the initial confrontation and Oula's later surrender brought a sense of exhilaration to everyone.

It was only at this point that some realized the host they considered a hero—daring to challenge the upper-class personalities—was seen as a role model but had actually become a Demon King.

Watching her rendered speechless by Lynch's retort, people didn't feel anger, only satisfaction. They couldn't wait to share their feelings with others.

Under the direction of the crew, they swiftly exited the scene.

Lynch placed the microphone on the table, ready to leave, but at this moment, Oula, regaining her senses, stopped him and asked the director to clear the studio of everyone else.

"Who are you?" At this moment, Oula was different than she had been at the beginning or even just a few minutes prior.

She showed a hint of weakness, her eyes filled with fear, and with the deepest secrets of her heart discovered, she had an impulse to flee immediately.

But she suppressed this urge. She had read Lynch's information; he was just a poor kid from an ordinary middle-class home. He couldn't know the truth from back then, nor understand the significance of the hair clip to her.

She also didn't believe that Lynch's question was spoken without reason; he must know something.

Having such a past definitely wasn't a pleasant memory for Oula. The fewer people who knew, the better. She even considered seeking help from a demon to silence Lynch, if it was worth it.

Lynch glanced at her and softly said, "I noticed a small detail: when you feel uncomfortable, you stroke the hair on your right side. A fool once told me that when someone repeats the same subconscious action during a period of psychological discomfort, that action becomes an important psychological reliance they developed during their mental growth stage."

"Some habits, once formed, accompany you throughout your life, even without your awareness, but others might notice."

"For a lady, what did she have on her hair when she was young or even younger?" Lynch asked this question persuasively and then answered it himself, "A hair clip."

"You still stroke your hair, but there's no hair clip on it. I guess if it hasn't been lost, you've likely kept it in a safe and hidden place."

"During special periods, it was a psychological reliance for you, actually representing a fear you don't want to recall. Today, the fear reappeared, and you needed it again."

"Enough!" Oula suddenly roared, scattering the items in her hand all over the ground. She glared viciously at Lynch, turned around, and quickly left.

Her body trembled slightly. Lynch had easily found the gap in her psyche and inserted a pry bar to open the long-sealed cover.

Watching her leave, hugging her arms and trembling, Lynch pursed his lips. He had no intention of exploring anyone else's inner world; she had targeted him first.

Of course, he also needed to thank that psychologist in the small room, who taught him a lot.

In fact, these things are not that complex, just some detailed observations, some bold guesses, some keen strikes, and some things naturally come to light.

This was originally just an ordinary interview program. "Oula Ninety Points" finally achieved its first-ever guest victory since its launch, which was quite surprising, leading to many calls to the TV station the next day requesting a prompt new broadcast.

Previously, people viewed this program as the host causing various celebrities and socialites to falter, personally engaging in a fight to tear apart the upper class, bringing celebrities to bow and socialites to tears.

Many indeed enjoyed watching, but as it always happened this way, it inevitably made people feel a bit repetitive. But this time was different; Oula failed, nearly being torn to pieces, sparking interest among the audiences.

The television station also urgently arranged for a rebroadcast, and it was rebroadcasted twice.

These are just some very ordinary phenomena that no one would pay attention to.

But there are also some people who are suffering from its effects.

The farm owner, who was running a farm in the west, was leisurely basking in the sun at this time. He had no idea how explosive yesterday's TV program was; he only got news from the outside world when he went to the town once a week to buy a newspaper.

He was the only person on the entire pasture; he was all alone, but he wasn't afraid at all. He had a gun, a car, and the town wasn't too far away. If he encountered trouble, he could still hide in the basement.

The winter sun on him felt very warm, it was a new year again.

He was sighing and exclaiming, casually taking a swig of a bottle of alcohol; under the influence of the alcohol, some old memories floated to his mind.

He hummed a little tune, thinking about everything that happened in the past, a smile appeared on the corner of his mouth, and his lips opened and closed slightly, "Yes, just like that... just like that!"

Suddenly, the sound of a car engine from afar broke the countryside's silence. He opened his eyes and looked towards the car, casually grabbing the gun placed beside him.

According to the Federation's special legal provisions regarding the western states, in relatively remote areas of the west, if someone approaches you voluntarily, you can request that they maintain a sufficient distance from you. If the person refuses and continues to approach you, then you can shoot them.

Because the west is indeed quite remote, desolate and uninhabited, often with hundreds of kilometers of no man's land, here, any good person could instantly become a bad person in this environment.

In many series of cases that happened in the west historically, many criminals, when caught, left their neighbors incredulous because they couldn't imagine that some gentle and considerate people would turn into demons when no one was watching.

Therefore, the Federation specifically introduced the "Safe Distance Act" for the western world and also pushed for the legislation of the "Western Armament Act," which significantly reduced the probability of homicide occurring in the west, though sometimes it still happens.

The old man sat up, holding the gun, and opened the safety mechanism. If the person doesn't keep the distance after getting out of the car, he would shoot.

The hunting rifle in his hand was not the ordinary kind but the most advanced hunting rifle produced by the largest military industrial group in the Federation. Just one bullet could bring down an elephant, let alone a person.

He found a Kleve cigarette with a multi-colored filter in his pocket and lit it up; the higher nicotine content instantly made him more alert, he stared at the distant car, wearing a "don't mess with me" expression.

The car slowly stopped outside the yard, and then two people got out, two middle-aged men; the old man's face had a bit more of a smile, he put the gun back, and then stood up.

He knew these two people; they were arranged by his brother, partly to protect him and intermittently to deliver some living expenses to him, also to prevent him from escaping.

By calculation, it was almost time for these people to come and deliver money.

Thinking of this brought more smiles to his face; this damned west, you couldn't even use a check, his brother wouldn't allow him to withdraw money from the bank, so even though he had quite a bit of money, he couldn't use it.

But that's okay, every once in a while, these people would bring a bag of cash, and he could have a good time relaxing.

He walked over with a relaxed stride; in a few more years, when his brother retired, he could leave this place.

"I thought you guys would come in the afternoon…" the farm owner said familiarly as he approached the two, patting the new car he hadn't seen before, "Nice car, how much did it cost?"

The guy coming out from the driver's seat casually replied, "Seventeen thousand bucks."

"Not cheap, but looks good, much better than my car, tell those people over there later, get me one too, I want the Hellfire car paint!" Machinery and guns are the two things western people love the most, even if these western people come from other places, after they come to the west, they would love these two things too.

The person talking with him said nothing, bowing his head and fiddling with something, the old man curiously leaned over, "What are you doing?"

He was bored out of his mind; this damned little place only had him, he couldn't find anyone to talk to, so he could only talk to himself.

No TV signal, no telephone lines, nothing at all, his brother even didn't allow him to have friends, he was about to go crazy.

Every time those two idiots came, and when he went to the town weekly to buy some supplies, that was his favorite time, he could have a good talk with people.

He moved closer and closer, seemingly trying to find out what the person was doing when the guy suddenly looked up at him.

The killing intent in the person's eyes gave the farm owner a jolt, he was just about to run, but it was already too late.

The guy coming out of the driver's seat took a stride forward, his left hand passed through the farm owner's armpit from behind, grabbing his hair downwards, forcing the farm owner to lift his head; at the same time, a dagger drove into his throat without any hindrance.

Death was beckoning to him!

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