The smell of iodine was like a rusty needle, stabbing deep into the nasal cavity. Lu Chenzhou leaned against the tiled wall of a cheap short-term rental apartment's bathroom. His back could clearly feel the cold texture of the tiles, a chill that seeped through his thin cotton T-shirt into his skin, tracing down his spine. He dipped a cotton swab into the brown liquid and slowly dabbed at the fresh abrasions on the back of his hand and elbow. The swab scraped across his skin, removing dried blood and leaving behind a burning sting. The faucet wasn't fully closed; water droplets continued to fall onto the bottom of the stainless-steel sink, producing a regular, scalp-tightening *drip-drip-drip*. Outside the window, the pre-dawn city light was a murky gray-blue, like a rag soaked in dirty water, pressing heavily against the glass. Fatigue hung from his limbs like lead weights. The gunshot wound in his left leg, crudely bandaged, throbbed with a dull, pulsating ache. Each heartbeat felt like a small hammer, striking precisely deep within the wound through the gauze and bandages. But his mind was abnormally, terrifyingly clear—the residual adrenaline from the chase at the old house still hummed in his veins, the tension from the brief alliance with Qin Wangshu clung to him like a shadow, the hollowness after transferring the evidence carved a hole in his stomach… and behind Zhao Tieshan's words, "Please remain at the Municipal Bureau for the time being," lay an unquestionable, icy desire for control. He had refused then. Refused calmly, so calmly that a fine crack appeared in the mask of official duty on Zhao Tieshan's face. "My safety is my own responsibility," Lu Chenzhou had said, just that one sentence, his voice not loud but each word clear. Then, before the media cameras could turn to him, he had left through the heavy metal fire door at the side entrance of the Municipal Bureau, taking advantage of the brief chaos Qin Wangshu had intentionally or unintentionally created. He knew this would embarrass Zhao Tieshan, even anger him. But he knew even more clearly that once placed under "protective control," locked in some seemingly safe room, he would become a chess piece completely at the mercy of others on the board, with even the rhythm of his breathing monitored. The price was that he had to disappear immediately, like a drop of water merging into the empty, damp streets of the early morning. Now, in this apartment rented with cash, where even the window frames didn't close properly, he tended to the scrapes left from his escape on the rusty fire escape and the cluttered alleyways. The iodine passing over his skin brought a brief, sharp burning sensation, then turned into a lingering, dull ache. He stared at the fresh, whitish-edged scratch on the back of his hand, the pressure from his fingers pinching the cotton swab unconsciously increasing, almost enough to snap the wooden stick. Right then, the screen of the black, anonymous phone on the edge of the vanity lit up. *Buzz— Buzz—* The muffled vibration was amplified in the small, cheaply tiled bathroom, sounding particularly jarring. The vibration transmitted through the countertop, causing faint ripples on the surface of the half-full plastic cup beside it. Lu Chenzhou's movements froze instantly. The cotton swab hung in mid-air, a drop of brown iodine teetering on the brink. He stared at the phone—the one Qin Wangshu had slipped into his jacket pocket earlier, saying only three words: "Use it if necessary." Now, the screen emitted a stark white light. He set down the cotton swab, which rolled onto the damp countertop. He wiped the residual iodine from his hand with a rough towel nearby, the fibers scraping against his skin. He picked up the phone. The screen displayed no caller ID, only a short message without any punctuation or formatting: «Joint investigation team approved. Zhao Tieshan leading. Target: you. Meet. Old place. One hour.» There was no signature at the end of the message. None was needed. Lu Chenzhou stared at those lines of cold Chinese characters. His breath caught in his throat for a moment before he slowly exhaled, the air condensing into a brief puff of white mist in the cold air. The muscles in his shoulders unconsciously tensed, pulling up near his ears. He paused for two seconds before forcing himself to slowly relax them. Joint investigation team… so fast? Zhao Tieshan was still spouting formalities like "according to law and regulations," "prudent reopening" in front of the media yesterday evening. And by this early morning, the documents were approved? *Target: you*—these three words were like three ice picks, driving into the bundle of nerves Time was tight. In one hour. Gu Zhixing's men might already be on their way, like hyenas that had caught the scent of blood. Lu Chenzhou abruptly stood up. The movement tugged at the wound on his left leg, a sharp burst of pain exploding through him. Fine beads of cold sweat instantly broke out on his temples, his brow tightly furrowed. He swiftly stuffed the used cotton swabs and the small brown bottle of half-empty iodine tincture into a crumpled plastic bag, tied it in a tight knot, lifted the trash can lid, and buried it deep beneath the layer of sour, stinking garbage at the bottom. Then, from a canvas backpack in the corner, he pulled out a dark gray hoodie. The fabric was coarse, carrying a faint odor of mothballs mixed with dust. He changed into it quickly, zipping it up from the bottom all the way to his chin in one smooth motion, the metal teeth of the zipper scraping against his skin. The man in the mirror was pale as paper, a dense web of bloodshot threads in his eyes, but his gaze was like a blade tempered in fire and repeatedly sharpened, cold and focused. He gave a final sweep of his eyes over this cramped, temporary refuge: the wrinkled bedsheet, the crooked chair, the dust accumulated on the windowsill. Ensuring there were no scraps of paper with handwriting, no items bearing personal characteristics. The anonymous phone went into the inner pocket of his jacket, pressed against his chest; he could feel its hard outline and slight residual warmth. His hand touched something else in the other pocket—a note with frayed, worn edges, on which he had hastily scribbled in pencil that unfinished sentence from Shen Bojun's suicide note: "Gu Zhixing discovered Shen Yanqing and—" And who? That name was forever frozen after the dash, like a gaping wound. Lu Chenzhou clenched the note in his palm, the rough texture of the paper grating against his palm lines. He paused for two seconds, then released his grip, carefully tearing the note into tiny, irrecoverable fragments. He walked to the toilet, opened his fingers, and watched the white scraps instantly swirl away and disappear down the drain. Some things had to be kept only in the mind, carved into the bones—safer than leaving them on any physical medium. Before leaving, he stood behind the thin wooden door, holding his breath, listening intently. The corridor was dead silent, only the faint, hollow, continuous sound of water running through some distant pipe, like a sigh. He gently turned the door lock, the metal bolt retracting with a soft *click*. He slipped out, pulled the door closed behind him without looking back. The motion-activated light in the stairwell didn't come on; he melted into the gloom. *** The morning street was like a giant beast just waking up, breathing heavily, slowly exhaling thin, cold mist. Lu Chenzhou arrived at the alley behind the café ten minutes early. It was a dead end, with a few dark green, grimy plastic garbage bins piled at the far end. The sour stench of leftover food scraps and rotting vegetables from the night before mixed with the damp vapor rising from the wet ground, stubbornly lingering and intertwining in the crisp air. The mouth of the alley faced a back street; occasionally, an early-rising delivery tricycle would creak by, its tires bumping monotonously over the uneven road surface. He concealed himself in a deep patch of shadow beside the garbage bins, his back against the rough, cold red brick wall. The gritty texture of the brickwork pressed into his shoulder blades through the fabric of his jacket. From this angle, he could keep the entrance and the end of the alley in his peripheral vision, along with the outline of the rusted metal fire escape overhead. He slowed his breathing, each exhale forming a rapidly dissipating white puff in front of him. His hands were in his jacket pockets, his right hand gripping the anonymous phone, its body warmed by his palm; his left hand unconsciously dismantled and bent a paperclip he'd brought from the apartment—the stiff metal wire was repeatedly bent, straightened, and bent again between his fingertips, producing an extremely faint, almost inaudible *snap-snap* sound. Footsteps approached. Light, but exceptionally steady, the interval and force of each step nearly identical. Not the sharp click of high heels, but the solid sound of flat-soled shoes firmly meeting the concrete ground, carrying a trained, professional rhythm, approaching with undeniable certainty. Lu Chenzhou didn't fully emerge from the shadows, only adjusted his center of gravity slightly, turned half a shoulder, and swept his gaze like a probe towards the slightly brighter area at the mouth of the alley. Qin Wangshu appeared. She was in casual clothes—dark blue jeans, a short black down jacket worn open, revealing a gray high-necked cashmere sweater underneath. She wore no makeup, her "You're early," Qin Wangshu spoke, her voice kept low, carrying the slight hoarseness unique to someone who has just woken up in the early morning, like sandpaper rubbing against rough wood. "You too," Lu Chenzhou said. He still kept most of his body sheltered in the shadows, maintaining a stance with his heels slightly off the ground, ready to exert force and retreat or sidestep at any moment. A tense silence stretched between them. In the alley, only the faint, dull sound of tire noise from the distant main road could be heard, along with the rustling sound made by the claws of a gray-black mouse as it quickly scurried past a trash can. The white vapor from Qin Wangshu's breath briefly condensed into a cloud in the cold air before quickly dispersing and vanishing. She stared at him, her gaze like a scanner, sliding from his abnormally pale cheek to his left knee, which was slightly bent under unnatural weight due to the injury. "How's the injury?" she asked, her tone sounding like a routine inquiry, but her gaze lingered slightly longer than necessary. "Not fatal," Lu Chenzhou said, his voice flat and uninflected. "Get to the point." Qin Wangshu gave an almost imperceptible nod, as if she had long expected that answer. She took half a step forward, the soles of her shoes rubbing against the cement ground, making a slight scraping sound. The distance closed to about two meters. Her voice dropped even lower, almost becoming a whisper: "The documents were approved late last night. Zhao Tieshan is personally overseeing it overall, and the Provincial Department has sent a supervision team. The commotion definitely won't be small." "Conditions?" Lu Chenzhou asked, the paperclip pinched between his fingertips pausing for a moment. "No explicit conditions," Qin Wangshu said, her speech speeding up slightly. "But restarting the investigation itself is a public negation of the ironclad conclusion from back then. For you, it's an opportunity to move the boulder, but also a target that will expose you to more guns." Lu Chenzhou's fingertips stopped completely. The paperclip was pinched into a twisted, sharp metal loop. "Target?" he repeated the word, the tail end of his tone sinking slightly. "The primary task of the joint investigation team is to thoroughly investigate the connection between Shen Yan's case and your case from back then. This means..." Qin Wangshu paused, her Adam's apple rolling slightly, as if carefully selecting her next words, "...they will comb through all relevant individuals like a fine-tooth comb. Including you. Including Shen Moqing. Including those... peripheral figures who might have been intentionally or unintentionally overlooked back then." Peripheral figures. The words were like an icy needle, abruptly piercing Lu Chenzhou's eardrum. He raised his eyes, his gaze locking onto hers: "The group photo? The processing result." Qin Wangshu's gaze instantly became sharper, like a focused beam of light. "It's been technically processed. The outline of the erased figure has been mostly restored. It's linked to a former city archives administrator named Wu Guohua, internal nickname 'Old Wu.' Records show he retired early in 1998 due to illness and has been missing since. The investigation team has already allocated personnel to follow this lead." Wu Guohua. Old Wu. This name was like a rusty key that just happened to fit a lock, abruptly thrusting into a long-sealed, almost rusted-shut corner deep in Lu Chenzhou's memory. He felt a brief, weightless-like dizziness—not physiological, but the shock from a sudden cognitive impact. The 1996 group photo... that figure whose face was erased by technical means... the archives administrator... These scattered fragments from many years ago were suddenly and roughly strung together by a thread named "position." His pupils contracted sharply, but all the muscles on his face remained utterly still, as if he wore a plaster mask. His left hand, thrust in his pocket, clenched violently, fingernails digging deep into the soft flesh of his palm, bringing a clear, stinging pain. "Old Wu," he repeated, his voice terrifyingly steady, as if reciting a stranger's name that had nothing to do with him. "Have you found him?" "Not yet," Qin Wangshu said, her gaze tightly fixed on his face, not letting go of any subtle change in expression. "But now that we have a name, his position from back then, and his social security records, finding him is just a matter of time. The question is..." She leaned forward slightly, her lowered voice carrying a metallic quality, "...what will he say after we find him? Who was it back then, and at what price, that made him erase the key record from that group photo? And who, after the deed was done, made him 'retire early due to illness "And what identity are you telling me this with now?" he spoke slowly, each word as if carefully treading on ice. "As an official police notification, or..." "As someone who wants to thoroughly muddy the waters, to make what should surface come up sooner." Qin Wangshu cut him off, her tone betraying a rare, tense impatience. "Lu Chenzhou, the thing you're holding onto—" She lifted her chin, gesturing towards the inner pocket of his coat. "It's hotter than burning charcoal right now. Gu Zhixing already knows the general content of the suicide note. If he can't find the original, he'll stop at nothing to find you. Alive or dead." "So?" Lu Chenzhou's voice remained steady, but the hand in his pocket was clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. Qin Wangshu said no more. She directly pulled something from the inner pocket of her down jacket. A small, transparent plastic SIM card, without any carrier logo. Pinching the edge of the card between her thumb and forefinger, she extended her arm straight out, offering it to him. "This contains an encrypted copy. The access password is the date you were released from prison. Take it." Lu Chenzhou didn't reach out immediately. He first looked at her fingers holding the card—knuckles prominent, nails trimmed short, no polish, steady as surgical forceps. Then his gaze lifted to her face, trying to read more information in her eyes. "A copy?" he asked, his voice devoid of emotion. "An electronic version of the full suicide note and the high-resolution scan of the group photo. I applied multiple layers of nested encryption and stored it on an overseas server linked to this anonymous card." Qin Wangshu fell silent for a few seconds. She turned her head, looking towards the grimy wall at the end of the alley, her voice so low it was almost inaudible: "Because ten years ago, I did nothing." Just that one sentence. No more. But Lu Chenzhou understood. Ten years ago when his case broke, Qin Wangshu was just a rookie detective. She might have heard rumors, might have seen suspicious points, but in the end, she chose silence, chose obedience, chose to be a flawless cog in that massive machine. That silence became a thorn in her career she couldn't pull out. Now, she wanted to pull out that thorn. Even if it meant tearing flesh and blood. "What time this afternoon?" Lu Chenzhou asked. "Two o'clock. City Bureau, third floor, Interrogation Room 307." Qin Wangshu said. The white vapor from her breath briefly condensed in the cold air, then quickly dissipated. "I'll be in the monitoring room next door. Besides Zhao Tieshan, the person questioning you will be an inspector from the provincial department, surnamed Chen. The questions will be difficult, sharp, deliberately provocative. You need to be prepared." "I've always been prepared," Lu Chenzhou said. He shifted his left leg slightly; a dull pain came from the gunshot wound, like a rusty wire twisting in the muscle. He frowned, but his stance became steadier. "The location of the original, I won't tell you. At least not now." "I guessed as much," Qin Wangshu said. Her gaze fell on his hand that had subconsciously pressed against his left leg, lingering for a moment. "But remember, if things spiral out of control, if Gu Zhixing's people find you first... that place better be secure enough." "It is." Silence fell between them again. But this time it wasn't as tense, like a brief ceasefire after some temporary agreement had been reached. Qin Wangshu took out her phone from her pocket to check the time; the cold light from the screen illuminated the taut line of her jaw. "I have to go. I still have matters to handle with Zhao Tieshan." She turned to leave, then stopped, looking back at him. "Lu Chenzhou." "Hmm?" "Stay alive," she said, each word like ice shards hitting the ground. "At least until two this afternoon." With that, she walked quickly towards the mouth of the alley. Her flats made crisp, sharp sounds on the damp cement, and her figure soon disappeared around the corner. Lu Chenzhou remained standing where he was. He listened as her footsteps faded away, until they were completely swallowed by the clamor of the waking morning market in the distance. The alley was left with only the sour smell of overnight garbage, mixed with the damp, earthy scent of moss at the base of the walls. He leaned against the wall, slowly letting out a breath; white mist churned and dispersed before his eyes. He took the bent paperclip from his pocket. The cool metal pressed against his fingertips, its surface slick with sweat. He turned it once between his fingers, then grasped both ends with his hands and forcefully straightened He tossed the paperclip into the nearby green trash can. It landed against the metal side with a soft *clink*. Turning, he walked towards the other end of the alley. His pace wasn’t fast, but each step landed solidly. The soles of his shoes ground over the gravel, emitting a faint, crunching sound. The pain in his left leg persisted, humming like background noise, but he had already pushed it to a corner of his consciousness. What he needed to think about now was the questioning session scheduled for two in the afternoon. What should be said, what shouldn't, what could be said, what couldn't. And, whether this SIM card in his hand was truly a reliable fuse. He turned out of the back alley and onto the main street. The morning crowd was beginning to grow. Steam from breakfast stalls drifted over, mingling with the scents of fried dough sticks and soy milk, all mixed with the sharp tang of car exhaust. He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt lower, the brim's shadow covering the upper half of his face, and blended into the crowd like a drop of water merging into a river. At that moment, in the greasy reflection of a breakfast stall's glass, he saw the black sedan. It was parked across the street, engine off, windows tinted dark. But the moment Lu Chenzhou’s gaze swept past, the driver’s side window slowly rolled down halfway. A hand rested on the window frame, a cigarette held between the fingers, its tip glowing a dull crimson in the greyish light. He couldn’t see the face of the person inside. But the posture of that hand, that air of casual yet oppressive waiting, made the muscles along Lu Chenzhou’s spine instantly tighten. The muscles between his shoulder blades contracted, as if pulled taut by an invisible string. Gu Zhixing’s men. Arriving faster than he had anticipated. And, making no attempt to hide it. He needed to leave this area quickly. As he turned, the gunshot wound in his left leg twitched. The pain wasn’t sharp, more like a forgotten warning rising from deep within the muscle. He inhaled a breath, the cold air filling his lungs, forcing his gait to remain steady as he walked towards the subway station. The traffic on the main street had already grown dense. Buses lumbered to stops and started again, their diesel engines rumbling, making the ground tremble slightly. Taxis weaved through gaps in the traffic, tires splashing through puddles, kicking up fine mists of water. The oily smoke from breakfast stalls mixed with the car exhaust, forming the unique olfactory map of a city morning. Lu Chenzhou blended into the sparse flow of pedestrians on the sidewalk, his pace matching the rhythm of the office workers around him. He walked for about thirty meters. He stopped, bending down in front of the glass display window of a 24-hour convenience store, pretending to tie his shoelace. The laces weren’t loose at all. His fingertips pinched the cold nylon cord as his eyes fixed on the glass. In the reflection, the black sedan was parked about fifty meters away on the opposite side of the street, in a temporary parking spot. Its front was facing this direction. The engine was still running; faint white vapor drifted from the tailpipe, rising straight up in the cold air. The windows were tinted dark, making it impossible to see inside, but the vague outline of a figure could be seen in the driver’s seat, motionless. Lu Chenzhou straightened up and continued walking. His pace didn’t speed up or slow down. He ducked into a breakfast shop that had just rolled up its metal shutter. The aluminum shutter made a loud *clang* as it reached the top. He ordered a cup of soy milk. The light from his phone screen illuminated the lower half of his face as he scanned the QR code to pay, his peripheral vision fixed on the door. The black sedan hadn’t moved, but the passenger side window slowly rolled down a crack about two fingers wide. The smell of cigarette smoke drifted out, mixed with the burnt bitterness of cheap tobacco. He walked out of the shop holding the disposable paper cup. The steam from the hot soy milk turned into a white mist in the cold air, hitting his face with a warm, beany scent. When crossing the street, he deliberately chose the moment a bus was pulling into the stop, blending into the crowd of waiting passengers. The slight warmth generated by the crowd’s body heat and breath enveloped him. The black sedan’s line of sight was blocked by the bus’s bulky frame. By the time he reappeared on the other side of the street, he had already turned into a narrow alley. It was a passage between old residential buildings. On both sides were red-brick buildings from the nineties, their outer plaster peeling to reveal the dark red bricks beneath. The ground floors were Ahead was a crossroads. To the left led to the vegetable market, the clamor surging like a tide; to the right was a narrower dead-end alley, piled with discarded furniture; straight ahead continued deeper into the residential area. The hawking from the morning market, the clatter of tricycle chains, and the rustle of plastic bags mingled into one chaotic sound. Lu Chenzhou chose the left path. The vegetable market had just opened. Stall owners were unloading goods from trucks, cabbages, radishes, and potatoes rolling everywhere, smeared with mud. Fishmongers set large plastic basins by the roadside, the stench of fish mixed with damp air hitting him head-on, so thick he could almost taste the rusty tang of blood. Elderly shoppers crowded in front of the stalls, haggling voices rising and falling, the local dialect sharp and grating. He sidled into the crowd. His shoulder bumped into an old woman selling eggs. The eggs in her bamboo basket wobbled, emitting faint cracking sounds. The old woman cursed something, spittle nearly landing on his face. He didn't catch it, just kept pushing forward. Fabric rubbed against fabric, body heat interwove, the smells of sweat, food, and dust blending into a suffocating blanket. Five meters behind him, the two men in black leather jackets also squeezed in. The tall, thin one reached out to push aside a blocking tricycle, the metal handlebar clanging loudly against the wall. Lu Chenzhou squatted down in front of a vegetable stall, pretending to pick potatoes. The potato skins were coated with damp mud, cold and rough. He picked one up, his fingertip sinking into a soft sprout eye. In his peripheral vision, the two black jackets stopped about ten meters away. The tall, thin one took out his phone, lowered his head and said something, his lips barely moving. The stocky one stared in his direction, his right hand always tucked inside his jacket pocket. The outline of the pocket was hard, with distinct edges. Lu Chenzhou stood up, clutching two potatoes. The stall owner, a middle-aged woman, was busy weighing goods for another customer. The electronic scale emitted a monotonous beep. She didn't look at him. He turned and headed deeper into the market. The further in, the more crowded it became. Chickens and ducks in the live poultry section fluttered in wire cages, their wings beating against the mesh with rapid *thump-thump* sounds. The smell of feathers and feces was overpowering, assaulting his nostrils. The ground was slippery, covered with thick rice husks and filthy water. Stepping on it felt soft and unstable, his soles skidding. Lu Chenzhou's left foot slipped. He quickly grabbed the nearby iron cage, the cold wire mesh digging into his palm. When he looked back, the two black jackets had closed the distance to within five meters. The tall, thin one gave him a nod, the corner of his mouth pulling into a cold, mirthless curve. The stocky one pulled his right hand from his pocket—clenched in it was a tightly rolled newspaper. The roll was tight, its edges darkened with sweat, the tip revealing a glint of metal. A telescopic baton. A silver shaft. Lu Chenzhou's breathing deepened. The muscles in his shoulders tensed, his shoulder blades tightening like two plates of steel, but his face remained expressionless. He turned and continued forward. Ahead was the aquatic products section. Large plastic basins held crucian carp and common carp, oxygen pumps bubbling *gurgle-gurgle*, a layer of white foam floating on the water's surface. The ground was all water, fish scales and slime embedded in the tile grout, sticky and slick underfoot. A few vendors squatted on the ground gutting fish, the rasping sound of knives scraping scales mingled with the smell of blood, the metallic tang thick and heavy. Lu Chenzhou walked to an empty stall and suddenly stopped. He crouched down, pretending to tie his shoelace. His left hand braced against the ground, palm pressing on the cold, wet tiles; his right hand quietly grabbed something from a nearby plastic crate—soybeans. Dried soybeans, hard as pebbles, digging painfully into his knuckles. The two black jackets stopped about three meters behind him. The tall, thin one spoke, his voice low, squeezed from deep in his throat: "Mr. Lu, Lawyer Gu would like to invite you for morning tea." Lu Chenzhou didn't turn. His right hand slowly opened, letting the soybeans scatter silently onto the wet ground. Round little pellets, nearly invisible amidst the dirty water and fish scales. "I'm busy," he said. "I'm afraid you'll have to make some time," the stocky one said, taking a step forward. The baton slid halfway out of the newspaper roll, the silver shaft gleaming coldly in "Old Wu." He repeated the name, his voice as calm as if he were reciting a strange word. "Wu Guohua. Did you find him?" "That depends on whether Mr. Lu cooperates or not." The tall, thin one took another half-step forward, the sole of his shoe stepping onto the wet tiles scattered with soybeans. "Come with us, and you might just get to see him." Before the words had fully landed, Lu Chenzhou moved. Not forward, nor backward. He suddenly twisted his body sideways, his right shoulder dropping, throwing his entire weight into a collision with a large plastic basin full of live fish beside him. The rim of the basin was higher than his waist; it held at least two hundred jin of water and fish. The moment his shoulder struck the basin wall, the plastic emitted a dull *thump*, icy water seeping through the fabric— The plastic basin overturned with a crash. Water and fish poured out like a turbid waterfall, crashing towards the two men in black jackets. The tall, thin one instinctively stepped back, his foot slipping on the soybeans. He fell backward, the back of his head striking the metal frame of another stall with a heavy *thud*. The stocky one reacted faster, leaping half a step aside, but his trouser legs and shoes were still drenched. The baton flew from his hand, tracing an arc through the air before landing with a *clang* in the drainage ditch beside them. The market erupted into chaos. Fish flopped on the ground, their tails slapping the tiles with crisp *pats*; water flowed everywhere, flooding over feet, icy and piercing; the stall owner's curses, customers' cries of alarm, and the roars of other vendors caught in the splash all merged into a single wave of noise that seemed ready to lift the roof. Lu Chenzhou didn't pause. He sprinted through the mess on the floor towards the market exit. His shoe soles slipped over slimy fish bodies; he nearly fell, catching himself with a hand on the ground, his palm smeared with mucus. The wound on his left leg sent a tearing pain with every push-off. He clenched his teeth until his roots ached, his breathing growing ragged, a metallic taste rising in his throat. Behind him came the stocky man's furious roar and the sound of pursuing footsteps—only one now, but the steps were heavy and swift, getting closer and closer. The exit was just twenty meters ahead, sunlight streaming in from outside. But a third man stood at the exit. Also wearing a black jacket, even bulkier, his shoulders almost blocking the narrow passageway like a wall. He wasn't holding a weapon, but his hands hung at his sides, fingers slightly curved, knuckles thick and prominent—a standard capture-ready stance. Lu Chenzhou didn't slow down. He suddenly veered five meters from the exit, crashing through the blue cloth curtain of a condiment stall next to him. The coarse fabric scraped his cheek as he dove into the cluttered area behind the stall, piled high with cardboard boxes. Soy sauce bottles and vinegar jars toppled everywhere, pottery shattering with a sharp *crash*, the pungent smell of sour and salty filling the air. The big man paused for a second, then charged in after him. The cloth curtain fell behind him, blocking out most of the light. The storage area was dark, with only a few faint slivers of light filtering through gaps in the curtain. The cardboard boxes were stacked taller than a man...