The darkness in the alley was like thick, viscous ink, wrapping around a person and pulling them down. Lu Chenzhou walked close to the wall, his footsteps swallowed by the roar of a sanitation truck operating in the distance. The muscle at the corner of his left eye twitched, ever so slightly, as if pricked by a fine needle. Qin Wangshu’s text message was still seared onto his retina—「Old place.」 Three words, devoid of warmth. The abandoned textile mill in the north of the city. He circled it four times. The first lap to survey the perimeter, the second to check the high vantage points, the third to listen for any movement, and only on the fourth did he slip in through a hole in the back wall of the boiler room. The smell of rust mixed with the decay of old cotton batting rushed at him head-on. Sunlight slanted in through the half-collapsed roof, illuminating billions of dancing dust particles in the air. They spun, rose, and fell, like a silent, never-ending miniature avalanche. Qin Wangshu stood beneath a broken concrete beam. She wasn’t in uniform, wearing a dark grey jacket, jeans, her ponytail tied tightly. Her hands were in her pockets, but Lu Chenzhou saw the slight tension in her shoulder blades—a posture ready to draw a gun or turn at any moment. Her gaze swept over him like a searchlight, first landing on his face, then sliding to the broken hole behind him, finally returning to his hands. “The thing,” she said. Her voice was low, but every word was hard. Lu Chenzhou didn’t move. He pulled a kraft paper file folder from inside his jacket, its seal wrapped three times with clear tape. He didn’t hand it over, merely held it in the air between them. “Shen Yan’s DNA match report, a copy. On-site fiber comparison, motive timeline deduction. The logical chain is complete.” Qin Wangshu stared at the file folder as if staring at a coiled snake. “The original?” “It’s in a safe place,” Lu Chenzhou said. “Captain Qin, what I want isn’t for you to take it. I want you to use it—to pry open a review of the ‘false confession’ case from back then.” The dust in the air seemed to freeze for an instant. Qin Wangshu’s lips pressed tightly together. She finally reached out, but her fingertips stopped an inch before touching the folder. “Jingyuan.” She used his courtesy name, a crack appearing in the hard, professional shell of her voice. “The wind has changed direction now.” Lu Chenzhou’s thumb unconsciously rubbed the edge of the folder. The rough texture of the paper came through the kraft paper. “The wind was never right.” “The bureau has formed a special case review team,” Qin Wangshu said quickly, as if reciting a bulletin she had no choice but to read. “Targeting the extraction process of your ‘confession’ back then. The tip-off materials… are very ‘professional.’ There are temperature and humidity records from the interrogation room back then, pressure mark analysis of the signatures, even ‘reasonable doubts’ about the surveillance timestamps when you were taken out of the detention center.” Her gaze fell on his face, as if searching for some trace. “They found a new ‘witness.’ An auxiliary police officer responsible for perimeter security back then, who has now come forward to say he heard you ‘emotionally break down and ask to confess’ in the interrogation room.” Lu Chenzhou’s breathing was light. So light it was almost inaudible. But the twitch at the corner of his left eye started again, once, twice, like a broken second hand. “Auxiliary police officer,” he repeated the term, his voice flat as if measured by a ruler. “Name?” “I can’t say,” Qin Wangshu shook her head. “My access has already been restricted. Deputy Chief Zhao is personally overseeing this review team. He told me… to keep my distance from you.” “So this text message,” Lu Chenzhou raised his phone slightly, “is your personal ‘distance,’ or is it bait Zhao Tieshan had you send?” The words were like a knife, directly piercing through that layer of paper. Qin Wangshu’s Adam’s apple bobbed. She bit the inside of her lower lip—that habitual little gesture, Lu Chenzhou knew it too well. Ten years ago, she would bite like that every time she was nervous or felt guilty. “Jingyuan,” she called again, this time with something else in her voice, like rusted gears forcing themselves to turn. “I believe there’s something wrong with that confession. I’ve always believed it. But the current situation… the "I don't need you to believe," Lu Chenzhou said, each word enunciated like a hammered nail. "I need you to act. Use your authority to pull the files of everyone who handled the case back then. Especially that 'auxiliary police officer' who suddenly appeared. Check his bank transactions over the past ten years, his social connections, whether he's suddenly come into any extra 'income' recently." He stared into her eyes. "You can do it. As long as you still want to know who it was that pressed the record button in the interrogation room back then." Qin Wangshu's pupils contracted. The record button. That ghost-like, never-found 'scapegoat.' It was like a thorn lodged in the hearts of everyone who knew. Her hand finally came out completely and grasped the file folder. But the grip was strong, her knuckles turning white. "I'll take it. I'll look," she said, her words quick and rushed, as if racing against time. "But I can't give you any promises. The review team is already activated. Your status is now a 'person of interest,' not a consultant. Captain Zhao could at any moment..." Before she could finish. Outside the factory building came the crunch of tires rolling over gravel. More than one vehicle. Qin Wangshu's face changed instantly. She whipped her head toward the broken opening in the wooden beam, her hand already pressed against the small of her back—a bulge there, the shape of a holster. Lu Chenzhou was faster than her. He sidestepped behind a concrete beam, his gaze sweeping over the holes in the roof, the side windows, and the half-collapsed iron door in the distance. The engine sounds stopped. The sound of car doors opening and closing. The sound of leather shoes stepping on concrete floors, chaotic, yet orderly. At least five or six people. "You brought a tail," Lu Chenzhou said, his voice cold as ice. "Impossible," Qin Wangshu gritted her teeth. "I took a detour..." "Or," Lu Chenzhou cut her off, "you were the tail all along." The words were too heavy. Heavy enough to make Qin Wangshu freeze for an instant. She turned her head to look at him, something in her eyes shattering—perhaps trust, or perhaps some balance she had been barely maintaining. "Lu Chenzhou." For the first time, she called him by his full name. "If I wanted to arrest you, I wouldn't choose this place. I wouldn't come alone." Footsteps drew nearer. Low, murmured conversation could already be heard. A rough voice was directing: "Team One, hold the east side. Team Two, circle around back. Team Three, with me. Be advised, the target may be armed, but avoid using firearms if possible. We need him alive." It was Zhao Tieshan's voice. Lu Chenzhou's spine straightened, like a steel bar compressed to its limit and suddenly springing back. He swiftly scanned his surroundings—the hole in the wall was too far, the windows had iron bars, outside the iron door was open ground. The only cover was these crisscrossing concrete beams and abandoned machinery. He looked at Qin Wangshu. She was looking at him. Between them lay a slanted beam of light, dust swirling inside it like a miniature sandstorm. Her lips moved, making no sound, but the shape was clear: **Go. Now.** Then she turned and actively strode toward the direction of the footsteps. Her back was ramrod straight, but Lu Chenzhou saw her hand at her side subtly forming a gesture—three fingers curled, index finger pointing toward the pile of rusted spinning machine wreckage at the deepest part of the factory. It was a signal they had used many years ago, when they were still on the same team: **There's a way out, but it's risky.** Footsteps were already pressing against the iron door outside. Zhao Tieshan's booming voice pierced through the sheet metal door: "Everyone inside! Municipal Bureau Criminal Investigation Division! Cooperate with the investigation!" Lu Chenzhou took one last look at Qin Wangshu's back. She was raising both hands, shouting toward the door: "Captain Zhao! It's me, Qin Wangshu! I'm inside!" The door was kicked open with a clang. Light flooded in, dust boiling. Lu Chenzhou moved like a shadow, hugging the shade of the concrete beam, sliding toward the pile of spinning machine wreckage deep inside the factory. His fingers touched the cold, rust-pitted metal surface. The twitch at the corner of his left eye wouldn't stop. Footsteps came from the factory entrance. Not just one person. Leather shoes stepping on broken concrete, the sound steady, not fast. But following closely were more footsteps, rubber-soled shoes, fanning out, carrying a certain trained rhythm. Qin Wang He wasn't wearing a police uniform, just a dark gray jacket, zipped up to his chest. His face looked somewhat darkened by the dim light in the factory building, but his eyes were bright, like two polished old brass buttons. Behind him followed four young police officers, all in plain clothes, but their posture and gaze gave them away. "Captain Qin." Zhao Tieshan spoke first, his voice not loud, carrying a hint of businesslike politeness. "What a coincidence." Qin Wangshu's Adam's apple moved. "Deputy Captain Zhao." Her voice was a bit dry. "I..." "Received a tip about suspicious activity in this area." Zhao Tieshan cut her off, his gaze shifting to Lu Chenzhou. "Didn't expect it to be Consultant Lu. Even more unexpected, Captain Qin is here too." As he spoke, his right hand pulled a folded document from inside his jacket. The paper made a crisp *rustle* as it unfolded, sharp and jarring in the empty factory building. The smell of rust and dust in the air seemed to grow heavier under the weight of that sound. Lu Chenzhou looked at that document. Black characters on white paper, the municipal bureau's red letterhead at the top. It was a bit too far to see the specific content clearly, but that bright red official seal stamp in the lower right corner looked like a drop of blood. "Lu Chenzhou." Zhao Tieshan read his name, each word enunciated clearly. "In accordance with Article 117 of the Criminal Procedure Law, you are hereby legally notified to cooperate with our bureau's investigation into relevant clues regarding the 'Mirror Murderer' series of copycat cases. You are to surrender all private investigation materials, electronic data, photocopies of physical evidence, and any case information obtained through unofficial channels related to this case." He paused, then added, "This is a notification, not a discussion." Outside the factory building, the faint hum of engines idling could be heard. More than one vehicle. Lu Chenzhou's ears caught the sound of car doors closing softly, very soft, but four times in succession. The encirclement had closed. Qin Wangshu shifted half a step forward, placing herself between Lu Chenzhou and Zhao Tieshan. "Deputy Captain Zhao, Lu Chenzhou is currently a case consultant for the Shen Yan Group. The materials in his possession are work products; according to the contract..." "Qin Wangshu." Zhao Tieshan's voice lowered. "Your current identity is Deputy Captain of the Municipal Criminal Investigation Detachment. Your duty is to assist in the execution of official duties, not to explain on behalf of a suspect." The three words, "suspect," drove into the air like three nails. Lu Chenzhou finally moved. He slowly put the screw nut back into his pocket. "Deputy Captain Zhao," he said, his voice so steady it betrayed no emotion. "The main body of the materials, as phased work products, was submitted to the client, Shen Yan Group, according to the contract yesterday afternoon. If you require them, you may legally request them from Shen Yan. The portion I have retained personally," he paused, "does not involve the core of the case and falls under the category of personal notes, protected by law." "Protected by law?" Zhao Tieshan laughed, the corner of his mouth pulling into a cold, humorless arc. "Lu Chenzhou, you're talking to me about the law?" He took a step forward. His leather shoe crushed a piece of loose wall plaster, raising a cloud of dust. "Your current status is that of a person released after serving a sentence, a party involved in the 'False Confession' case—oh, right, the bureau just established a special task force for reinvestigation, re-examining the procedures for extracting your confession back then. The whistleblower materials are very detailed. Time, location, the officers involved... even the fact that the air conditioning in the interrogation room was broken, the sweat dripping onto the paper when you signed, described perfectly clearly." Lu Chenzhou's breath hitched for a moment. Only half a second. But Zhao Tieshan caught it. The smile on his face deepened, grew colder. "So, don't give me that 'personal notes' nonsense. You are now a 'person of interest,' a 'subject of investigation.' Surrendering all materials and cooperating with the investigation is your only option." Right then, a dense vibration came from Lu Chenzhou's pocket. Buzz, buzz, buzz—continuous, like a swarm of trapped bees. He instinctively reached for it, but Zhao Tieshan was faster. "Phone." Zhao Tieshan extended his hand. "Take it out." Lu Chenzhou didn't move. The vibration continued, transmitted through the fabric to his palm, causing a subtle, irritating tingling. He raised his eyes and looked at Qin Wangshu. Qin Zhao Tieshan leaned in closer, squinted his eyes, and read aloud: "'Paroled Genius Detective Involved in Murder Case Again?'... 'Suspected Connection to Nine-Year-Old Cold Case'..." He lifted his head and looked at Lu Chenzhou, his eyes a mix of official business and an undisguised hint of mockery. "You move fast. I just got notified, and the news about you is already flying everywhere." He reached out and directly snatched the phone from Lu Chenzhou's hand. "Phone temporarily confiscated. As an electronic device possibly containing case-related clues, it will be inspected according to the law." Lu Chenzhou's fingers closed on empty air. His palm still held the faint numbness left by the vibration and the cold touch of the phone's casing. He watched as Zhao Tieshan handed the phone to an officer behind him, who expertly pulled out an anti-static bag, placed the phone inside, and sealed it. "Now," Zhao Tieshan turned his gaze back to him, "the materials. Don't make my men search you." The factory fell quiet. Only the faint sound of engines in the distance and the subtle rustle of leather as several young officers rested their hands on their batons. Qin Wangshu's breathing was light, but Lu Chenzhou could tell she was holding it back. He remained silent for a few seconds. Then, slowly, he unzipped his jacket and pulled out a flat manila envelope from an inner pocket. It was very thin. "That's all," he said, handing the envelope over. "Copies. The original biological samples and video materials have already been transferred to Shen Yan as per the contract. You can go retrieve them." Zhao Tieshan took the envelope but didn't open it immediately. He weighed it in his hand, pinched its thickness, then passed it to another officer behind him. "Check it." The officer took it, walked to a spot with better light, carefully opened the seal, and pulled out a few pages. He skimmed through them quickly. Then, he looked up and shook his head at Zhao Tieshan. "All copies. Text analysis, rephotographed crime scene photos. No original physical evidence." Zhao Tieshan's expression darkened. He stared at Lu Chenzhou, his gaze sharp as a blade. "Playing games with me?" "I said," Lu Chenzhou met his stare, "the original evidence has been transferred to the client. If Team Leader Zhao has doubts, you can contact Mr. Shen Moqing right now, or his legal advisor, Gu Zhixing. They should be quite willing to cooperate with the police." He pronounced the word "cooperate" very lightly, yet it carried a cold, ironic edge. The muscles in Zhao Tieshan's jaw bulged. He clearly understood the subtext—go ask Shen Yan for it? Would Shen Yan give it, or would he provide a "processed" version? The procedural delays and bureaucratic wrangling involved would be enough to significantly diminish the effectiveness of any immediate search. "Captain Qin." Zhao Tieshan suddenly turned to Qin Wangshu. "What's your take?" Qin Wangshu's body trembled slightly. She took a deep breath, her voice regaining its professional steadiness: "Procedurally speaking, Lu Chenzhou is currently still an advisor to Shen Yan. The materials he submitted to his client require the police to follow formal retrieval procedures. As for the copies he retained personally... if, upon appraisal, they are determined not to involve key case secrets and are considered analytical or speculative content, there might indeed be some controversy." She was walking a tightrope. Every word tested the boundaries of law and procedure, neither fully defying Zhao Tieshan nor pushing Lu Chenzhou completely off the cliff. Zhao Tieshan stared at her for several long seconds. That gaze was heavy, pressing down on Qin Wangshu until she almost lowered her eyes. But she held firm, only the inside of her lower lip turning white from being bitten by her teeth. Finally, Zhao Tieshan grunted. "Fine. Procedure. Formalities." He waved a hand. "Lu Chenzhou, listen up: your phone is temporarily confiscated, we will inspect it according to law. You, personally, from now on, must keep your communication lines open and be available for summons at any time. You are not permitted to leave the city without authorization. If we discover you engaging in any behavior to conceal evidence or obstruct the investigation—" He paused, enunciating each word clearly: "The next time we meet, it won't be in a place like this, and the tone won't be like this." He turned and jerked his head at the officers. "Wrap it up." The officers began to withdraw in an orderly manner. The one holding the envelope carefully reinserted the copies, sealed it, and attached an evidence label. His movements were meticulous, yet carried Lu Chenzhou did not move. "Those news pushes," he said, "did you know about them beforehand?" Qin Wangshu's fingers froze at her temple. She was silent for two seconds, then lowered her hand. "An internal notice from the bureau's publicity department, issued half an hour ago. It instructed all units to pay attention to public opinion, especially regarding... the dynamics of your social connections." She avoided his eyes. "The pushes were sent simultaneously by several online media outlets. The source is still being traced, but the headline slant is obvious." "Labeling me as an 'ex-convict,' 'hyping up an appeal,' 'connected to a murder case.'" Lu Chenzhou finished her sentence, his tone as calm as if he were stating facts about someone else. "Coordinating with Zhao Tieshan's investigation to form a double siege of public opinion and procedure. Very efficient." Qin Wangshu did not deny it. She only repeated once more, her voice lower, more urgent: "Go. Quickly. Outside... there might not just be police." Lu Chenzhou finally looked at her. His gaze was deep, like two ancient wells, reflecting little emotion. Then, he turned and walked towards another broken opening in the factory building's wall. He paused at the opening, not looking back. "Captain Qin," he said. "Thanks." Qin Wangshu stood where she was, watching his back disappear into the light outside the breach. She bit her lower lip until she tasted a trace of blood. Then, she turned sharply and strode quickly towards the direction Zhao Tieshan had left. Outside the factory building, the sunlight was somewhat glaring. Lu Chenzhou narrowed his eyes, adjusting to the light. On the empty concrete ground of the abandoned industrial park, three unmarked black sedans were parked. Zhao Tieshan was just pulling open a car door to get in. In the distance, near the main gate of the park, the outlines of two police cars were faintly visible. But closer, outside the rusted iron fence of the park, stood three or four people. They weren't in uniform. They held mobile phones, some with small cameras. Their lenses seemed to be aimed, more or less, in this direction. Seeing Lu Chenzhou emerge, one of them immediately raised a phone, seemingly taking a picture. Self-media. Or, people posing as self-media. Lu Chenzhou pulled down the hood of his jacket, turned sideways, and walked briskly along the shadow of the factory building towards a patch of messy shrubbery at the rear of the industrial park. He could feel those gazes sticking to his back like damp spiderwebs. The moment he ducked into the shrubs, he heard a young man's voice raised in a question from behind: "Excuse me, are you Mr. Lu Chenzhou? Regarding the rumors online, do you have any response?" He did not answer. Branches and leaves scraped against his jacket with a rustling sound. He quickened his pace, his figure soon swallowed by the dense shrubs and wild grass. His heart beat steadily in his chest, once, then again. But his fingertips felt cold. The crisp sound of paper when Zhao Tieshan unfolded the document earlier seemed to still echo in his ears. And those news push headlines, in bold font, were like red-hot branding irons, seared onto his retina. The fire of public opinion had indeed been lit. And the first flame had accurately targeted his most vulnerable identity—a paroled convict, a "troublemaker" trying to overturn a case. He passed through the shrubbery, climbed over a low wall, and landed in a back alley piled with construction waste. The alley was narrow, filled with the smell of rotting vegetables and urine. He leaned against the cold brick wall, catching his breath, and pulled from inside his clothes another, smaller object, tightly wrapped in waterproof oilcloth. Its hard edge pressed against his palm. Inside this was the true, original spark that could burn through all disguises—Shen Yan's original DNA sampling swab, and that miniature master tape recording certain key conversations, retrieved from the secret compartment in Shen Yan's study. Zhao Tieshan hadn't found it. Qin Wangshu... perhaps saw it, but chose silence. He tucked the oilcloth-wrapped package back into his inner pocket, against his skin. The cold touch made him shiver, but it also brought a strange clarity. He couldn't return to the Shen residence. He couldn't contact any known connections. His phone was confiscated. Qin Wangshu's lifeline had also become precarious under institutional pressure. He had become a true island. Voices came from the end of the alley. Were they from those "self-media" people just now? Or were they Shen Yan's people? He didn't linger. He turned and ducked into deeper shadows at the other end of the alley. He needed to find a The trailing echo of Qin Wangshu's "Go now!" still lingered in his ears as Lu Chenzhou had already scaled the rear wall of the abandoned factory, plunging into a wasteland of overgrown weeds and rubble piled from construction debris. Behind him, the low growl of police car engines and Zhao Tieshan's booming commands came through the brick wall, like blunt instruments striking the air. He didn't look back, his spine ramrod straight, but his steps were swift, each footfall precisely placed on soft earth or broken tiles to muffle sound as much as possible. The wind carried voices, not police, but more chaotic, clamorous chatter, along with the *click-click* of phone cameras. Outside the factory's main gate, several figures holding phones were moving about, their lenses greedily capturing the red and blue flashes of police lights. Self-media. They got here fast. He pulled down the brim of his cap, using the shadows of crumbling walls and ruins like a wisp of silent smoke, swiftly distancing himself from that troubled ground. This old industrial district in the northern part of the city was dying. Vast factory buildings had been demolished, leaving a few scattered residential buildings awaiting demolition, standing like lonely islands in an ocean of rubble. Lu Chenzhou chose one of them. The building's exterior was peeling, revealing large patches of dark red brick. Most windows were gaping holes, glass shattered, the dark openings like countless blind eyes. The air was thick with the damp smell of mold, mixed with the scent of lime dust and the sour stench of some long-rotted garbage. He stopped in front of the building, looked up for three seconds, confirming no recent signs of human activity—no fresh handprints on the window frames, no recent displacement of the scattered broken glass at the entrance. The corner of his left eye twitched slightly. He slipped into the stairwell. The light instantly dimmed, only a few strands of daylight leaking through the damaged roof illuminated the dust motes dancing in the air. The stair railings were coated in a thick layer of dust. Stepping on them, the sound of crushed cement grit crunched beneath his feet. He went up to the fourth floor, chose a unit whose door lock had long rusted and fallen off, and sidled in. The room was empty, apart from a few fallen pieces of wall plaster on the floor and a pile of unidentifiable garbage in the corner, there was nothing else. The kitchen door hung askew. He walked over. The stove and sink had long been removed, leaving only pipe connections and holes in the wall. He crouched down, his gaze falling on the ventilation opening of the old-fashioned range hood above the stove. The metal mesh cover was covered in rust, the screws at the edges long loose. He reached out, his fingertips touching the cold, rough surface of the rust. He didn't act immediately. Leaning back against the cold tiled wall, he slowly sat down, letting his breathing steady. The objects against his chest, through his clothes, felt hard and slightly cool—the original cotton swab sealed in a waterproof evidence bag, and the master copy of that micro-videotape. The items taken from the secret compartment in Shen Yan's study: the ironclad evidence with a 99.7% DNA match, and the video of his own forced "confession" from back then. These were the only sparks he held now, capable of piercing Shen Yan and prying open the old "false confession" case. And they were also the sole reason for the current police encirclement and the public outcry hunting him. His phone vibrated in his pocket once, then again. He pulled it out. The screen was already covered in a web of fine cracks—from when he was shoved by a young officer at the factory and it hit a machine. Unlocking it, a string of news push notifications popped up, their red, bold headlines glaring: **"Exclusive: Paroled 'Genius Detective' Involved in Homicide Again, Shocking Connection to 'Mirror Killer' Copycat Case!"** **"An Ex-Con's 'Revenge'? Police Confirm Reopening Investigation into Lu Chenzhou's Old Case!"** **"Mysterious Death of Shen Yan's Eldest Son, Mysterious 'Consultant' Lu Chenzhou Suspected as Key Figure!"** **"Deep Dive: From Police Star to Convict, Lu Chenzhou's 'Obsession' and 'Lies'..."** The headlines grew more sensational, their wording precisely targeting the public's most sensitive nerves—parolee, ex-con, obsession, lies. The writing style appeared objective, yet juxtaposed words like "suspected," "possibly," "according to informed sources" with definitive accusations, leading to a self-evident conclusion. The fire of public opinion had been lit, its direction venomous, aimed directly at the most vulnerable scars of his identity He closed his eyes. Not to think, but to let the images surface. In the factory, when Qin Wangshu took the copy of the evidence, the joints of her fingers were slightly white from the force. The way she looked around, wary as a deer surrounded by hunters. Her lowered, rapid voice held professional caution, and also a struggle. That final "Go, quickly," the look he caught in her eyes when he glanced back—there was concern, like water flowing weakly beneath ice, but more than that, it was helplessness, a kind of nearly ruthless professional detachment. That look said: This is all I can do. The pressure of the system was like an invisible wall standing between them; the former bond of teacher and apprentice was not enough to pierce through it, much less provide shelter. He understood. The faint hope of cooperating to overturn the case had been extinguished the moment Zhao Tieshan led his team into the factory. Qin Wangshu was not a betrayal; she was bound hand and foot by the rules, perhaps even already drawn into the investigation procedures targeting him. The evidence he handed over might become a clue for her personal investigation, but it would never become an official breakthrough for the police to overturn his case. The price of trust was this excruciating isolation at this very moment. He no longer had allies in the police, no longer had a place to stay in the Shen residence, and even his public identity was rapidly being smeared by the sewage of public opinion into a dangerous symbol. The true lone battle was just beginning. He opened his eyes. There was no emotion in them, only a frozen-lake calm. He stopped leaning against the wall, stood up, and crouched again in front of the ventilation opening. His fingers pinched the edge of the rusted metal mesh cover, slowly applying force, removing it from its clasp with the smallest angle and most even pressure. No harsh sound of twisting metal. The cover removed, it revealed the dark, square pipe opening behind it, from which a choking odor of accumulated dust and years of grease fumes surged out. He took the evidence bag and the videotape from inside his coat. Without hesitation, he wrapped them tightly together with the prepared clean cloth strips, then placed them inside a waterproof, sealed bag. Then, he carefully, deeply tucked this small bundle into a recessed corner on the inner upper side of the ventilation duct. It was dry, hidden, impossible to see directly from any angle below. He adjusted its position, ensuring the bundle was wedged securely and wouldn’t slip from vibration. After finishing this, he took a small brush and a bottle of water from his tool bag, meticulously cleaned any fingerprints he might have left on the edges of the mesh cover, and reattached the cover exactly as it was. Next, he took a few steps back and scrutinized the path he had taken into the room—the footprints in the dust by the door. He had deliberately stepped on the existing, more chaotic footprints when he entered; now they were almost indistinguishable. He walked to the window and used the cloth to wipe down the windowsill and any places he might have touched. Finally, he checked the floor, picked up a few fragments that might have been brought in by his shoe soles and were different from the original trash in the room, and put them in his pocket. Throughout the entire process, his movements were steady, precise, without any excess. Like a precise instrument executing a predetermined clearing procedure. But only he knew that the heart in his chest was striking his ribs with a heavy, slow rhythm, each beat seeming to carve the words "prey" deeper into his very bones and blood. The identity of the investigator had been shed. From this moment on, he was prey. Hunted by the police, besieged by public opinion, stalked by Shen Yan. He had to go completely underground, live like a shadow, until... until the spark in his hand found the moment to ignite a prairie fire. He walked to the other side of the room, where some abandoned construction debris was piled. He rummaged through it and pulled out an old worker's jacket stained with grayish-white paint. The fabric was coarse and stiff, emitting a smell of lime powder mixed with sweat. He took off his own jacket and put on this work coat. Then, from the trash pile, he picked up an equally dirty cap and pulled it low over his head, the brim covering most of his face. There was no mirror. But he could imagine his current appearance—a most ordinary, down-on-his-luck construction worker or scavenger, lost among the countless similar gray figures in this city. He walked to the broken window, not pressing close, only looking out through a crack at the side. His gaze swept over the desolate open ground below and the winding path between the distant rubble piles. Then, his gaze fixed. At the mouth of the alley below, the narrow passage connecting this ruin to He is here. How long has he been waiting? How did he find him? Or perhaps, he didn't need to "find" anything at all. He simply predicted the most likely hiding area Lu Chenzhou would choose after evading the police blockade, and then waited here, quietly. Lu Chenzhou leaned against the cold wall, not moving. The rough fabric of his work clothes rubbed against his skin. Deep within the ventilation duct, the tiny ember remained silent in the darkness. Downstairs, Shen Moqing's "cleaner" was patiently waiting. The black sedan, like the silhouette of a brand new, silent cage, grew clearer in the twilight. Was this a new transaction, or a more direct harvest? The answer would come the moment he went down.