Shen Qinghuan’s footsteps faded away at the end of the corridor, like a drop of water falling into a deep pool. The door closed. Lu Chenzhou stood where he was, his palm still retaining the faint moisture and tremor from tightly gripping the young girl’s wrist. That sensation cooled rapidly, turning into a sticky reminder—a fragile life, a desperate entrustment, now lay in his open, empty hand. He turned and walked toward the desk. The guest room returned to a deathly silence. Outside the window, the fountain in the Shen family garden made a monotonous, ceaseless trickling sound under the afternoon sun, like some precise timer counting down. His stomach twisted, then slowly relaxed, leaving behind a hollow feeling of heaviness. His muscles were taut like springs, but the surface had to remain relaxed. He sat down, his gaze sweeping across the desktop. The polished mahogany surface reflected the swaying tree shadows from outside. No paper, no pen—everything that could leave a trace had been removed, except for that thick, decorative hardcover antique book. He extended the index finger of his right hand, lightly dipping the tip into the residual moisture on the rim of the teacup. Cold. His fingertip landed on the desktop and began to move. The water trace silently outlined lines. The main building’s outline, the side wing corridors, the narrow service staircase leading to the underground garage. The path Shen Qinghuan had described—the small second-floor parlor where she had overheard Gu Zhixing’s phone call, the straight-line distance to the garage, the surveillance blind spots along the way. Three of them. The internal structure of the garage, pieced together from her fragmented memories: two rows of parking spaces, the tool room in the northwest corner, surveillance cameras… distribution unknown. Information had flown into the spiderweb like insects—sparse and fatally incomplete. Lu Chenzhou closed his eyes. In the darkness, the lines began to extend and transform. He simulated Shen Qinghuan’s perspective: a young girl who had never received any training, trembling with fear to her very teeth, clutching a cold, makeshift miniature magnetic interference device made from discarded phone parts, walking down the stairs. Her heartbeat would pound like a drum, her breathing would be short. The garage’s lighting would be dim, the air a mixture of dust and engine oil. She had to find that black Audi A8, Gu Zhixing’s private car. Under the chassis, on the inner side of the left rear wheel, near the driveshaft guard plate, there was a concealed metal frame. The magnetic device had to be precisely attached there. Only then would the short-circuit chip inside the interference device, upon vehicle ignition, disrupt the initialization signal of the onboard computer via an electromagnetic pulse. *Click.* The imagined sound of metal attaching lightly echoed in his skull. Did it succeed? And then? Gu Zhixing’s people planned to depart at three o’clock. The probability of the driver inspecting the vehicle in advance? Seventy percent. The reaction time from discovering it wouldn’t start? From attempting to ignite, to calling for support, to preliminary inspection… Optimistic estimate, eight to twelve minutes. Gu Zhixing receiving the report, getting from his main building office to the garage, would take three minutes. He would inspect it personally. This man’s suspicion was as heavy as a rusted lock. He would immediately question the nature of the malfunction. A simple circuit issue? Or deliberate sabotage? Lu Chenzhou’s fingertip unconsciously drew circles on the desktop. The water traces gradually smudged, becoming blurry. Fifteen minutes, at most. These fifteen minutes were the only window of time he had bought for Zhou Zhengping—that old forensic doctor hiding in the "Yuelai" inn, changing disguises like a startled bird—to slip out from the edge of the hunting net. It was also the breathing room Shen Qinghuan needed to evacuate from the garage, return to the main building, and pretend nothing had ever happened. What was the price? A slight twitch began at the corner of his left eye, once, then again, uncontrollable. He raised his hand, pressing hard against it with his knuckle. The twitching stopped, leaving a faint spasm beneath the skin. Extremely light footsteps came from outside the door, paused, then moved away. It was a guard on routine patrol. Once every twenty minutes, the footsteps went from heavy to light, with a gap of about a minute and a half during shift changes. He had memorized this rhythm. It might be useful in the future. For now, he could only wait. Waiting was the sharpest file, slowly grinding down the nerves. Every second stretched out, full of weight. He picked up the hardcover antique book and opened it. The pages were dry, emitting a mixed scent of aged Shen Qinghuan pressed her back against the cold concrete wall, almost able to hear the sound of her own blood rushing through her eardrums. Too loud. She bit down hard on the inside of her lower lip until she tasted a hint of metallic rust, barely suppressing the dizzying roar. Dim light cast from above, cutting the ground into large, blurry patches of light and even deeper shadows. Two rows of vehicles lay silent, like sleeping metal behemoths. She searched. The black Audi A8 was there, in the second row, closer to the inside. She took a deep breath, the cold scent of dust and faint motor oil stinging her nostrils. Her stomach tightened. Can't stop. She stood on tiptoe, moving along the wall's shadow. Her cotton slippers made almost no sound on the cement floor. Her eyes nervously scanned the surroundings. The cameras... where were they? Those black half-spheres on the ceiling—some glowed with a faint red light, others were completely dark. She couldn't tell which were active, which were just for show. Lu Chenzhou had said the Shen residence's security system was old, with blind spots, but the specific locations... She didn't know. She could only gamble. Her heart hammered wildly in her chest, pounding against her ribs, thump after thump, vibrating until her fingertips went numb. She reached the side of the Audi. The car body was ice-cold. She crouched down. The chassis was very low to the ground, the gap beneath pitch black. "Inside the left rear wheel... near the driveshaft guard..." she silently recited, her trembling fingers probing beneath the chassis. Dust and cobwebs brushed against her hand, the sticky sensation raising goosebumps. She found it! Hard metal framing, and... a slightly raised, smooth surface? Was this it? She pulled the miniature jammer from her apron pocket. The metal casing was piercingly cold, colder than her trembling fingers. Her fingertips felt for the strong magnet on the jammer's base, then reached for that slightly raised surface on the chassis. It wouldn't align. Her hand shook too badly. The first attempt, the magnet slid off. The second attempt, it slid off again. Sweat beaded at her temples, sliding down, an unbearable itch. In the distance, faint voices seemed to drift over, and... footsteps? Her breath caught instantly. The sounds disappeared again. Maybe it was her imagination. But fear, like cold vines, tightened around her throat. Hurry! Hurry! She closed her eyes, gripping her right wrist tightly with her left hand, forcing it steady. Her nails dug into her flesh, the pain bringing a brief moment of clarity. Then, relying on feel, she pressed the jammer firmly against that raised surface. *Click.* A faint, almost inaudible sound of adhesion, drowned out by her heartbeat. Done? She wasn't sure, pressed it again. The jammer didn't budge, firmly attached to the chassis. A wave of exhaustion washed over her, her knees buckling, nearly collapsing to the floor. Right then, clear humming and footsteps sounded from the direction of the garage entrance. "...Good luck, oh good luck..." Someone was coming! Shen Qinghuan was terrified out of her wits, frantically looking around. The utility room! Just a few steps away! She scrambled over on hands and knees, pulled open the slightly ajar door, squeezed inside, and pulled it shut behind her, leaving only a crack. The utility room was even darker, crammed with brooms, buckets, discarded tires, and oil-stained rags. A heavy odor of rust and mildew assaulted her. She pressed against the rough cement wall, covering her mouth and nose with her hands, her fingers feeling the warmth of her own breath and the cold sweat seeping from her palms. Dust invaded her nostrils; she desperately suppressed the urge to sneeze, her eyes stinging. The footsteps grew closer, the humming clearer—a man, his tune wildly off-key. "...Good luck, brings joy and love..." Through the crack in the door, she saw a middle-aged man in a dark blue chauffeur's uniform, swinging a keychain, sauntering over. He had half a cigarette dangling from his mouth, the ember glowing and fading in the dim light. He walked straight to the row of cars and... stopped right beside the black Audi! Shen Qinghuan's blood nearly froze. The driver hummed his song, walked around the car once, reached out and patted the Audi's roof, producing dull *thuds*. Then he bent down, seemingly peering into the driver's seat, and pulled on the door handle—locked. He muttered something, spat out the cigarette butt, and ground it under his shoe. Time froze. Every second felt like a century. Shen Qinghuan's hand over her mouth and nose pressed harder, her nails digging into the flesh The driver lingered for about ten seconds—perhaps only five, but in Shen Qinghuan’s perception, it felt endlessly long—then he straightened up, jingled his keys, and walked toward a silver-gray sedan parked nearby. He pulled open that car’s door and climbed inside. The sound of the engine starting was muffled, echoing through the enclosed garage. Shen Qinghuan remained frozen in place until the silver-gray sedan’s headlights flared on. A blinding white beam swept through the crack of the tool room door, painting a fleeting patch of light across her face. The car slowly backed out of its spot and drove toward the garage exit. The red glow of its taillights traced two trails through the dim space before disappearing around a corner. The garage sank back into a deeper silence, broken only by the low hum of distant ventilation ducts. Only then did she suddenly release her hand, gasping for air in great, heaving breaths. Cold, dust-laden air flooded her lungs, triggering a violent fit of coughing that she desperately suppressed, turning it into a painful, choked sob in her throat. Her legs were too weak to support her; she slid down along the wall and slumped onto the floor. The rough concrete ground dug painfully into her tailbone. Several seconds passed before the burning sensation in her lungs began to subside slightly. The task was complete. She had to leave immediately. She struggled to her feet, her limbs still weak. Pushing the tool room door open gently, she slipped out. Just as she stepped over the threshold, the hem of her apron caught on a protruding, rusted iron hook by the door. *Rip—* A faint tearing sound of fabric, jarringly sharp in the silent garage. Shen Qinghuan’s entire body went rigid. She looked down. At the edge of the apron, a small triangular tear, about the size of a fingernail, had been ripped open. Uneven white cotton threads poked out, like a glaring wound. Her heart sank. There was no time to deal with it. Gritting her teeth, she tucked the torn fabric inward, trying to make the damage less obvious, but the rough edge her fingertips brushed against was a constant reminder of its presence. Moving quickly along the path of shadows she had come by, she hurried toward the service stairs, her steps somewhat unsteady. Only when she stepped onto the stairs and returned to the relatively brighter corridor on the first floor, blending in with the occasional passing servants whispering among themselves, did her wildly pounding heart begin to calm slightly. But her fingers subconsciously brushed over that small tear in the apron. The cold, rough texture felt like a needle, pricking the nerves that had just begun to relax. A hidden danger had been planted. Lu Chenzhou stood at the window of the guest room. On the desk, he had used a decorative pen and several blank sticky notes to arrange a simple pattern: the pen placed horizontally, pointing toward the door, with three sticky notes stacked in a triangular formation at the pen’s end. This was a silent signal for Shen Qinghuan—if she could return and see this, she would understand that there was no immediate issue here and that he had already noted the guard rotation pattern. Most of his attention, however, was focused outside the window. From this angle, he could only see a small area above the garage exit and part of the driveway. Time ticked by. 2:45. 2:50. 2:55. No movement. The anxiety of waiting piled up like fine sand, threatening to drown his chest. He forced himself to shift his gaze, settling it on a late-blooming cherry blossom tree in the distant garden that was already wilting. Petals drifted down, caught by the wind, swirling as they fell. Just as a petal was about to touch the ground— A brief, unusual commotion came from the direction of the garage. Not loud noise, but a kind of tense, suppressed disorder. Several figures emerged quickly from the garage exit, looking hurried, speaking rapidly into walkie-talkies in hushed tones. Then, a silver-gray sedan sped out. The tires screeched sharply against the pavement as it turned onto the main road and swiftly disappeared behind the trees. That wasn’t Gu Zhixing’s car. Almost simultaneously, Gu Zhixing himself appeared. Dressed in his immaculately pressed suit, his steps remained steady but were faster than usual. The habitual mild expression on his face was gone, replaced by a cold, storm-clouded grimness. He walked straight toward the garage entrance and vanished from Lu Chenzhou’s line of sight. Lu Chenzhou’s fingertip tapped lightly against the windowsill. The interference had worked. The black Audi had failed to start. They had mobilized a backup vehicle. Gu Zhixing had been alerted and personally gone to the scene. The time… from the onset of the commotion to the Lu Chenzhou's gaze never left the garage entrance. A few minutes later, Gu Zhixing emerged, his expression even more grim than when he had entered. He didn't immediately return to the main building. Instead, he stood on the driveway, speaking rapidly into his phone, his gestures betraying clear agitation. Then, he put away his phone, looked up, and his eyes seemed to sweep unintentionally over the windows of the main building. Lu Chenzhou did not move, remaining behind the window. Gu Zhixing's gaze did not linger; it soon shifted away as he turned and walked briskly toward the main building. But that action of his, that glance upward, was enough to speak volumes. The seed of suspicion had been planted. And it was beginning to sprout. Sure enough, less than twenty minutes later, a knock sounded at the door. Not too light, not too heavy—three knocks, carrying a procedural, non-negotiable politeness. Lu Chenzhou walked back to the desk, sat down, and picked up the ancient book before speaking. "Come in." The door opened. Aunt Wu stood in the doorway, followed by two maids with lowered eyes. Aunt Wu wore the Shen residence's standard dark gray servant uniform, her hair meticulously combed, her face wearing the usual, lukewarm deference. Her gaze was like two cold probes, sweeping every corner of the room the moment the door opened. "Mr. Lu," Aunt Wu's voice was steady, devoid of emotion, "The master has instructed that things have been somewhat unsettled in the residence lately. For your safety, he asked us to carefully inspect the room. We apologize for the intrusion." She used "look around" instead of "inspect." The phrasing was cautious, but the intent was naked. Lu Chenzhou set down the book, looked up, his gaze calmly sweeping over Aunt Wu and the two maids. "Is Mr. Shen worried the guest room is unsafe?" He paused, injecting a hint of appropriate puzzlement into his tone. "Or is he worried *I* am unsafe?" Aunt Wu's eyelids lifted slightly, her eyes meeting Lu Chenzhou's for an instant. That look held no extra information, only a deep-pool-like, opaque calm. "The master is naturally concerned for your safety." She stepped aside to let the two maids enter, then walked slowly into the room herself, her gaze combing over the surroundings like a fine-toothed comb. "After all, you are a guest, and also... an important collaborator. The master hopes the collaboration can proceed smoothly, without obstruction." The maids began their work. They inspected meticulously, but silently and swiftly. One went to check the window latches, opening and closing them repeatedly, tapping a knuckle against the glass and listening; the other even crouched down, lifted a corner of the carpet's edge, looked carefully underneath, then smoothed it back down inch by inch with her palm. They checked the vent grilles, unscrewing and tightening them; pulled open the bedside table drawer, fingers probing deep inside; pushed open the bathroom door, inspecting behind the toilet tank and the showerhead connection. Lu Chenzhou picked up the book again, his gaze falling on the page, seemingly indifferent to it all. But his peripheral vision remained locked on Aunt Wu. Aunt Wu slowly paced the room, her fingers occasionally brushing over furniture surfaces. She stopped at the desk. Her gaze fell on the desktop—the pen lying horizontally, the three sticky notes arranged in a triangular stack, and... that area on the desktop that was now almost completely dry, leaving only a faint watermark. Her fingers brushed over that watermark area as if by accident. Dry. Almost no trace remained. Her fingers paused for half a second, then naturally withdrew. Her gaze shifted to Lu Chenzhou. "Has Mr. Lu been reading all this time?" "Mmm." Lu Chenzhou turned a page, the paper making a soft rustling sound. "It's very quiet here. Good for reading." Aunt Wu nodded, asking no further questions. She watched as the maids finished their inspection; both gave her a slight shake of their heads. "It seems there are no issues." Aunt Wu said, her tone still flat. She turned to Lu Chenzhou, giving a slight bow. "We apologize for disturbing you, Mr. Lu." "It's fine." Lu Chenzhou gave a slight nod, his gaze still on the book page. "Please convey to Mr. Shen that I have received his concern. The collaboration," he lifted his eyes to look at Aunt Wu, "naturally proceeds on the premise of smoothness." Aunt Wu met his gaze, looking at him deeply for a moment. In that look, something seemed to flash by extremely quickly, only to vanish just as fast into the depths of the pool. "Good." She paused, her voice lowering further, yet each word clear. "The master also said, since things have been unsettled Aunt Wu saw it. She saw the water stains on the table, saw the pattern he had arranged. That half-second pause as her fingers brushed the tabletop was the confirmation. She hadn't found any concrete evidence, but suspicion had already coiled around him like a vine, tightening its grip on his already limited space for survival within the Shen residence. Her final words, "Don't strain yourself too much," were a warning, and more—a demarcation line. He had been drawn inside the line, his scope of activity further compressed. The confrontation had been pushed from the shadows into a gray area, half-lit and half-dark. The price had been paid. He had exposed the existence of internal sabotage, buying a few uncertain minutes. He walked to the window. Night was falling, a streak of dark red twilight lingering on the horizon like an unwashed bloodstain. Lights were coming on one by one throughout the Shen residence, outlining the severe contours of this opulent cage. The garage area had regained its calm, but the air still seemed to carry a faint, lingering trace of something burnt, like short-circuited metal. Just then, he saw a familiar figure hurrying along the winding path below. It was Shen Qinghuan. She had already changed out of her maid uniform and was wearing a light-colored dress. Her steps were somewhat hurried, her head bowed, her hands unconsciously clutching the hem of her skirt. Just as she was about to turn past a cluster of holly bushes, she seemed to instinctively glance up toward the direction of Lu Chenzhou's window. Through a pane of glass and the thickening dusk, their gazes met for a moment so brief it was almost non-existent. Shen Qinghuan's steps faltered slightly. Very lightly, almost imperceptibly, she gave a single nod. The movement was as small as a blade of grass stirred by the wind. Then, she quickly lowered her head, quickened her pace, and disappeared around the bend in the path. No words, no gestures. But that silent confirmation—"Mission complete, I'm safe"—was like a small pebble dropped into a frozen lake, rippling a faint, almost imperceptible wave across the surface of Lu Chenzhou's tightly-strung mind. Immediately afterward, a deeper chill surged up. Her safety was only temporary. The anomaly in the garage, the tear in her apron, Aunt Wu's gaze… All these scattered points would eventually be connected. How long could the fragile wall he and Shen Qinghuan had built together hold? He knew the risk remained, the crisis unresolved. Was Zhou Zhengping truly safely transferred? Would Gu Zhixing trace the clues from the garage back to Shen Qinghuan? What form would Shen Moqing's next warning take? The time bought was limited. And the next round of encirclement was already on its way. The night was as dark as ink, completely swallowing the last sliver of sky light. The lights of the Shen residence, within the boundless darkness, resembled scattered bonfires on a solitary island—bright, yet unable to illuminate the surging, silent tide all around. That tide was slowly closing in on him, and on her, from the garage, from the study in the main building, from countless unseen corners.