Lu Chenzhou's left leg dragged behind him like a piece of rotten wood that didn't belong to him. With every movement, from scraping against the rough edge of the ventilation shaft to the cold cement floor of the abandoned boiler room, a dull, crushing sensation echoed from deep within his bones. The wound on his neck had stopped bleeding, but with every breath, the air felt like tiny shards of ice scraping down his windpipe. Sirens. Not one, but at least three, closing in from different directions, weaving into a net that was tightening. The sound reverberated within the empty structure of the factory building, distorted, amplified, carrying a metallic, unquestionable authority. He leaned against the rusted outer shell of the boiler, his chest heaving violently. The hard drive inside his inner pocket, separated by the fabric, remained cold and hard. Fingerprint lock. One-way. This meant that unless he found the preset, living owner of that fingerprint, or had access to a higher-level physical cracking device, this lump of metal bought with his life was no different from a brick. Hope felt like a basin of ice water poured over him, chilling him from head to toe. But he didn't stop. His fingers groped in the darkness, moving along the boiler shell in the direction he remembered. The Shen residence. He had to go back. Auntie Wu... that woman who appeared punctually every morning, eyes downcast, movements meticulous, was now the only possible fragile connection point. Shen Qinghuan's promise, the one delivered via the encrypted phone, was the last straw he could see before drowning. Climbing out from the broken rear window of the boiler room led to the long-abandoned nursery garden in the rear grounds of the Shen residence. Winter's withered vines clung to the rusted iron frames like countless stiff, dead hands. He lay hidden behind the withered shrubs, observing. Four in the morning, the darkest hour, also the interval when guards were most likely to be lax. Under the light of the back porch, a figure leaned against a pillar, head nodding slightly. Lu Chenzhou waited. Until the figure was completely still, and the faint sound of snoring reached him. Like a shadow clinging to the ground, he slipped out from the shrubs, silently crossed the gravel path, and his fingers found the edge of the guest room window whose lock mechanism he had already confirmed long ago. A bobby pin lingered in the keyhole for less than three seconds. *Click.* The soft sound was swallowed by the distant, lingering echo of sirens. He slid sideways into the room, closed the window behind him with a backhand motion, and drew the heavy curtains. The darkness inside the room was thicker than outside, carrying the Shen residence's unique scent—a mix of expensive wood and heavy incense. He leaned back against the door panel, holding his breath and listening for a full minute. The corridor was silent. The patrolling guard had just passed. Only then did he allow himself to slide down onto the carpet. The intense pain in his left leg and the dizziness from blood loss finally surged forth, threatening to overwhelm him. He bit the inside of his lower lip until he tasted blood, using pain to fight pain. *Can't pass out.* He groped under the mattress and pulled out a roll of not-so-clean bandages he had prepared earlier, hastily wrapping his neck and the still-bleeding wound on his left leg. The action was rough but effective. Stop the bleeding. Then think. Auntie Wu came every morning at six to replace the toiletries and towels. He had less than two hours left. Time felt like a wire pulled tighter and tighter. He forced himself to stand up and walk toward the ensuite bathroom attached to the guest room. He needed to clean off the blood, the dust, and that oppressive smell he'd brought from the garage—a mix of engine oil and death. He turned on the light. The dim yellow light made him squint. The person in the mirror was deathly pale, with sunken eyes. Only those eyes still burned with a cold, unyielding fire. He turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face. The chill made him shiver, bringing a bit more clarity. His fingers unconsciously brushed over the cool ceramic surface of the vanity, then stopped at the seam on the side wall of the toilet cistern. The texture felt wrong. Not the smoothness of ceramic. There was the edge of a hard object, wrapped in something soft. Lu Chenzhou's movements froze. He turned off the faucet. In the bathroom, only the sound of his own suppressed breathing remained. He crouched down, his fingers carefully probing into that narrow seam. His fingertips touched it—a rectangular object tightly wrapped in waterproof cloth. Not large, slightly thicker than a cigarette pack. His heart slammed violently against his ribcage. Slowly, extremely Hope reignited, but colder and more urgent than before. Battery 17%. This wasn't hope; it was a pardon with a countdown timer, or perhaps a bomb about to detonate. He had no doubt that Gu Zhixing's people were monitoring any anomalous electronic signals within the Shen residence, especially signals from devices trying to bypass the main network and potentially carrying encrypted data. He needed tools. Any tools. His gaze swept the bathroom. Towels, toothbrush, cup... a safety pin. The pin he'd used that morning to clear his razor's seams was still beside the cup. He snatched it up, the metal's chill causing his fingertips to pause for a fraction. First obstacle: biometric lock. This wasn't Shen Qinghuan's daily-use phone; the recognition database might not be updated. The battery couldn't handle multiple attempts. Pinching the safety pin, he probed the tiny hole on the phone's side for the SIM card tray. A slight pressure, and the tray popped out. He removed it, the metal strip gleaming dully under the dim yellow light. A mirror. He needed to reflect facial features. He adjusted the angle, trying to make the tray's edge form a reflective surface. Not clear enough, distorted, but perhaps it would work. He recalled Shen Qinghuan's habit—she liked to look at her phone with her head slightly tilted, about fifteen degrees. He mimicked that angle, aligning the distorted reflective surface toward the front camera area. With his other hand, his thumb pressed hard against the area of the tray where the user's skin oils might remain, then he pressed it forcefully against the phone's fingerprint sensor. Once. Failure. The phone vibrated faintly. Battery dropped to 16%. He held his breath. The safety pin scraped unconsciously against the edge of the card slot, emitting a faint, almost inaudible *screech—* that sounded piercingly loud in the bathroom's extreme silence. Second adjustment. He aligned the reflective surface more accurately. Thumb pressed again. Failure. 15%. Cold sweat seeped from his temples, sliding past his brow. The corner of his left eye began to twitch uncontrollably. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm down. The fingerprint... the angle was wrong. The residual information on the tray was probably too faint. Or, perhaps this phone never had Shen Qinghuan's commonly used fingerprint registered. Battery 14%. He opened his eyes, his gaze landing on the hand soap bottle. Transparent gel. A risky idea flashed through his mind. He squeezed out a tiny bit of soap and spread it evenly over the metal surface of the tray. An extremely thin layer. The liquid filled the microscopic pits, perhaps forming a more complete, temporary "fingerprint" film. He aligned the tray's edge to his face again, adjusting the angle. Held his breath. His thumb, coated with that damp, temporary film, pressed down. Time seemed to stretch. One second, two... The screen unlock animation lit up. The home screen appeared. Success. Lu Chenzhou had no time for any sense of triumph. Battery 13%. He quickly opened the file manager, searching for any possibly encrypted folders. The names were all ordinary: "Photos," "Documents," "Downloads"... His fingers swiped rapidly, his eyes scanning each entry like a scanner. One folder, named "Lake." Not "Mirror Lake," just "Lake." He tapped it. Password required. Shen Qinghuan's birthday? He entered it. Wrong. A combination of the Shen residence's house number? Wrong. After two attempts, the folder prompted that one more wrong entry would trigger automatic encryption lockout. His mind raced. What would Shen Qinghuan use? Something meaningful to both her and Shen Moqing, but not easily guessed by outsiders... He remembered Shen Qinghuan mentioning offhand once that there was a painting in Shen Moqing's study depicting the Mirror Lake Villa at night, inscribed with the date Shen Moqing officially assumed the position of family council chairman. That date... He entered the string of numbers. The folder opened. Inside were only two files. One was a high-resolution scan of an architectural blueprint, filename "Mirror Lake Villa - Basement Level Two." The other was a text file, unnamed. He opened the blueprint first. During the few seconds it loaded, the battery dropped to 12%. The blueprint unfolded, revealing a typical high-security archive design. Multiple access points, very few surveillance blind spots, independent and narrow ventilation ducts. His gaze nailed itself to a notation in the lower right corner of the blueprint: "A-07, Core Archive Vault (Constant Temperature & Humidity), Primary Lock: Biometric + Secondary Lock: Dynamic Password. Dynamic password algorithm based on: Villa geographic coordinates (encrypted), current date, primary authority holder identifier (Shen Moqing's appointment date). Verification window: Daily 02:00-03:00, one-hour limit." Only one He switched to the text file. Inside was a complex algorithm description and coordinate transformation formulas. His pupils contracted; his brain, like an overloaded machine, began frantically memorizing and parsing. The algorithm’s core… using Shen Moqing’s appointment date and the villa’s latitude and longitude for a hash transformation, then combining it with the current date to generate a dynamic code. The window… tonight from 2:00 to 3:00 a.m., only one hour. A-07. The original interrogation record was right there. This realization struck him like a powerful electric current, bringing an instant, almost paralyzing surge of elation. But immediately afterward, a deeper chill seized him. The time window was too short. The location was the Shen family’s forbidden ground, heavily guarded. And he was trapped here, wounded and under surveillance. Just as he tried to solidify the algorithm’s key steps in his mind one more time, the status bar at the top of the phone screen flickered. A Wi-Fi icon suddenly flashed, displaying "Connecting to GUEST…" for an instant before disconnecting and reverting to "No Signal." Automatic connection… the GUEST network. Stupid program. Lu Chenzhou’s blood almost froze. The Shen residence had several wireless networks; among them, "GUEST" was the open network for visitors, but it was undoubtedly under strict surveillance. Some background process on the phone had automatically attempted to connect after unlocking. Had the signal been sniffed? Gu Zhixing’s people were probably still analyzing the source… but if it was a third party, or if the surveillance system had real-time alerts… Time was even tighter now. There might be none left at all. He forced himself to calm down. His fingers flew across the screen, exiting the folder, clearing the recent usage history, and restoring the phone to the home screen as it was when he first unlocked it. Then, he pressed and held the power button until it shut down. The metal frame was still cold. The battery was probably below 10%. He rewrapped the phone in the waterproof cloth, carefully and without leaving any trace, tucked it back into the crevice on the side wall of the toilet tank, ensuring it was in exactly the same state as before. Then he stood up. From blood loss and prolonged mental strain, his vision darkened for a moment; he steadied himself against the sink. The person in the mirror, the icy fire in his eyes, burned even more fiercely, and even more alone. He tore off a small piece of rough-edged toilet paper. From his pocket, he pulled out the nearly dry pen; its tip scratched across the paper, leaving intermittent, faint blue marks. He pressed down hard, almost tearing through the back: 「Mirror Lake, tonight, window? danger」 Six characters, one question mark. "Mirror Lake" indicated the location; "tonight" was the time; "window" was the minimalist signal they had agreed upon before—if Shen Qinghuan confirmed the information was correct and safe, she would stick a small, inconspicuous piece of dark tape on her room window; the question mark was a request for confirmation; "danger" was a warning that the signal might have been compromised. He folded the note into a square smaller than a fingernail, clutching it tightly in his palm. Next was waiting. Waiting for Auntie Wu. Every minute felt like agony on hot coals. He sat on the guest room carpet, leaning against the bed frame, his ears catching any faint sound from the hallway outside: the guards’ regular footsteps, distant murmurs of conversation, the mournful howl of wind against the window frames. He checked the remaining items on his person: the safety pin, the nearly empty old wallet, a blurry city map, and the specially-made button belonging to "Night Owl" hidden close to his body. The hard drive lay heavy against his chest. 5:45 a.m. A soft, familiar sound came from the hallway—the rustle of cloth-soled shoes on carpet and the subtle metallic rolling of a cleaning cart’s wheels. She was here. Lu Chenzhou took a deep breath and walked to stand behind the door. He heard the key turning in the lock, the door being gently pushed open. Auntie Wu entered with her head down, pushing the cleaning cart laden with fresh towels, bath towels, and toiletries. She seemed not to expect Lu Chenzhou standing right behind the door; her movements paused for a split second, but she didn’t look up, continuing to push the cart into the room and starting to routinely change the bedsheets. Lu Chenzhou walked to the bathroom door and picked up a used towel hanging on the rack. He walked out as if to hand it to Auntie Wu, but then his foot "slipped," the towel fell from his hand onto the carpet, rolling right to the edge of Auntie Wu’s cloth But just as she straightened up and pushed the cart to leave, her head tilted almost imperceptibly, ever so slightly, toward Lu Chenzhou’s direction. The movement was so minute it was nearly nonexistent, like a natural turn of the neck. The door closed softly. The sound of footsteps and the cart’s wheels in the hallway gradually faded away. Lu Chenzhou leaned against the cold wall and slowly slid down into a sitting position. The message had been delivered. Now, all that remained was judgment and decision. Mirror Lake Villa, A-07. The original interrogation transcript was there. The most crucial, most direct evidence for overturning the case, the explosive that could completely shatter the mountain of “false confession” on his back. The window was only tonight, from 2:00 to 3:00 a.m. Missing it could mean the evidence being relocated, the system passwords changed, and the opportunity lost forever. And the risks? The surveillance network of the Shen residence, Gu Zhixing’s possibly alerted electronic sniffers, the whereabouts of the escaped short “Night Owl,” the police searching this area, Shen Moqing’s private security… and his own physical condition at this moment—his left leg was almost useless, the weakness and dizziness from blood loss washing over him in waves. Wait, and the opportunity may never come again. The evidence might not be there after tonight. Shen Moqing was no fool; Shen Qinghuan’s unusual behavior and the risk of the phone signal had likely already triggered a reaction. Go, and it’s a near-certain death. Escaping from the Shen residence, avoiding surveillance and guards, traveling to the suburban Mirror Lake Villa, breaching its security, entering the A-07 archive within the only one-hour window… Every step was paved with deadly thorns. Not to mention, he might be intercepted halfway. His fist clenched tightly, nails digging deep into his palm, leaving several crescent-shaped blood marks. The pain made him more alert. There was no choice. There had never been a choice. From the moment he signed that false confession ten years ago, from the moment he bowed his head for his sister Lu Chenxing’s surgery fees, his life had been forced onto this narrow path he had to follow to the bitter end. Waiting meant entrusting fate to chance, and chance was the most unreliable thing in this world. He had to go. Tonight. This decision sank into his heart like a cold piece of iron, bringing a strange calm. Fear remained, risk remained, but the direction was set. He was no longer a passive prey; at least, at the moment he charged toward the trap, he possessed the posture of initiative. He began planning the route in his mind. The blind spots in the Shen residence’s surveillance… Behind the backyard tool shed, there was an old drainage pipe leading to the slope-protection woodland outside the estate, where there were no infrared cameras. His left leg… needed a crutch, or something sturdier for support. There were discarded broom handles in the tool shed. Time… It was early morning now. He needed to rest, recover even a sliver of strength, while waiting for nightfall. He also had to watch for Shen Qinghuan’s “window” signal. He struggled to his feet, walked to the window, and pulled the curtain open a tiny crack. The sky was turning gray; a winter morning, the light stingy and cold. He looked toward the direction of the west annex where Shen Qinghuan was. Her window was still dark, no light, no unusual markings. Still had to wait. He retreated into the shadows of the room, sat down, and closed his eyes. Not to sleep—he couldn’t sleep. Just to let his body enter the lowest-power state possible, preserving every bit of warmth and energy. Yet the map in his mind unfolded with crystal clarity: the route from the Shen residence to Mirror Lake Villa, possible checkpoints, the patrol patterns of the villa’s outer security, the layout of the ventilation ducts on the underground second floor, the location of the A-07 door lock… And that cold hard drive pressing against his chest. The fingerprint lock. If the “Night Owl” was sent by Shen Moqing, then the owner of the fingerprint was likely Shen Moqing himself, or one of the very few people he absolutely trusted. For example, Gu Zhixing? Or… Lei Hu? This thought made his eyes snap open. Perhaps going to Mirror Lake Villa wasn’t just for that original transcript. If he could find fingerprint information matching this hard drive there, or… encounter the fingerprint’s owner… Just then, from somewhere in the distance, seemingly from the direction of the Shen residence’s main building, a faint commotion drifted over. Voices, hurried footsteps, the fuzzy static noise of walkie-talkies. The sounds weren’t loud, but in the deathly silence of the early morning, He slowly retreated, his gaze sweeping the room. The window was the only way out, but outside the sky was already light; climbing out directly would be like walking into a trap. The bathroom? The ventilation duct was too narrow, and he had no idea where it led. Footsteps came to a stop outside his door. A low, steady voice, carrying a metallic chill, rang out. It passed through the thick door panel, clearly reaching his ears: “Mr. Lu. I am Gu Zhixing. Please open the door. There are some matters I need to verify with you.” “Regarding some unusual… electronic signals inside the residence early this morning.”