Lu Chenzhou descended the stairs. The coarse fabric of his work clothes rubbed against his skin with every step, emitting a faint rustling sound between the cloth and his flesh, like some insect crawling. The stairwell was piled high with discarded renovation materials, plasterboard fragments crunching crisply underfoot. The air was thick with dust, mold, and the faint, greasy odor of cheap cooking oil wafting from somewhere distant. Gu Zhixing leaned against the car, his gaze behind gold-rimmed glasses calm as it met Lu Chenzhou’s. “Mr. Lu,” Gu Zhixing spoke, his voice unusually clear in the desolate, ruinous alleyway. “Mr. Shen would like you to return for a visit.” Lu Chenzhou stopped on the last two steps. About five meters separated the two men. A breeze from the mouth of the alley swept through, stirring up a thin layer of dust from the ground. The paint of the black sedan gleamed like a bottomless pool of water under the dim, yellowish sky. “Return,” Lu Chenzhou repeated the word, his tone even. “Return where?” “Shen Yan,” Gu Zhixing adjusted his posture slightly, his hands still tucked in his trouser pockets. “Young Master Shen Yan has some questions regarding the progress of the case. He wishes to discuss them with you in person.” A slight twitch flickered at the corner of Lu Chenzhou’s left eye. He stared at Gu Zhixing. The lawyer’s suit was impeccably pressed without a single wrinkle, his tie knot standard and restrained. But Lu Chenzhou noticed that the index finger of Gu Zhixing’s right hand, tucked in his pocket, was unconsciously tapping lightly against the fabric beneath—a habit when he was nervous. Lu Chenzhou had seen the same gesture last time, outside Shen Yan’s emergency exit, when Gu Zhixing had hinted at an escape route. “Captain Zhao Tieshan just surrounded me with his men,” Lu Chenzhou said. “My phone was temporarily confiscated, all investigation materials demanded for surrender. And now Shen Yan wants to ‘discuss the case.’” He paused. “Lawyer Gu, how do you think I should interpret this timing?” Gu Zhixing adjusted his glasses. A flash of light reflected off the lenses. “From a legal procedure standpoint, the police requesting your cooperation with the investigation does not conflict with the Shen family entrusting you to continue investigating the case.” His wording was precise, as if reciting legal statutes. “Of course, the premise is that you indeed still have... progress available for discussion.” Lu Chenzhou’s fist clenched tightly inside his work pants pocket. His fingernails dug into his palm. The pain was sharp and concrete. He slowly relaxed his hand. “Can the car drive directly into the estate?” he asked. “We can use the western servants’ passage,” Gu Zhixing pulled open the car door. “Please.” *** The interior of the car was filled with the scent of leather cleaner and a faint, almost imperceptible aroma of cedar incense. Gu Zhixing sat in the passenger seat, not looking back once throughout the journey. The driver was a silent middle-aged man; only half of his expressionless face was visible in the rearview mirror. Lu Chenzhou leaned back in his seat, watching the cityscape fly past the window. The city transitioned gradually from the dilapidated ruins district to the relatively tidy old urban area, then to the edge of the meticulously landscaped villa zone. The last light of dusk was sliced into fragments by high-rises, each piece skimming across the car window glass. His fingers tapped unconsciously on his knee, the knuckles striking in a steady, rhythmic pattern—the beat for “wait” in Morse code. What was he waiting for? Waiting for an opportunity. Waiting for a crack. Waiting for that thread connecting to deeper darkness, exposed by Shen Yan’s fear. By the time the car passed through the inconspicuous iron gate on the west side of the Shen estate, the sky was completely dark. Garden lights lit up in sequence along the cobblestone path, outlining a winding ribbon of light. Lu Chenzhou was led into the mansion, not through the main hall, but down a long corridor hung with antique-style wall sconces. The light from the sconces was warm yellow, falling on the dark wooden floor, casting his elongated, slightly swaying shadow. At the end of the corridor was a thick solid wood door. Gu Zhixing stopped before the door and stepped aside. “Young Master Shen Yan is waiting for you in the study,” he said, then added in a very low voice, “There might be... recording equipment in the study. Mr. Shen has been very concerned about security lately.” Lu Chenzhou glanced at him. Gu Zhixing had already turned and left, his back gradually blurring in the He wore a dark gray loungewear, with a smoke-gray cashmere cardigan draped over it, appearing casual and relaxed. But Lu Chenzhou noticed that Shen Yan’s posture was very straight, his shoulders tense, his left hand resting on the arm of the chair, his index and middle fingers tapping alternately, extremely lightly, on the wooden armrest. "Mr. Lu," Shen Yan spoke, his voice carrying a deliberately crafted weariness, "please sit. I’m sorry to ask you to come so late, it’s just that... some issues, the more I think about them, the more something doesn’t feel right." Lu Chenzhou sat down on the chair opposite the desk. The chair was also solid wood, the cushion hard. "Please go ahead, Mr. Shen." Shen Yan did not speak immediately. He reached out, picked up the brass paperweight on the desk, and slowly turned it in his hand. The paperweight was of an antique design, carved with intricate cloud patterns, reflecting a warm luster under the light from the ceiling lamp in the study. "Did you watch my father’s television interview this afternoon?" Shen Yan asked. "I did." "Then you should understand my current situation." Shen Yan put down the paperweight and raised his eyes. His gaze was calm, but deep in his pupils there was something tense. "He hinted on camera that you were mentally unstable, forging evidence. In the background footage... my study flashed by." Shen Yan paused. "He is paving the way for me. A path... to package and dispose of both you and me." Lu Chenzhou said nothing. The study was very quiet. Expensive sandalwood incense sticks burned quietly in a bronze censer in the corner, emitting a slightly cloying smoke. That scent mixed with the camphorwood smell emanating from the old bookshelves, forming a heavy, drowsy warmth. But Lu Chenzhou’s sense of smell caught another layer of odor—the extremely faint cologne on Shen Yan, and the slightly sour scent of lacquer residue left after the rosewood desktop had been polished. "So what do you want to discuss with me?" Lu Chenzhou asked. "Discuss how to stay alive." Shen Yan leaned forward, elbows propped on the desk, fingers interlaced. "Mr. Lu, you are currently the police’s 'person of interest,' your phone is seized, materials need to be handed over. And I... my father has already placed me squarely in the crosshairs. The two of us, in a sense, are in the same boat." The corner of Lu Chenzhou’s left eye twitched again. He controlled his breathing. Inhale, exhale. His chest rose and fell steadily. "Mr. Shen," he began, his pace unhurried, "you asked me back not to say these things." Shen Yan’s eyes flickered slightly. "Then what do you think I asked you for?" "For confirmation." Lu Chenzhou said. "To confirm whether I still have anything that can threaten you. To confirm whether, under police pressure, I’ve handed over the key evidence. To confirm whether I... am truly at the end of my rope, with no choice but to 'share a boat' with you." Shen Yan smiled. The smile was shallow, the corners of his mouth lifting just a tiny bit, but there was no mirth in his eyes. "Mr. Lu is indeed direct." he said. "Then I’ll be direct too—do you still have them? Those so-called 'pieces of evidence'?" Lu Chenzhou pulled out a flat, black waterproof pouch from the inner pocket of his work jacket. The pouch was old, the corners worn white. He unzipped it, took out a stack of photos and several printed sheets sealed in a transparent document sleeve, and gently placed them on the rosewood desktop. The document sleeve made a soft *tap* as it touched the desktop. Shen Yan’s gaze fell on those items. His fingers stopped tapping. "What is this?" he asked, the deliberately crafted weariness gone from his voice. "Supplementary investigation records from Zhao Mingcheng’s death scene." Lu Chenzhou said. "After the police’s initial investigation concluded, I went back to the scene once more under the pretext of 'assisting the investigation.' I performed some... trace evidence collection they might have overlooked." He reached out, pulled an enlarged micrograph from the document sleeve, and pushed it towards Shen Yan. The photo was taken in a laboratory setting, the background pure black. At the center of the image was an extremely fine fiber, appearing deep blue under special lighting, its surface showing a subtle metallic sheen. Next to the fiber lay a scale ruler, the markings indicating a length of 0.3 millimeters. "This was extracted from the carpet at the scene." Lu Chenzhou said, his tone as if stating an objective fact "Deep blue mulberry silk blended with rare metal fibers." He read the conclusion from the report. "Blending ratio: 82% 22-momme mulberry silk, 18% platinum memory alloy wire. The latter is a special process used to maintain fabric shape and allow fine adjustments at body temperature—typically used in high-end custom accessories, such as cufflinks, tie clips." He paused. "This blending technique and ratio were only custom-made for a very select few clients five years ago by a single, long-established shop in this city called 'Yun Jin Pavilion.' Their master craftsman, Master Wang, suffered a stroke five years ago and hasn't taken orders since." Shen Yan said nothing. He picked up the material analysis report, his eyes sweeping over the data. His movements were slow, deliberate, but Lu Chenzhou noticed the faint whiteness of his fingertips gripping the edge of the paper. "The client list for Yun Jin Pavilion is not short," Shen Yan finally spoke, his voice a little lower than before. "So you've already locked onto me, Mr. Lu?" "I haven't locked onto anyone," Lu Chenzhou said, pulling the final photo from the file folder. It was a surveillance screenshot. The image was somewhat blurry, but a banquet setting was discernible. A man in a dark suit stood sideways to the camera, toasting with someone. His left wrist emerged from his suit sleeve, where at the cuff, a deep blue cufflink reflected a subtle metallic sheen under the lights. The bottom right corner of the screenshot bore a timestamp: October 27, 2023, 20:14. "This is surveillance from the east corridor of the banquet hall on the night of your father's seventieth birthday celebration," Lu Chenzhou said. "The person in the frame is you. The cufflinks you were wearing—" He picked up the fiber micrograph and placed it beside the surveillance screenshot. "—are a perfect material match for this fiber." A deathly silence filled the study. The cloying sweetness of the aloeswood incense suddenly grew heavy, almost solidifying, pressing down on the air. From far outside the window came the cry of a night bird, once, twice, then gone. Shen Yan stared at the two photos placed side by side. His expression hadn't changed, but his entire face seemed tautened by some invisible force, his skin stretched so tight it might crack the next second. His Adam's apple bobbed once, slowly. Lu Chenzhou waited. His fingers stopped their rhythmic tapping on his knee. He sat like a stone statue, only his eyes moving—observing every fraction of Shen Yan's reaction: the contraction of his pupils, the stutter in his breath, the almost imperceptible tremor in the ring finger of his right hand. "Even if what you say is true," Shen Yan finally spoke, his voice dry, "the fiber exists, the material matches. What does that prove? The scene wasn't completely sealed. It could be a frame-up. I could have lost the cufflink elsewhere, someone picked it up, and deliberately left it at the scene." "Possible," Lu Chenzhou nodded. "But Mr. Shen Yan, are you familiar with the investigative concept of 'unique association'?" Shen Yan raised his eyes. "When the characteristics of a piece of physical evidence are so distinctive that they point to an extremely limited, even singular source, and that source is directly linked to a key figure in the case," Lu Chenzhou said slowly, "even without eyewitnesses, without direct footage, this chain of physical evidence itself... is already sufficient to create pressure." He leaned forward slightly, propping his elbows on the desk. The movement abruptly shortened the distance between him and Shen Yan, the air between them seeming to crackle. "Moreover," Lu Chenzhou continued, his voice dropping even lower, "your father deliberately gave a shot of your study during that TV interview. He was telling everyone: if there was any 'fabrication of evidence,' the most likely location was right here." Shen Yan's breath hitched. Lu Chenzhou saw a flicker of panic flash through his eyes. It lasted less than half a second before it was forcibly suppressed, replaced by a cold, almost fierce composure. "Mr. Lu," Shen Yan said, each word enunciated clearly, "are you threatening me?" "I am stating facts," Lu Chenzhou said, leaning back in his chair, creating distance again. "Your father has placed you squarely in the crosshairs. I have this fiber evidence. The police are investigating me, and they are also monitoring you. Us sitting here right now—" He raised a hand, pointing at Shen Yan, then at himself. "—is like two people tied to the same fuse. The only difference is, whose match is closer." Shen Yan fell silent. He picked up the surveillance screenshot and studied it for a long time. Then he set the photo down and reached for "Mr. Lu's professional skills are truly impressive," Shen Yan said, his voice regaining that weary elegance. "To find such subtle physical evidence, and even trace its source... No wonder my father went to such great lengths back then to get you in there." The corner of Lu Chenzhou's left eye twitched violently. He controlled his expression. Muscles tensed, then relaxed. "So," Shen Yan continued, "how do you plan to handle this... 'fiber evidence'?" "That depends on how Master Shen Yan intends to handle our current situation," Lu Chenzhou said. Shen Yan smiled. This time, the smile deepened a little, but there was still no warmth in his eyes. "I need some time," he said, standing up. "To look through some old things, confirm some matters. We'll end it here for tonight. Mr. Lu must be tired as well. The guest room is ready, the same one you stayed in before." He walked around the desk, reached the door, and pulled it open. Warm yellow light from the corridor outside flooded in, cutting through the oppressive darkness of the study. "Attorney Gu will take you there," Shen Yan turned sideways, adopting a gesture of seeing a guest out. "Rest well. We'll... talk again tomorrow." Lu Chenzhou stood up. He gathered the photos and report from the table, placed them back into the waterproof bag, and zipped it shut. His movements were unhurried, each step precise, as if performing some kind of ritual. Then he walked towards the door, stopping just as he was about to step over the threshold. "Master Shen Yan," he said without turning around, "do you still have that cufflink?" Shen Yan's body stiffened slightly. "What?" "That dark blue, custom-made cufflink," Lu Chenzhou said. "The one you wore the night of the birthday banquet. If it's still around, you'd better keep it safe. After all... things like the uniqueness of evidence—sometimes if one link is missing, the entire chain breaks." He walked out of the study. The door closed softly behind him. The light at the end of the corridor stretched his shadow long, casting it onto the thick Persian carpet, its edges blurred. Lu Chenzhou didn't look back, but he could feel the gaze behind him—a stare carrying weight and temperature seeping through the slightly ajar door of the study. Shen Yan was watching him leave. He walked steadily. The rough fabric of his work clothes rubbed against his skin; with every step, a faint rustling sound issued between the cloth and skin, like some insect crawling. He raised his left hand, unconsciously turning the metal pen cap he'd just retrieved from his pocket. The pen cap was cold, its surface covered in fine anti-slip grooves. Turn. Stop. Turn again. A slight, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his left eye. He stopped in the shadows at the corridor's corner. Here stood a half-person-high celadon vase, its body painted with intertwined lotus vines, the glaze shimmering with a deep greenish hue in the dim light. Lu Chenzhou turned sideways, allowing his silhouette to blend into the vase's shadow. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze passing through the narrow, light-and-shadow-sliced gap between the corridor and the study door. The light seeping from under the study door was changing. Brightening. Dimming. The intervals were short, irregular. Someone inside was pacing rapidly. The footsteps were light, but even the thickest carpet couldn't completely absorb the heavy, dragging sound born of anxiety and lost rhythm. The light was being cut off again and again by a moving body. Lu Chenzhou's breathing slowed further. He released the pen cap, letting it slide back into the depths of his pocket. The index finger of his right hand pressed gently against the inside of his left wrist, feeling the pulse. Steady, strong, but three to four beats faster than usual. The sensation of blood rushing beneath the skin was as clear as a drumbeat. From afar, in the living room, the antique grandfather clock chimed the hour with a heavy sound. "Dong—— Dong——" The chimes echoed through the empty mansion, carrying a stale yet imposing resonance. When the chiming ended, everything returned to silence. Only the light behind that door continued to flicker restlessly. Lu Chenzhou waited another ten seconds. Then, he saw the light stabilize. Not a return to calm stability, but a solidification at a certain point—the direction of the desk. Immediately after, an extremely faint sound of metal scraping against wood—a soft "click"—leaked through the door crack. Very quiet, but in his fully concentrated hearing, it was as clear as a thunderclap. A drawer was opened. Not the commonly used one. Lu Chenzhou's thumbnail unconsciously dug into the pad of his index finger. A slight, stinging sensation An encrypted communicator. Not smart, with an ancient design, specifically built for brief, secure, hard-to-trace communications. The corner of Lu Chenzhou's mouth tightened downward almost imperceptibly. An extremely subtle, nearly cold curve. The prey had taken the bait. The first reaction to panic wasn't destruction, nor confrontation, but calling for help. The person he called must be someone he believed could handle the "fiber" issue. Shen Yan didn't walk to the landline, didn't use his phone. He used this. The sliver of light from the door crack flickered again; the silhouette of that hand and the communicator shifted to the other side of the desk, perhaps to find a better signal spot or avoid something. Lu Chenzhou could stay no longer. From the other end of the corridor came the faintest sound of footsteps, the rhythm of a servant's routine patrol, the soles of shoes brushing against the thick carpet, producing a regular, nerve-wracking rustle. He withdrew his gaze, turned, and his steps silently melted into the deeper shadows of the corridor, heading towards the guest room allocated to him. The cold texture of the corridor wallpaper pressed faintly against his shoulder blades through his shirt fabric. *** The guest room door closed softly behind him, the bolt falling with a muffled *click*. Lu Chenzhou leaned back against the cold door panel, standing still for two seconds. The room's lights were off, only the thin, pallid light from the courtyard lamps outside the window barely outlined the furniture: a bed, a desk, a chair, a wardrobe. Spartan to the point of resembling a prison cell. The air held the faint scent of mothballs and dust from the old carpet, mixed with a vague, damp earthy smell from the courtyard plants. Drawing it into his lungs carried the coolness of the night dew. He walked to the window and lifted a corner of the heavy curtain. The rough velvet edge scraped across the back of his hand. Downstairs, the black sedan was still parked at the alley entrance. Gu Zhixing remained leaning against the car, his posture almost unchanged, only now he was slightly bowed, seemingly checking his phone screen. The cold light of the screen illuminated half his face; on the lenses of his gold-rimmed glasses, two tiny points of light flickered uncertainly, like the eyes of a beast lurking in the dark. Such patience. Lu Chenzhou let the curtain fall, plunging the room back into darkness. The velvet fabric dropped, stirring a tiny current of air that brushed past his cheek. He walked to the desk, pulled out the chair, and sat down. The movement was light, but the wooden chair legs still produced a faint, grating scrape against the floor, jarringly sharp in the silence. From the bottom layer of the ordinary-looking canvas tool bag he carried, he retrieved a black plastic cube. Its size and thickness were no different from an ordinary power bank, with a USB port on the side, even a battery level indicator—currently showing a full green bar. But on another side, there was an almost invisible, micro-sized card slot cover that required a fingernail to pry open. The plastic casing felt cold and smooth. Lu Chenzhou pried open the card slot with his nail, his fingertip meeting slight resistance. From a hidden compartment inside the tool bag's lining, he took out a transparent signal-enhancing patch thinner than a cicada's wing, smaller than a fingernail. Its edges were sharp, almost cutting. He aligned the patch with the metal contacts inside the slot and pressed it down gently. The edges of the patch lit up with a nearly invisible circle of faint blue light that lasted for a second before fading, leaving behind an extremely faint, ozone-like smell of burnt metal. From inside the "power bank" came an extremely faint, almost inaudible *hum—* like a buzzer starting up. The sound was low, but in the absolute quiet of the room, it was distinctly audible, like an electronic bee awakening. Lu Chenzhou placed the "power bank" against the wall on the desk, pressing the side with the card slot flush against it. On the other side of that wall, roughly, was the direction of Shen Yan's study, though there might be other rooms and corridors in between, the straight-line distance wouldn't be too far. He had sketched the rough layout of the Shen residence in his mind during the first few days he was forced to stay here, under the guise of "taking a walk" and "familiarizing himself with the surroundings." The cold wall quickly drew the warmth from the device's casing. He put on his earbuds. In-ear, with black rubber tips sealing tightly into his ear canals, blocking out most external sound, bringing a slight sense of pressure. The earbud wire connected to another micro-port on the side of the "power bank"; the connection made a faint *click*. He pressed a concealed A tide of white noise instantly surged into the earpiece. Hissing, crackling, unbroken, like the snow screen of an old TV with no signal amplified ten thousand times, pouring directly into the depths of his eardrums. Lu Chenzhou closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, only complete coldness and focus remained in their depths. He adapted to this noise, a subtle sense of swelling pain beginning to build inside his ear canal. His fingers tapped a certain rhythm rapidly on the smooth surface of the "power bank"—it was the command to activate a specific scanning frequency band. His fingernails tapped the plastic shell, producing soft, hollow *thump-thump* sounds. Within the white noise, other "things" began to appear. Extremely faint, intermittent electrical static, like the buzzing of insects in the distance. An appliance might be turned on in some room. Further away, there seemed to be the muffled gurgling sound of water flowing through pipes. Occasionally, there would be an extremely brief, almost imperceptible *drip* sound—like a water droplet falling into a deep pool—possibly an electronic device somewhere in the mansion on standby or performing a self-check. Lu Chenzhou was like a stone statue, frozen in the darkness and the sea of sound. Only the occasional blink of his eyes proved he was still alive. Time lost its meaning. The noise in his earphones was the only ocean, and he floated within it, trawling for the abnormal "fish" that didn't belong in this sea. The muscles at the back of his neck began to stiffen and ache from maintaining the same position for so long. Outside the window, the night wind seemed to have picked up. Blowing through the meticulously trimmed shrubs and trees in the courtyard, leaves and branches rubbing together produced a rustling, whisper-like sound that passed through the gaps in the glass, turning into intermittent sobs. At the edge of the distant city, a faint, almost imperceptible hint of fish-belly white began to tinge the night sky. The darkest hour of the night was slowly passing. The temperature in the room also seemed to have dropped a few degrees; his exposed wrist felt a chill. Lu Chenzhou's fingertip unconsciously began to tap the desktop. The rhythm was slow, one tap, then another. His fingernail colliding with the wooden desktop produced a soft *tap, tap* sound. This sound, together with the noise in his earphones, formed a strange duet. His fingertip could feel the subtle undulations of the wood grain on the desktop. Suddenly. The tapping stopped. Within the white noise background in his earphones, an extremely abrupt "pulse" appeared. It wasn't a sound, more like a sensation—a specific frequency radio wave, at an extremely high intensity and with an extremely short duration, suddenly "stabbed" into his set monitoring frequency band. Like a flashbang suddenly flaring and extinguishing in the darkness, branding a searing mark onto his auditory nerves. It was here. Lu Chenzhou's body instantly tensed. Not a large movement, but every muscle contracted inward, gathering strength. His right hand resting on the desktop, fingers slightly spread, then slowly clenched, knuckles turning white from the force, a thin layer of sweat seeping into his palm. The pulse lasted less than half a second. But immediately following it was a compressed and encrypted data stream lasting about three to four seconds. It was like a slippery, swift fish, flashing past in the ocean of white noise, speeding towards a predetermined external receiving point. The signal strength wasn't high, even somewhat weak, but the encoding method was very particular—not a common commercial or civilian encryption, but carrying a certain old, customized characteristic, like an electronic version of some kind of coded jargon. Lu Chenzhou's left hand was already on the laptop's touchpad. The computer had long been booted, screen brightness turned to its lowest, a faint blue glow illuminating his tense jawline and reflecting the contracted focus in his pupils. On the screen, a simple command line window was already open, the cursor blinking, like a mouth waiting to be fed. His right hand typed on the keyboard. Not fast, but each keystroke was precise and steady. The force of the keycap rebound was clearly fed back to his fingertips. He was inputting a set of complex parameters—the instantaneous peak of the signal frequency, the subtle characteristics of the pulse interval, residual identifiers of the data stream encapsulation format. Some of these parameters came from the fragmentary information Qin Wangshu had risked passing to him earlier regarding several secure communication channels Zhou Zhengping might use; another part came from his decade-long psychological profile of Zhou Zhengping and recently pieced-together inferences about his "working habits." The sound of typing seemed especially crisp in the silence. In the command line, lines of code scrolled rapidly, green characters flowing into a river. In the headphones, that data stream had long since vanished without a trace. White noise once again reigned supreme, a hissing sound filling the entire auditory world. But Lu Chenzhou knew that the "fish" had already swum out, carrying Shen Yan's panic, swimming towards some dark, deep-water zone. What he needed to do now was identify the "nest" it was swimming towards, and, if possible, decipher even a fragment of the "information" it carried. His Adam's apple bobbed once as he swallowed the faint metallic taste rising in his mouth—a result of tension. The progress bar crawled to fifty percent, then stalled. Lu Chenzhou held his breath. He stared at the screen, not blinking. The twitch at the corner of his left eye started again, more noticeable this time, causing his entire left eyebrow to tremble slightly, the muscle beneath the skin twitching uncontrollably. The index finger of his left hand resting on the touchpad unconsciously rubbed the smooth glass surface over and over, until his fingertip grew warm. Outside the window, a night bird, startled by something, let out a short, piercing cry. "Gah—" The sound pierced through the glass, drilling into the room, sharp as shattering glass. Almost simultaneously, the stalled progress bar lurched forward, jumping to sixty percent, then accelerated—seventy, eighty… The numbers advanced with a relentless momentum. Lu Chenzhou's right hand left the keyboard. He slowly leaned back into his chair. The motion made him appear somewhat relaxed, but only he knew the muscles in his back remained taut as steel, pressing against the hard chairback. He watched as the progress bar charged to one hundred percent. In the command line window, the scrolling code stopped. In its place was a string of seemingly garbled characters, intermixed with numbers and symbols, fragmented and incomplete. Like a note violently torn apart and then haphazardly pieced back together, its edges ragged and uneven. Lu Chenzhou's left hand was already resting on the laptop's touchpad. The computer had long been booted up, its screen brightness set to the lowest, a faint blue glow illuminating his tense jawline and reflecting the sharp focus in his pupils. On the screen, a clean command line window was already open, the cursor blinking, like a mouth waiting to be fed. Meaningless gibberish. But Lu Chenzhou's gaze, like a nail, was fixed on those letter combinations that might represent English abbreviations. The screen's cold light made his eyeballs feel dry. `Tgt Cnf` — Target Confirmed? `Fbr As` — Fiber Association? `Prfn` — This one… Purification? `ldwy` — Old Way? His mind raced frantically in the darkness, like an overloaded machine, every gear burning hot, a throbbing ache pulsing at his temples. He cross-referenced these fragmented characters with the snippets about Zhou Zhengping from Qin Wangshu's information database, connected them with the obscure records in the old case files Zhou had handled from his memory, and corroborated them with Shen Yan's instant reaction upon hearing the word "fiber" tonight. Countless fragments collided and spun in his mind. The fragments began to fit together. Not a perfect puzzle, but a monstrous outline had already emerged. Target confirmed (Zhao Mingcheng's case? Shen Yan's suspicion?). Fiber association (that damned cufflink fiber became a death warrant, and also a connecting thread). Purification… protocol? Initiated? Handle via the old way. "Purification." That word, like an icy needle, stabbed suddenly into Lu Chenzhou's temple, bringing a sharp, phantom pain. Not concealment. Not simple silencing or evidence destruction. It was "purification." Carrying a twisted, ritualistic, self-righteous sense of "cleansing." Back in the day, within the system, Zhou Zhengping had been notorious for his near-obsessive insistence on "procedural purity," even offending people over it. It was just that later, this "insistence" seemed to have soured, fermented into something darker. In Lu Chenzhou's mind, a few old cases flashed past like lightning. All handled or supervised by Zhou Zhengping before his retirement. Evidence chains "accidentally" breaking at critical moments. Key witnesses suddenly recanting or "disappearing." Some leads that could have been pursued deeper were gently dropped due to "insufficient evidence" or "procedural flaws." The rough texture of the case file paper, the smell of printing ink, those paragraphs crossed out in red pen… At the time, they might have seemed like mere bureaucratic inertia or some sort of compromise. But now, viewed through the filter of "purification"… Those weren't mistakes, nor were they compromises. That was surgery. Precise, ruthless surgery, performed under the guise of "excising the lesion" and "maintaining system health." Excising those "diseased tissues" that might cause greater trouble, such as disobedient witnesses, overly persistent investigators, or... "program errors" like him, Lu Chenzhou, who tried to overturn cases and might uncover more festering sores. Zhao Mingcheng was a "stain." Shen Yan was a "tool" tainted by that stain and potentially capable of exposing the "surgical" process. And he, Lu Chenzhou, ten years ago, was the target of an incomplete, or rather, inadequately thorough, "purification." A familiar dull ache throbbed faintly from the location of the old wound on his chest. In his earpiece, a soft, crisp "beep" sounded without warning, indicating the complete reception of external data. The sound was sharp, exceptionally clear and cold amidst the continuous white noise, like the clatter of a scalpel falling onto a metal tray. Lu Chenzhou slowly raised his hand and removed the earpiece. As the rubber tip left his ear canal, it made a soft *pop*, followed by a brief bout of tinnitus. The tide of white noise receded instantly, plunging the world back into silence. A near-vacuum silence that pressed against the eardrums. The room was left with only the low, continuous hum of the laptop's cooling fan, like the panting of a trapped beast, and his own breaths, which had grown deeper, slower, and carried a certain cold, heavy weight. With each inhalation, he could smell the dust and the scent of old furniture in the air. He sat in the darkness, staring at the string of incomplete characters on the screen. The screen's blue light cast itself on his face, half in light, half in shadow, carving out a cold, hard outline. Something was settling, congealing deep within his eyes. It was no longer simply anger or hatred, but something more complex, more rigid—a kind of... understanding that had grasped the enemy's nature and was beginning to measure the distance to each other's throats with the same ruthless precision. His fingertips were ice-cold. The chips, had changed. They were no longer just the DNA evidence about Shen Yan that he held in his hand