The muffled sobbing behind the door was cut off, as if a throat had been strangled. Lu Chenzhou’s palm pressed hard against the metal door, his knuckles bone-white. The sound from behind the door vanished, yet in the dead silence, the motion-sensor light in the hallway suddenly flicked on, drenching him in a stark, white glare. He froze in place like a rabbit caught in headlights, his ears filled only with the frantic pounding of his own heart. There was no time left. The dull thud from Li Suzhen’s room, the camera lens from the black car at the street corner, and this damned, location-revealing motion-sensor light—all the fuses had burned to their ends at the same moment. He turned and bolted down the stairs, taking three steps at a time, his footsteps exploding in the empty stairwell. As he rushed out of the building entrance, he caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye—the passenger window of that black sedan at the street corner was slowly rolling up, the glint of a telephoto lens flashing once before disappearing. He slid into his own somewhat worn gray sedan, the engine growling to life. Tires screeched against the pavement, and the car shot out of the narrow alley like an arrow from a bow. In the rearview mirror, the black car didn’t immediately follow; it just sat quietly in the shadows, like a wolf patiently waiting for its prey to enter open ground. With one hand on the steering wheel, he fished out his phone with the other, his fingertips icy. A new encrypted message flashed on the screen from Fang Mu: a timestamp and one brief line: **"Tracking signal lost 1.2 km southeast of Luojiawan, abandoned freight yard. Recommend detour."** Lu Chenzhou glanced at it and tossed the phone back onto the passenger seat. Fang Mu’s warning confirmed his judgment—they weren’t just watching; they had set up interception points. This wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment tail; it was a meticulously planned hunt. The car wound its way through the labyrinthine alleys of the old city. He avoided main roads, deliberately choosing narrow lanes hung with laundry and cluttered with junk. His headlights swept over mottled brick walls, faded shop signs, old men squatting in doorways smoking. The air was thick with the greasy smell of cooking, the sour stench of sewers, and the damp chill of the night. These familiar scents and sights wrapped around him like a rough protective shell, offering a temporary refuge. Twenty minutes later, he parked the car behind a long-closed grain and oil shop. He killed the engine, turned off the lights, and sat in the darkness for a full five minutes. No unusual headlights, no footsteps. Only the faint clamor from a distant night market and the rustling of stray cats rummaging through trash bins. He walked through three connected, cluttered courtyards. Overhead, a tangled web of clotheslines crisscrossed, damp sheets dripping water and swaying slightly in the night breeze, casting ghostly shadows. At the far end of the last courtyard stood an old bookstore with a wooden sign reading "Zhengxin Ancient Texts." The paint on the sign was mostly peeled away, the characters blurred. The bookstore was long closed, its roll-up shutter firmly down. Only a single, very low-wattage bulb above the back door emitted a dim, bean-sized halo of yellow light. He approached the back door but didn’t knock immediately. First, he listened closely—from inside came only the faint, almost sigh-like rustle unique to old paper, and a heavy silence imbued with the scent of accumulated dust and a slight mustiness. He raised his hand and rapped lightly on the wooden door with his knuckles in a pattern: three short, two long, then three short again. A very light footstep sounded from inside, stopping just behind the door. Then came the sound of a lock turning. The door opened a crack, just wide enough for a person to slip through sideways. Zhou Zhengping’s aged, wary face appeared in the gap. His eye bags were puffy, his eyes bloodshot, but their gaze was sharp as a knife. He gave Lu Chenzhou a quick once-over, then swiftly glanced into the darkness behind him, confirming there was no tail. Only then did he pull the door open a bit wider. Lu Chenzhou slipped inside sideways. The door closed immediately behind him with a heavy, decisive clunk as the lock engaged. A thicker wave of the scent of old paper and dust washed over him, mixed with a faint, elusive whiff of mothballs. Before him was a narrow passageway, flanked on both sides by waist-high stacks of old books and tied bundles of newspapers, leaving only a narrow gap for a single Qin Wangshu leaned against the window in the shadows farthest from the table, her back to the glass. Outside was the hazy night of the old city and scattered distant lights, but the curtains were drawn tight, leaving only a narrow gap. She hadn't turned on her phone; she just stood there quietly, her figure almost merging with the darkness. Only the faint spill of lamplight sketched the tense line of her profile and her tightly pressed lips. Hearing footsteps on the stairs, she turned her head. Her gaze hit Lu Chenzhou like a searchlight—scrutinizing, assessing—but she didn't speak immediately. The air in the attic was stagnant. The smell of old paper, dust, and the tense, distinct atmospheres carried by the three people from their separate worlds mingled together, pressing down heavily on the chest. Lu Chenzhou walked to the table and gently placed the kraft paper file folder he'd been holding onto its surface. The edges of the folder were slightly worn but lay flat. He didn't sit, just stood there, his gaze calmly meeting Qin Wangshu's, then turning to Zhou Zhengping, who had slowly moved to the table and was unconsciously rubbing an old enamel cup in his hands. "The tail followed to Luojiawan," Lu Chenzhou spoke first, his voice even, betraying no emotion. "There was a preset interception point at the southeast abandoned freight yard. Li Suzhen's situation changed. When I left, there were abnormal sounds from her room." He paused, a barely perceptible twitch flickering at the corner of his left eye. "There was a car at the street corner, with a telephoto lens. We are being watched very closely." Qin Wangshu finally stepped out of the shadows. The lamplight illuminated her face. There were faint dark circles under her eyes, but her gaze remained sharp. She walked to the other side of the table, didn't touch the file folder, placed her hands on the table edge, her knuckles whitening slightly from the pressure. "Zhao Tieshan officially spoke with me this afternoon," she began, her voice dry, her pace faster than usual, carrying a forcibly suppressed agitation. "Not a casual chat, an official work conversation. The kind that gets recorded." She took a breath. "My investigative authority has been comprehensively tightened. Starting tomorrow, all field operations, whether related to the Shen Yan case or not, must be reported to him in writing in advance and receive his direct approval. Requests for assistance from technical investigation and cybersecurity require his signature as well." She raised her eyes, looking directly at Lu Chenzhou. "He also 'reminded' me to pay attention to discipline, not to interfere in 'concluded' old cases, and not to have contact with 'specific individuals' beyond what is necessary for work." She gave a slight tug at the corner of her mouth; it wasn't a smile. "His exact words. Shen Moqing moves fast. Less than two hours after you left Cloud Peak Club, the pressure was on Captain Zhao's desk. This isn't a warning; it's drawing a line." Pressure, like a cold tide, spread through the small attic with her words. Zhou Zhengping stopped rubbing the teacup. His fingers unconsciously picked at a patch of flaking enamel on the cup's surface, making a faint, grating sound. The old man lowered his head, looking into the cup at the long-cold, murky water with only tea stains left, and let out a vague, guttural sound from his throat. Lu Chenzhou showed no surprise. He picked up the kraft paper file folder from the table and undid the string fastener. His movements were slow. The paper rustled softly. He took out a neatly folded document, didn't unfold it, just pressed it flat with his palm and placed it on the tabletop. "This is the expected reaction," he said, his gaze resting on the document. "Wangshu, I understand your pressure. The line within the system, he can tighten it anytime." He lifted his eyes, turning to the silent old man. His tone remained steady, but each word was as clear as if carved into the air. "Old Zhou, what you fear isn't just Shen Moqing, is it?" Zhou Zhengping trembled all over as if pricked by a needle. He jerked his head up, a flash of fear—and something deeper, a kind of exhaustion ground down by years and past events, bordering on despair—passing through his cloudy eyes. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He just lowered his head again, picking at the teacup with more force. The sound of his nail scraping the enamel became harsh. The attic was left with only the faint, distant city sounds from outside the window and the grating noise of the old man's nail. Qin Wangshu stared at the document under Lu Chenzhou's hand, her brow furrowing "The law has restored my innocence." Lu Chenzhou's voice sounded in the silence, terrifyingly calm, as if stating another's affair. "Black ink on white paper, a red seal as proof." He paused, his gaze sweeping over Qin Wangshu's taut face before falling back onto Zhou Zhengping's rigid back. "But this innocence can't erase the seven years' worth of shadows from prison bars on the walls of my mind. It can't wash off these things on my hands—" He suddenly spread open his right palm, extending it into the halo of the desk lamp. Palm upward, fingers slightly curled. The light illuminated certain unusually rough, slightly darker skin textures on the palm and the base of the fingers. They were not calluses from labor or exercise; their shapes were irregular, more like indelible marks left from long-term, repeated clenching of fists, nails digging deep into flesh. "—things carved out by endurance." He withdrew his hand, his tone still without a ripple. "Innocence is for the living to see. But some things, once hammered in, cannot be pulled out." Zhou Zhengping's shoulders slumped. He maintained his posture, head bowed over the judgment document, unmoving for a long time. Only the fingers holding the paper trembled more and more violently. Finally, he let out a long, turbid breath from the depths of his lungs, carrying the stale smell of tobacco and bitterness. He gently placed the judgment back on the table, as if putting down something scalding, or like setting down a stone that had weighed on him for many years. Zhou Zhengping's fingers lingered on the edge of the photo, fingertips trembling slightly. When he withdrew it, he held an old, peeling lacquered tin box. Under the dim yellow light, those few blurred figures seemed to come alive, staring coldly across over twenty years of time into this narrow attic. "In that photo…" he began, his voice hoarse like a broken bellows, "it's not just Shen Moqing and Gu Zhiyuan." He lifted his head, his eyes hollow as he gazed at the densely packed book spines on the opposite shelf, as if he could see the ghosts of the past there. "The other few people… already wielded considerable influence back then." He paused, his withered hand unconsciously rubbing the teacup. "Now… some have retired, but their disciples and old connections are still in key positions. Others… have been transferred elsewhere, to even higher posts." He shook his head, his graying hair appearing particularly withered under the light. "Xiao Lu, toppling one Shen Moqing… might… might have used up all your luck." He repeated it, his voice dropping so low it was almost inaudible. "To drag those people out now… the three of us are not enough." Before cooperation could even begin, cracks were already showing. Qin Wangshu was strangled by the ropes of the system; Zhou Zhengping was terrified by the ghosts of the past. Lu Chenzhou stood by the table, looking at the clear signs of retreat and fear written on his two allies' faces under the lamp, looking at that judgment document representing "innocence" yet pale and powerless, looking at the pile of old paper fragments on the table that might never be pieced together completely. The smell of dust in the air grew heavier, pressing down thickly at the throat. Beyond the halo of the desk lamp, the darkness was dense like ink that couldn't be diluted. Qin Wangshu took a deep breath, her voice regaining its professional crispness, but her words were rapid, carrying a desperate resolve: "Teacher Lu, Zhao Tieshan's warning wasn't empty talk. If I continue to cross the line, next time it won't just be a conversation; it might be a suspension and investigation." "I can't provide official support like I used to." She paused, looking at Zhou Zhengping. "Even... I might not be able to protect myself." She bit the inside of her lower lip, a small gesture that betrayed her taut nerves. "I understand Chief Zhou's fear," she continued. "Any one of those people in the photo could crush us with a flick of a finger. Shen Moqing is just the visible target; the web behind him... we can't tear it." The pressure felt solid, pressing against the low ceiling of the attic, making their eardrums feel tight. Distant barking from stray dogs came through the window, once, twice, then fell silent. Lu Chenzhou looked at Qin Wangshu's tense mouth, at Zhou Zhengping's old, trembling hand. He didn't argue, didn't try to persuade with lofty ideals. He simply picked up the acquittal verdict again, unfolded it, and spread it flat on the table. The paper glowed with a cold white sheen under the light, the red seal of the official stamp like congealed blood. Then, he took something else from the file folder—photocopies of a few photos and handwritten notes. "Li Suzhen might have just been in trouble," he suddenly changed the subject, his tone flat. "When I went back to press her, she only said two words—'history'. There was a dragging sound behind the door, then nothing. A car was watching from the street corner; I couldn't go back in." He watched the pupils in Zhou Zhengping's eyes contract sharply, watched Qin Wangshu's head jerk up. "Chief Zhou, your partner back then, who investigated the old Shen family case, later 'retired early', then died in a car accident." Lu Chenzhou spoke word by word, each syllable like a nail being driven in. "You believed for ten years it was an accident. Now, do you still believe it?" Zhou Zhengping's face was as pale as paper under the desk lamp. The old man's lips trembled, wanting to say something, but no sound came out. His thin, withered hand gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white. "Wangshu," Lu Chenzhou turned to her, "You couldn't speak up for me back then, even passively participated in some peripheral investigations. That guilt has weighed on you for ten years." He paused, lowering his voice. "Now, if you retreat again out of fear—this guilt will weigh on you for a lifetime. It will become a stain on your career ceiling that you can never erase, a nightmare that won't ease no matter how hard you dig your nails into your palm every time you wake up at midnight." Qin Wangshu's breath hitched. "Shen Moqing, those people in the photo, they won't let us go just because we retreat." Lu Chenzhou's voice finally carried a trace of an extremely faint, almost cold rationality. "Li Suzhen may have already paid a price. Your partner paid a price, Chief Zhou. I paid with seven years." He spread open his palm, letting the desk lamp illuminate the unusually hard skin texture in certain areas—marks left from years of holding pens, writing, repeated friction on rough paper, also silent imprints of seven years in prison. "Who's next?" he asked. "You, Qin Wangshu? Or you, Chief Zhou?" Only the sound of breathing remained in the attic, intermingling with the smell of old paper and dust. Lu Chenzhou leaned forward slightly, his elbows propped on the table piled with old books. "Retreating won't bring safety," he said, each word like a hammer striking the silence. "It will only make the fuse burn shorter. Our only path now is to dismantle the entire explosive package before the fuse burns out." He raised his eyes, his gaze moving from Qin Wangshu's face to Zhou Zhengping's. "Not just dismantling one Shen Moqing," he said. "But dismantling the complete web behind that 1996 group photo." The silence lasted three seconds. Qin Wangshu moved first. She walked to the table, picked up her phone, her fingers swiping quickly across the screen. Then she turned the screen to face a blank patch on the nearby wall. A few photos, several charts, and a brief timeline summary appeared on the mottled wall. The projection light formed pillars of dancing dust motes in the air. "This is what I could still access," Qin Wangshu's voice regained its professional crispness, though she spoke rapidly, "partial communication base station records for Shen Moqing and Gu Zhiyuan over the last twenty-four hours, and the trajectories of several commonly used vehicles under their names. There's an abnormal intersection—yesterday at 3 p.m., Shen Moqing's car appeared at the abandoned logistics park in the northern suburbs. Twenty minutes later, Gu Zhiyuan's car arrived too. They stayed for forty-seven minutes, then left separately." A magnified, clarity-enhanced partial section of the 1996 group photo appeared on the wall. "This person in the dark Zhongshan suit, standing behind and to the left of Gu Zhiyuan in the photo," Qin Wangshu's fingertip pointed at the blurry face in the projected light spot, "Wu Guodong. Back then, he was the deputy director of the Provincial Health Department's Infrastructure Division, later promoted to director. One of the main agenda items for that 1996 meeting was the bidding for the new Municipal Infectious Disease Hospital. Wu Guodong's position at the time was responsible for the preliminary project review and pre-screening of supplier qualifications." Lu Chenzhou quickly stood up, walked to the wall, his gaze sweeping over the information like a scanner. The projection light illuminated the side of his focused face, outlining a tense jawline. "Wu Guodong…" he murmured, repeating the name, then looked at Zhou Zhengping. "Old Zhou, regarding the 1996 meeting, who ultimately won the bid?" Zhou Zhengping was still immersed in the earlier shock. He froze for a few seconds upon hearing the question before speaking distractedly, "It was… a construction company under 'Kangjian Pharmaceuticals'. Their qualifications weren't the best at the time, and their quote wasn't the lowest, but… they won." "Kangjian Pharmaceuticals." Lu Chenzhou repeated the name, his eyes sharpening. "Who was the legal representative?" Zhou Zhengping opened his mouth but didn't speak. He shakily stood up, hunched his back, and walked behind the old-fashioned bookshelf piled with old ledgers and archive bags. After fumbling for a moment, he took out something tightly wrapped in dull yellow oilcloth. He walked back and unwrapped the cloth layer by layer. Inside were a few sheets of yellowed, brittle-edged paper, and a much clearer original small-print version of the 1996 group photo—not a copy, but a small-sized photo developed back then. The old man's withered finger pointed at the face of a bespectacled man with a humble smile on the edge of the photo. "Qian Weidong," Zhou Zhengping's voice was still trembling, but it carried a thread of clear recollection. "The legal representative, and the actual controller, of 'Kangjian Pharmaceuticals'. After that 1996 deal, his company expanded rapidly. Three years later, it became one of the leading local pharmaceutical distribution companies." He paused, a flicker of pain in his turbid eyes. "But in 2002, 'Kangjian Pharmaceuticals' was suddenly deregistered. Qian Weidong himself emigrated overseas and never returned." Lu Chenzhou carefully took the yellowed papers and photo. The papers rustled faintly and fragilely in his hands, as if they might crumble at any moment. He didn't examine them immediately. Instead, he first looked at Zhou Zhengping and gave a solemn nod. "Thank you, Old Zhou," he said. "This is enough." Then, he turned, pulled a blank A4 sheet from the pile of old books on the table, and picked up an old-fashioned fountain pen. The nib scratched across the rough paper surface with a steady, forceful sound. He drew a circle in the center of the paper and wrote "Shen Moqing". He drew a line extending left and wrote "Gu Zhiyuan". A line extending right: "Wu Guodong". A line extending down: "Qian Weidong". Then, between "Wu Guodong" and "Qian Weidong", he drew a double-headed arrow. "The 1996 Infectious Disease Hospital project bidding," Lu Chenzhou spoke as he wrote, his pen moving swiftly, "Wu Guodong was responsible for the review, Qian Weidong's company won the bid. Benefit transfer. Shen Moqing was the supervising leader in the health system at the time, Gu Zhiyuan was the provincial department representative. Both of them jointly provided protection and procedural facilitation for this transfer." He lifted his head. "I need the capital structure and shareholder change records for the past ten years of the private hospital currently operated by Wu Guodong's son. Especially the portions involving overseas capital inflows." Qin Wangshu pursed her lips, then nodded after two seconds. "I can try to get it through a friend in the economic crime investigation unit, under the guise of another case. But it will take time, and it's risky." "Seventy-two hours," Lu Chenzhou said, the tip of his pen writing "72H" on the paper and circling it. "We only have seventy-two hours. Shen Moqing's countermeasures have already begun. Li Suzhen might have been a warning. The next one could be Old Zhou, or you." He wrote the word "Division of Labor" on the paper. "Wangshu, you are responsible for obtaining the capital documents of Wu Guodong's son's hospital, while simultaneously monitoring the real-time movements of Shen Moqing and Gu Zhiyuan." Lu Chenzhou's pen continued moving. "Use every legal channel you still have access to, but don't cross the line—stop immediately if Zhao Tieshan catches wind." Qin Wangshu nodded, her eyes hardening. "Old Zhou," Lu Chenzhou turned to the old man, "try to recall, between 1996 and 2002, which other government projects did 'Kangjian Pharmaceutical' win bids for? Especially within the public health system. Is there any physical documentation left—contract copies, meeting minutes, even handwritten notes?" Zhou Zhengping took a deep breath, a glimmer of light flashing in his cloudy eyes. He nodded slowly. "Yes... there are some old account books. I kept them. I thought something was off back then, so I secretly made copies." "Good." Lu Chenzhou wrote "Kangjian Project List" on the paper. "Sort them out and get them to me before noon tomorrow." Finally, he looked at both of them. "I'll handle the Qian Weidong line. He moved overseas in 2002, but he must still have asset-related contacts domestically. I'll investigate the fund flows when his company was dissolved and his possible overseas locations." The attic fell quiet. Only the soft scratching of the pen tip on paper and the occasional distant clamor of the city outside the window remained. Qin Wangshu suddenly spoke. "What about the communication plan? Zhao Tieshan is watching. We can't use regular contact methods." Lu Chenzhou took three brand-new, non-registered prepaid phone cards from the file folder and placed them on the table. The plastic cards gleamed coldly under the light. "Disposable," he said. "Each card is used only once, destroyed after sending a message. Backup contact points—" He wrote down two addresses. "The storage lockers at the old library in the west of the city, the password is Shen Yan's death anniversary. The parcel receiving point at the logistics park in the eastern suburbs, use the name 'Lu Yuan'." Zhou Zhengping looked at the gradually forming action sketch on the table, at the arrows, names, and time nodes. The old man's withered hands slowly clenched, then relaxed. Finally, he let out a long...