The phone vibrated once in his palm. Lu Chenzhou sat at the desk, his left hand pressed against the corner of his left eye—a spot still twitching faintly. The desk lamp's light made the red-inked circle around "127 Guangming Road" glaring. He picked up the phone; the screen lit up, displaying an encrypted message. The sender showed as garbled code, the decryption key a set he and his master had used a decade ago. The content was only two lines: "Gu Mingyuan will appear at the 'Old Times' cafe in the south district tonight at eight." "This is your chance to prove your 'value.' I'll be nearby." The words were like ice spikes, piercing his retina. He stared at the two characters for "value," his fingertips tapping the edge of the phone. Once. Twice. Qin Wangshu's style—terse, professional, every word encased in a shell of scrutiny. A chance? More like a test. Or a trap. Or perhaps both. Outside the window, the night was thick. Forty-seven minutes until eight o'clock. He stood up, took a black gel pen from the drawer, and dismantled it. The refill, the spring, the plastic clip. The components rapidly disassembled and reassembled in his fingertips. *Click. Click. Click.* The twitch at the corner of his left eye gradually subsided. He tossed the reassembled pen back into the drawer, pulled a dark gray jacket from deep within the wardrobe. Its inner lining pocket had a hand-sewn compartment. His fingertips probed inside, confirming its thickness and shape. Then he bent down, lifted a corner of the left shoe's insole, and slipped in a flat, fingernail-sized strong magnet. As he reset the insole, he paused for half a second. A decade ago, he had hidden things like this too. In interrogation rooms, in prisoner transport vehicles, in prison shower stalls. Those pieces of paper warmed by body heat, the microfilm, the ciphers carved into plastic with a fingernail. Memory surged up like a tide, carrying the smell of rust and disinfectant. He took a deep breath, forcing the tide back down. This was not ten years ago. *** In the parking lot next to the abandoned building materials market in the south district, two streetlights were out. Shadows like spilled ink cut the concrete ground into irregular dark patches. Lu Chenzhou arrived twenty minutes early. He hadn't driven; he entered on foot from a side gate. His footsteps were light, the soles of his shoes brushing the ground with almost no sound. He walked a loop along the parking lot's perimeter. The eastern exit connected to the main road; there was traffic surveillance. The western wall had a breach leading to a back alley, piled high with discarded formwork. To the north was the market's office building, three stories, all windows dark. To the south, several dust-covered trucks were parked. He memorized the position of each camera—two on the entrance pillars, one at the corner of the office building, their coverage areas overlapping with blind spots. Wind rushed in through the breach, carrying grit and the smell of rust. He tugged at his jacket collar and walked toward the black sedan parked in the center of the lot. The car was idling, faint white vapor curling from the tailpipe. He opened the passenger door and got in. The scent of leather mixed with a hint of citrus perfume—cool, distant. Qin Wangshu sat in the driver's seat, not looking at him, her gaze fixed on the map spread open on the center console. Streetlight slanted through the car window, splitting her profile into light and shadow. On the dark side, her eyelashes cast fine, dense shadows on her cheek. "You're early," she said. Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "Habit," Lu Chenzhou replied. He looked at the map. The south district, several main roads highlighted in thick red marker. The "Old Times" cafe was circled. Next to it were a few handwritten notes: surveillance points, peak pedestrian hours, alternate evacuation routes. The handwriting was neat, almost like printed text. Qin Wangshu's fingertip tapped the map. *Tap. Tap.* A steady rhythm, carrying a sense of urgency. "Gu Mingyuan, a collateral branch of the Gu family. Emigrated to Australia ten years ago, suddenly returned last week. Entry-exit records show he entered under the pretext of a business inspection, but customs surveillance captured special equipment in his luggage—a portable signal jammer." She paused. "The police currently lack sufficient grounds to move against him, but my informant says he'll be meeting someone at 'Old Times' tonight at eight. Could be a buyer. Could be a middleman." "Meeting who?" "Unknown," Qin Wangshu Lu Chenzhou's gaze fell on the marked back alley. The alley was narrow, flanked by the back walls of old residential buildings, with no surveillance. In the middle of the alley stood an abandoned newspaper kiosk, plastered with faded movie posters. The clue Zhou Zhengping had given him last time surfaced in his mind: "Old K has a habit of leaving messages at specific types of old newspaper kiosks... There seems to be another one in the southern part of the city." His fingertips unconsciously rubbed against his jacket cuff. "Understood," he said. "Use the encrypted channel for communication. I've already sent the frequency to your phone. Wear the earpiece and maintain the call throughout." Qin Wangshu took a black Bluetooth earpiece from the storage compartment and handed it over. Her fingers brushed against his palm; they were very cold. "Remember, this operation is nominally a joint investigation, but in reality—" She paused, her voice lowering further, "Both you and I know that Shen Yan's people might also be nearby. One wrong step, and we're both finished." "Understood," he repeated. Qin Wangshu stared at him for a few seconds. Her pupils appeared deep in the dim light, like two wells. "Professor Lu." She suddenly changed her form of address, a trace of something faint, almost imperceptibly bitter, seeping into her voice. "Don't make me regret this decision." The car fell quiet. The low hum of the engine, the wind outside, the faint sound of distant traffic on the main road. The slight twitch returned to the corner of Lu Chenzhou's left eye. He took the earpiece and inserted it into his right ear. The cool plastic shell pressed against his skin. "I won't," he said. Qin Wangshu withdrew her gaze and started the car. The headlights cut through the darkness as they drove out of the parking lot. Lu Chenzhou leaned back in his seat, watching the receding shadows in the rearview mirror—the breach in the western wall, the entrance to the back alley piled with templates, and that abandoned newspaper kiosk with the faded poster, hidden within the clues of memory. His fingertips tapped lightly on his knee. Once, twice. Plan A belonged to Qin Wangshu. Plan B was his. Lu Chenzhou tossed the reassembled pen back into the drawer, pulled a dark gray jacket from deep inside the wardrobe. Its inner lining had a hand-sewn hidden pocket. He put on the jacket, his fingers tracing the edge of the lining, confirming the opening of the pocket. Then he picked up his phone. The screen was lit, showing Qin Wangshu's last encrypted message: "7:50 PM, Parking Area C, South City. Don't be late." The time was 7:37 PM. He turned off the desk lamp, plunging the room into darkness. The throbbing sensation from the wound on his left hand became distinct in the silence, like some creature slowly crawling beneath the skin. He stood for a few seconds, letting his eyes adjust to the dark, then pulled open the door and walked out. The motion-sensor light in the hallway was broken. Only the weak green glow from the emergency exit sign at the stairwell corner provided any light. His footsteps were light, but each step landed precisely in the gaps between heartbeats. *** Parking Area C in South City was behind the secondhand market, mostly deserted at night. Lu Chenzhou arrived ten minutes early but didn't go directly in. He circled to the back of the corrugated metal fence on the market's side, observing through a gap. Only three cars were parked inside. The black SUV at the far end had its parking lights on. There was a figure in the driver's seat. Lu Chenzhou waited another three and a half minutes, confirming no other vehicles entered or exited, and no one was observing from nearby buildings. Only then did he step out from behind the fence, crossing the empty concrete ground towards the SUV. He opened the passenger door and got in. The smell of new leather inside the car was mixed with a cold, citrusy perfume scent. Qin Wangshu didn't look at him, her fingers sliding across a tablet on the center console. The screen displayed an enlarged satellite map. "Right on time," she said, her tone like she was reading a report. Lu Chenzhou fastened his seatbelt, his gaze sweeping over the surroundings outside the window. The parking lot had two exits: the eastern one connected to the market's back alley, the western one led to the main road. There were only three streetlights, their glow dim but enough to see license plates. "Gu Mingyuan will arrive at the 'Old Times' cafe at exactly eight o'clock." Qin Wangshu turned the tablet towards him, her fingertip tapping a location marked with a red circle on the map. "The cafe has two Lu Chenzhou fastened his seatbelt, his gaze sweeping over the surroundings outside the car window. The parking lot had two exits: the eastern one connected to the back alley of the market, while the western one led to the main road. There were only three streetlights, their light dim, but sufficient to make out license plates. Lu Chenzhou took the earpiece. The plastic casing was cold, with faint signs of wear along the edges. He put it in his left ear, hearing a slight crackle of static followed by Qin Wangshu's test tone: "Can you hear me?" "Affirmative." "Repeat your mission." "Monitor Gu Mingyuan, report all movements, do not act without authorization." Qin Wangshu looked at him for two seconds, then turned her head back, swiping her finger across the tablet again. The map zoomed out, displaying a distribution map of surveillance cameras for the entire block. Seven red dots, three of which were around the cafe. "These are municipal surveillance cameras. I can access the data in real time," she said. "But there are two blind spots in the back alley: fifteen meters west of your blue marked point, and the dead end after the third turn into the back alley. If Gu Mingyuan moves toward those directions, I'll need you to provide a verbal description." "Understood." "Any questions?" Lu Chenzhou was silent for a moment. His gaze fell on the cup holder beneath the center console, where an empty paper coffee cup sat, a faint lipstick mark on the rim. "What if we spot Shen Yan's people?" he asked. Qin Wangshu's finger tapped lightly on the steering wheel. *Tap.* "That would also be an anomaly," she said, her tone unchanged. "Report it, but do not engage. If Shen Yan's people are present, it means this meeting might not be as simple as Gu Mingyuan meeting a friend. We need to know what they're planning, not startle the snake." "Understood." "Good." Qin Wangshu glanced at the time on the car's screen. "Seven fifty-six. Get out now and walk to the designated position. Gu Mingyuan will appear exactly at eight. I'll be on the second floor of the convenience store across the street; my line of sight will cover your area. Maintain communication." Lu Chenzhou pulled the car door open. The evening wind rushed in, carrying the city night's characteristic murky smells—car exhaust, the greasy smoke from distant barbecue stalls, and the earthy dampness evaporating from wet concrete. He got out, closed the door, and the black SUV's clearance lights went off. He turned and walked towards the parking lot's east exit. Qin Wangshu's voice came through the earpiece, calm: "It'll take four minutes to reach the newsstand. Pay attention to the white van on your right, license plate ending in 37. It's been parked for over two hours. If there's someone inside, it could be Shen Yan's lookout, or it could be unrelated. Don't stare; observe with your peripheral vision." "Received," Lu Chenzhou said. His pace didn't change, but his gaze had already swept over the white van. The windows were tinted dark, making it impossible to see inside. The tire pressure looked normal, no obvious sag. The front of the van was facing the cafe. He kept walking. Passing through the market alley, he caught a whiff of spoiled water from several green trash cans piled against the wall. A few stray cats darted from the shadows, rustling. The alley ended at the main road, the streetlights casting a warm yellow glow on the ground. The newsstand was on the street corner, already closed, its metal roll-up door plastered with small advertisements. Lu Chenzhou walked to the side of the newsstand, leaning his back against the wall. From this angle, he could see both the cafe's main entrance and the back door exit. He raised his left hand, pretending to check the time. The watch face on his wrist reflected the streetlight, the hands pointing exactly to eight o'clock. Almost simultaneously, the bell above the cafe's main door jingled. A man in a dark brown jacket pushed the door open and stepped out, lighting a cigarette at the entrance. The man appeared to be in his forties, slightly overweight, with thinning hair—exactly Gu Mingyuan from the profile photo. He took a couple of puffs, looked left and right, then turned and went back into the cafe. "Target sighted," Lu Chenzhou said into the earpiece, voice low. "Main entrance, dark brown jacket, smoked for ten seconds before returning." "Got him," Qin Wangshu's voice replied. "He's sitting at the third table by the window, no one across from him. Probably waiting for someone." Lu Chenzhou's gaze locked onto that window. Through the glass, he could see Gu Mingyuan's profile. The man stubbed out his cigarette in the 8:07 PM. Gu Mingyuan glanced at his phone again, his fingers typing rapidly on the screen. 8:12 PM. He raised his hand to call a waiter and ordered another drink. 8:15 PM. The back door remained still. Qin Wangshu’s breathing came through the earpiece, light but noticeably faster than before. "He's getting anxious," Lu Chenzhou said. "He's checked his phone three times in ten minutes and tapped his fingers on the table four times. The person he's waiting for is either late or not coming." "Continue observing." 8:18 PM. Gu Mingyuan suddenly stood up, grabbed his coat from the back of the chair, and waved at a waiter as if to settle the bill. "He's leaving," Lu Chenzhou said. "Which door?" Lu Chenzhou's gaze flicked rapidly between the main entrance and the back door. Gu Mingyuan had already reached the cashier and was pulling out his wallet. His body was oriented toward the main door, but his eyes glanced toward the back alley. "Probably the main door," Lu Chenzhou said. "But he looked at the back alley." "Stay close. If he takes the main door, follow at a distance. If he takes the back door, I need you to report the alley situation immediately. I'll circle around from the convenience store to block the other end." "Understood." Gu Mingyuan finished paying, stuffed his wallet back into his pocket, and turned— He did not head for the main entrance. Instead, he walked straight toward the back door. "He's taking the back door," Lu Chenzhou's voice remained steady. "He's pushing open the iron door now." "Copy. I'm moving. Follow him into the alley, but maintain a distance of over twenty meters. Report his direction at all times." Lu Chenzhou emerged from the side of the newsstand and quickly crossed the street. An electric scooter brushed past him, its bell jingling. He sidestepped it without breaking stride, turning into the alley entrance. The alley was much darker than outside, with only a few low-wattage streetlights hanging high on the walls. Gu Mingyuan's back was about thirty meters ahead, heading toward the third intersection. Lu Chenzhou slowed his pace, moving along the shadow of one wall. His breathing remained controlled, but his heartbeat accelerated. The throbbing sensation from the wound on his left hand grew stronger, as if something were trying to break through his skin. "He entered the third intersection," he said into the earpiece, his voice lower now. "The third intersection is a dead end, a wall at the far end." Qin Wangshu's voice carried a note of urgency; she must be running. "I'll be at the other end of the intersection in two minutes. Guard the entrance. Don't let him spot you on his way back." "Copy." Lu Chenzhou stopped outside the intersection, his back against the wall. He could hear Gu Mingyuan's footsteps echoing in the alley, growing fainter, then— They stopped. Followed by a rustling sound, like someone rummaging through something. Lu Chenzhou held his breath and tilted his head slightly to peer into the intersection. The alley was narrow, less than two meters wide. Gu Mingyuan was squatting with his back to him, pulling at a pile of discarded cardboard boxes and plastic sheets in a corner. His movements were hurried, the cardboard scraping harshly as he tossed it aside. "He's looking for something," Lu Chenzhou said. "What's the location?" "Dead end, left corner, a pile of waste." "Can you see it?" "He's facing away. Can't see clearly." Qin Wangshu was silent for a few seconds. The sound of her rapid footsteps came through the earpiece, then suddenly stopped. "I'm in position," she said softly. "I'm at the other end of the intersection, about fifteen meters from him. Is he still searching?" "Still searching." The sound of a cardboard box being thrown aside. Plastic sheets being torn. Then a dull thud, like a wooden board being pried open. Gu Mingyuan stood up, holding something black and palm-sized. He quickly stuffed it into his inner coat pocket and turned to walk back. "He got something. Returning now," Lu Chenzhou said. "Black, rectangular. Possibly a USB drive or external hard drive." "Stop him." Qin Wangshu's voice suddenly tightened. "He can't leave with that. I can't get past obstacles on my side. You need to intercept him before he exits the intersection." Lu Chenzhou's mind raced through calculations in an instant. Gu Mingyuan was about ten meters from the intersection exit, moving fast. He himself was five meters outside the exit. If he charged in now, they would collide head-on midway through the narrow alley. There was no room to evade. A physical confrontation was inevitable Gu Mingyuan's footsteps grew closer and closer, already at the bend in the fork. Lu Chenzhou's left hand clenched tight, fingernails digging into his palm. The wound was squeezed, sending a sharp, stinging pain. In that instant, he remembered the feeling from ten years ago in the interrogation room when he signed the false confession—the pen tip tearing through the paper, like tearing through his own skin. Then he made his decision. He spoke quickly into the earpiece, "I see another figure behind him! Deep in the alley, blocked by debris just now. Could be the contact." "What?" Qin Wangshu's voice faltered. "I need to confirm," Lu Chenzhou said, his tone carrying just the right amount of urgency. "You hold the exit. I'll circle around to the back to check. If it really is the contact, we can't let him get away." "Wait, Lu Chenzhou—" He didn't wait. At the moment Gu Mingyuan's figure was about to burst out of the fork, Lu Chenzhou abruptly turned—not charging into the fork, but sprinting in the opposite direction—toward the deeper part of the back alley, the dead spot where Qin Wangshu had said there was a surveillance blind spot. His footsteps echoed in the empty alley. Qin Wangshu's hurried breathing came through the earpiece, followed by her lowered voice, carrying obvious anger: "Lu Chenzhou! What are you doing? Come back!" But he had already turned into another fork. Darkness swallowed his figure. The back alley was like a wound forgotten by the city. Lu Chenzhou squeezed sideways into the gap between two old buildings, his shoulder brushing against the damp, mossy wall. The air was thick with the smell of mold, mixed with the sour stench of rotting garbage and distant cooking fumes. He suppressed his breathing, each step falling in the deepest shadows. Qin Wangshu's voice came through the earpiece again. "Is the target still in position?" Her tone held a hint of barely detectable urgency. Lu Chenzhou stopped, leaning his back against the wall. From here, he could see the dim yellow emergency light above the café's back door, casting a blurred halo of light on the damp ground. The back door was tightly shut. "Still there," he said into the tiny microphone at his collar, his voice as steady as reading numbers. "But just now, a server approached his table. They spoke for about twenty seconds. The target's expression... changed." "What change?" "He checked his watch twice." This was true. Gu Mingyuan had indeed checked his watch twice. But what Lu Chenzhou didn't say was that the intervals between Gu Mingyuan's glances were very short, more like confirming a precise time point rather than impatience. He also didn't say that during those twenty seconds, Gu Mingyuan's hand had briefly reached into his suit's inner pocket and quickly withdrawn—the motion didn't seem like retrieving a wallet or phone. "He might be preparing to leave," Qin Wangshu's voice held a bit more tension. "Keep a close eye on the back door. If he gets up and heads in that direction, notify me immediately." "Understood." Lu Chenzhou cut the communication. He took off the earpiece and stuffed it into his jacket's inner pocket. The world instantly fell silent, leaving only the faint sound of distant street traffic and the drum-like beating of his own heart in his chest. He glanced down at his wristwatch. Seven fifty-two. Less than three minutes remained until the theoretical "tracking gap" window he had created. Qin Wangshu should now be completely focused on watching the café's front door, waiting for a signal that Gu Mingyuan might leave from there—the expectation Lu Chenzhou had deliberately guided in the communication. He took a deep breath. The smells of mold and urine filled his nostrils. Then he began to move. His steps were extremely light, skimming the base of the wall like a shadow without substance. The fragments of clues provided by Zhou Zhengping quickly pieced together in his mind: Old K was accustomed to leaving information at specific types of old newspaper kiosks... the southern district... those green sheet-metal newspaper kiosks uniformly installed in the late 1990s... a hidden latch beneath the third metal panel on the side... The alley grew narrower as he went. Ahead, a T-junction appeared, the right side piled high with discarded construction materials and broken plastic barrels. Lu Chenzhou's gaze swept over the clutter, stopping at the corner. There stood a newspaper kiosk. Its green sheet-metal shell had rusted to a dark brown, the glass window shattered and hastily boarded up with planks. A faded fragment of a movie poster still clung to the side, the image blurred into nothing but a smear of dark red and deep blue. It was exactly the style uniformly installed in the late 1990 His gaze locked onto the side of the newsstand. The third iron panel... counting from the bottom up, the third one. The rust along the edge of that panel seemed slightly lighter than elsewhere, as if recently touched repeatedly by fingers. Time was passing. Every second felt like sand falling through an hourglass, thudding against his nerves. Lu Chenzhou finally moved. He walked quickly to the side of the newsstand and crouched down. His fingertips touched the metal surface—cold, rough, with the gritty texture unique to rust. He felt along the edge of the third panel, his movements steady and precise. First pass, nothing. Second pass, near the bottom right corner, his fingertip detected an extremely subtle protrusion. Not a clump of rust. He leaned closer, almost pressing his face against the metal. Using the faint light filtering from the distant streetlamp, he saw it—a hand-welded miniature latch, the size of a grain of rice, its color almost blending with the rust. At the center of the latch was an almost invisible slit. The hidden latch Zhou Zhengping mentioned. Lu Chenzhou held his breath. He pulled a paperclip from his pocket—one he had quietly taken from the document folder in Qin Wangshu's car earlier in the parking lot. He straightened the paperclip and probed the tip into the slit of the latch. Feedback came through touch. There was resistance. He adjusted the angle and applied gentle pressure. The tip of the paperclip slid into some mechanism inside; he felt a spring-loaded piece being pushed open— *Click.* A soft sound. So faint it was like a leaf falling to the ground. The lower edge of the third iron panel popped open a crack, less than two centimeters wide. Lu Chenzhou hooked his fingernail into the gap and slowly pulled it outward. The panel slid open silently, revealing a palm-sized hidden compartment behind it. The inside of the compartment was lined with a piece of black velvet. On the velvet lay a USB drive. Solid black, metal casing, with a string of tiny numbers engraved on the side: 871103-07. The numbers gleamed with a cold light in the dimness. Lu Chenzhou's heart constricted violently. 871103. That date. The date of the archive fire. Also the date in the corner of that unfinished oil painting in Shen Qinghuan's studio. He reached out. The moment his fingertip touched the casing of the USB drive, a chill metal sensation crawled up his skin. He pinched the drive and lifted it from the compartment. It was heavier than expected, as if it contained not just data, but the weight of ten years. Just as the drive left the velvet lining— *Beep.* A short, sharp electronic chirp. Extremely faint, very high frequency, like a needle piercing the eardrum. The sound came from deep within the compartment, from some unseen corner. It sounded only once, then cut off abruptly. But Lu Chenzhou's blood nearly froze in his veins. An alarm. An alarm device was installed in the hidden compartment. He clenched the USB drive into his palm, the metal edge digging painfully into his flesh. With his other hand, he swiftly pushed the iron panel back into place. A soft *click* as the compartment closed. He stood up, his movements stiff from urgency. The alarm had sounded. What did that mean? Was it an anti-theft device installed by Old K himself? Or was it a triggered alarm installed by another party—someone monitoring this intelligence drop? How far did the sound travel? Could someone have already heard it? Questions pelted down like hail. He forced himself to calm down. Leave here first. Immediately. Lu Chenzhou turned and strode quickly deeper into the alley. After a few steps, he stopped, pulled the paperclip from his pocket, bent it forcefully, and tossed it into a nearby drainage ditch. Then he took off his jacket, stuffed the USB drive into his right shoe—beneath the insole was a thin slit he had cut earlier with a blade. He put the jacket back on and zipped it up. The sensation remained. That hard, tiny bulge under the sole of his right foot, pressing against his arch. He could feel its presence with every step. He put his earpiece back in and reopened the communication channel. "Captain Qin," he said into the microphone, deliberately injecting a note of urgency into his voice, "I think I just saw a figure dart past the east side of the back alley. The build was very similar to that thug Ma San who works for Shen Yan. I went to take a look, but lost him." Silence in the earpiece for two seconds. Then Qin Wangshu's voice came through, cold as tempered ice. "Where are you now?" "On my way back now," Lu Chenzhou said, quickening his pace. "What about Gu Mingyuan?" "He left She did not move, only watched him approach. Warm yellow light poured down from overhead, casting a short, stiff shadow at her feet. Her hands were tucked into the pockets of her black trench coat, the shoulder line taut and straight, like a frozen flagpole. Her gaze settled on him. No warmth, no inquiry, just settling. Like the shadowless lamp of an operating table, waiting only for the dissection to begin. Lu Chenzhou adjusted his breathing. The drumbeat in his chest was still pounding, the aftershock of the buzzing ringing deep in his eardrums. He walked over and stopped about three paces away from her. This distance was enough for conversation, and enough for reaction. Qin Wangshu spoke first. "Forty-two seconds." Her voice was flat, flat as an ice sheet. Each word was like a chisel striking ice, sending up fine, sharp splinters. "The exact time you left my line of sight was forty-two seconds," she said. "Communication was interrupted for nineteen seconds. The back alley has no other exits, unless you scaled that two-and-a-half-meter wall." She paused. "But there's no fresh wall dust on your shoe soles." A faint twitch tugged at the corner of Lu Chenzhou's left eye. He controlled it. "I saw a shadow," he said, injecting just the right amount of chagrin into his tone. "Coming out of the cafe's back door, heading deeper into the alley. The gait was familiar, like Shen Yan's enforcer, Ma San. I chased after him to confirm." "Confirmation required forty-two seconds?" "I lost him." "Lost him in a dead-end alley with no branching paths?" "There's a pile of discarded construction materials at the end of the alley. He might have scaled the wall from there." Lu Chenzhou raised his left hand, pressing his thumb against his temple—this action could explain that slight twitch at the corner of his eye. "I checked that pile. There were indeed fresh signs of someone climbing. But the man was already gone." He was lying. Half-truth, half-lie. Ma San might indeed have been nearby tonight—Zhou Zhengping's intelligence had mentioned that Shen Moqing had arranged for someone to tail Gu Mingyuan. But Lu Chenzhou hadn't seen Ma San. What he saw was only that abandoned newspaper kiosk plastered with outdated movie posters, and inside the hidden compartment, that cold, heavy black flash drive. And that ear-piercing buzz. Qin Wangshu did not look away. She watched him, for a full five seconds. The light from the streetlamp condensed into two sharp, bright spots in her pupils, like the crosshairs of a scope. Then she said, "Take off your jacket." Not a suggestion, an order. Lu Chenzhou's heart clenched violently. The flash drive was currently pressed against the sole of his right foot, hidden in a concealed layer beneath the insole. The cold of its metal casing seeped up through the thin insole, like a piece of burning ice. He had to control any instinctive reaction that might draw his gaze to his right foot. He raised his hands and unzipped his jacket. The movement was neither fast nor slow. Exactly the pace a "collaborator" who was suspected by his partner, feeling somewhat humiliated but still choosing to cooperate, should adopt. The sound of the zipper teeth meshing was especially clear in the silent street. *Click, click, click*, like some sort of countdown. He took off the jacket and handed it over. Qin Wangshu took it. Her fingers were cold, brushing against the back of his hand and sending a faint shiver through him. She spread the jacket out, lining side up, laying it flat on the cement ground under the streetlight. Then she crouched down. Her movements were as professional as if she were examining a crime scene. She started with the two outer pockets, sliding her fingers inside, feeling, pressing, sensing the thickness of the lining and the stitching. Nothing. Then the inner pockets, running her fingers all the way down the hidden compartments along the inside of the zipper. Her fingertips paused for half a second at certain spots—those were the concealed layers Lu Chenzhou had sewn himself, places meant for hiding thin tracking devices or miniature recording equipment. But now those layers were empty. Her fingers continued moving, skimming over the breathable mesh under the arms, over the reinforced stitching at the shoulders, over the inconspicuous hidden opening on the back that could be torn open to remove padding. Every possible corner where something could be concealed was examined by those cold, precise fingers. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Except for the faint smell of dust clinging to the jacket itself, and that nearly imperceptible scent from Lu Chenzhou's body—a mix of old book pages and sharp shaving cream. Qin Wangshu's fingers stopped at Qin Wangshu's fingertips ultimately did not probe further. She withdrew her hand, stood up, and patted the nonexistent dust from her knees. "Stand up," she said. Lu Chenzhou complied. "Turn around." He turned, his back to her. This position made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end—she was outside his line of sight, and the flash drive was inside the insole of his right shoe. If she demanded he remove his shoes for inspection… "Raise your arms." He lifted his arms, spreading them wide. Like a prisoner awaiting a pat-down. Qin Wangshu's hands reached around from behind him. They did not touch his body, merely hovered past his waist, under his ribs, across his back. She was checking if he had hidden anything in the layers of clothing beneath his jacket. Her fingers occasionally brushed against the fabric of his shirt, bringing a chill touch. The citrus scent of her perfume became exceptionally clear now. Not the warmth of sweet orange or pomelo, but something colder, sharper—perhaps bitter orange, perhaps bergamot. Clear, cold, distant, like a drop of essential oil mixed into surgical antiseptic. Her fingers stopped about an inch above his belt buckle at the small of his back. That was the kidney area. Also one of the body's most vulnerable zones, and where tension most easily induces sweating. Lu Chenzhou felt his shirt was slightly damp in that spot—not sweat, but a water stain from when his knee pressed against the damp ground while crouching in the back alley earlier. But Qin Wangshu didn't know that. Her fingertips hovered there for a longer moment. Then, she withdrew her hand. "That's enough." Lu Chenzhou lowered his arms and turned around. Qin Wangshu had already retreated to a distance of three paces, her hands tucked back into her trench coat pockets. There was no expression on her face, but the glimmer in her eyes had vanished. Replaced by something deeper, heavier, like silt at the bottom of a frozen lake. "So," she said, "you spent forty-two seconds chasing a shadow that 'might' have been Ma San, 'lost' him in a dead-end alley, and came back empty-handed." "I confirmed that Shen Yan indeed has someone tailing him," Lu Chenzhou said. "That in itself is intelligence." "Intelligence comes at a cost." Qin Wangshu's voice grew colder. "During the forty-two seconds you were out of sight, Gu Mingyuan left through the café's front door. I couldn't watch two directions at once." "Where did he go?" "A black sedan picked him up. The license plate was obscured." She paused. "But the driver was wearing a pair of brown leather gloves. On the left glove, at the webbing between thumb and forefinger, there was a noticeable worn mark." Lu Chenzhou's pupils contracted slightly. Brown leather gloves. Wear at the thumb web. —That was Gu Zhixing's habit. Gu Zhixing wore a pair of custom-made brown lambskin gloves year-round because his left hand had once been injured and needed extra reinforcement at the thumb web. That worn mark was caused by his unconscious rubbing of the glove's edge while deep in thought, unchanged for ten years. Gu Zhixing had personally come to pick up Gu Mingyuan. What did that mean? What was the relationship between Gu Mingyuan and Gu Zhixing? Cousins? Or a more hidden connection? More importantly, was Gu Zhixing's appearance here a coincidence, or… had tonight's "joint operation" been under the watch of many more eyes from the very beginning? "You saw," Qin Wangshu said, "and I saw. But because of your forty-two seconds, we lost the best opportunity to track Gu Mingyuan." She took a step forward, closing the distance to two paces. This distance had already breached the social safety zone; he could smell the faint mint candy on her breath—she sucked on mints when under stress. "Professor Lu, I need a partner who can coordinate in operations, not a 'collaborator' who breaks away on his own with flimsy excuses." She emphasized the word "collaborator" heavily. Lu Chenzhou met her gaze. "Then, Captain Qin," he said, his tone still steady, "what you need—is it truly a partner, or a 'tool' that won't escape your control?" Qin Wangshu's lips tightened. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth from the inside—a small habit she had when thinking. Lu Chenzhou knew it too well. Ten years ago, every time she encountered a thorny case, she would unconsciously bite the inside of her lower lip like that, until she tasted blood. "A tool at least obeys orders," she finally said. "An obedient tool can't uncover the truth," Lu Chenzhou replied. "It can only uncover the 'truth' its "I will truthfully report tonight's operation record," her voice returned to its official monotone. "I will continue following Gu Mingyuan's lead. As for you—" she paused, "your 'value' appears to need re-evaluation." She used the word "value." The exact same word Shen Moqing had used. A faint spasm tightened in Lu Chenzhou's stomach, as if something cold had coiled and constricted there. He understood the weight of that statement—in Qin Wangshu's context, "re-evaluation" meant a downgrade in trust, a reduction in subsequent intelligence sharing, and an exponential increase in difficulty if he wanted to borrow her resources to investigate the old case again. But he did not argue. Arguing would only expose more flaws. "Understood," he said, still those two words. Qin Wangshu looked at him one last time. Her gaze was complex, mingled with scrutiny, disappointment, suspicion, and perhaps a trace of weariness she herself was unwilling to acknowledge. Then she turned and walked toward the inconspicuous gray sedan parked in the shadow of the street corner. Opened the door, got in. The engine started with a low, smooth hum. The headlights came on, two cold white beams slicing through the night, illuminating the wet asphalt ahead. The car slowly pulled away, accelerated, turned the corner, and disappeared at the border between neon lights and darkness. Lu Chenzhou remained standing where he was, unmoving. The night wind grew colder. He bent down, picked up the jacket from the ground, shook it out, and put it back on. The fabric still retained the coolness from Qin Wangshu's fingertips and the scent of her crisp citrus perfume. He zipped it up, turned the collar up to cover the back of his neck. Then he lifted his right foot and gently pressed it against the ground. The USB drive under the insole pressed against his arch, transmitting a solid