The light seeping through the door crack fell on the floor half an inch in front of Lu Chenzhou's feet, like a pale dividing line. His back pressed tightly against the wall, his breathing suppressed to its lowest. His heart beat heavily and slowly in his chest, each thump with purpose. The sound of a key turning in the lock had stopped, but the door did not continue to open. The person outside was also waiting. Lu Chenzhou's gaze swept over the door crack—no figure was visible, only a long, slanting shadow cast on the grimy terrazzo floor of the hallway. The shadow was still, almost merging with the peeling paint on the background wall. A trained person would not rashly enter a space that could be an ambush. They were assessing, listening. He released the handle of the suitcase he had been holding. The suitcase was light, light as an empty shell. Slowly, silently, he raised his right hand, index and middle fingers together, and tapped twice gently on the cold wall. *Tap, tap.* Two knocks, evenly spaced, with moderate force. Not a call for help, not a warning, but a more ambiguous signal—someone is in the room, awake, knows you are outside. The shadow outside the door moved. The door was pushed open slowly, just wide enough for a person to slip in sideways. What entered first was a foot clad in a black tactical boot, followed by half a shoulder wrapped in a dark jacket. A man, around thirty years old, with a crew cut and a square face. His gaze immediately swept toward potential cover inside the room—behind the sofa, beside the bedroom door, the kitchen entrance. Then, his eyes finally landed on Lu Chenzhou, who was pressed against the wall. The two men looked at each other for a second. The corner of Lu Chenzhou's left eye twitched slightly. He recognized this uniform—not a police uniform, but some kind of security company's standard attire, yet the fabric and cut exuded an incongruous sense of expense. Shen Yanqing's people. They came faster than he expected, but Fang Mu was more... restrained than he had anticipated. The crew-cut man did not draw a weapon. He merely raised his right hand, palm outward, making a "stop" gesture. His voice was low, carrying a flat, business-like tone: "Mr. Lu. Mr. Shen Yan requests your presence." "Now?" Lu Chenzhou's voice was equally steady, even carrying a touch of perfectly measured weariness. His fist clenched quietly by his side, nails digging into his palm. The fuse was burning, shortening with every second. "Now," the crew-cut man repeated, stepping aside to make space in the doorway. "The car is downstairs." Lu Chenzhou didn't move. His gaze went past the man, toward the dimly lit hallway outside. At least one more person was stationed at the stairwell corner, their shadow elongated. He withdrew his gaze, settling it on the crew-cut man's face. "What if I said I have an appointment?" "Mr. Shen Yan said," the crew-cut man paused, his tone devoid of emotion, "the place you wish to see, he can take you there. Faster and safer than you finding it yourself." Dust floated in the air, along with the stale smell unique to old apartment buildings—a mix of dampness and countless families' dinner odors. Lu Chenzhou caught it, along with an extremely faint scent of car air freshener wafting from the man, citrus-based, expensive and deliberate. Shen Yanqing had calculated even such details, using "take you" instead of "stop you," using "safe" instead of "threat." But his muscles were screaming. The needle on the dashboard had already slid into the red zone. "Give me two minutes," Lu Chenzhou said, his tone taking on an air of unyielding resolve. "To grab a coat." The crew-cut man looked at him in silence, as if weighing the request. Two seconds later, he gave a slight nod, took half a step back, retreating outside the door again, but did not close it. That pale slit of light still existed. Lu Chenzhou turned and walked toward the lightweight suitcase. He crouched down and opened the lid. Inside were only a few changes of clothes, a hardcover notebook, and the old photo album Zhou Zhengping had left him, carefully wrapped in old newspaper. His fingers brushed over the album's rough cover, pausing for a moment. Then, he quickly pulled out the notebook, tore off the last blank page, and fished out a nearly out-of-ink ballpoint pen from the bottom of the suitcase. The pen spun once between his fingers; he unconsciously uncapped it, then snapped it shut with a click. His movements were swift; the pen tip scratched across the paper, leaving behind After finishing all this, he picked up the suitcase, pulled a gray thin coat from the simple coat rack behind the door, and draped it over his arm. Turning, he walked toward the pale light at the doorway. The crew-cut man watched him come out, his gaze lingering for a moment on the coat over his arm and the suitcase, but he said nothing. At the stairwell landing, another man in identical attire appeared. One before, one behind, they flanked Lu Chenzhou, silently heading downstairs. Footsteps echoed in the empty stairwell. Lu Chenzhou’s fist was still clenched, but for a different purpose now. Roots were digging downward, into darker, harder soil. A soldier before a charge needed to know where the battlefield was. Parked outside the building wasn’t the black sedan Shen Yanqing usually used, as he had expected, but a deep gray business vehicle with heavily tinted windows. The body bore no markings, clean as if it had just rolled off the assembly line. The crew-cut man slid open the middle-row door. Lu Chenzhou bent down and climbed in. The interior was spacious. The leather seats gave off the distinctive smell of a new car, mixed with that citrus-scented air freshener. Besides the driver, there was another person sitting in the back row. That man wore a well-tailored dark suit, a slim laptop resting on his knees. The light from the screen illuminated the lower half of his face, his lips pressed into a precise, straight line. Hearing the movement, he looked up and adjusted the gold-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose. His gaze from behind the lenses landed precisely on Lu Chenzhou’s face. It was Gu Zhixing. “Mr. Lu.” Gu Zhixing spoke, his tone steady, his diction precise, as if presiding over a legal advisory meeting. “Disturbing you so late at night was unavoidable. Mr. Shen Yan hopes that I accompany you for the upcoming... visit. There are some procedural matters I can assist in communicating to avoid unnecessary misunderstandings.” Lu Chenzhou sat down on the seat opposite him, placing the suitcase beside his feet. The sliding door slowly closed, sealing off the last traces of sound and light from outside. The engine started, almost noiseless. “Procedure?” Lu Chenzhou repeated the word, his voice sounding somewhat low in the enclosed compartment. “What procedure is needed to visit the widow of a deceased colleague?” Gu Zhixing’s fingers gently slid across the touchpad as he adjusted his glasses. “Mrs. Li Suzhen’s mental state has always been rather unstable. The state-owned enterprise residential compound where she lives also has relatively complicated security conditions. Mr. Shen Yan is acting out of consideration for your safety, as well as respect for the family of Comrade Zhou Zhengping.” He paused, his gaze lifting from behind the lenses to meet Lu Chenzhou’s directly. “Of course, if you insist on asking about some... historical issues, having a third party present might also help avoid stimulating Mrs. Li, ensuring the conversation remains within a controllable range.” The car left the old residential compound and merged into the sparse late-night traffic. Streetlights swept past the windows, casting alternating stripes of light and shadow across Gu Zhixing’s face. Lu Chenzhou leaned back into the seat, his gaze fixed on the cityscape speeding past outside the window. The corner of his left eye twitched again. Shen Yanqing wasn’t trying to stop him; he wanted to control the process and content of the information Lu Chenzhou obtained. Gu Zhixing was that controller, the fuse ensuring the “conversation remained within a controllable range.” “Mr. Shen Yan has gone to great trouble,” Lu Chenzhou said, his tone unreadable. “Then... I’ll trouble Attorney Gu.” Gu Zhixing gave a slight nod, refocusing his attention on the computer screen. His fingers began rhythmically tapping the keyboard, emitting soft, crisp clicks. The compartment was left with only the low hum of the air conditioning and that unnervingly regular sound of keystrokes. Lu Chenzhou closed his eyes. Not to rest, but to calibrate his direction in the darkness. The fish had seen the net closing in, but the mesh size, the net’s material, the speed of the draw—these were the keys determining whether escape was possible. He was going to meet an old woman utterly destroyed by fear and surveillance. And now, the monitor sat opposite him, elegantly adjusting his glasses, ready to “assist in communication” for him. The car headed toward the older, more silent district on the other side of the city. The night was thick, like ink that wouldn’t dissolve. In the shadows by his side, Lu Chenzhou’s clenched fist slowly relaxed. The light seeping through the door crack fell on the ground half an inch in front of Lu Chenzhou’s feet, like a pale dividing line. He A hand reached in, fumbling for the light switch on the wall. The fingers were thick and stubby, knuckles prominent, skin coarse. It wasn't the pampered hand of someone like Gu Zhixing, nor the trained hand of a police officer. It was a hand accustomed to rough labor. The light came on. A murky yellow light flooded the room, making Lu Chenzhou squint. Two men stood in the doorway. The one in front was short and stocky, with a crew cut, wearing a faded navy-blue work jacket, his face expressionless. The one behind was tall and thin, wearing a peaked cap pulled low over his eyes, his face obscured. The stocky man's gaze swept the room and landed on Lu Chenzhou. He sized him up for a couple of seconds, then spoke, his voice hoarse with a thick local accent. "Lu Chenzhou?" Lu Chenzhou didn't answer. He relaxed his shoulder from the wall, stood up straight, and met the man's gaze calmly. "You are." Not a question. A statement. The stocky man grinned, revealing teeth yellowed by smoke. "Someone wants to see you. Come with us." "Who." "You'll know when you see him." Lu Chenzhou didn't move. His gaze shifted past the stocky man's shoulder, looking down the hallway outside. It was empty, no one else. But there was a smell in the air, a faint odor of machine oil mixed with cheap tobacco. Brought in by these two men. "And if I don't go?" The stocky man didn't speak. The tall, thin man behind him shifted half a step forward, his right hand in his jacket pocket, bulging. The stocky man raised a hand, making a pressing-down gesture, and the thin man stopped. "Mr. Lu," the stocky man's tone didn't change, still that flat, monotonous pitch, "we're not here to invite you to dinner. Don't make this difficult for us." Lu Chenzhou looked at him. A few seconds of silence. In the room, only the old fluorescent light's ballast emitted a continuous, low hum. The sound wormed its way into the ears, like tiny insects crawling inside. Lu Chenzhou suddenly smiled. A faint smile, a slight tug at the corner of his mouth, no warmth in his eyes. "Fine," he said. "I'll go with you." The stocky man seemed slightly surprised but quickly resumed his expressionless face. He stepped aside, clearing the doorway. "After you." Lu Chenzhou bent down, picked up the suitcase by his feet. The suitcase was light, so light it felt unreal. He walked to the doorway. The stocky man and the thin man flanked him, one in front, one behind, heading toward the stairwell. Their footsteps echoed in the empty corridor. Down the stairs, around the corner, the building entrance was just ahead. Outside, the sky was completely dark. The dim yellow light from the streetlamps filtered in, casting blurry patches of light on the ground. Lu Chenzhou stopped at the entrance. "Where's the car?" The stocky man pointed to the roadside. A silver-gray van, very old, its body splattered with mud, windows tinted dark. The engine was still running, the tailpipe emitting faint white vapor that dissipated quickly in the cold air. "Get in," the stocky man said. Lu Chenzhou didn't move. He turned his head, looking at the stocky man. "Are you Shen Yanqing's people, or Zhao Tieshan's?" For the first time, an expression appeared on the stocky man's face—a flicker of surprise, so subtle it was almost imperceptible. But he quickly suppressed it, his voice turning cold. "Get in." Lu Chenzhou nodded. He asked no more, carrying his suitcase toward the van. The thin man hurried ahead to pull open the sliding door. Inside was pitch black, impossible to see. Lu Chenzhou bent down and climbed in. The stocky man followed, sitting in the passenger seat. The thin man shut the door, walked around to the other side, and got into the driver's seat. The moment the door closed, a strong smell of smoke and sweat assaulted his nostrils. The cabin was cramped, the back seat piled with cardboard boxes and tool bags. Lu Chenzhou was squeezed in the middle, hard box edges pressing against him on both sides. The engine roared, the vehicle started, and slowly pulled away from the curb. The street scene outside the window began to recede. Streetlamps, shops, pedestrians—everything blurred into flowing patches of color in the murky light. Lu Chenzhou leaned back against the seat, closed his eyes. He began mapping in his mind. The vehicle turned left, onto a main road. The speed wasn't fast, about forty kilometers per hour. First traffic light, straight through Outside the car window stretched an empty lot. In the distance, the outlines of a few low-rise factory buildings stood dark and unlit. Rusted steel bars and cement prefab panels were piled on the ground, with weeds sprouting from the gaps, swaying in the night breeze. This seemed to be some abandoned industrial area. The tall, thin man got out first, came around, and opened the side door. Cold wind rushed in, carrying the smell of rust and dust. Lu Chenzhou stepped out with the suitcase, his feet landing on the gravel ground, making a faint crunching sound. The short, stocky man pointed toward a factory building in the distance. "Over there." The three of them walked toward the building. Their footsteps sounded exceptionally clear in the vast, empty space. The factory entrance consisted of two double-hung metal sheet doors, one of which was slightly ajar, a sliver of weak light leaking through the crack. The stocky man pushed the door open. Inside, the space was vast, with a high ceiling. The steel roof trusses were faintly visible in the darkness. The floor was concrete, covered in a thick layer of dust. Discarded machinery and equipment were piled against the walls, covered with tarps. In the center of the factory floor stood an old table with two chairs. On the table sat a rechargeable emergency lamp, its harsh white light illuminating a small circle. A man sat behind the table. He wore a dark overcoat, sitting upright, his hands clasped together on the tabletop. The light shone from below, casting heavy shadows across his face, obscuring his features. But Lu Chenzhou recognized that silhouette, that posture. Gu Zhixing. He looked up at Lu Chenzhou. His face was expressionless. The lenses of his gold-rimmed glasses reflected the light, making his eyes unreadable. "Mr. Lu," Gu Zhixing spoke, his voice steady, betraying no emotion. "Have a seat." Lu Chenzhou didn't move. He stood at the entrance, about five meters from the table, his gaze sweeping over Gu Zhixing, the table, and the dark corners of the factory. The stocky man and the tall, thin man stood behind him, one on each side, blocking the retreat. "Attorney Gu," Lu Chenzhou said. "Discussing business? This late? In such a remote place?" The corner of Gu Zhixing's mouth lifted slightly, a faint, almost polite smile. "Some things aren't suitable to be said in places that are too bright." He gestured to the chair opposite him. "Sit. Let's talk." Lu Chenzhou walked over and sat down on the chair. It was metal, very cold, the chill biting through his trousers. He placed the suitcase by his feet, rested his hands on his knees, and looked at Gu Zhixing. Gu Zhixing looked back at him. An old wooden table separated them, its surface marked by deep scratches and stains. The emergency lamp's light danced across their faces, flickering between light and shadow. "Li Suzhen," Gu Zhixing suddenly spoke, his tone as flat as if discussing the weather. "Zhou Zhengping's widow. You went to see her this afternoon." Lu Chenzhou said nothing. "You brought her flowers," Gu Zhixing continued. "White chrysanthemums. You sat for a while on the stone bench downstairs from her apartment, cleaned off the dust, found a button." He paused slightly, his eyes narrowing behind the lenses. "Then you left." Lu Chenzhou remained silent. "Why did you go to see her?" Gu Zhixing asked. "To pay respects," Lu Chenzhou said. "Just to pay respects?" "What else?" Gu Zhixing leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on the tabletop, his fingertips tapping lightly on the wood. "Mr. Lu, we're not children—" The sound of the lock turning stopped. Lu Chenzhou's back was pressed against the wall, his breathing held to a fine thread. The person outside didn't push the door open immediately, as if listening for any movement inside. The motion-activated light in the hallway went out, darkness flooding the narrow space like ink. His left hand found the edge of the shoe cabinet by the door—cold metal, coated in a thin layer of dust. His right hand hung by his side, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing together, as if disassembling a non-existent pen. A twitch started at the corner of his left eye. His muscles were taut like fully drawn bowstrings. Every fiber screamed, warning him that danger was right outside the door. But he didn't move. All his blood seemed to have rushed to his feet, making his soles numb, yet his mind was abnormally clear. A fish seeing the net closing in—he had to gauge the size of the mesh and whether he could tear a hole through the weakest point before it fully tightened. The key turned gently in the lock "Mr. Lu." Gu Zhixing spoke, his voice steady, carrying his habitual, precise politeness. "I apologize for disturbing you so late at night. But there are some matters that require confirmation with you in person." Lu Chenzhou didn't move, nor did he speak. His gaze passed over Gu Zhixing, landing on that crack in the door. There was someone else outside, perhaps more than one. The only case he had was at his feet, light, so light it felt like a trap. "Li Suzhen." When Gu Zhixing uttered this name, his tone held no change, as if reciting a document number. "Zhou Zhengping's widow. You went to see her just now." Not a question. Lu Chenzhou's breathing rhythm didn't change, but something within his chest sank. He remembered the black monitoring device in Li Suzhen's living room, the red light blinking rhythmically, like an unblinking eye. So that wasn't a toy Shen Yanqing used to intimidate the old woman—it was real-time transmission. The moment he pressed the doorbell, the image had already been transmitted to some screen. "I was just paying a visit," Lu Chenzhou said, his voice calmer than he expected. "Teacher Zhou helped me when he was alive." "A visit." Gu Zhixing repeated the word, the corner of his mouth seeming to curve slightly, but the arc was too small, almost invisible. "Brought a bunch of white chrysanthemums, stood by the stone bench in the flower bed downstairs for ten minutes, cleaned off the dust, arranged the flowers, stood in silent tribute. A very standard mourning ritual. If that were all, of course there would be no problem." He took half a step forward. His leather shoe made a faint creak on the floorboard. The wooden floors of the old house, some parts already warped. "But you found a button in the crevice of the stone bench," Gu Zhixing continued, his pace unhurried, each word like a meticulously polished component. "A rusted, old-fashioned button stamped with the words 'Safe Production'. You cleaned it, placed it in the center of the stone bench, arranged it with the flowers. Then, you looked up, glanced at the window of Li Suzhen's apartment—second floor, the one on the left, curtains drawn. You paused there for about three seconds, then turned and left." Gu Zhixing paused. "Can you tell me, Mr. Lu," he adjusted his glasses, his eyes behind the lenses fixed on Lu Chenzhou. "What were you thinking during those three seconds?" The room was quiet. In the distance, the sound of a night vehicle passing by, muffled as if through a layer of water. Lu Chenzhou could smell the faint scent of cologne on Gu Zhixing, mixed with the smell of paper and ink—the scent of a lawyer. But beneath that was something else, something colder, like the metallic tang of metal at low temperature. "I was thinking," Lu Chenzhou began, his voice not loud, "whether Teacher Zhou often sat on that stone bench smoking back then, watching the children play downstairs. That button might have been his, or maybe another worker's. Not important. What's important is that someone remembers that place used to be a state-owned factory, someone remembers that the words 'Safe Production' weren't always just a slogan." He paused. "As for the window of Li Suzhen's apartment—" Lu Chenzhou raised his eyes, meeting Gu Zhixing's gaze directly. "I was just checking to see if there was anyone behind the curtains. I didn't want my visit to cause trouble for her. It seems now my worry was unnecessary." Gu Zhixing smiled. This time it was a real smile, though the mirth didn't reach his eyes. "You are cautious," he said. "But caution sometimes makes people miss key information. For example, Li Suzhen actually really wanted to talk to you. When she looked at you through the peephole, her fingers were trembling—not from fear, but from excitement. She recognized you. She knows who you are, and she knows why you came." The corner of Lu Chenzhou's left eye twitched again. "But she didn't dare open the door," Gu Zhixing continued, his tone like he was analyzing a case. "Because of that device in her living room, you saw it. That's not ordinary surveillance; it has two-way audio. Every word she says would be heard by someone. So she swallowed all her words, only directed you to the stone bench. That was the old place she and Zhou Zhengping used to pass messages—if Zhou Zhengping had anything he didn't dare bring home, he'd hide it in the brick crevice beneath the stone bench. She thought you knew." The air froze for a few seconds. Lu Chenzhou's fist clenched, nails digging into his palm. The fuse was burning "Li Suzhen went downstairs to the stone bench five minutes after you left." Gu Zhixing said, holding the evidence bag up between them. "She wanted to retrieve this item and give it to you. But just as she bent down, she saw my car parked at the street corner. She panicked, shoved the paper back into the brick crevice, turned, and ran back upstairs. A pity, she was too slow." He gently shook the evidence bag. "My people retrieved this item after she returned home. For procedural compliance, we did not open it, only conducted an external examination. The paper material is the kind of letter paper common in the nineties. Charring is concentrated in the lower right corner, likely from someone trying to burn it, but they stopped after only a small part was burnt. The pen handwriting is blue-black, the ink has bled, but a few key words can still be made out." Gu Zhixing paused, looking at Lu Chenzhou. "'Review Committee'," he said. "'Gu Zhixing'. And 'erase'. That's it." Lu Chenzhou's breath caught for a beat. *Erase.* That was the word Li Suzhen had screamed before breaking down behind the door. *They* know they are here to review, to erase. And now, this word appeared on a piece of paper snatched from the fire, listed alongside Gu Zhixing's name. "The paper fragment was left by Zhou Zhengping," Gu Zhixing continued, his tone returning to that icy objectivity. "According to Li Suzhen's subsequent confession—of course, after we 'assisted' her recollection—Zhou Zhengping hid this thing under the stone bench one week before his death. He told Li Suzhen that if one day, a man named Lu Chenzhou came looking for him, she should hand this over. If Lu Chenzhou didn't come, or if someone else came, she should burn it." "Why didn't she burn it?" Lu Chenzhou asked. "Because she was afraid," Gu Zhixing said. "Burning things creates smoke, leaves a smell. She was afraid of being detected by surveillance. She also held onto a sliver of hope, hoping you would really come, hoping this thing could be of use. A woman's mind always has an extra layer of softness compared to a man's. This softness is often fatal at critical moments." He put the evidence bag away, slipping it back into an inner pocket. "Now, this item is in my hands," Gu Zhixing said. "And Li Suzhen, for attempting to pass materials possibly involving state secrets to a suspect, has been placed under our 'protection'. Her emotional state is unstable; she may need a period of quiet recuperation. Of course, all of this is a legally compliant procedure." Lu Chenzhou stared at him, saying nothing. The fist clenched with purpose. The roots dug deeper. He knew what Gu Zhixing was saying—Li Suzhen had been... The door closed behind him with a dull thud. Lu Chenzhou stood in the dim hallway, the motion-sensor light long extinguished. He leaned back against the cold wall, his breath sinking slowly in his chest like a stone falling into a deep pool. The corner of his left eye began to twitch, a subtle, uncontrollable tremor. He raised his hand, pressing the knuckle forcefully against it, the skin under his fingertip icy cold. Li Suzhen's final words still echoed in his ears, each word serrated. "They know they are here to review..." "...to erase." *Erase.* The word was like a rusty key, inserted into a door in his memory that had never been opened. The 1996 group photo, the Chief Engineer Lin Shouye who had been technically erased. Zhou Zhengping's death. The warning on the back of Gu Zhixing's photo. And now, a "Committee" was added. The endpoint of all clues pointed to the same action—*erase*. Not conceal, not falsify, but thorough, clean, traceless erasure. He turned and walked downstairs. Footsteps echoed in the empty stairwell, each step landing on years of accumulated dust. That hallway smell, a mixture of damp, mildew, and cheap disinfectant, shifted in intensity in his nostrils as he moved. Second floor. First floor. The rusted hinges of the unit door let out a piercing groan. He pushed the door open, and the afternoon sunlight slammed down on him, making him squint. The flower bed was just to the right. That stone bench, the place Li Suzhen said Zhou Zhengping often sat in his lifetime. Made of poured concrete, its surface weathered into rough granules, dark green moss growing along the edges. A few cigarette butts were scattered around the stone bench, long rotted by rain, the cigarette paper stuck in the brick crevices like faded scabs. Lu Chenzhou walked over. He didn't sit down immediately. His gaze He held his breath. His fingers carefully pried and dug, dirt sifting down. The object was wedged deep, almost embedded at the bottom of the crack. He exerted a little force, his nail scraping across the metal surface, producing a faint *zila* sound. A button. Almost completely rusted, copper-green corrosion spots covered its original color, but the edge still allowed the recognition of faint, raised characters — "Safe Production." The kind of heavy, plain metal button found on old-style work uniforms, belonging to an era long gone. Lu Chenzhou cradled it in his palm. Rust stained his fingerprints. The button was light, yet heavy. He could almost see it: many years ago, Zhou Zhengping sitting here, perhaps just off work, perhaps merely troubled. Lighting a cheap cigarette, smoke curling around him, unconsciously rubbing the button on his uniform. Then one day, the button fell off, rolled into the stone crevice, buried by soil and time. And its owner, much later, in another way, was also "erased." He took out that bouquet of white chrysanthemums. The petals were already somewhat wilted, edges curled, but that faint, bittersweet fragrance remained. He placed the flowers in the center of the stone bench, gently setting the rusted button beside the bouquet. No incense, no wine, no words. Only a button, a bouquet of flowers, a living man, and a dead man, in this forgotten corner, completing a silent dialogue. Sunlight slanted down, refracting faint specks of light off the rust on the button, like an eye finally closing. Lu Chenzhou sat down on the stone bench. The chill of the concrete seeped through his trousers. He clasped his hands, elbows resting on his knees, gaze fixed on the button. The chaotic clues in his mind — Gu Zhixing, Shen Moqing, the Committee, erasure — all grew quiet now. Replacing them was a vaster, more suffocating emptiness. He had come here to bid farewell, and also to take. To offer solace to the departed, to take clues. But now, sitting beside this button, he suddenly realized he might never truly complete this farewell. Because every "farewell" was tearing open another scar, confirming the thoroughness and cruelty of the "erasure." Zhou Zhengping was erased. Lin Shouye was erased. Li Suzhen lived under the red glow of surveillance; in a sense, she too was being slowly erased. And him? These past seven years, weren't they another form of "erasure"? His name nailed to the roster of sinners, his past altered, his future stripped away. He struggled to crawl out, thinking he was pursuing the truth, when in reality, he was just digging futilely in ruins that had been plowed over and sown with lies, time and again. The roots sank deeper. This thought emerged without warning. Not anger, not sorrow, but a nearly cold confirmation. His roots had long since sunk into this rotten soil, entwined with all the erased people, the altered history, the fear of surveillance. He couldn't pull them out; pulling them out meant death. He could only sink deeper, darker, until he touched the foul, bloody pool at the very bottom. And then? He didn't know. He only knew that sitting here now, holding this rusted button, he saw his own situation — and the cost — more clearly than ever before. Li Suzhen's fear, Zhou Zhengping's death, Lin Shouye's disappearance, were all part of that cost. And if he continued his investigation, he would only make the list of that cost grow longer and longer. But he couldn't stop. His fist clenched with purpose. Nails dug into his palm, a dull pain spreading. He opened his hand; several crescent-shaped white marks remained on his palm, slowly turning red. Couldn't stop. Not because the hatred burned so fiercely, but because if even he stopped, those erased people would truly vanish from the world's memory as if they had never existed. This button, this bouquet, this stone bench — all would turn to dust in the roar of some future demolition. He had to remember. He had to prove that someone remembered. His gaze lifted from the button, unconsciously sweeping the surroundings. Dilapidated apartment blocks, dust-gray windows, old clothes swaying on laundry lines in the breeze. Then, his eyes froze. Fixed on the street corner diagonally opposite. There was a black sedan parked there. A very ordinary Volkswagen, windows tinted dark. Half a minute ago, there had been no car there. Now, it sat quietly, like a beast with its claws and fangs sheathed. Lu Chenzhou's breathing rhythm didn't change. But every muscle in his body tensed instantly, adjusting to a state ready to exert force. He didn’t immediately shift his gaze away; instead, he observed more carefully. The car was facing this direction. There was someone in the driver’s seat—the outline was blurry, but it was clearly a man wearing a hat. The passenger seat... was empty. And the back seat? The dark tint completely blocked the view. Was it a coincidence? A visitor, parked temporarily. He slowly stood up, his movements natural, as if his legs had simply gone numb from sitting too long. He bent down, picked up the button from the stone bench, wiped off the fresh dust on it, and put it in his pocket. Then, he picked up the bouquet of white chrysanthemums. He turned and walked toward the building entrance. His pace was steady, neither fast nor slow. But the corner of his eye remained fixed on that black sedan. Five steps. Ten steps. Just as he was about to step into the shadow of the entrance— The passenger-side window of the sedan silently lowered by an inch. Just one inch. But it was enough. Enough for a reflection to flash across the surface of a lens—not the car window glass, but a smaller, more focused lens. A telephoto lens. The lens adjusted its angle, aiming at him, or rather, at the building entrance he was about to enter. The pressure had materialized. No longer speculation, no longer worry. It was a confirmed, cold presence, carrying the intent of surveillance. Shen Yanqing’s people. Or Gu Zhixing’s people. In any case, it was the people of “them.” They knew he had come, knew he was looking for Li Suzhen. Now, they were waiting for him to come out, or judging whether they needed to go in. Lu Chenzhou’s steps did not pause. He walked into the building entrance, and the dimness instantly swallowed him. But he did not go upstairs. He stood with his back against the cold tile wall, in the shadow just inside the door, holding his breath. His ears caught the sounds from outside. The engine didn’t start. No car doors opened. Only the faint noise of the distant city and the hum of his own blood flowing nearby. Time crawled past, second by second. His mind was racing. What was the other party’s purpose? Surveillance, confirmation, or preparation to intervene? Had Li Suzhen’s earlier breakdown already triggered some kind of alarm? Leaving now was the safest option. The black sedan would follow him, but at least Li Suzhen would be temporarily safe. He could shake off the tail, just as he had many times before. But... He touched the button in his pocket. The rusted edge pressed against his fingertip. If he left now, Li Suzhen’s words—“They know. They’re here to review, to erase.”—might become the last words she ever spoke. And that fragment, “Gu… that person, when he signed, his hand didn’t even shake,” would forever remain just a fragment, sinking into her mind, which was about to be completely destroyed by fear. Some opportunities come only once. Missed, and they’re gone forever. Lu Chenzhou looked up at the stairs leading to the second floor. Dim, steep, like a passageway leading into an abyss. He knew the risks of going back. The red light of the surveillance camera behind the door. The lens at the street corner outside. Li Suzhen’s mental state, teetering on the edge of collapse. Any slight stimulus could cause the situation to spiral out of control. But he also knew that some truths lay right at the edge of losing control. The fuse was burning shorter and shorter. He hesitated no longer. He turned and took the stairs two at a time, rushing toward the second floor. He kept his footsteps as quiet as possible, but in the silent stairwell, they still sounded abrupt. He returned to the door of Room 201. The security door was tightly shut, the peephole dark. He raised his hand and knocked. Not the gentle tap from before, but three short, forceful knocks with a clear rhythm. Thump. Thump. Thump. Dead silence inside. He lowered his voice, speaking rapidly, each word like a bullet shot through the door crack: “Auntie Li, it’s me. There’s a car watching outside. I’ll make it quick—what is the full name of the ‘Committee’? What did Gu Zhixing sign?” No response. Only a muffled, stifled sob, as if someone had covered their mouth, and the dull sound of something being knocked over came from inside. Lu Chenzhou pressed his hand against the door panel, the cold of the iron sheet seeping through his palm. “Auntie Li!” His voice grew more urgent, but he