The long sigh in the attic had not yet fully settled when Zhou Zhengping's withered hand pressed down on the sketch covered in arrows and times. He raised his eyes, his turbid pupils like two dust-covered glass beads under the dim yellow light. "Seventy-two hours," he repeated, his voice as dry as sandpaper rubbing. "Counting from tomorrow at dawn?" Lu Chenzhou nodded, the corner of his left eye twitching almost imperceptibly. He pushed three brand-new phone cards across the table, the plastic edges making a faint *hiss* against the wooden surface. "Four in the morning, the operation begins." He paused. "Qin Wangshu is responsible for perimeter surveillance and police movements. Old Zhou, you go to the backup location as planned and stand by to receive." Qin Wangshu didn't speak. She stood up, walked to the window, and lifted a corner of the heavy curtain. The late-night street was empty, only the distant streetlights casting a pallid glow. She bit the inside of her lower lip, holding for a few seconds before releasing it. "Zhao Tieshan spoke to me tonight," she said without turning around, her voice kept very low. "He said the Municipal Bureau has already noticed 'certain individuals' privately connecting and investigating 'old matters unrelated to the current case.' He told me to 'mind the limits.'" "Your access?" Lu Chenzhou asked. "Still usable." Qin Wangshu let go of the curtain, her face already restored to that professional calm as she turned. "But every use leaves a record. He can see it anytime." Zhou Zhengping rotated the old enamel teacup in his hand. The *tap, tap* of the rim against the table was particularly clear in the silence. "That means..." the old man swallowed, "...we only have one chance. Pull the data, they'll know. Move on someone, they'll know. Enter a place we shouldn't—" He stopped, not finishing. Lu Chenzhou took a palm-sized black metal box from his pocket and placed it on the table. He opened the lid. Inside were a few unremarkable small tools: a modified pen with a miniature camera, a button-sized signal jammer, and a rusty old-fashioned key. "The Shen Group has a logistics warehouse in the western suburbs of the city," Lu Chenzhou said, picking up the key, his fingertip rubbing the rough rust. "It was renovated three years ago. On the surface, it's ordinary storage. The second basement level is a climate-controlled archive. Old Zhou, if there are any paper backups left of those original 'Kangjian Pharmaceutical' contracts you handled back then, that's the most likely place." Zhou Zhengping stared at the key, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Are you sure... the lock is still there?" "Not sure." Lu Chenzhou closed the metal box. "But it's the only lead. Qin Wangshu checked the building blueprints and approval records for the last five years. In the renovation plans for that warehouse, the second basement level is labeled 'Equipment Room.' But the power consumption data shows the climate control system and security level there far exceed a normal equipment room." Qin Wangshu walked back to the table and took a tablet from her bag. The screen lit up, displaying a satellite map overlaid with a thermal imaging scan. She enlarged a specific area with her fingertip: "Six patrol posts around the warehouse perimeter, rotating every two hours. Inside..." She swiped the screen, pulling up another blurry blueprint. "This is the original design from three years ago. But based on recent power flow analysis, they've added at least two sets of motion sensor arrays. Locations here, and here." Her fingertip tapped on two intersecting corridor nodes. "Can we bypass them?" Lu Chenzhou asked. "Can't." Qin Wangshu shook her head. "The sensors cover all main passages. The only blind spot—" she zoomed in on a corner of the blueprint, "—is the maintenance access for the air conditioning ducts. But the duct diameter is only forty centimeters, and the entrance is seven meters up on the warehouse's outer wall." Lu Chenzhou was silent for a few seconds. He picked up the rusty key, spinning it once around his finger. The metal edge pressed against his skin, cold and hard. "Where does the maintenance access lead?" "Directly to the air conditioning equipment room on the second basement level," Qin Wangshu said, pulling up another cross-sectional diagram. "The equipment room has independent access control, requiring an employee card and password. But I intercepted their maintenance company's communications from last month. The password changes monthly, but the pattern is simple—the current month's date plus the last three digits of the warehouse number." Zhou Zhengping suddenly coughed. He covered his The plastic sheet was unfolded, revealing several photocopied papers with curled edges and blurred handwriting. The top sheet was a handwritten meeting minutes, dated August 17, 1996. In the list of attendees, the names "Shen Yanqing" and "Li Guohua" appeared side by side, followed by a blacked-out codename. The minutes were brief, only a few lines: "Project advancement needs acceleration. Funding channel confirmed. Target replacement Fang Mu (Lu) pending approval. Public opinion guidance team to commence simultaneously." Lu Chenzhou's breath hitched for a moment. He took the paper, his fingertips brushing over the blurred ink dot on the character "Lu". The paper was brittle, its edges making faint crackling sounds under his touch. The smell of printer ink mixed with the musty odor of the plastic sheet sealed for years seeped into his nostrils. "This is..." he began, his voice lower than usual. "The record of an internal briefing meeting from the special task force back then." Zhou Zhengping averted his gaze, staring at the empty enamel mug on the table. "I only got a copy. The original... should have been destroyed long ago." He paused. "But this thing, plus the funding agreement, plus what we dug up from Shen Yan's line—is it enough?" Lu Chenzhou didn't answer. He carefully placed the paper back on the plastic sheet, wrapped it up again, and pushed it back in front of Zhou Zhengping. "You keep it," he said. "If we get separated, if I fail to get what's in the warehouse—this is the final trump card." Qin Wangshu glanced at her wristwatch. "Four hours left," she said. "We need to go over the action nodes one last time." The three of them gathered around the table again. *** 3:50 AM, western suburbs. The night wind carried the distinct smell of rust and machine oil from the industrial zone, sweeping across the empty road. Lu Chenzhou pressed himself against the shadow of a derelict factory building, his black tracksuit almost blending into the wall. He raised his wrist; the green dot on the miniature screen showed the locations of Qin Wangshu and Zhou Zhengping—one in a surveillance vehicle five hundred meters away, the other at a backup rendezvous point two kilometers away. A faint static crackled in his earpiece, followed by Qin Wangshu's hushed voice: "Patrol car just passed. Next round in forty-two minutes. The wall directly ahead of you, the infrared camera has a fifteen-second blind spot switching interval. See that drainpipe?" Lu Chenzhou looked up. Fifty meters ahead, atop a three-meter-high wall, a rusted galvanized drainpipe slanted towards the ground. Behind the wall was the building disguised as a logistics warehouse. A red warning light on the roof flashed rhythmically in the night, like a slowly blinking eye. "Got it," he whispered. "Fifteen seconds," Qin Wangshu's voice was steady. "From your position, sprint to the wall, climb, vault over, land, enter the shadow of the warehouse's western loading zone—the entire sequence must be completed within fifteen seconds. One second over, and the guard in the eastern watchtower will see an anomalous moving heat signature on the monitor." Lu Chenzhou took a deep breath. Icy air filled his lungs, carrying the taste of dust and iron. He flexed his finger joints, his gaze fixed on the top of the wall. "Now," Qin Wangshu said. He shot forward like a bowstring released at full draw. The sound of his feet hitting the concrete ground was swallowed by the night wind. Ten meters, twenty, thirty—the drainpipe rapidly enlarged before his eyes. He leaped, his hands grabbing the cold metal pipe, using the momentum to pull himself up, knees bracing against protrusions on the wall. Two kicks, and his body was already over the wall. Inside the wall was a loading zone stacked with shipping containers. Several high-power searchlights bathed the ground in a stark white light, but the gaps between the containers cast deep, bottomless shadows. He curled his body upon landing, rolling into the nearest shadow. His back hit the cold steel plate of a container with a dull thud. Qin Wangshu's breathing sounded in his earpiece. "Good. Twenty meters to your left, behind that blue container, there's an access door. The lock is an old mechanical one; I've already jammed the nearby electronic sensors. You have two minutes to pick it." Lu Chenzhou moved along the container. The ground beneath his feet was stained with black grease, feeling sticky. He circled behind the blue container and indeed saw a rust-stained green iron door. The keyhole was clogged with dust and cobwebs. He took two slender metal probes from the tool pouch at his waist. As his fingertips touched the inner lock Lu Chenzhou slipped inside, closing the door softly behind him. Darkness instantly swallowed him. He took out a miniature flashlight, clamped it between his teeth, and the beam illuminated the steep wooden staircase ahead. The edges of the steps were crumbling, the cement flaked away to reveal the rusting rebar within. He descended step by step, his footfalls echoing in the enclosed space, deliberately muted. After two flights, a heavy fire door blocked his path. An electronic lock panel was set into the door, its screen dark. “We’re here,” Qin Wangshu’s voice came through the earpiece. “Behind this door is the second basement level corridor. The electronic lock’s backup battery is still maintaining the access log. I can’t hack it remotely without triggering an anomaly flag. You need to get in physically—there’s a maintenance hatch above the door hinge. It leads directly to a ventilation duct in the corridor ceiling.” Lu Chenzhou looked up. The flashlight beam illuminated the area above the door frame. Sure enough, there was a roughly thirty-centimeter square metal cover plate, secured by four screws. He took out a miniature screwdriver, stood on his toes, and began unscrewing them. The grating screech of metal on metal was jarringly loud in the silence. He was halfway through unscrewing the fourth screw when Qin Wangshu’s sharp, hurried intake of breath came through the earpiece. “Chenzhou.” Her voice was pressed low, her words rapid. “Change of plans. At the warehouse’s main entrance… just now, two black sedans pulled in. License plates are from the Municipal Bureau. I checked the intersection camera feed. The lead is Zhao Tieshan.” Lu Chenzhou’s hand froze. The tip of the screwdriver rested against the screw head, trembling faintly. “They shouldn’t be here now,” Qin Wangshu continued, the sound of rapid keyboard taps in the background. “There’s no scheduled inspection tonight, no official notification of any joint operation. Zhao Tieshan came directly, brought at least eight men.” She paused for a second, her voice tightening further. “They’re at the main gate, dealing with security… they’re going in.” Lu Chenzhou looked up, staring at the heavy fire door. Behind it was the archives repository, the very place Zhao Tieshan might be heading toward right now. Time felt like a string suddenly pulled taut. “Your recommendation,” he whispered, his lips barely moving. Qin Wangshu was silent for two seconds. “Withdraw,” she said quickly. “Withdraw now. There’s still time to exit the way you came. With Zhao Tieshan here, there’s no chance we get what we need, and we’ll be exposed.” Lu Chenzhou didn’t move. He stared at the door, the flashlight beam casting a wavering circle of light on the metal surface. The corner of his left eye began to twitch again. Once. Twice. The forged confession from seven years ago, with Li Guohua’s signature; his sister’s pale face lying in the hospital bed; Zhou Zhengping’s red-rimmed eyes as he tremblingly handed over that meeting minutes—these fragments flashed through the darkness, then solidified into that possibly-existing, ironclad piece of evidence that might lie behind the door. “Not withdrawing,” he said. “Lu Chenzhou!” Qin Wangshu’s voice held a note of anger for the first time. “That’s an order—” “I’m not your soldier,” Lu Chenzhou cut her off, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Zhao Tieshan showing up suddenly means only two possibilities. Either he received an internal tip, knew there was action here tonight; or, Shen Yanqing deliberately led him here.” He paused. “If it’s the latter, then it means Shen Yanqing has already noticed we’re investigating the archives. He set a trap, waiting for us to jump. Zhao Tieshan is his prepared tool for ‘legitimately clearing the scene.’” A suppressed curse came from Qin Wangshu’s end. “Then you should withdraw even more! This is suicide!” “If it’s a trap, then the evidence is still inside,” Lu Chenzhou said, resuming his work on the screw. “Shen Yanqing wouldn’t put the real thing somewhere Zhao Tieshan could easily find. He needs Zhao Tieshan to catch us ‘red-handed,’ but he won’t let Zhao Tieshan get his hands on something that could turn around and bite him back. The real evidence must be hidden somewhere more concealed—somewhere Zhao Tieshan wouldn’t think of, or wouldn’t have time to search.” The screw came loose with a soft *click*. He removed the metal cover plate, revealing the dark, gaping maw of Qin Wangshu fell silent. The earpiece held only her suppressed breathing and the faint background tapping of a keyboard. A few seconds later, she spoke, her voice having regained that professional chill, but her pace quicker: "Zhao Tieshan has taken people into the east corridor of the second basement floor. Eight men, split into two groups—one heading to the financial archives area, one to the project materials area. They brought breaching tools." She paused. "Your current position is the west corridor ceiling. The corridor below is temporarily clear, but both ends have surveillance cameras. I can't block them for long. Thirty seconds of a blank window is the maximum I can give you." "Enough," Lu Chenzhou said. He crawled into the ventilation duct. The inner walls were coated in a thick layer of dust; his elbows and knees kicked up choking clouds of grit as he moved. He could only advance on his stomach, the flashlight clenched between his teeth, its beam shaking violently ahead. The duct was narrow, the metal walls pressing against his shoulders and back. Every breath carried the gritty sensation of dust particles. After crawling about ten meters, a downward-branching junction appeared ahead. Qin Wangshu's voice came through at just the right moment: "Turn left, down. Below is the air conditioning equipment room. The south wall of the room has a maintenance door leading directly to the core area of the archives vault. But the door has a vibration sensor—any vibration exceeding a certain threshold will trigger the alarm." Lu Chenzhou turned into the left branch. The slope was steep; he could only inch downward bit by bit using his elbows and knees. The chill of the metal seeped through his clothes, and the friction points on his body began to grow hot and sore. Finally, the slope leveled out, and a grated vent cover appeared ahead. He pressed close to the grate's slats and peered out. Below was a small room about twenty square meters in size, lined with several humming air conditioning units. The air was heavy with the smell of ozone, mixed with a faint burnt scent of oil and heated metal. On the south wall, as expected, was an inconspicuous gray metal door. It had no handle, only a keyhole. "Here," he whispered. "The vibration sensor's trigger threshold is seventy decibels," Qin Wangshu said rapidly. "A normal door-opening motion won't trigger it. But if you pick the lock, smash the door, or if the hinges are rusted shut and you have to shove it hard—it'll sound. The warehouse is very quiet now. If the alarm goes off, Zhao Tieshan's men can reach the equipment room door within thirty seconds." Lu Chenzhou stared at the door. The keyhole was small, its edges showing signs of wear, indicating frequent use. He recalled Zhou Zhengping's words—"Some things, they think digitization makes them foolproof, but the truly lethal stuff is locked away in the most unremarkable lumps of iron." He took the two metal probes from his toolkit, then pulled out a small bottle of lubricating oil. A soft *plop* sounded as the oil dripped into the lock. He held his breath, inserted the probes, his fingertips feeling the internal structure of the lock cylinder. It wasn't a complex multi-row pin tumbler lock, but the simplest single-row pin type. He gently nudged, and the pins clicked into place one by one. *Click.* The lock opened. He grasped the door handle—no vibration, no alarm. He pushed inward lightly; the hinges emitted an extremely faint *creak*. The door opened a crack, and colder air surged out, carrying the mixed scent of paper and moth-repellant tablets. Lu Chenzhou squeezed sideways through the door. Before him was a vast space with a ceiling at least five meters high. Rows of steel archive shelves stood like tombstones in neat lines, stretching from his feet into the distant darkness. Above each row were track-mounted rolling ladders for accessing files on higher shelves. The low hum of a climate control system filled the air; the temperature was noticeably a few degrees lower than outside, raising goosebumps on his exposed skin. He switched off the flashlight, letting his eyes adjust to the dark. In the distance, the faint green glow of an emergency exit sign was barely visible, but most of the area was submerged in ink-black darkness. He moved along the edge of the archive shelves, his footsteps falling on the anti-static rubber matting on the floor, making almost no sound. According to the thermal maps and architectural blueprints Qin Wangshu had provided earlier, the core archives area should be in the northeast corner of this hall. There, independent climate control and security systems housed the most important original documents. He turned northeast, navigating the maze of archive shelves. After walking for about three minutes, a relatively open area appeared ahead. Here, the archive shelves were even Lu Chenzhou stopped five paces away. The flashlight beam swept over the floor and archive shelves around the box. Dust. Everywhere else on the shelves was covered with a uniform layer of thin dust. Only the area beneath that box, and the positions of the two archive boxes to its immediate left and right, showed dust patterns that were noticeably lighter, cleaner, as if they had been moved recently. He crouched down, retrieving a slender probe rod with a miniature camera from his toolkit. The tip of the rod gently touched the plastic sealing film at the edge of the box. No reaction. He applied a bit more pressure, the rod's tip pressing into the seam on the box's side, pushing inward by one millimeter— "Zzzzzz—!!!" A piercing, screeching burst of electrical interference exploded in his earpiece, nearly tearing through his eardrums. Lu Chenzhou's entire body stiffened. Before he could react, Qin Wangshu's urgent, distorted voice forcibly cut through: "Chenzhou! Copy? Zhao Tieshan's car… two min…utes… main gate… signal jamming… fast… they brought a jammer…!" Before the words finished, a distinct *click* sounded from inside the deep blue archive box in front of him. Immediately after, a row of red warning lights on the ceiling in the northeast corner of the entire archive vault lit up without warning. No alarm siren, only those red lights flashing silently, rhythmically, casting a bloody halo over everything around. The low hum of the climate control system abruptly ceased, replaced by the brighter, full-area emergency lighting that *swished* on, illuminating the entire hall as bright as day. In the distance, the *thud-thud* sounds of electronic door locks engaging rang out one after another, heavy metallic impacts echoing layer upon layer through the vast, empty vault, like some giant beast clenching its teeth. Lu Chenzhou stood where he was, bathed in the blinding white light. He narrowed his eyes, looking towards the wooden direction he came from—the electronic lock panel on the fire door at the corridor exit was now flashing a glaring red light. "Locked down." Qin Wangshu's voice came through in fragments amidst severe interference, the background filled with the roar of vehicle engines and muffled human voices, "All… main exits… Zhao Tieshan's men… main gate… breaching tools… Chenzhou… you're trapped…!" Lu Chenzhou didn't respond. He looked up, his gaze sweeping across the ceiling. The emergency lights were too intense, but they revealed certain details—on the wall at the deepest part of the northeast corner, above a row of old, pipe-covered walls, the edges of the ventilation duct grilles showed dust patterns slightly different from the surroundings. Someone went in and out of there frequently. He turned and sprinted towards that area. Footsteps exploded in the silent white light, each step landing on the increasingly heavy pounding of his own heart. *Click.* A soft sound, so faint it was almost drowned out by the drumming of his own heartbeat. The wall panel sprang inward, opening a gap less than two fingers wide. A mustier, slightly camphor and old paper-scented air wafted out. Lu Chenzhou immediately pulled out his key, braced his shoulder against the edge of the wall panel, and pushed hard. The panel slid open silently, revealing behind it a cramped compartment less than two square meters, pitch dark. His flashlight beam pierced the darkness, illuminating the only thing inside— A heavy, dark green old-style mechanical safe. The surface paint was peeling, revealing dark red rust underneath, like congealed blood scabs. Right at that moment, a voice exploded in his earpiece! No longer electrical static, but Qin Wangshu's voice, hoarse, frantic, yet unnervingly clear, as if forced out from the throat with every ounce of strength, each word cracking with strain against a backdrop of howling wind: "Chenzhou! Listen! Old blueprints… air conditioning duct schematics… below your current 'old equipment zone'… there's an abandoned maintenance passage… leads to… outside the warehouse's rear wall…" The voice cut off for a moment. In the background came a sharp, metallic scraping noise, and a muffled, suppressed grunt. Lu Chenzhou's fist instantly clenched, nails digging into his palm. The corner of his left eye twitched uncontrollably. Qin Wangshu's voice came again, even more urgent, more broken: "Safe code… Old Zhou said… is the project launch date from back then… reversed… month, day, year… rev…" *BOOM—!!!* A tremendous crash, not from the earpiece, but from the direction of the warehouse's main wooden door, a solid impact that made the floor beneath his feet tremble faintly! The police had begun breaching the door. Qin Wang Lu Chenzhou stood rooted to the spot for only a moment. The muscles of his face were taut like stone, yet his eyes were as cold as a quenched blade. His ears still echoed with the final, unfinished words of Qin Wangshu and that muffled groan. The space around him seemed to collapse inward, all sound, light, and time converging toward the increasingly heavy impacts against the warehouse's main door. Reverse. Month, day, year. 1996. The hospital project. The initiation date. The photocopies of old documents handed over by Zhou Zhengping flipped rapidly through his mind. Those yellowed pages, the blurred mimeograph print, and the date the old man had pointed out with a trembling finger—not the public bidding date, but an earlier one, the date of the project preparatory committee's first substantial internal meeting. A number that should have been forgotten, but which Zhou Zhengping had hastily circled in red pen at the edge of the photocopy. He took a long stride to the safe and crouched down. The combination dial was old-fashioned, its brass scale edges worn, the numbers indistinct. He took a deep breath of the turbid air, a mix of rust, dust, and aged paper. The cold air stung his lungs. His fingers settled on the icy dial and began to turn. Reverse. First month, then day, finally year. His fingertips could feel the subtle "click" vibration as the dial gears engaged. Each faint sound was rendered insignificant against the backdrop of the increasingly dense, increasingly heavy pounding on the door outside. The pounding was no longer a single impact; it had gained a rhythm—"Boom! Boom! Boom!"—like the heartbeat of a giant, hammering against the warehouse's skeleton and his own taut nerves. *Click.* *Click.* *Click.* Three faint sounds, completed almost simultaneously. He grasped the safe's heavy cast-iron handle. The sensation of cold roughness transmitted from his palm. He pressed down with force. *Clack.* The crisp sound of the bolt snapping open was startlingly clear amidst the chaotic background noise of violent impacts. He yanked the door open. The rusted hinges groaned in protest. Inside the safe, there were no stacked folders or ledgers as he had expected. Only a solitary kraft paper document envelope lay horizontally on the empty floor of the safe. The envelope was old, its edges frayed and yellowed, sealed with a simple yet sturdy knot tied with white cotton string. There were no markings on its surface, only stains of varying shades left by years of accumulation. Lu Chenzhou snatched it out. The rough, heavy texture of the papers was immediately palpable through the kraft paper, weighty and substantial. He had no time to examine it, didn't even untie the cotton string knot. He directly stuffed it into the front of his coat, wrapping it tightly against his chest with the jacket's front flap, and pressed down firmly. The hard edges of the envelope dug into the area below his left ribs, bringing a strange, painful, and undeniable sense of tangible reality. He turned. His gaze swept across the ceiling corners, laden with dust, pipes, and tangled cables, sharp as a searchlight. The fragmented instructions from Qin Wangshu replayed in his mind: *air conditioning duct diagram… beneath the old equipment area… abandoned maintenance passage…* There! Near the southwest corner of the ceiling, a roughly sixty-centimeter square inspection hatch. It was half-covered by thick dust, cobwebs, and a piece of torn black filter mesh, almost blending into the grimy surroundings. But the color of the rust on the few fixing screws around its edges was slightly different from the surrounding area, and there were extremely subtle signs of recent tool marks, as if they had been turned. The pounding on the door outside had now become a continuous barrage, beginning to be punctuated by the piercing noise of metal deforming and tearing, and the indistinct, electronically processed shouts from a loudspeaker. The specific words were unclear, but the formulaic, oppressive tone was all too familiar to him. It was the standard police procedure for a surrender call. Zhao Tieshan's men had arrived. And they were moving fast. There was no time to hesitate. Lu Chenzhou stepped onto the edge of a nearby abandoned, dust-covered server rack and used it for leverage, reaching up to grab the cold metal edge of the inspection hatch. Dust and debris rained down, stinging his eyes. He squinted, the muscles in his arms bulging, his core tightening as he exerted force, and gave a fierce downward pull! *Screech—ping!* The rusted hinges emitted a painful groan. A rust-seized screw popped free, striking a nearby pipe with a sharp clang. The inspection hatch swung down, hanging open, revealing a dark, square passage behind it, just large enough for one person to crawl through. A wave of colder, damper air immediately surged out, carrying the He grabbed the edge of the passage with both hands, his arms exerting force once more to pull his entire body upward. The file folder in his arms pressed painfully between his chest and the cold metal edge, sending a clear, sharp pain, but he paid it no mind. His upper body squeezed into the passage. Inside was a sloping downward metal pipe, its inner walls smooth, covered in years of grease, dust, and some kind of slippery moss-like substance. He adjusted his posture, head down, feet up, took a deep breath, and let go. Darkness instantly swallowed him. Only a faint, pale sliver of emergency light from the maintenance hatch behind him remained, rapidly shrinking into a distant, blurry square. The inner wall of the pipe was piercingly cold; he could feel the bone-chilling chill even through his clothes. His body rubbed against the slippery metal surface, producing a continuous, unsettling rustling sound. The speed of his descent increased rapidly, a sudden sense of weightlessness gripping his stomach, the roar of wind and the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears. The pipe wasn't straight; there were several slight bends along the way. His body slammed uncontrollably against the pipe walls, sending dull pains through his shoulders and elbows. The file folder in his arms was held tight, becoming the only buffer between his body and the cold metal. He didn't know how long he slid. Perhaps only a dozen seconds, but in the darkness, it felt stretched infinitely. At the end of the darkness ahead, an extremely faint light appeared. Not electric light, more like moonlight or the diffuse reflection from distant streetlamps. Simultaneously, air that was much fresher, carrying the scent of grass and earth, filled his nostrils. Almost at the exit! He abruptly curled his body. Sensing the pipe was about to transition from steep to gentle at a bend, he planted both feet hard against the pipe wall ahead! *Thud!* A dull impact echoed within the pipe. The momentum of his descent changed abruptly, shifting from a vertical fall to a forward crash. *Clang!* He crashed solidly into a severely rusted, loosely fitted metal grate at the pipe's end. The grate flew outward with the impact, making a loud noise. Carried by inertia, he tumbled out of the pipe, rolling onto the ground outside. Cold air, laden with night dew and the fragrance of earth, rushed into his burning lungs. He landed on soft, damp mud, immediately rolling forward several times in succession to barely dissipate the momentum before rising to a half-kneeling position, coughing violently, the taste of rust and dust filling his mouth. Before him was the tall, mottled back wall of the warehouse, covered in dead vines casting menacing shadows under the pallid moonlight. The opening he'd just emerged from was a low exit disguised as a wall drainage outlet. The grate now lay askew to one side, the pitch-black hole like a beast's gaping maw, hidden amongst dense, withered yellow weeds. Almost at the same moment he steadied himself, as if by prior agreement, a piercing, unending shriek of police sirens erupted from the front of the warehouse! The screech of tires braking, rubber scraping against asphalt, and the amplified, crystal-clear, authoritative voice through a loudspeaker: "Listen up inside! You are surrounded! Immediately cease resistance, put your hands on your head, and come out! I repeat, immediately cease resistance!" The voice, amplified by the loudspeaker, rumbled through the empty suburban night sky, startling roosting night birds from distant woods. A chaotic mass of dark shadows flapped into the air, emitting panicked cries. Lu Chenzhou did not linger. He didn't even look back towards the brightly lit warehouse front, illuminated like daylight by flashing red and blue police lights. Like a shadow completely merging with the night, he kept low, pressing close to the cold, rough base of the warehouse's back wall, and began sprinting towards the direction of the alternate rendezvous point agreed upon with Zhou Zhengping—the parcel collection point at the East Suburb Logistics Park. The ground beneath his feet transitioned from soft mud to pitted gravel, then to cold, hard cement. The kraft paper file folder in his arms bounced violently against his chest with each running stride. That heavy, coarse sensation now felt like a red-hot branding iron against his skin, yet also like a cold, hard pill of reassurance, settling just below his heart. He had succeeded. The evidence was in hand. Shen Yanqing. Li Guohua. Those names that had lurked in the darkness for ten years, feeding on the blood and lives of countless people. Those meticulously woven, seemingly impregnable crimes were now pressed against his chest, separated only by thin clothing, as if he could feel the slightly raised outlines of the signatures and seals on the paper. But there was only deathly silence in his earpiece. Qin The icy night wind scraped across his sweat-soaked cheeks and neck like a knife, stripping away all the heat generated by his run, leaving only a biting, bone-deep chill. His breath condensed into puffs of white mist in the cold air, swiftly left behind by his running speed, dissipating into the darkness. The road beneath his feet stretched on endlessly. The city's edge silhouette loomed in the distance, scattered lights like countless cold, watching eyes. He cut through a deserted vegetable patch, stepped over a dried-up ditch, vaulted over a low, barbed wire fence. His movements were swift and silent, like a beast tempered by the harshest training. He was no longer the hunter in the shadows, no longer the investigator with limited allies, maneuvering in the gaps of the rules. He was a fugitive. Publicly wanted by the police, his photo likely to appear in internal bulletins or even news broadcasts any second. A living target that Shen Yanqing would spare no effort to retrieve the evidence from and silence permanently. The kraft paper envelope in his arms was the only hope capable of prying open the entire black curtain, of clearing his name and overturning his wrongful conviction, yet it had also become the most glaring death warrant, attracting the deadliest fire from both sides of the law. Allies were out of contact, their fates unknown. The path ahead was pitch black, riddled with deadly traps. Only this weighty, solid evidence in his arms—bought with seven years of wrongful imprisonment, the sacrifice of countless people, and a brush with death tonight—was the only real thing. The only cold, hard, rough coordinate he could grasp in the darkness. Its very existence was a silent roar. It had to be delivered. Delivered to a place where it could serve its purpose, where it could tear open even the tiniest crack in this heavy black curtain. This thought drove him like an engine, powering his legs that felt almost on fire. His mind raced at high speed, filtering through all possible safe houses in his memory, all the vague faces that might still hold a shred of trust or transactional possibility. Fang Mu? Su Muyu? Chen Jianguo? Or... that even more secretive "person higher up" who existed only in Zhou Zhengping's drunken fragments of speech? Every name came with immense risk and uncertainty. But he had no choice. At the next intersection, a dim streetlight flickered, its bulb faulty. He turned into a narrower, nameless alley piled with garbage and discarded construction materials. His steps didn't falter; his pace even quickened. At the alley's end was another shantytown awaiting demolition, shadows looming. Just as he was about to burst out of the alley mouth, a danger instinct honed by years of investigative work, almost primal, doused his entire body like ice water! He slammed to a halt, body leaning back, pressing tightly against the cold, damp brick wall at the alley entrance. On the open ground outside the alley, less than thirty meters from him, a pitch-black panel van, its police lights off, sat silently parked. Its front faced the alley entrance, like a dormant giant beast. The cab was dark, but on the side facing him, the rear cargo door was slightly ajar a crack, revealing only blackness inside. Too quiet. The van's position perfectly blocked the most direct small path leading east to the logistics park. Was it an extension of the police cordon? Or were Shen Yanqing's people already here, having anticipated his possible escape route, waiting like a cat at a mouse hole? Lu Chenzhou suppressed his breathing to a minimum. Leaning against the rough brick wall, the cold sensation seeped through his clothes. The file envelope in his arms seemed to grow heavier, its corners digging painfully. He slowly, ever so slightly, turned his head, observing the van from the corner of his eye. No light, no movement came from the crack in the cargo door. Time ticked by. The distant warehouse sirens seemed to have thinned somewhat, but that intangible sense of pressure was spreading from all directions. He couldn't stay here long. Every extra second spent, the net might tighten another notch. He had to make a decision. Risk bypassing this suspicious van and continue toward the logistics park as planned? Or immediately change course, activate a more distant, more uncertain backup route? The ironclad evidence in his arms felt scalding hot, as if about to burn through his clothes. And the road ahead was as black as thick ink, riddled with killing intent, silently awaiting his next step.