Inside the safe house converted from an abandoned factory, only the distant sound of wind came from deep within the ventilation ducts. Lu Chenzhou was cross-referencing the fragmented data on the "Black Shield" company with the timeline of Shen Yan's case. Just as his pen drew a third connecting line on the paper, the corner of his left eye twitched. It wasn't a warning—it was physiological. He set the pen down, the metal cap emitting a faint *click* as he screwed it shut. The wind stopped. Not a gradual fading, but a sudden severance. The cries of stray cats outside the window, the distant background hum of traffic from the overpass—all ambient sounds vanished simultaneously, as if muffled by a giant hand. Lu Chenzhou looked up. The six surveillance screens on the wall were blooming with snow-like static from the edges, gray-white noise spreading like mold, devouring every image within three seconds. Silence. Then, the encrypted tablet on the corner of the desk vibrated. Not a call—it was the one-way emergency channel only Shen Qinghuan knew. The screen lit up, a message popping up with just three words: **They're here.** Lu Chenzhou grabbed the tablet, his thumb swiping across the screen to bring up the contacts list. Zhou Zhengping's number was at the top. He pressed the call button and held the phone to his ear. *Beep—beep—* Each tone stretched out long, like some kind of countdown. On the seventh ring, a busy signal cut in. Monotonous, repetitive, no transfer, no voice prompt. He hung up and redialed. The same busy signal. He stood up, his movements steady, but as he rose, he had already snatched the backpack from the corner of the table. He pulled open a drawer, retrieved a pistol, checked the magazine, and chambered a round. The *clack* of the metal slide returning to position was unnervingly clear in the dead silence. The corner of his left eye twitched again. Not a loud explosion, but a muffled, contained *boom*. The shockwave traveled over; dust rained down from the steel beams overhead, and the pen on the table rolled to the floor. Lu Chenzhou didn't look back. He was already rushing toward the emergency exit on the other side of the room—a pre-planned escape route leading to the freight elevator shaft at the back of the factory. The second explosion was closer, coming from the direction of the corridor just outside the emergency exit. Flames flickered orange-red beneath the door crack, then vanished instantly. A wave of heat pushed the door panel inward, its metal hinges groaning. Lu Chenzhou skidded to a halt before the door, turned, and lunged for the ventilation cover in the corner. The cover was movable, with only two of its four screws tightened. He yanked it open; a cloud of dust, carrying the rusty, metallic smell of age, billowed into his face. The sound of tactical boots on the metal stairway came from the corridor. Not a chaotic run, but a rhythmic, alternating, covering advance. *Thud, thud, thud*—each step solid, growing closer. At least three people. Lu Chenzhou shoved his backpack into the ventilation duct first, then crawled in after it. The duct was narrow; an adult could only move by crawling. He reached back, pulled the cover back into place, and fastened a simple latch from the inside. Boots stepped into the room, crushing the dust and shredded paper littering the floor. Lu Chenzhou held his breath, slowly shifting backward inside the duct. The inner walls were cold and rough, iron rust particles scraping his elbows and knees. Muffled voices came from below: "Room clear." A brief burst of static, then a deeper, steadier male voice came through an encrypted channel, distorted but clear: "Target at Point A has disappeared, suspected to have entered the ventilation system. Point B has breached the outer defenses and is searching for the target. Point C reports, target individual has appeared, initial contact proceeding as planned. The boss demands a quick resolution. The sweep must be completed before dawn." Not "handle," not "control"—"sweep." And the designation "the boss," along with the synchronized codenames for Points A, B, and C—Shen Qinghuan was Point B, Zhou Zhengping was Point C. Shen Moqing was no longer hiding it. He intended to erase all unstable factors in one go, including his "disobedient daughter." A metallic clanging sound came from below the duct. Someone was striking the ventilation cover with a rifle butt. Lu Chenzhou continued crawling backward. The duct began to slope upward, leading to the abandoned office area on the factory's upper floor. His left leg had been scraped by something when he The branch duct was even lower; he had to lie completely flat to get through. His backpack snagged; he yanked hard, and the fabric tore. The wound on his leg slammed into a pipe seam; the intense pain darkened his vision for an instant. His breathing was ragged, a hoarse rasp tinged with bloody froth, amplified in the narrow space into a beast-like panting. Not a retreat, a tactical pause. They were redeploying. Lu Chenzhou knew that in thirty seconds at most, they would find other access points into the ventilation system, or simply blow this section of duct open with explosives. He crawled to the end of the branch duct. As expected, there was a rusty exhaust fan there, its blades long gone, leaving only a circular opening. Outside the opening was the abandoned office area on the factory's second floor. Moonlight streamed in through broken windows, casting distorted windowpane shadows on the floor. The air was thick with dust and mold, mixed with the faint smell of gunpowder drifting from afar. Lu Chenzhou squeezed out through the hole. As he landed, his injured leg buckled, nearly sending him to his knees. He steadied himself against a tilted office desk. The desktop was covered in a thick layer of dust, pressed into five clear fingerprints by his hand. This area had a complex layout: many partitions, piled-up abandoned furniture—ideal for evasion. But there were few exits: besides the ventilation duct he came from, there were only two directions: the emergency staircase to the east, and the connecting corridor to the west leading to the skybridge. And from the direction of the east staircase, the clear, rapid sound of multiple people ascending the stairs had already reached him. They had split their forces. One team was pursuing from below, another had already flanked the upper level. Lu Chenzhou pulled two smoke grenades from the side pocket of his backpack. They weren't military-grade; he had modified them himself, mixing magnesium powder with an irritant agent. The pull rings rested on his index finger, the metal cool to the touch. He took a deep breath, suppressing another twitch at the corner of his left eye. Mixed with the footsteps were low, muffled commands, faintly audible through the walls: "...The boss is pushing. Point C is secured, still searching Point B..." "...No survivors, including the woman..." Lu Chenzhou's fingers tightened. He pulled the rings. The safety pins flew off, landing silently in the dust. He waited two seconds, then rolled the two smoke grenades towards the east stairwell entrance and the west corridor direction, respectively. Pale gray smoke instantly erupted, like two swelling monsters, rapidly devouring the visibility in the corridors. A pungent odor spread, mixed with the burnt smell of burning magnesium powder. Almost simultaneously, violent coughing and curses came from the east, while from the west came the wary sound of gun bolts being worked. He turned and lunged towards the row of filing cabinets deep in the office area. Behind the cabinets was a maintenance door he had marked earlier, leading to an air conditioning duct—not a conventional exit, so it likely wasn't sealed. The door was sheet metal, rusted shut. He raised his injured leg and kicked with all his might at the lock area. The iron door shrieked with a metallic groan, denting inward, but it didn't open. A second kick. A third. The wound on his leg tore open; warm blood soaked through his pant leg, dripping onto the floor. A fourth kick, and the hinges finally snapped. The entire door toppled inward, raising more dust. Behind it was a pitch-black duct space, even narrower, but it led to the annex building on the other side of the factory. Before crawling in, Lu Chenzhou glanced back. The thick smoke was dissipating. Moonlight shone in again, casting the silhouettes of several armed figures on the floor. They wore gas masks, various pieces of equipment hanging from their tactical vests. Their movements were professional and calm. One of them raised a hand and said something into his earpiece. Lu Chenzhou couldn't hear the words, but he read the lip shape. The shape was: "Boss, target at Point A will be eliminated shortly." Then he withdrew into the duct. The iron door behind him clattered down completely. Footsteps immediately rushed towards his direction, but he had already vanished into the darkness. The duct sloped downward; he practically slid down, his back and elbows scraping against the rough inner wall, a burning pain. Darkness, narrowness, only the sound of his own ragged breathing and the drip of blood. After sliding roughly ten meters, a faint light appeared at the end of the duct. It was another maintenance hatch; outside seemed to be the factory's old power distribution room. Lu Chenzhou shouldered open the grate and rolled out, landing on the cold concrete floor. He immediately flipped over, raising his gun to cover He remembered the encrypted channel's message: "The boss demands swift resolution." Lu Chenzhou closed his eyes, letting darkness swallow his vision for a second. When he reopened them, there was no emotion in his gaze, only cold, machinelike calculation. He pushed himself up using the distribution box, his injured leg trembling but holding. He looked toward the door on the other side of the electrical room; it was slightly ajar, leading to the factory's back alley and the more complex network of lanes in the old city beyond. He fished out the last device from his backpack—a matchbox-sized signal repeater, low-powered but capable of penetrating some interference over short distances. He flipped the switch. A weak green light flashed once, then began pulsing steadily. He waited. For a response that might never come. It wasn't a communication link. He received an extremely brief, encrypted locator pulse. The direction of the pulse's origin wasn't the temporary safe house where Shen Qinghuan had been, nor was it the direction of Zhou Zhengping's retirement apartment. It was farther away, near the northern part of the city, close to the freight docks. But Lu Chenzhou memorized the coordinates. And the simple message hidden within the pulse encoding—a code he and Shen Qinghuan had agreed upon for use only in the most dire emergencies. The code meant: "I'm alive, but trapped." Lu Chenzhou turned off the repeater and stuffed it back into his backpack. He engaged the pistol's safety and holstered it behind his waist. Then, he pushed open the slightly ajar door of the electrical room. Outside was the back alley, piled with garbage and discarded tires. Moonlight didn't reach here; only a faint, yellowish glow from a distant streetlight illuminated the space. The air was damp, carrying the sour stench of rotting refuse. Both ends of the alley were empty, unnaturally quiet. As Lu Chenzhou took his first step outside, a faint, almost imperceptible *buzz* sounded overhead. In the night sky, a fist-sized black object hovered twenty meters above the alley. Quadcopter, infrared camera, a red indicator light blinking rhythmically—a drone. Not a civilian model, but a professional reconnaissance unit fitted with a small payload. Lu Chenzhou didn't run. He stood still, raised his hand, and gave the drone the middle finger. Lu Chenzhou's breath compressed into a thin line in that instant. He pressed a hotkey—a direct link to Zhou Zhengping's hidden phone's encrypted channel. But the tear in the apron, Auntie Wu's gaze, the departure time of Gu Zhixing's backup car... all these points were automatically connecting in his mind, forming a trajectory pointing toward an inevitable conclusion. The cold glint of the military dagger traced a short arc in the dim workshop, aiming straight for his throat. He leaned back; the blade skimmed past the skin of his jaw, bringing a cold sting. The wound on his left leg erupted with a tearing sensation from the violent movement; he could almost hear the faint sound of muscle fibers snapping. *Can't retreat.* He pushed off the ground with his right foot, lunging forward, driving his shoulder blade hard into the attacker's chest. The dull thud of impact and the grinding of bone sounded simultaneously. The assailant grunted, the military dagger flying from his hand, but his left hand was already locking toward Lu Chenzhou's neck. Lu Chenzhou lowered his head, his forehead smashing brutally into the bridge of the other's nose. The sensation of cartilage shattering transmitted through his skull, warm liquid splashing onto his cheek. The attacker staggered back, his spine colliding with a storage rack. The rusty iron frame swayed, piled metal parts raining down like a storm. Lu Chenzhou gave him no chance to recover. Gripping the dagger in a reverse hold, he hammered the hilt against the man's temple. Once, twice—until the man's body went limp and slid down to sit on the floor. Lu Chenzhou dropped to one knee, breathing heavily. The pain in his left leg was now crystal clear, like a red-hot iron rod repeatedly stabbing into it. He tore open the attacker's tactical vest, removed the earpiece and throat mic communication set, and quickly inspected them. Battery showed two bars remaining, the channel indicator light was green—still connected. Urgent calls came through the earpiece: "D3? D3! Report position!" Lu Chenzhou pressed the throat mic tightly against his own neck, lowered his voice, forcing his vocal cords to produce a hoarse, strained pant: "Target... target headed toward the west-side passage of the packaging workshop. I'm hit in the leg, need backup." He deliberately made his speech fragmented, intermingled with pained gasps. A brief silence. Then came that cold voice on the command channel: "All remaining members of Team D, converge on the west side of the packaging workshop. Team A, attack from the second floor. Team B, secure the drainage channel exit. The target is injured and won't get far." "Copy that." "Copy that." Lu Chenzhou removed his headset, dragged the unconscious assailant deeper into the shadows of the shelving, bound his hands behind his back with cable ties, and gagged him. He quickly frisked the man: two spare magazines, one tactical flashlight, and—a satellite phone. He pressed the power button; the screen lit up, requiring a fingerprint or password. There wasn't enough time. He stuffed all the equipment into his backpack, grabbed the still-functioning communicator, and moved along the edge of the shelving toward the west side. The west side of the workshop had a rusted iron door. Outside was an open-air loading platform, and further down, a concrete slope leading to the drainage channel. But now, figures were already appearing at the edge of the platform—at least two, advancing in tactical formation. He retreated inside the door, his back against the wall, his mind racing. A frontal breakout was impossible; his leg injury would make him a sitting duck. He had to create chaos. A new instruction came through the communicator: "Team A has reached the second-floor window, visual coverage over the loading platform. No target sighted." "Team D reporting, west passage clear, no target sighted." "The target may still be inside the workshop. Search area by area, watch for traps." Lu Chenzhou's gaze fell on the old-style overhead crane in the center of the workshop. Rusted steel cables hung down, their ends connected to a massive electromagnetic lifting magnet—equipment from earlier years used to move steel plates. He remembered the location of the power distribution box, right next to the crane control console. He lowered his posture and moved toward the console under the cover of the shelving. Each step made his left leg tremble, cold sweat soaking through the fabric on his back. When he reached the console, he crouched down and pried open the housing of the distribution box with his dagger. The wiring was messy, but the main power switch still had a red indicator light on. Footsteps upstairs were getting closer. The sound of tactical boots on metal stairs, rhythmic and oppressive, like the ticking of a countdown timer. Lu Chenzhou found the power cable for the electromagnetic magnet, cut through the insulation, and twisted the exposed copper wires together. Then, he pressed the main power switch. *Hum—* A low electrical hum instantly filled the workshop. The crane jolted violently. The electromagnetic magnet powered up, unleashing a powerful magnetic force. Nearby scattered metal parts, tools, even some iron items on the shelves were all pulled toward the magnet, emitting a dense, grating cacophony of collisions. "What's that sound?!" "Over there! The control console!" Lu Chenzhou had already rolled in the opposite direction the moment the magnet powered up. He grabbed the communicator, pressed the transmit button, and growled in that hoarse, urgent voice: "Target spotted! Control console area! Requesting suppressive fire!" Almost simultaneously, gunfire erupted from the second-floor window. Bullets poured down like a torrential rain around the control console, sparks flying everywhere. The assailants on the first floor were also drawn by the gunfire, converging toward the control console area. Seizing the opportunity, Lu Chenzhou charged toward the iron door. He slammed the door open and tumbled onto the loading platform. The night wind hit his face, carrying the fishy smell of the river. The two assailants at the edge of the platform were just turning their heads to look inside the workshop; they were a beat too slow upon hearing the commotion. Lu Chenzhou didn't fire—gunshots would reveal his position. He swung his backpack, hitting one man squarely in the face, while simultaneously lunging forward, driving his dagger into the outer thigh of the other. The man screamed and fell. Lu Chenzhou seized the man's rifle and struck his head hard with the stock. The first assailant wiped the blood from his nose and raised his gun to aim. Lu Chenzhou rolled sideways. A bullet grazed his ear, the searing airflow burning his skin. He dropped to one knee and pulled the trigger. A three-round burst, all hitting the torso. The assailant fell backward, his rifle slipping from his grasp and sliding off the platform, splashing into the drainage channel below. The gunshot exploded in the night sky, completely shattering the false tranquility. The communicator instantly erupted: "Gunfire! The loading platform!" "The target has broken through!" "Team D, block the river channel! Now!" Lu A tremor came from above. Fine bits of soil fell from the seams. The sound of a vehicle passing. Above this drainage ditch was a service road, occasionally used by trucks. He looked up, his gaze locking onto a manhole cover overhead. A faint glimmer seeped in from the rusted iron edges, meaning the cover wasn’t completely sealed. Height about three meters, with no handholds for climbing. The splashing sounds behind him were getting closer; flashlight beams could already illuminate the ripples on the water's surface. Lu Chenzhou took a deep breath, slung the rifle onto his back, bent his legs slightly, and leaped upward with all his might. The wound on his left leg erupted with a tearing pain the instant he exerted force; he almost heard the sound of muscle fibers snapping. His fingers barely hooked onto the edge of the manhole cover, nails tearing, blood welling up. He grunted, got his other hand up, and strained his arms to pull his body upward. The manhole cover was pushed open a crack. Night wind poured in. Shouts came from below: "On top! He's going up!" Gunfire erupted. Bullets struck the concrete inner walls, sending stone chips flying. One bullet grazed Lu Chenzhou's calf, taking a chunk of flesh. Gritting his teeth, he used his shoulder and back to shove the cover aside and rolled out onto the road surface. A heavy-duty truck was approaching from the distance, its headlights blinding. Lu Chenzhou stumbled to his feet and rushed toward the roadside greenbelt. The truck driver clearly saw this figure suddenly emerging from underground, blaring the horn and slamming the brakes. Tires screeched against the pavement. The pursuers had already burst from the drainage ditch outlet, raising their guns to aim. Lu Chenzhou dove into the shrubs of the greenbelt, curling his body. Bullets swept through the branches and leaves, shredding foliage. Using the cover of the truck's headlights, he rolled toward the other side of the service road. There stood a row of abandoned street-front shops, doors and windows broken, interiors pitch black. He slammed open a wooden door and tumbled inside. Dust billowed, choking his nostrils. The shop was piled with discarded furniture and construction materials; the air reeked of mold and rat droppings. He quickly moved deeper into the shop, leaning against a load-bearing pillar to check his injuries. The new gunshot wound on his calf wasn't deep, but it wouldn't stop bleeding. He tore off the hem of his shirt and tightly bound it above the wound. A new order came through the communicator: "Target has fled into the street shop area. Activate drone thermal imaging scan." Lu Chenzhou's heart sank. He looked up at the ceiling—wooden structure, dilapidated with age, unable to block infrared signals. The drone's buzzing was already approaching rapidly from the distance. He had to leave this area immediately. The shop's back door was nailed shut with planks. He kicked the boards open and rushed into the backyard. The backyard was piled with construction debris. The surrounding wall was about two and a half meters high, topped with broken glass. He dragged over a discarded oil drum, stepped onto it, and grabbed the top of the wall. Broken glass dug into his palms. He grunted, heaved himself over, and dropped down. Outside the wall was a narrow alley, filled with dumpsters. A foul stench assaulted him. The drone had already flown over the shop; the sound of its rotors echoed in the alley. Lu Chenzhou moved along the base of the wall, trying to minimize his thermal signature. But the wound on his leg kept bleeding, and his body temperature couldn't drop quickly. The alley ended at a main road, sparse with traffic. Across the way was an old residential area, a labyrinth of alleys, good for hiding but also easy to be surrounded. He needed transportation, or— His gaze fell on an electric tricycle parked at the alley entrance. The key was still in the ignition. The owner was probably in a nearby shop. The drone had already turned toward the alley mouth, its camera slowly panning. Lu Chenzhou didn't hesitate. He rushed over, mounted the tricycle, and turned the key. The motor hummed to life, the headlights lit up. He twisted the handle hard, and the tricycle shot out of the alley, turning onto the main road. "Target spotted! Driving an electric tricycle, fleeing north!" "Drone, follow! Maintain tracking!" "Ground vehicles, intercept immediately!" Lu Chenzhou twisted the throttle to the limit. The tricycle's top speed was only forty kilometers per hour, but it was enough to weave through narrow streets. He turned into the residential area, speeding through the maze-like alleys. The drone followed closely behind, like a persistent metal vulture. Ahead was a T-junction. A left An arc flashed violently. The entire substation instantly lost power, the transformer emitting one last low hum before falling silent. A powerful electromagnetic pulse radiated outward from the substation as its center. The drone in the air suddenly— The space between the shelves was too narrow for sweeping, open movements. The two were almost grappling chest-to-chest, their breath hitting each other's faces, the smell of rubber from their gas masks filling the air. Lu Chenzhou's wound tore open again from the violent motion, warm blood flowing down his pant leg and dripping onto the concrete floor. He felt a wave of dizziness—blood loss was starting to affect his stamina. He deliberately left an opening, his dagger thrust missing, his body stumbling forward. The attacker took the bait, the bayonet thrusting straight for his back. At the last moment, Lu Chenzhou twisted his body. The bayonet grazed his ribs, slicing through his jacket and the stab-proof vest underneath. Simultaneously, his left hand had already grabbed the wrist of the attacker's knife hand, while his right hand swung the dagger back, smashing its hilt heavily against the side of the attacker's neck. Lu Chenzhou knelt on the ground, gasping for breath. Excruciating pain came from his ribs—possibly cracked. He had no time to check. He quickly scavenged the spoils: the other man's pistol (a Glock 19, fitted with a suppressor), two spare magazines, and most importantly—the dropped communicator, and the tactical goggles hanging on the man's chest, equipped with a miniature camera. He picked up the communicator. The screen was still on, displaying the real-time call interface of an encrypted channel. Battery remaining: 23%. He put on the tactical goggles. A small HUD immediately appeared in the upper right corner of his vision, showing vital signs (offline), a compass, and a constantly flashing red signal—that was the drone tracking marker. Lu Chenzhou looked up through the workshop's broken window. In the night sky, he saw a tiny red dot slowly circling. Thermal imaging? Or regular optical tracking? Regardless, he couldn't stay here any longer. He spoke into the communicator, once again imitating the commander's voice, but this time more urgent, even carrying a hint of panic: "Emergency! Target is carrying explosives! Repeat, target is carrying explosives! Moving towards the main workshop area! All teams converge on the main workshop immediately, seal all exits! Now!" This time, the reaction coming through the earpiece was even more chaotic. Footsteps, shouts, tactical commands intertwined. Clearly, most of the attackers were being led by this false intel towards the wrong area. Lu Chenzhou seized this opportunity. Dragging his injured leg, he rushed towards a small door at the deepest part of the workshop—that door led to the factory's wastewater treatment pool, and the entrance to the drainage channel was right by the pool's edge. He took two steps back, aimed his pistol at the lock cylinder, and fired two shots in succession. The suppressor made the gunshots sound muffled, like slapping a wet quilt. The lock cylinder flew off. He kicked the door open. Outside was an open-air platform. Below it was a massive concrete wastewater pool. The pool water had long since dried up, leaving only blackened sludge and trash. The round entrance to the drainage channel was at the bottom of the pool wall, one meter in diameter, pitch black, like a waiting, devouring mouth. The red dot rapidly closed in. The hum of an engine came from overhead. Lu Chenzhou glanced back—it was a quadcopter drone, with a dual-axis gimbal mounted underneath. It was likely a police or military-grade model equipped with thermal imaging. Without hesitation, he leaped from the three-meter-high platform, landing in the sludge at the bottom of the pool. The impact sent a jolt of pain through his injured leg, and he nearly fell to his knees. The drone followed, descending, hovering above the pool entrance, its lens aimed at him. Lu Chenzhou struggled to his feet, limping and stumbling towards the drainage channel entrance. The drone followed closely, the distance shrinking—twenty meters, fifteen, ten… He could hear the sharp whistle of its rotors cutting through the air. Just as he was about to dive into the drainage channel, he pulled a palm-sized metal box from the side pocket of his backpack—another little gadget from Fang Mu. A disposable electromagnetic pulse generator. Effective range only five meters, but enough to fry the drone's electronic systems. He turned, pressed the switch, and threw the metal box at the drone. There was only a faint *crackle*, like static discharge. The drone's rotor speed suddenly became erratic. The body tilted, spun in the air, then plummeted straight down into the sludge, splashing up a shower of black water. Inside the pipe was pitch black, filled with the stench of He crawled out of the drainage ditch and rolled into the dense reeds. The icy river water soaked through his clothes, the chill biting to the bone. He leaned against the earthen slope of the riverbank, breathing heavily. The wound on his left leg, soaked in filthy water, began to burn with a searing pain—the risk of infection skyrocketed. The pain from his ribs also intensified; every breath felt like a knife scraping. Moreover, he had trophies: an enemy encrypted communicator, a pair of tactical goggles with a camera, and a prisoner—the attacker he had knocked unconscious, whose hands and feet he had bound with zip ties, gagged, and dragged all this way. The man now lay slumped in the reeds, emitting muffled groans. Lu Chenzhou checked the communicator. Battery: 11%. He quickly scrolled through the stored records: recent call logs, access codes for several encrypted channels, and one unsent text message that read: “Target from Point A escaped, moving toward secondary safe point. Recommend activating contingency plan.” Lu Chenzhou looked up, gazing across the river. About a kilometer away, on the outskirts of the city, lay an old industrial zone. In one of the abandoned warehouses there, a basement served as his preset secondary safe point—a temporary shelter converted from an underground garage. It contained medicine, food, backup communication equipment, and a modified motorcycle. He had to go. Because the situation with Shen Yanhuan and Zhou Zhengping remained unknown, he needed that place, the equipment there, to contact the outside world, to treat his wounds, to interrogate this prisoner. He tore off the hem of his shirt and re-bandaged the wound on his leg. The motion was rough, the pain making cold sweat bead on his forehead. Then, he hauled the prisoner up, pressing his gun against the man’s lower back. “Walk.” His voice was so hoarse it didn’t sound like his own. “No noise, don’t look back. If you cooperate, you might live to see dawn.” The prisoner struggled briefly, but after seeing Lu Chenzhou’s eyes, he ultimately staggered to his feet. One behind the other, they moved through the reeds, heading toward the industrial area shrouded in night across the river. Above, the night sky began to show the faintest hint of grayish-white. But Lu Chenzhou knew that the darkest hour often comes just before dawn. --- The air in the underground garage smelled of rust and engine oil mixed together, like congealed, stagnant blood. The only emergency light hung from a pillar about a dozen meters away, its pallid beam flickering every few seconds, stretching and shrinking their shadows like some ominous rhythm. Lu Chenzhou sat leaning against a cold concrete pillar. The wound on his left leg had been roughly treated with a first-aid kit scavenged from the attacker’s body. When the hemostatic powder was applied, he clenched his teeth, his temples throbbing. The pain was sharp, but clear. Clarity was good. He needed to stay awake. The prisoner was tied to another pillar opposite him, hands bound behind his back, the gunshot wound on his right leg similarly and hastily bandaged. He was a man around thirty, with a crew cut and a tight jawline. Even in the flickering, sickly white light, one could see his face held little expression—not numbness, but trained control. Lu Chenzhou had seen that look before, in prisons, on the faces of people carrying out special missions. The communicator lay on the cement floor between them, its screen still lit, displaying the last record from an encrypted channel. Battery: 17%. Lu Chenzhou picked it up, his fingers rubbing over the cold metal casing. He pressed play. A male voice, processed through a voice changer but steady in tone, came through, carrying a slight echo in the empty garage: “… The boss is very unhappy about the failure at the docks last time. This ‘clean-up’ operation must be clean. Points A, B, and C simultaneously, margin of error not to exceed three minutes. Understood?” Lu Chenzhou stopped the playback and turned the communicator’s screen toward the prisoner. His voice was not loud, but in the silence, it was like a knife scraping over metal: “The failure at the docks… that refers to when Shen Yan’s body was being transferred, right?” “That time, you failed to stop Zhou Zhengping. He got away with the evidence.” Lu Chenzhou continued, his pace measured, each word dropping like a weight. “The ‘boss’ was very unhappy. So this time, they sent you to make up for the failure?” The prisoner’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He didn’t speak, but his breathing pattern changed—from deliberately controlled evenness to a subtle, suppressed quickness. Lu Chenzhou took out the recording pen disguised as a fountain pen from "You know," Lu Chenzhou said. He slowly stood up, the wound on his left leg pulling, a sharp pain making the corner of his left eye twitch. He didn't stop, walking over to the prisoner and squatting down. The distance between them was close, so close he could see the flickering emergency light reflected in the other's pupils. "If you don't talk, I'll hand you over to the police. You have a gunshot wound, custom 'Black Shield' gear, encrypted communication records. The police will be very happy—Shen Yan's case finally has a breakthrough." "But if you talk," Lu Chenzhou's voice dropped even lower, like a whisper, yet laced with ice shards, "'The Boss' will have you silenced. You know better than I do what happens to those who fail missions in 'Black Shield's' eyes." The prisoner's breathing completely fell apart. Fine beads of cold sweat seeped from his forehead, one drop sliding down his temple, dripping onto the concrete floor with an almost inaudible *pat*. "Choose," Lu Chenzhou stood up again, looking down at him. "Die now, or gamble on a possible survival." Only the rhythmic flicker of the emergency light and the prisoner's increasingly ragged breathing. A faint sound of a car passing by in the distance, as if muffled through thick cotton. "I..." the prisoner finally squeezed out a voice, trembling. "If I talk... can you guarantee...?" "No," Lu Chenzhou answered bluntly. "But I can get you protective custody as a tainted witness in court. Your testimony, plus the physical evidence I have, is enough to drag 'The Boss' and Gu Zhixing down. By then, the police will give you protective custody. And 'Black Shield'... will have its own hands full." He paused, looking into the prisoner's eyes. "This is your only chance to live." The prisoner closed his eyes. A few seconds later, he opened them, something in his gaze collapsing. "It's... it's Boss Shen," his voice shook violently, each word seeming forced through gritted teeth. "Shen Yanqing. The order was 'clean-up'... targets are Lu Chenzhou, Shen Qinghuan, and that old cop surnamed Zhou. Direct command is Mr. Gu... Gu Zhixing." Lu Chenzhou's fist clenched tightly at his side, nails digging into his palm. But his face showed no expression. "Point A was you... the abandoned factory, explosive assault, at least six people, equipped with assault rifles and thermal imaging. Point B was Shen Qinghuan... her temporary safehouse in the west city. Our people cut the network and power first, then infiltrated through the windows. The plan was to inject sedatives and take her away. If she resisted, then..." the prisoner swallowed, "... then dispose of her. Point C was Zhou Zhengping... the retirement apartment he's hiding in. Two people, disguised as a home invasion robbery, to make it look like accidental death." "One-time encrypted relay... issued before each mission, self-destructs automatically after the mission. This mission's relay code was..." the prisoner recited a string of alphanumeric code, "... but it's useless now. Mr. Gu... he would report to Boss Shen using another secure number after the operation concluded." Lu Chenzhou memorized the code. He picked up the recording pen and turned it off. The red indicator light went out. Almost simultaneously, another phone in his pants pocket vibrated—the backup phone Shen Qinghuan gave him, encrypted by Fang Mu. He pulled it out. The screen lit up, two messages almost jumping in at the same time. The first was from Zhou Zhengping, only one line: *"Shot, left shoulder, not fatal. One bandit dead, one escaped. Already self-treated wound, temporarily safe."* The second was from Shen Qinghuan, slightly longer: *"Safehouse breached, hid in the secret compartment as you taught. They didn't find me, but installed bugs and trackers. I'm in the transfer vehicle now, heading to the second backup point you mentioned before."* Lu Chenzhou stared at those two messages for a full five seconds. Then he took a deep breath. The smell of rust in the air rushed into his lungs, carrying the unique chill and dampness of underground spaces. He sat down again and opened the laptop—also confiscated from the attacker's backpack, forcibly unlocked using the cracking program Fang Mu provided. Connecting to the backup network, an encrypted channel routed through multiple hops. He packaged the prisoner's confession recording, partial records from the communicator, and the relay code he just memorized, dragging them all into the transfer window. Recipient: Qin Wangshu's encrypted mailbox. The progress bar crawled forward slowly. Ten percent, twenty, thirty... The network signal in the underground garage was extremely unstable, cutting in and out. Lu "Lu Chenzhou." She spoke, her voice coming through the encrypted channel with faint electronic static. "I received what you sent. The medical team and extraction team are already en route. We've locked onto the locations of Elder Zhou and Shen Yanhuan. Support will arrive within ten minutes." Lu Chenzhou nodded. He wanted to say thank you, but his throat was parched, unable to produce a sound. "The evidence you provided is crucial," Qin Wangshu continued, speaking rapidly. "The prisoner's confession, communication logs, operation codenames, target list... It's already sufficient to apply for compulsory measures against Shen Yanqing and Gu Zhixing. Deputy Chief Zhao is already drafting the report. I will push it through with full force." She paused, leaning forward, her face drawing closer to the camera. "But," she said, each word enunciated clearly, "Lu Chenzhou, this still isn't 'ironclad' enough." "Shen Yanqing's legal team will challenge the method of obtaining the prisoner's confession—coerced testimony, induced confession, even your personal vendetta. They'll say communication logs can be forged, the relay codes don't directly point to Shen Yanqing himself. 'Black Shield' can throw a few middle managers under the bus as scapegoats. Gu Zhixing can