The darkness seeping from the gap in the cargo van's door pressed in like a viscous substance, choking his breath. Lu Chenzhou leaned his back against the rough brick wall, the cold sensation piercing through his thin clothes, drilling straight into his shoulder blades. The brown paper bag held against his chest dug into the space below his ribs, its edges hard and painful. In the distance, the police sirens from the warehouse area had thinned out, but the suffocating feeling of being hunted was slowly tightening from both ends of the alley—Zhao Tieshan's men hadn't withdrawn yet. He stared at the black cargo van. Its rear faced him, the door gap open about a hand's width. There was no light inside, no movement, not even the sound of the engine cooling. Too quiet. The van was parked in a position that completely blocked the most direct path to the logistics park in the eastern suburbs—the last alternate rendezvous point Qin Wangshu had confirmed before communications were cut off. Was it an extension of the police cordon? Or had Shen Yanqing's people already predicted his possible escape route? A faint twitch began at the corner of Lu Chenzhou's left eye. Unconsciously, he slid his hand into his coat pocket, his fingertips touching a cold metal object—the old-fashioned key Zhou Zhengping had given him. The rusty, jagged teeth pressed against his finger pad. He couldn't wait. He slowly exhaled, his breath forming a white mist that dissipated in the winter night air. Then, he moved. Not forward, but sideways, sliding backward along the base of the wall. His footsteps made almost no sound on the thin-frosted cement ground. He circled toward the other end of the alley, where several discarded plastic trash cans were piled up, behind them a waist-high wall. On the other side lay an old residential area. Lu Chenzhou stuffed the brown paper bag into the innermost layer against his chest, zipping his coat tight over it. He took two running steps, hands pushing off the top of the wall, using the momentum to vault over. Upon landing, a dull pain shot through his left shoulder—the spot scraped by the blast shutter in the archive room earlier had started bleeding again. He clenched his teeth and didn't stop. He crossed two narrow alleyways, avoiding the streetlights on the main road. The cold winter night wind scraped his face like a knife. He pulled out his phone; the screen was cracked but still functional. He quickly entered a code for an encrypted communication frequency, attempting to connect. Only the hiss of static. Qin Wangshu's channel remained silent. Lu Chenzhou's finger paused on the screen for a second. Then, he deleted the code and opened another backup app. It was an offline map pre-loaded by Fang Mu, marking all possible safe houses, abandoned points, and surveillance blind spots in the city. The nearest point was 3.7 kilometers away. An abandoned textile factory warehouse. He put away his phone and began to run. *** 2:17 AM. Shen Yan Group Headquarters Building, B2 level underground parking garage. The green light of the emergency exit signs cast pale reflections on the epoxy floor. The air was a mixture of motor oil, dust, and some kind of antifreeze smell—damp and chilly. Lu Chenzhou crouched behind a load-bearing column, keeping his breathing low and controlled. It had taken him forty-seven minutes to circle from the eastern suburbs to the city center. He had changed his appearance three times, hitched a ride on a predawn delivery truck, and finally infiltrated this financial district on foot from two blocks away. The Shen Yan Group building stood right before him, its thirty-seven stories of glass curtain wall like a black knife in the night. Zhou Zhengping's intelligence was accurate: the logistics passage on the west side of the building had an old-fashioned mechanical lock. When the security system underwent a comprehensive upgrade last year, this lock was retained because it was connected to an underground air-raid shelter structure from the 1980s, making modification too difficult. The key was in his hand. Lu Chenzhou slid out from the shadows, moving along the base of the wall. His footsteps made almost no echo in the empty garage. He stopped before the heavy metal door. The door was a dull gray, its paint peeling. The keyhole was hidden below the doorknob, very discreet. He took out the key. As the rusty tip of the key entered the keyhole, it made a faint scraping sound. Lu Chenzhou held his breath, slowly turning his wrist. One turn, two turns—a crisp *click* of mechanical parts engaging came from inside the lock cylinder, carrying the texture of an old object. The door opened a crack. A stronger smell of motor oil wafted out, mixed with the distinctive musty odor of underground pipes. Lu Chenzhou slipped in He moved swiftly between rows of parking spaces, avoiding the few still-active surveillance cameras—their positions and angles had been repeatedly confirmed by Qin Wangshu early yesterday morning. The fire door was at the far end of the garage, a heavy gray metal door with a red "No Entry" indicator light glowing above the frame. The electronic lock panel emitted a faint glow. Lu Chenzhou crouched down, retrieving a palm-sized black device from his toolkit. There was a data port on its side; he pulled out a cable and connected it to a maintenance port reserved beside the door lock. The screen lit up. A cold, indigo glow reflected in his focused pupils. Code began to scroll, the progress bar slowly inching upward. Three percent, seven percent… Cracking it would take time. And time was the most luxurious commodity at this moment. He kept his eyes on the screen while scanning both ends of the corridor with his peripheral vision. A faint hum from a distant elevator echoed—perhaps a night-shift security guard making rounds. The damp, chilly air in the atmosphere was creeping up his pant legs. Right then— A burst of sharp, static noise exploded in his earpiece! Every muscle in Lu Chenzhou’s body tensed instantly. He instinctively moved to remove the earpiece, but the noise lasted less than two seconds before transforming into a familiar, yet extremely weak voice. “…Chenzhou?” It was Qin Wangshu. Her voice came in fragments, carrying obvious panting, as if she had just struggled free from some heavy pressure. “I’m here.” Lu Chenzhou lowered his voice, his fingers still steadily pressing the side key of the cracker. “How are you?” “For now… not dead.” Qin Wangshu’s breathing was heavy. “Listen, they… found out. Access logs, blind spot inference… Old Zhou’s information source is exposed.” Lu Chenzhou’s finger froze for an instant. “Shen Yanqing’s people went to monitor the area around Old Zhou’s place twenty minutes ago.” Qin Wangshu’s speech quickened, but each word seemed forced through gritted teeth. “I can’t get close, communications are jammed too… that burst just now was them using a vehicle-mounted signal suppression device. I ducked into an electrical room, safe for now, but I can’t hold out long.” Lu Chenzhou’s gaze fell on the cracker’s screen. Progress bar: forty-two percent. “Your current location?” he asked. “Still on the periphery, but pinned down.” Qin Wangshu caught her breath. “A convoy… Shen Yanqing’s private convoy left the estate ten minutes ago. Fang Mu… is heading your way. I can’t confirm if it’s to the building, but the time window is narrowing. Lu Chenzhou, you have to hurry.” “Estimated arrival time?” “Fifteen minutes max, if no traffic.” Lu Chenzhou glanced at his watch. 2:24 AM. “Received,” he said. On the other end of the line, Qin Wangshu fell silent for two seconds. “Grab the thing and get out. Don’t linger.” Her voice suddenly dropped, carrying a tone almost pleading. “Old Zhou’s side… I’ll figure something out. You secure the evidence first.” “Understood.” The call cut off. The garage plunged back into dead silence. Only the cold indigo glow of the cracker’s screen and the distant hum of the elevator remained. Lu Chenzhou stared at the progress bar: fifty-one percent. His breathing rhythm showed no change, but the twitch at the corner of his left eye quickened in frequency. *** The electronic lock on the fire door emitted a soft *click* as the progress bar reached one hundred percent. A green light lit up. Lu Chenzhou pushed the door open and slipped inside. Before him stretched an even narrower corridor. The walls were tiled in off-white, the ceiling low, with exposed pipes painted gray with rust-proof coating. The smell in the air changed: the motor oil odor faded, replaced by a dry scent mixed with old paper and moth repellent. At the end of the corridor stood another heavy metal door. The door bore no markings, no room number, not even a "No Admittance" sign. Only a silver-gray scanning panel was embedded into the right side of the frame. Above the panel was an iris recognition lens; below it, a fingerprint collection area. The core archives room. Zhou Zhengping’s key was useless here. Lu Chenzhou quickly retrieved two items from his toolkit: a small laser projector and a specially treated, translucent film. The film was only the size of a fingernail, its edges thin as a cicada’s wing. He gently pressed the film onto the iris recognition lens of the scanning panel, his movements as steady as a surgeon’s. Then, he turned The indicator light on the scanning panel changed from standby yellow to red—recognizing. One second. Two seconds. The red light flashed once, then turned green. Iris verification passed. Lu Chenzhou didn’t pause. He put on the prepared silicone finger sleeve, its surface replicating Shen Yanqing’s fingerprint texture. He pressed his index finger against the fingerprint collection area. The panel lit up red again. This time, the recognition was faster. In less than a second, the green light came on again. From inside the metal door came a series of complex mechanical unlocking sounds: gears turning, bolts retracting, hydraulic devices slowly releasing pressure. The sounds were muffled yet smooth, clearly indicating this system had received meticulous maintenance. The door opened inward a crack. Dry air, carrying the scent of old paper, rushed out to meet him. Lu Chenzhou squeezed sideways through the door, then closed it gently behind him with his hand. He didn’t turn on the light immediately, instead standing still, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. The archive room had no windows. The only light source was the extremely faint glow seeping through the door crack from the corridor outside. By this dim light, he could see rows of tall metal filing cabinets standing like silent giants in the dark. The cabinets were dark gray, with yellowed labels pasted on their doors, the handwriting already faded. The air was cold. The central air conditioning vent emitted a low hum, but the air it blew out was almost devoid of warmth. Lu Chenzhou took a small headlamp from his tool bag and put it on. He adjusted the light to its dimmest setting, illuminating only the area about one meter ahead. He moved forward along the aisles between the filing cabinets, his footsteps as light as a cat’s. The numbering system Zhou Zhengping had described was based on the old file classification method used by the Shen Yan Group in the 1990s. The core archive room had been renovated ten years ago, but the cabinet arrangement and numbering logic hadn’t changed much. The target area should be in the northeast corner, where all the original documents for “special projects” were stored. He found it. Three rows of filing cabinets formed a small cubicle. The labels on the cabinet doors read: “1994-1998 · Special Coordination Projects.” The cabinet doors weren’t locked—with this level of security, the outer door was sufficient, and the interior was comparatively lax. Lu Chenzhou pulled open one of the cabinet doors. Inside were neatly arranged manila folders, their spines labeled with project names and dates in black ink. His hand moved quickly over the files, his fingertips brushing the rough surfaces of the paper. Nothing. The next cabinet door. Still nothing. When he pulled open the third cabinet door, his movements halted. At the very back of the cabinet, against the wall, was an old-style mechanical safe built into the wall. The safe door was ink-green, with some of the surface paint peeling away, revealing the dull metal underneath. The model was “Yonggu Brand” Type 97—the kind Zhou Zhengping had described, purchased during Shen Yanqing’s father’s era. The safe’s keyhole was a standard cross-shaped one. Lu Chenzhou took the rusty key from his pocket. Aligning the teeth with the keyhole, he inserted it. The mechanical structure inside the lock core made a grating yet smooth turning sound. One turn. Two turns. When the third turn reached its end, a soft *click* came from inside the safe door. The door popped open a crack. Lu Chenzhou’s heart gave a violent leap at that moment. Blood rushed to his eardrums, the roaring sound drowning out the hum of the air conditioner. He took a deep breath, suppressing the agitation that threatened to burst from his chest, and reached out to pull open the safe door. The interior of the safe was shallow, with only two shelves. No cash, no jewelry, nothing of monetary value. Just a few sparse manila folders, neatly stacked together. On the spine of the topmost folder was a yellowed label. Handwritten script, black ink, strokes upright and proper: **[1996 - Municipal Infectious Disease Hospital - Special Coordination Minutes]** Lu Chenzhou’s hand trembled involuntarily before he put on his gloves. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, absolute calm had returned to his gaze. He put on thin rubber gloves and carefully extracted that folder. The folder was thick, its edges somewhat worn. He walked over to an empty metal desk nearby and placed the folder down. The beam of the headlamp focused on the cover. He opened it. The first page was an agreement. The paper was the old-style official document kind, with a header printed with the words “Municipal Infectious Disease Hospital New Construction Project Special Coordination Group” in faded red Song typeface. The title read: The terms were clear, the wording precise, but the content was staggering: the total project budget was 120 million yuan, of which "coordination fees" accounted for fifteen percent, to be paid in installments by the winning bidder "Kangjian Pharmaceuticals" through overseas accounts. The distribution ratio was clearly listed: Shen Yan Group (Shen Yanqing) forty percent, City Health Bureau (Li Guohua) thirty percent, Provincial Health Department Infrastructure Division (Wu Guodong) twenty percent, Kangjian Pharmaceuticals (Qian Weidong) ten percent. The money laundering path was detailed down to specific banks and account names. He flipped to the last page. The signature section. Four signatures, four official seals. Shen Yanqing's signature, flamboyant and sweeping, exuding an unquestionable arrogance. Li Guohua's signature was proper and cautious, every stroke revealing the prudence of a minor bureaucrat. Wu Guodong's signature was somewhat sloppy, while Qian Weidong's was pressed down with such force it almost punctured the paper. The seals were a vivid red. The official seal of the City Health Bureau, the seal of the Provincial Health Department Infrastructure Division, the seal of Shen Yan Group, and the seal of Kangjian Pharmaceuticals. All present and accounted for. Lu Chenzhou's breath stopped in that moment. He stared at those signatures, those seals, those cold numbers and clauses. Seven years. Seven years of wrongful imprisonment, seven years of darkness, seven years of hatred and resentment that gnawed at his marrow every deep night—in this moment, it all condensed into the weight of this stack of paper in his hand. Not a photocopy, not a scan, but the original agreement. Ironclad evidence. His fingers unconsciously disassembled and reassembled the key in his hand. The metal teeth bit into his palm, bringing a sharp pain. This was not a dream. He quickly retrieved a waterproof sealed bag from his toolkit, carefully placed the original agreement inside, squeezed out the air, and sealed it. Then, he began to look through the other documents in the folder: fund transfer vouchers, meeting minutes, even a few black-and-white photos of the project site from back then. Everything went into the bag. Just as he placed the last attachment into the sealed bag and was about to zip up the toolkit— A nearly inaudible *beep* came from inside the wall of the safe. Extremely faint, like the prelude to an electronic watch's hourly chime. Lu Chenzhou's pupils contracted sharply. His body moved faster than his thoughts. He jerked backward violently, simultaneously reaching into the side pocket of his toolkit and pulling out a simple gas mask, slapping it onto his face. The movement was so fast it stirred the air. At almost the same instant, a very subtle vibration came from the ventilation grate overhead. *Hiss—* Colorless, odorless gas began to seep out from the gaps in the grate. In the dim beam of his headlamp, he could see the air faintly churning with a pale, almost invisible white mist. Knockout gas. Lu Chenzhou's heart pounded wildly. He grabbed the toolkit and the sealed bag, turned, and charged toward the archive room's only exit. But it was already too late. From the wooden frame of the metal door came the heavy sound of mechanical operation. A thick explosion-proof rolling shutter door was rapidly descending from above the door frame! The metal slats grated against the tracks, emitting a piercing screech. The descent was swift, already less than a meter from the ground. Lu Chenzhou did not slow down. He calculated the distance and height as he sprinted. The speed of the shutter's descent, his own running speed, the rate at which the gap was shrinking—all the data converged in his mind in an instant. When he was still two meters from the rolling shutter, he made his decision. His right arm swung violently, sending the toolkit and sealed bag flying out the door first. They landed on the corridor's tiled floor with a heavy thud. He himself followed with a sideways slide, his body skimming across the cold floor, sliding forward. The lower edge of the shutter was now only thirty centimeters from the ground. Twenty centimeters. His shoulder hit the corridor outside first, then his head, chest, waist— A searing, fiery pain shot through his left shoulder. The edge of the metal shutter scraped across his shoulder blade. The sound of fabric tearing, the muffled rip of skin being cut open, warm liquid instantly soaking through his shirt. He clenched his teeth, putting all his strength into a final forward lunge. His entire body tumbled out the door. *Boom—!* The explosion-proof rolling shutter door slammed shut completely behind him, the impact against the frame shaking the corridor. The shutter sealed perfectly with the floor, cutting him off completely from the knockout gas now filling Then, he looked toward the toolkit and the sealed bag that had been flung into the corner. The items were still there. He crawled over, picked up the sealed bag, and confirmed once more that the seal was intact. The original copy of the agreement was inside, safe and sound. The ironclad evidence was in his hands. But the price had already been paid. Lu Chenzhou leaned against the cold wall, removing his gas mask. The air in the corridor was stale, but at least it was free of the knockout gas. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his wildly pounding heart. Right then, the crackle of static sounded in his earpiece once more. Immediately followed by Qin Wangshu's voice, more urgent than before, even carrying a slight tremble: "Lu Chenzhou! Can you hear me?" "Here," he responded hoarsely. "They're here!" Qin Wangshu's words came as fast as bullets. "Three vehicles, stopped right at the main entrance of the group building! At least eight people got out, equipped! It's Shen Yanqing's private security team, the one leading... is Lei Hu!" Lu Chenzhou's spine instantly turned into a pillar of ice. Lei Hu. Shen Yanqing's head bodyguard, former special forces, the direct enforcer of violence. "They've entered the building." Qin Wangshu's voice was shaking, but she was forcing herself to stay calm. "The elevator is moving... B2 level! They're heading for B2! Lu Chenzhou, you must leave that corridor immediately! Hurry!" Lu Chenzhou pushed himself up from the wall. The wound on his left shoulder was jolted, a sharp pain that made his vision darken for a moment. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the toolkit and the sealed bag, scanning his surroundings. The corridor was a dead end. The only exit was the blast-proof shutter that had already descended. Behind him was the wooden archive room, now filled with knockout gas. Ahead... He looked up. On the ceiling, there was an old-style ventilation duct access panel. A metal grille was fixed with four screws, the edges already rusted. Another piece of information provided by Zhou Zhengping flashed through his mind: during the renovation of this building in the nineties, parts of the old ventilation duct system were preserved as backup for maintenance. One of those ducts ran from the B2-level archive area all the way to the freight elevator shaft on the west side of the first floor. "Wangshu," Lu Chenzhou said into his earpiece, his voice frighteningly calm, "I need the specific layout of that old ventilation duct. Now." From the other end of the comms came the sound of rapid keyboard typing. "Give me ten seconds!" Qin Wangshu gasped. "I'm pulling up the original architectural blueprints... Got it! Listen: from your current position, walk fifteen meters west. There's an access panel on the ceiling. Go in, then crawl east about twenty meters. You'll reach a junction; take the narrower duct on the left. Continue crawling for thirty meters. The duct will drop vertically, connecting to a maintenance passage in the freight elevator shaft. There's a maintenance ladder on the shaft wall. You can descend to B1 level. There's an abandoned loading dock there that leads to the back alley." "Understood." Lu Chenzhou was already standing beneath the access panel. He stood on his toes and reached up to unscrew the grille's screws. The rusted screws didn't budge. "They're on B2!" Qin Wangshu's voice suddenly rose sharply. "They've exited the elevator! Heading your way! Footsteps... many of them!" Lu Chenzhou pulled a small pry bar from his toolkit and wedged it into the gap at the edge of the grille. He applied force. *Screech—* The sound of metal deforming was especially piercing in the silent corridor. "They heard it!" Qin Wangshu was almost screaming. "They're speeding up! Hurry!" Veins bulged on Lu Chenzhou's forehead. He put his full weight on the pry bar. The wound on his left shoulder tore open, blood welling up again. But he ignored it. *Clang!* The grille finally gave way, screws and all. He caught it and gently set it on the ground. Above, a dark, square opening was revealed in the ceiling, just large enough for a person to squeeze through. The inside of the duct was coated with thick dust. The choking smell of years of accumulated grime assaulted his senses. Lu Chenzhou tossed the toolkit and sealed bag in first, then braced his hands on the edges of the opening and pulled himself up with force. The intense pain in his left shoulder made his vision swim, but he bit his lip until it bled, the taste of blood spreading in his mouth. He wrig Lu Chenzhou leaned against the cold metal door, breathing rapidly. The filter of his gas mask created resistance with every inhale, producing a muffled hissing sound. The wound on his left shoulder burned fiercely, and warm fluid slowly trickled down the inside of his arm, soaking his shirt cuff and clinging stickily to his skin. He glanced down—the gap between the bottom of the rolling shutter door and the floor was less than the width of a finger. The hypnotic gas was completely sealed inside. The price was that he was now thoroughly trapped in this corridor less than three meters wide. Both ends of the corridor were solid walls. The only exit was the blast-proof door behind him, which was already locked. A crackle of static came through his earpiece, followed by Qin Wangshu’s voice, pressed low but clearly urgent: “Lu Chenzhou? Respond! What’s your situation? I heard a loud bang—” “Trap triggered,” Lu Chenzhou cut her off, his tone steady but each word seeming to be squeezed from between his teeth. “Blast door dropped. Trapped in the east corridor of B2. Gas contained. I’m injured. Left shoulder. Flesh wound. Doesn’t impede movement.” As he spoke, he quickly shrugged off the tool bag from his back, his movements slightly stiff due to the pain in his shoulder. He yanked open the zipper, his fingers moving precisely to a rigid compartment inside. “The convoy?” he asked. Qin Wangshu’s breathing on the other end of the comm hitched for a moment, then sped up. “Entered the building’s underground parking garage entrance two minutes ago. They didn’t use the main entrance, went straight into the basement. By now… they should be on B1. At most ninety seconds until they reach your floor.” Her voice was taut like a drawn bowstring. “Can you go back the way you came? The fire door?” “Door is physically locked. In the backup route Old Zhou provided, was there any mention of other exits from this corridor?” Lu Chenzhou had already pulled from the tool bag a metal pry bar about twenty centimeters long, equipped with a precision latch and a miniature hydraulic ram, along with a palm-sized thermal imager. He tore open the fabric around the wound on his shoulder, revealing the gash torn open by the metal edge, flesh ragged and bleeding profusely. Without pause, he bit open a packet of hemostatic powder and shook it onto the wound with one hand. The sting of the powder hitting the wound made the corner of his eye twitch slightly, but his movements didn’t falter. “Checking… The blueprint Old Zhou gave is an old version from fifteen years ago. The building has undergone three renovations since…” Qin Wangshu’s voice was mixed with the rapid tapping of keyboard keys. “Found it! At the east end of your corridor, the original design had a maintenance access connecting to the main trunk of the old ventilation ducts. But the notation indicates that after the renovation nine years ago, that access was sealed with a new air supply metal grille. Requires special tools to open.” Lu Chenzhou had already walked to the east end of the corridor. The wall was ordinary white latex paint, showing no trace. He raised the thermal imager. The color blocks on the screen showed that the temperature of this section of the wall was about half a degree lower than the surrounding area, and there was a clear cavity structure behind it. This was it. “Grille model?” he asked, simultaneously pressing the tip of the pry bar against the wall surface, slowly moving along the edge of the temperature anomaly area, searching for a leverage point. “Wait… The model is… ‘Golden Shield’ brand, standard recessed maintenance grille, dimensions 60 by 40, fixed at four corners with hex socket screws. The screw specification should be…” Qin Wangshu’s speech was rapid-fire. “T20 hex socket. You need a T20 wrench.” Lu Chenzhou’s fingers groped in the side pocket of the tool bag, touching a set of miniature combination tools. He pulled it out and quickly identified them under the dim green emergency light. No T20. The largest was T15. “No T20,” his voice remained steady, but the pace quickened slightly. “Only T15. Screws are probably rusted shut.” Silence on the comm for one second. In that second, Lu Chenzhou could hear the faint, indistinct static of the city bureau’s communication channel in the background noise from Qin Wangshu’s side, as well as her own suppressed, heavy breathing. Was she under some kind of pressure, or… in pain? “Then pry it open by force,” Qin Wangshu spoke again, the tension in her voice pulled even tighter, even carrying a trace of desperate ruthlessness. “What’s the maximum thrust of Almost at the moment her words fell, from the western end of the corridor—the direction from which Lu Chenzhou had come—the faint, crisp “ding” of an elevator arriving echoed from the distance, sounding particularly distinct in the silent underground space. Immediately following was a series of hurried footsteps, deliberately lightened but still impossible to fully conceal, rapidly approaching from that direction. Darkness pressed down like a physical entity. Lu Chenzhou’s spine stiffened, as if instantly plunged into ice water. His pupils contracted, fixed on the immovable grate before him. Five hundred kilograms of thrust wasn’t enough. Time wasn’t enough. Tools weren’t enough. The footsteps drew closer, now distinguishable as the rhythm of at least three people, well-trained, advancing with alternating cover. The beams of flashlights swayed at the corridor’s corner, about to sweep over. “Lu Chenzhou!” Qin Wangshu roared in a low voice through the earpiece, her tone distorted by urgency, “Your left! The base of the wall! Look for a fire hydrant box or a pipeline valve box? Old building maintenance access points are sometimes disguised!” Lu Chenzhou’s gaze swept over the left wall base like a searchlight. No boxes. Only exposed heating pipes painted with gray anti-rust paint, and a thin layer of dust accumulated beneath them. His eyes locked onto the dust. The distribution of the dust… was uneven. The dust directly beneath the pipes was fainter than on either side, as if it had been slightly disturbed by something recently, or… was there an extremely faint airflow? He abruptly crouched down, ignoring the searing pain from the tear in his shoulder wound, and reached into the narrow gap between the heating pipe and the wall. His fingers touched the cold metal pipe wall, then the solid wall behind… no, the wall behind the pipe seemed to have an inward curve? He forced his arm into the gap, his fingertips probing behind the pipe. He touched it! Not a flat wall surface, but some kind of metal mesh! Very old, severely rusted, but indeed a mesh! The position was extremely concealed, completely blocked by the thick heating pipe, invisible from the front. “Found it,” he said into the earpiece, his voice pressed very low. “Blocked by the pipe, old vent, metal mesh rusted.” “Can you open it?” Qin Wangshu asked urgently. Lu Chenzhou withdrew his hand, fingertips stained with dark red rust. He glanced at the tool bag, then at the approaching flashlight beams. No time for careful cutting. He grabbed the hydraulic pry bar, adjusted the angle, and drove its tip fiercely into the joint between the wall and the metal mesh behind the pipe. Not prying, but stabbing! Using maximum instantaneous force! *Crrrack—snap!* A heart-stopping sound of metal snapping exploded in the narrow space! The rusted joints of the metal mesh gave way with the impact! At the same moment, a flashlight beam swept sharply around the corridor corner, illuminating most of Lu Chenzhou’s figure! “Over there! Someone!” a rough, harsh shout rang out. Lu Chenzhou didn’t look back. He grabbed the pried-open, jagged-edged metal mesh with both hands and pulled down with all his strength! More rusted connection points snapped, exposing a dark, square opening roughly forty centimeters on each side! A wave of stale, accumulated dust and damp, moldy odor rushed out. He snatched up the tool bag, unhesitatingly shoved it into the opening first, then curled his body and squeezed in. The sharp, broken metal edges of the opening scraped against his back and waist, tearing his clothes and sending new stings across his skin. He grunted, forcing his entire body inside. Just as his feet left the corridor floor, *thud thud thud!* Several muffled impacts—bullets striking the metal pipes and wall, sending up sparks and fragments! Missed! Lu Chenzhou tumbled into the dark space behind the opening, landing heavily on a thick, soft layer of accumulated dust, sending him into a fit of violent coughing. Groping behind him, he grabbed the twisted piece of metal mesh he had torn off and roughly stuffed it back into the opening, blocking most of the light. Below in the corridor, footsteps rushed to the spot, stopping outside the opening. Flashlight beams shone through the mesh gaps into the darkness, forming several swaying columns of light. “Dammit! He went into the ventilation duct!” “Quick! Notify upstairs! Seal all ventilation exits!” “Call the tech team with thermal imaging! He can’t have gone far!” Noisy shouts and the static crackle of comms faintly penetrated through the mesh. Lu Chenzhou leaned against the cold, damp duct wall, breathing heavily, each breath stirring more dust, making his throat itch. He groped around, He fumbled open the side pocket of the toolkit, retrieved a miniature high-intensity flashlight, clamped it between his teeth, and twisted it on. A dim yellow beam illuminated the surroundings—this was an old-fashioned concrete ventilation duct, roughly one meter square in cross-section. The inner walls were rough, covered in thick, woolly layers of black dust and cobwebs. The air was foul and stagnant, heavy with the pungent smell of earth and the distinct sour stench of decaying organic matter. The duct extended forward and backward in two directions, disappearing into an abyss of unfathomable darkness. "Qin Wangshu," he called softly into the earpiece, his voice hoarse from the dust irritation. "I'm in the ventilation duct. Position unknown." Only crackling static came from the earpiece, no response. "Qin Wangshu?" Lu Chenzhou's heart sank a little. He adjusted the earpiece frequency and called again, "Respond." A few seconds later, the static lessened, and Qin Wangshu's voice reappeared, but weaker than before, her breathing unsteady: "Heard... heard you. Are you alright?" "Temporarily escaped. Inside an old ventilation duct." Lu Chenzhou spoke rapidly. "Your status?" "I... I'm okay." Qin Wangshu's voice paused, as if she was enduring something. "The signal was just heavily jammed... they might have activated the building's shielding equipment. Lu Chenzhou, listen to me, the situation has changed." Lu Chenzhou leaned against the duct wall. The wound on his left shoulder throbbed sharply with each heartbeat. He tore off another strip from his shirt hem, groping to apply a more secure bandage. Under the flashlight beam, blood had already soaked through the initial hemostatic powder and cloth. "Go on," he uttered a single word. "They... their reaction was too fast." Qin Wangshu's voice carried a cold, lingering fear. "From the convoy's arrival to the precise encirclement of your corridor, the timing was too perfect. It didn't feel like a routine patrol or a response to a normal alarm. It was more like... more like they already knew you'd be going to that archive room, even knew your approximate time window, and set a trap in advance." Lu Chenzhou's bandaging movements halted for a moment. His gaze fell on the toolkit in his arms. The key provided by Zhou Zhengping. The building blueprints and real-time intelligence provided by Qin Wangshu. The seventy-two-hour action plan. Only the three of them knew the complete details of the plan. "Who are you suspecting?" His voice betrayed no emotion. "I don't know!" Qin Wangshu's voice suddenly grew agitated, followed by a sharp intake of breath as if something had caused her pain. "Hiss... I dare not trust anyone! Including myself! My comms were just jammed; I'm not even sure if I was tracked... But Lu Chenzhou, there's one thing I must tell you. Right when you triggered the trap, I intercepted a fragment of a fuzzy transmission from an encrypted channel inside Shen Yan." She paused, her breathing heavier. "They mentioned 'information source backtracking,' 'key provider,' 'retired old cop'... and 'clearance priority elevated.'" The air in the duct seemed to freeze instantly. The smell of accumulated dust became unbearably choking. Zhou Zhengping. Lu Chenzhou closed his eyes. In the darkness, the face of the old detective—always carrying the scent of alcohol and weariness, yet capable of shooting sharp, piercing glances at critical moments—appeared clearly. That old enamel teacup. Those slightly trembling, yet exceptionally resolute hands when handing him the key. Exposed. Because of his infiltration operation, Zhou Zhengping's identity as a key information source was exposed. Shen Yanqing's blade had already turned direction. "They've locked onto Old Zhou?" Lu Chenzhou asked, his voice parched. "Highly suspected. They are backtracking abnormal access logs from the entry system, blind spots in surveillance, and... the circulation trail of that old-fashioned mechanical key." Qin Wangshu's voice dropped, filled with deep helplessness. "Old Zhou didn't use an electronic key; it was a physical one. That kind of key, each one has a serial number, a casting record. As long as Shen Yanqing is determined to investigate, following the distribution, custody, and decommissioning records of that batch of keys from back then... eventually, they'll trace it to Old Zhou. And we don't have time to completely erase his traces for him." The price. This was the price that had to be paid. The moment the ironclad evidence was obtained, an ally was pushed to the edge of the cliff. Lu Chenzhou opened his eyes again. Dust danced silently in the flashlight beam. He slowly stood up. The wound Qin Wangshu was silent for two seconds. "I know. But I must remind you, Lu Chenzhou, you are now a formally wanted fugitive by the police, wounded in the shoulder, and your whereabouts may be partially exposed. Shen Yanqing's men are combing this building for you like a fine-toothed comb. And as for Elder Zhou... if Shen Yanqing already suspects him, he's likely already had him placed under surveillance, even..." "Even made a move already." Lu Chenzhou finished the sentence for her. His tone was frighteningly calm. "Give me the safe house address, and the latest situation in the surrounding area." "Lu Chenzhou!" Qin Wangshu's voice suddenly rose sharply, filled with incredulous shock and anger. "Are you insane? You can barely protect yourself right now! What you're holding is the hard evidence that can bring down Shen Yanqing, Li Guohua, and even more people! You should take the evidence to Chen Jianguo immediately, or find any channel that can protect the evidence and make it useful! Not go to your death!" "The address." Lu Chenzhou repeated, his voice leaving no room for negotiation. Qin Wangshu's heavy, emotion-suppressed breathing came through the earpiece. After a long while, she quickly recited an address in the old city district. "Jinhua Road, the old cotton mill residential compound, Building Three, Unit Two, top-floor attic. That's a backup hideout Elder Zhou privately purchased many years ago, even his wife didn't know about it. I... I tried to contact him twent