The sting of the river wind on his cheeks had not yet faded, and the brass key in his pocket pressed painfully into his palm. Lu Chenzhou descended the barren slope of the northern suburbs, each step feeling as though it fell upon a predetermined tick of a second hand. Qin Wangshu’s words were like nails, pinning him at the intersection of three lines of sight. His phone vibrated. The screen lit up, displaying a local number not saved in his contacts. The text message had only one line, from Shen Moqing’s perpetually even-toned secretary: “Mr. Lu, the family head requests your presence in the study tomorrow at nine o’clock. Regarding the unfinished matters from today’s family meeting.” Unfinished matters. Lu Chenzhou stared at those four words. He had just, in the family meeting, used a chain of logic and a few peripheral pieces of evidence to temporarily move aside the gun Gu Zhixing had pressed against Shen Qinghuan’s head. That was not a victory; it was merely passing the detonator to another hand. Now, Shen Moqing was about to press the trigger himself. He replied “Received,” then immediately powered off the phone, removed the battery, used his thumb to bend the SIM card in half, and tossed it into a roadside drainage ditch. The movements were as fluid as breathing. In the distance, a freighter’s horn sounded again, drawn-out and long, like a weary sigh. The next day at eight-fifty, Lu Chenzhou stood before the heavy redwood door of the study in the Shen family’s main residence. He wore the dark gray suit “provided” by the Shen family, the fabric fine, the cut impeccable, like another layer of skin he could not shed. The corridor was permeated with the scent of old wood mixed with furniture polish. The silence pressed down on his eardrums, making them throb, and he could hear the muffled roar of his own blood flowing. The door slid open silently from within. The secretary stepped aside to make way, his face expressionless. “Mr. Lu, please.” The study was vast. Heavy velvet curtains filtered the light into an aged amber hue, pressing heavily upon the carpet. Shen Moqing sat behind the massive redwood desk, not rising. He held an unlit cigar between his fingers, slowly rotating it. The rich, slightly bitter aroma of the tobacco leaves drifted out, mingling with the distinct, slightly musty, heavy scent of ancient book pages, weaving an invisible web. Lu Chenzhou stopped about three paces from the desk, his body leaning forward slightly—a posture of respect, but not overly obsequious. The edge of the redwood desk was cool and smooth, the sensation transmitting through his fingertips. Shen Moqing lifted his gaze. The old man was dressed today in a dark purple Tang suit, the silver-thread cloud patterns at the collar as fine as hairs. The jade thumb ring on his left hand was being slowly rubbed, once, and again. “Jingyuan,” Shen Moqing used his courtesy name, his tone as gentle as if calling a junior relative, “You handled yesterday’s matter appropriately. That child Qinghuan is somewhat willful, but ultimately, he is of Shen family blood.” Lu Chenzhou did not respond. This was not praise; it was setting the tone. “However,” Shen Moqing shifted the topic, his tone still as placid as ancient well water, “a leak of information within the family is, after all, a hidden danger. If word gets out, it’s not a good look. Among the board of directors, several of the elders have also voiced considerable dissatisfaction.” He paused, the cigar stopping between his fingers. “Since you have the capability, and the heart for it,” Shen Moqing’s gaze fell upon him, deep and unfathomable, “why not entrust the matter of clarifying the source of the leak to you to handle. What do you say?” The study abruptly fell into silence. Only the low, persistent hum from the central air conditioning vent remained, like the breathing of some lurking beast. Lu Chenzhou felt the shirt on his back being gradually soaked through by cold sweat, the fabric sticking to his skin. He rapidly deconstructed the skeleton of this sentence: **Recognition of ability**—needs you to charge ahead and be the target; **Truth is paramount**—regardless of what the truth is, the “culprit” you must find must be the one I designate; **Entrust it to you**—you no longer have the room to refuse. A beautifully wrapped trap. The sugar coating was “trust” and “heavy reliance,” the core was arsenic. To refuse would be open defiance; the foundation of all previous “cooperation” would instantly crumble. To accept would mean voluntarily walking into the territory "Alright." His voice was steady, each word dropping like a lead weight. "Attorney Gu will cooperate with you fully." He paused, then added: "He knows what's at stake." The elevator doors closed silently behind him, cutting off the scrutinizing gazes from the corridor. The room was left with only the continuous low hum of the central air conditioning vent and the faintly sour, stale-dust scent peculiar to old paper. Lu Chenzhou sat down in front of the computer. The chair back was fixed, unable to swivel. He could feel Director Li's gaze on the back of his neck, like a cold probe. He clicked open the folder named "Preliminary Materials for Leak Investigation." In the lower right corner of the screen, an inconspicuous green icon blinked faintly—monitoring software, recording every click and dwell time. The feedback click of the mouse button was unnervingly crisp, amplified in the silence. The first PDF file was "Preliminary Report on Leak Incident Timeline and Associated Personnel Screening." The text was bland, filled with regulatory citations and procedural descriptions. Key time points were vague, direct evidence absent. The conclusion section was full of officialese like "cannot be ruled out," "may exist," "requires further verification." Lu Chenzhou's eyes swept quickly across the page, his fingertip moving the mouse wheel at a constant speed, betraying neither impatience nor hesitation. He had to be like a precise scanner, extracting useful information in the shortest possible time while avoiding the meticulously laid logical traps. The second document was a suspect list and background investigation forms. Seven names, positions ranging from deputy project director to administrative assistant. Lu Chenzhou's pupils contracted slightly—three of those names had been vaguely mentioned by Shen Qinghuan. It was during a late-night call, the faint sound of rain in the background. She'd said these individuals had "at least not explicitly opposed" the procurement process transparency reforms, her tone carrying a barely perceptible hint of testing. Now, their names appeared on this list "prepared" by Gu Zhixing himself. A warning, or a frame-up? He clicked open the background investigation PDF for the first suspect. The moment the page loaded, the corner of his left eye twitched slightly. The document was neatly formatted, detailed in content, with clear photocopies of ID cards, scanned academic certificates, and annual performance reviews attached. But Lu Chenzhou's gaze locked onto the line of handwritten supplementary notes below the "Family Members" section. The handwriting. He had seen this handwriting before. Seven years ago, in the initial trial files of Shen Yan's old case, there was an internal note regarding "abnormalities in the storage records of physical evidence." At the end of that note, appended was a supplementary comment in this exact same handwriting, dismissively attributing the anomaly to a "filing oversight." The person responsible for logistical coordination of that case back then was a long-deceased old secretary who had worked closely with Shen Moqing. Now, the same handwriting appeared in a "background investigation" targeting Shen Qinghuan's potential supporters. A chill crawled up his spine. This wasn't an oversight; it was a signature. A fingerprint left unintentionally by the forger, spanning seven years. Lu Chenzhou maintained steady breathing, his right index finger continuing to scroll the mouse wheel. He slowly scrolled the page down, letting that attachment with the handwritten note remain on screen for a perfectly calculated three seconds—neither too long nor too short, consistent with a reasonable duration for an investigator checking details. Then, he opened the next suspect's file. This time, he deliberately slowed his pace. His gaze lingered a moment longer on certain irrelevant fields, pausing occasionally as if in thought. He needed to perform, to perform the role of an investigator seriously screening, gradually sinking into a sea of materials. Perform for the eyes behind him, and for the other pair of eyes that might exist behind the monitoring software. The third file was a summary of internal communication records. The data was voluminous, but clearly edited. Records from key time periods were missing; names of certain high-frequency contacts were replaced with codes. Lu Chenzhou quickly noted down the patterns and frequencies of several codes, simultaneously constructing possible correspondences in his mind. His memory was like a tightly drawn net, capturing every floating fragment. Time ticked by, second by second. In the room, there was only the low hum of the air conditioner, the crisp clicks of the mouse, and the occasional rustle of magazine pages being turned. Supervisor Li was quiet, but his presence was like a second air conditioner in the room, continuously emanating silent pressure. Lu Chenzhou opened an Excel spreadsheet containing logs of confidential document transfers over the past three months. A deluge of data flooded towards him. He adjusted his posture, leaning slightly forward, his right hand gripping the mouse, his left hand resting casually on the edge of the keyboard. It was a position convenient for quick operations and also for partially shielding the screen. His gaze locked onto several anomalous nodes in the logs: the same document repeatedly accessed by different accounts within an extremely short timeframe; certain low-privilege accounts showing access records they shouldn't have had; slight, logically inconsistent misalignments in the timestamps of several key transfer paths. These anomalies were cleverly dispersed among tens of thousands of normal records, like poisoned needles hidden in a haystack. He needed more. Anomalies alone weren't enough; he needed evidence that could nail those anomalies to specific links and specific responsible individuals. His eyes swept over the field names at the top of the spreadsheet. Suddenly, he spoke, his voice steady, breaking the half-hour silence in the room. "Supervisor Li." The sound of magazine pages turning behind him stopped. Lu Chenzhou didn't turn around, his gaze still fixed on the screen, his tone carrying a deliberateness befitting official business: "Excuse me, but could you clarify? Is the application process for internal document photocopying and the archiving of paper copies uniformly centralized under your Legal Department, or do individual departments retain a portion themselves?" Gu Zhixing's handiwork. The list was bait, attempting to steer his investigation towards Shen Qinghuan's "wings," thereby fulfilling Shen Moqing's goal of eliminating dissenters while also completely shattering the fragile alliance he and Shen Qinghuan had just established. Lu Chenzhou's fingertip lightly scrolled the mouse wheel. The page rapidly moved downward. His breathing rhythm showed no change, but his entire focus had sharpened like a probe, concentrating on every word, every detail flowing across the screen. When he flipped to the fourth personal background investigation form, his finger stopped. This form belonged to a mid-level manager on the list who had already left the company, formerly an assistant on a certain project, someone Shen Qinghuan had brought in two years ago. The content of the form itself was unremarkable: education, work experience, family relations. What caught Lu Chenzhou's attention was the handwritten entry in the "Family Member Details" column. Blue ink. The handwriting was neat, yet betrayed a deliberate stiffness. In the connecting strokes between "Occupation" and "Work Unit," there was a very subtle, unnatural hesitation, as if the writer was intentionally altering their natural penmanship; at the finishing strokes of several characters, there was an almost imperceptible, tiny upward flick. This handwriting... he was all too familiar with it. Not identical, but that attempt to conceal the original writing habit, yet leaking characteristic touches in the subtleties, bore a highly similar resemblance to the handwriting on that "confession letter voluntarily submitted by a witness" from the old case file ten years ago—the one that ultimately sealed his fate. That "confession letter" was one of the key pieces of fabricated evidence. Handwriting analysis had been controversial back then but was ultimately suppressed by "expert opinion." For ten years, Lu Chenzhou had replayed the events countless times in his mind, chewing over every turn, every rise and fall of that handwriting, swallowing it down, transforming it into blood and hatred. He couldn't be wrong. The same forger. Or, the same imitator. Gu Zhixing... or the person he directly served, had participated in fabricating evidence and framing him ten years ago. And now, this handwriting appeared in the "leak case" file. Was it a warning? An oversight? Or another, deeper trap? He felt a surge of icy excitement, like a venomous snake slithering up his spine, followed by an even deeper chill. This meant he had brushed against the hem of the old case's ghost, but it also meant the other side might already be aware of his intentions, perhaps even intentionally left this clue to see how he would react. Supervisor Li behind him seemed to notice the subtle change in his browsing speed; the sound of magazine pages turning paused briefly. Lu Chenzhou moved immediately. He impassively scrolled past that page, opened the next Excel spreadsheet, and spoke without turning his head, his voice carrying the inquisitive tone of official business: "Regarding the group's internal documents, especially the application process for photocopying confidential documents and the retention of paper records," Lu Chenzhou pointed to a column of data in the spreadsheet on the screen, "are they uniformly filed and archived through the Legal Department, or can individual departments retain copies themselves? I noticed in this circulation record that the handwriting of the signatories at several checkpoints is inconsistent, and I'd like to verify the standard procedure." The question sounded entirely technical, focused on loopholes in document control, perfectly reasonable. Manager Li stood up, walked to the desk, and leaned over to look at the screen. "Oh, that. In principle, all photocopying of confidential documents must be registered and archived through us. But in some urgent situations, or with special approval from department heads... in practice, there might indeed be some flexibility." His answer was watertight, acknowledging the possible existence of loopholes while shifting the responsibility to "special circumstances" and "department heads." Lu Chenzhou nodded and didn't press further. He casually asked a few more innocuous questions about the work habits and interpersonal relationships of the other suspects on the list. Manager Li answered each one patiently, but his eyes remained like a ruler, measuring every one of Lu Chenzhou's reactions. Half an hour later, Lu Chenzhou closed the last file. "That's about enough for today. Some of this information still needs cross-verification. Thank you for your trouble, Manager Li." "You're too kind," Manager Li's smile remained unchanged. "Lawyer Gu instructed that you are welcome anytime. I'll copy this electronic material onto a USB drive later for you to take back and study carefully." It was already afternoon when Lu Chenzhou left the Shen Group building. Citing the need to "independently sort through the clues," he politely declined Manager Li's offer of a car. He walked through two blocks, switched subway lines three times in a crowded station, entered a large supermarket, and exited from another entrance. Finally, he hailed a taxi and gave the name of an old teahouse in the west of the city. The teahouse was hidden deep in a quiet sycamore-lined alley, its facade old and worn. Lu Chenzhou requested the innermost booth and ordered a pot of Jin Jun Mei. The tea leaves unfurled in the boiling water, releasing a steamy vapor with a unique honeyed aroma and a faint hint of smokiness, instantly dispelling the lingering smell of dust from the archives and the chill of the air conditioning that had clung to him. He waited about fifteen minutes. Shen Qinghuan arrived. She wore a cream-colored cardigan, her hair loosely tied up, her face unable to conceal weariness and alarm. Seeing Lu Chenzhou, she walked over quickly, and as she sat down, her fingers unconsciously tightened around the strap of her bag. Lu Chenzhou pushed a freshly poured cup of bright orange-red tea towards her. "Have some tea first," he said, his voice lower and slower than usual. Shen Qinghuan glanced at him and picked up the white porcelain cup. The warmth of the cup transmitted a steady heat through her palm. She lowered her head and took a sip, then another. The tea's fragrance soothed her taut nerves, and her shoulders relaxed slightly, but the unease in her eyes did not fade. "He came to you, didn't he?" She set down the cup; the porcelain made a crisp sound as it lightly touched the wooden tabletop. "My father... asked you to investigate the leak." "Yes," Lu Chenzhou did not deny it. He took out his phone, opened the memo app, quickly typed a few lines, and then pushed it in front of Shen Qinghuan. On the screen were a few names—exactly the three people from the suspect list who had had interactions with Shen Qinghuan. Followed by a line: *The list is bait, targeting you.* Shen Qinghuan stared at the screen, her face gradually paling. She bit her lip, her fingers unconsciously twisting a strand of her long hair, but soon the movement stopped, her fingers frozen mid-air. "They..." her voice was dry, "they want to pluck out the people around me, one by one." Lu Chenzhou retrieved his phone and deleted the record. He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice even more to ensure only the two of them could hear. "The list Gu Zhixing gave is more than just bait." He paused, observing her reaction. "There's something off about it. The handwriting on one of the background investigation forms... I've seen it before." "Yes. A particular style of connected strokes and finishing strokes." Lu Chenzhou described it briefly, but it was enough to trigger a connection. "Does it have anything to do with someone around your father, or Gu Zhixing, who is skilled at imitating handwriting?" Shen Qinghuan's pupils dilated slightly. She picked up the teac "He went to... Uncle Sun for help at the time." Lu Chenzhou's breath hitched for a moment. "Uncle Sun?" "Uncle Sun, Sun Qiming. He used to be... my grandfather's secretary, followed him for many years. When I was little, important family documents, greeting cards, even some of my father's instructions, if they needed to be written by proxy or... processed, all went through him. He had excellent penmanship, especially skilled at imitation. He could imitate my father's handwriting to the point of being almost indistinguishable." Shen Qinghuan's voice grew softer, tinged with a dazed quality of recalling the past. "Later, he got old and his health wasn't good. He retired completely about seven or eight years ago and went back to his hometown. My father gave him a large sum of money to settle him." "Where is his hometown?" "Southern Yunnan, a very remote small town. I don't know the specific address, but Gu Zhixing definitely knows. He was the one responsible for arranging Uncle Sun's return back then." Lu Chenzhou's heart sank. A long-retired old secretary, skilled at imitating handwriting, arranged to be sent away by Gu Zhixing. The timeline matched up too—Uncle Sun retired seven or eight years ago, and that old case "confession letter" appeared ten years ago. If Uncle Sun hadn't fully retired at the time, or was temporarily "borrowed"... "Is Uncle Sun... still alive now?" he asked, his voice betraying no emotion. Shen Qinghuan shook her head, her face growing paler. "I don't know. Since he went back, all contact was cut off. My father forbade anyone from disturbing him." She looked at Lu Chenzhou, her eyes filled with fear and a need for confirmation. "That handwriting... where did you see it? Does it... does it have anything to do with my father?" Lu Chenzhou didn't answer directly. He poured himself another cup of tea, watching the orange-red tea liquor fill the white porcelain cup. "That handwriting appeared ten years ago, on forged evidence for an old case. That case put me in prison for ten years." Shen Qinghuan gasped sharply, her fingers tightening around her teacup until her knuckles turned white. She opened her mouth but no sound came out. "Now, the same handwriting characteristics have appeared in the case file Gu Zhixing gave me, the one investigating the 'leak case'." Lu Chenzhou lifted his eyes, his gaze sharp as a blade. "This means that either Gu Zhixing—or whoever is behind him—was careless, leaving behind a fatal clue.