They had not driven away, but merely moved to a more distant intersection, like three silent reefs embedded in the shadows of the road. Lu Chenzhou stood behind the curtain, the twitching in the left corner of his eye had already stopped. In his hand, he clutched a ballpoint pen dismantled from the nightstand; the ink cartridge and spring had been taken apart and reassembled repeatedly, the metal parts leaving fine, dense indentations on his palm. This action had lasted for forty minutes—from the moment he saw the coordinates, until the vehicles outside the window finished their deployment. He needed this action to maintain the precision of his thinking, just as he needed to breathe. Patrol interval: fourteen minutes and thirty seconds. Handover gap: four minutes and fifty seconds. Around five in the morning, the delivery van transporting flowers would arrive punctually at the small side gate on the east side of the Shen residence. The driver was a man around fifty years old, who liked to smoke a cigarette and browse his phone for five minutes while unloading. The bodyguards would retreat inside the gate during this time to avoid the morning chill. Window: seven to ten minutes. He loosened his grip, and the ballpoint pen parts scattered on the bedsheet. The sky outside the window was still pitch black, but a faint, pale gray had begun to seep into the eastern horizon, like the first mark left by a whetstone on a blade. Time to move. *** The morning air in the Shen residence carried the cool, dewy scent of grass and trees, mingled with the faint, slightly burnt aroma of breakfast cooking oil wafting from the distant kitchen. The two smells blended in the corridor, forming a strange, everyday atmosphere belonging to this mansion. Lu Chenzhou changed into the dark blue work clothes prepared in advance—the fabric was coarse, with mud stains on the cuffs that couldn't be washed out. He had "borrowed" them from the laundry yesterday; they belonged to a gardener of similar build. He adjusted the angle of the cap brim in the bathroom mirror, ensuring the shadow would cover the upper half of his face. The person in the mirror had calm, even somewhat empty eyes; only the slight, involuntary twitching in the left corner of his eye persisted. One beat. Two beats. He turned and left the room. The bodyguard at the end of the corridor was looking at his phone, the screen's blue light illuminating half of his young face. Lu Chenzhou's footsteps were light, but loud enough to make the man look up. The moment their eyes met, the bodyguard paused, then frowned. "You..." "Master Li sent me to help at the east gate," Lu Chenzhou lowered his voice, speaking at an even pace, his wording precise. "Said there were a lot of flowers this morning, one person can't move them all." As he spoke, he didn't stop walking, nor did he even glance at the bodyguard. This kind of natural, hurried manner was more convincing than any explanation. The bodyguard opened his mouth, but in the end just waved his hand. "Hurry up, don't delay the patrol." "Understood." Lu Chenzhou turned into the stairwell. His heart hammered in his chest, the rhythm steady, but each beat carried a heavy weight. He counted the steps: fourteen to the first floor, then through a thirty-meter-long service corridor, a left turn would lead to the small east side gate. A sliver of light seeped through the door crack. He stopped at the corner, his back against the wall. The soft click of a lighter igniting came from outside the door, followed by the faint hiss of tobacco burning. The driver was smoking. The sound of a bodyguard's footsteps came from inside the door, from the other side, gradually fading away—handover time had arrived. Four minutes and fifty seconds. Now. Lu Chenzhou pulled down his cap brim and pushed open the small door. The cold morning air splashed over his face like icy water, carrying the damp, earthy smell unique to plants and soil. The delivery van was parked five meters away, its rear door half-open, revealing layers of flower pots and gardening tools inside. The driver had his back to him, head bowed as he scrolled through his phone; the screen's light illuminated his graying temples. One step. Two steps. Lu Chenzhou's footsteps were absorbed by the soft earth. He walked to the back of the van, placed his left hand on the cold metal edge, and lightly vaulted inside. The movement was as fluid as if he had practiced it countless times—and in his mind, he indeed had. The space inside the van was cramped; the rough, chipped edges of the ceramic flower pots dug into his palm, and the slightly pungent smell of fertilizer rushed straight into his nostrils. He curled up into the inn The engine started, its low roar vibrating in his eardrums. The wheels rolled over the cobblestone road, the jolts transmitting through the floorboards to his entire body. Lu Chenzhou opened his eyes in the darkness, his pupils gradually adjusting. He pulled out his phone from his pocket — no signal, the internal jamming inside the Shen residence was still effective — but the offline map had already been preloaded. A red dot indicated his position, slowly moving towards the boundary of the Shen estate. Seven minutes. The truck would pass through two guard posts, then drive onto the main road. He needed to jump out before that. The jolting intensified. The truck slowed down, stopped. The first guard post. The sound of a car window being rolled down, a brief exchange between the driver and the security guard. Then the mechanical screech of a barrier being raised. The wheels rolled forward again. The second guard post. The same procedure. Lu Chenzhou’s hand groped in the darkness, touching the cold metal handle on the inside of the rear compartment door. The lock was a simple latch type, openable from the inside. He waited for the moment the truck accelerated — the engine roared, the speed suddenly increased — then applied pressure with his fingertips, gently pushing the latch open. *Click.* Cold wind rushed in violently, lifting a corner of the canvas tarp. He pushed aside the covering and saw the grayish-white road surface swiftly receding below. The speed was about thirty kilometers per hour, not fast, but the impact from jumping down would be enough to send a person tumbling. He needed to choose the right moment: the road surface had to be flat, no surveillance cameras around, preferably with some greenery to cushion the fall. Now. Lu Chenzhou flipped himself out. His body curled up in the air, landing with his shoulder and back hitting the ground first, then rolling sideways into the dense holly bushes by the roadside. The snapping sound of dry branches breaking was completely drowned out by the fading engine roar of the departing truck. He lay in the cold dirt, motionless, counting silently for three seconds. No alarms. No footsteps of pursuers. He got up, quickly brushing off the dirt and leaf fragments from his clothes. The cuff of his work jacket was torn by a sharp branch, revealing the dark shirt underneath, but it didn’t matter. In the distance, the taillights of the panel van resembled two crimson dots, rapidly disappearing into the lingering morning mist. And he stood on the empty service road, surrounded by the still-sleeping villa district, with only early-rising birds chirping sporadically from the branches. Free. Temporarily. Lu Chenzhou glanced at his phone screen: 5:07 AM. Twenty-three minutes until his meeting with Qin Wangshu. He needed to cross three blocks to reach that independent bookstore about to close down in the old city district. He started to run. His footsteps landed on the asphalt road, emitting a steady, rapid tapping sound. The gaps between the cobblestones of the old city district were overgrown with moss, giving a slippery softness underfoot. The morning mist hadn’t fully dissipated yet; thin sunlight slanted down through the gaps between the old-style arcade buildings on either side, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. The smells here were complex: the strong, oily aroma of fried dough sticks from breakfast stalls, the sour stench of overnight garbage, the musty odor seeping from damp brick walls, and the faint, elusive bitterness of traditional medicine wafting from some unknown household. Lu Chenzhou slowed his pace, adjusting his breathing. His chest felt slightly warm from the strenuous exercise. He turned into a narrow alley; the bookstore was at the very end — a small storefront, the paint on the wooden signboard already peeling and mottled, with only the four characters "Zhi Zhi Book House" barely discernible. But he didn’t head for the main entrance. Midway down the alley, at the street corner, a black sedan was parked. Ordinary license plate, but the window tint was extremely dark, dark like spilled ink, completely obscuring the interior. The engine wasn’t off; the tailpipe continuously emitted faint wisps of white smoke into the cold air. There was someone in the car. Not a Shen family car. Shen family cars wouldn’t park in this spot — too conspicuous, too clumsy. Shen Moqing’s people valued efficiency and concealment; they wouldn’t idle like this, wasting fuel and exposing their location. Then who was it? Zhou Zhengping? The police? Or other hyenas who had caught the scent of blood? Lu Chenzhou’s footsteps didn’t falter; his gaze lingered on the car for only half a second. He continued forward as if he were just an ordinary passerby. But as he passed the rear of the sedan, he caught a brief glimpse in the The interior was dimly lit, the air stagnant, filled with the complex scent unique to old books—a mix of ink, dust, and a faint musty odor. It was a warehouse, with towering bookshelves nearly reaching the ceiling, piled high with bundled old books and yellowed magazines. The only window was set high on the wall; sunlight slanted in from there, illuminating countless dust particles drifting slowly in the air. Qin Wangshu stood in the narrow aisle between two rows of shelves, her back to him. She wore a dark jacket, her hair tied into a neat ponytail. Hearing movement, she turned around. "Through the back window?" she asked, her voice kept low. "Eyes at the front door," Lu Chenzhou brushed the dust off his hands. "A black sedan. Not the Shen family's." Qin Wangshu's expression darkened. "How long?" "It was there when I arrived." Lu Chenzhou walked up to her. "Your safe point has been marked." "Not necessarily on my end." Qin Wangshu pulled a flat kraft paper envelope from her pocket and handed it to him. "Look at this first." Lu Chenzhou took the envelope. It felt thin to the touch, but had noticeable weight. He untwisted the cotton string sealing it and pulled out the documents inside. The first page was a photocopy of a fingerprint analysis report, the paper already yellowed, its edges bearing the creases of multiple folds. The report header was from the Municipal Bureau's Physical Evidence Identification Center. The date was nine years ago. His gaze went straight to the conclusion section. There were two lines of handwritten annotations in strong, forceful strokes, done with a red pen. The first line was the original printed conclusion: "Matching of characteristic points is questionable; recommend supplementary comparison or exclusion." Below it was a handwritten addition, the ink darker, almost piercing the paper: "Upon review, confirmed as identical. Zhou Zhengping, Month X, Day X, 200X." After the signature was a personal seal, the bright red seal paste glaring against the yellowed paper. Lu Chenzhou's finger traced over that name. The rough texture of the paper transmitted through his fingertip. He said nothing, continuing to turn the pages. Following were photocopies of several meeting record excerpts, the handwriting scrawled, as if torn from a larger file or photographed secretly. The records indicated that three days after the fingerprint report was "corrected," Zhou Zhengping had an "informal meeting" with the deputy bureau chief overseeing the case at the time, in a private teahouse. The records contained no specific conversation details, only a note: "Reached consensus on setting the tone for the 'Lu Case,' ensuring procedural closure, eliminating future risks." Further on was a photocopy of a handwritten note, the handwriting different from Zhou Zhengping's signature, more rounded. It contained only one sentence: "Cost is controllable, structural stability is paramount." Lu Chenzhou turned the pages one by one, slowly but steadily. The rustle of paper rubbing against paper was particularly distinct in the silent warehouse. Dust particles rotated slowly within the beam of light. He reached the last page and stopped. It was a photocopy of a photograph, the image blurry but recognizable as Zhou Zhengping's profile. He was standing in the lobby of an old-style office building, shaking hands with another man in uniform. In the bottom right corner of the photo was a handwritten date—exactly one week before he was formally arrested. "Source?" Lu Chenzhou finally spoke, his voice unnervingly calm. "Top-secret channel," Qin Wangshu said. "I played my last card. The other side only provided this once; they won't offer any further assistance." "Credibility?" "Ninety percent. The remaining ten percent is because all the evidence points to the same conclusion—it's too perfect, so perfect it makes one suspect if it was designed." Qin Wangshu stared at him. "But I had the handwriting privately authenticated. The signature is genuine. The times, locations, and people in the meeting records match the schedules I later uncovered." Lu Chenzhou refolded the documents and slid them back into the kraft paper envelope. He looked up at Qin Wangshu. In the warehouse's dim light, her face was half in shadow, half in light. Her eyes held a complex emotion—vigilance, worry, and a trace of barely detectable guilt. "Motive?" he asked. Qin Wangshu was silent for a moment. In the warehouse, only the occasional drip of water from a distant pipe could be heard. *Tap, tap, tap*, like a countdown. "That case back then didn't just implicate the Shen family," she lowered her voice, enunciating each word clearly. "Behind it was a higher-level chain of interests involving land permits, fund flows, and... a few people who later got promoted. Zhou "Either preserve that entire web, allowing the case to close within a 'reasonable' scope. The cost is that someone with enough weight, yet who wouldn't cause a chain reaction, must bear all the blame." Qin Wangshu's voice dropped even lower. "You were the chosen 'structural sacrifice.' Your background, your abilities, even the other sensitive case you were investigating at the time, all made you the most suitable candidate. Sacrificing you alone could preserve that chain, preserve 'stability.'" Lu Chenzhou listened, his face devoid of any expression. He even nodded slightly, as if confirming an answer he had long since deduced. "So the fingerprint was forged?" he asked. "Not necessarily forged," Qin Wangshu said. "It might have been transferred from another item you came into contact with, or they might have used an archived sample from a routine collection. The key isn't the fingerprint itself, but that the appraisal conclusion was artificially altered—from 'inconclusive' to 'positive match.' That single change closed the physical evidence chain. Add to that the fact you were indeed investigating related cases at the time, having motive and 'capability,' and everything fell into place logically." Lu Chenzhou handed the kraft paper envelope back to her. "Keep the originals. I'll take photos." Qin Wangshu took the envelope, watching as he took out his phone and opened the camera app. The light was too dim, the focus frame shaking on the screen. Lu Chenzhou walked into the beam of light under the high window, spread the crucial pages on the floor, and photographed them one by one. The faint click of the phone shutter sounded in the silence. After taking the last photo, he put his phone away and walked back into the shadows. "What next?" Qin Wangshu asked. "Two lines of action." Lu Chenzhou said, his pace steady, his wording precise. "You continue investigating Zhou Zhengping's current power network from the periphery, especially his connections with people outside the Shen family. Focus on funds, his travel records over the past three years, changes in the people around him. I need to know where his weaknesses lie, not just evidence of past crimes." "And you?" "I'm returning to the Shen residence." Lu Chenzhou said. "Shen Yan's evidence is now my smokescreen, and also my bargaining chip. Shen Moqing wants to use me, Zhou Zhengping wants to suppress me. There must be a gap between them. What I need to do is find that gap, and then—" He paused briefly. "—gather evidence that can take down both sides simultaneously. Zhou Zhengping altering the appraisal report is an old crime. To nail him, we need a new crime he's committing now. And it must be a new crime that can implicate that old chain of interests." Qin Wangshu stared at him. "Are you sure you want to go back? Zhou Zhengping has already shown himself, which means he doesn't care if you know. Going back is like walking into a trap." "The net is already cast." Lu Chenzhou said. "If I stay outside, they'll tighten it from the shadows. If I go in, I can at least see the holes in the net. The Shen residence is actually the relatively safer place now—Shen Moqing needs me alive to finish what Shen Yan didn't complete. On Shen family turf, Zhou Zhengping would have an extra layer of restraint if he wanted to act." "You're gambling." "I've been gambling since nine years ago." Lu Chenzhou turned and walked towards the fire escape. "Only before, I was betting on other people's conscience. Now, I'm betting on their greed and fear. The odds are better with the latter." He grabbed the iron ladder, preparing to climb down. Just then, clear, rhythmic knocking sounds came from downstairs. *Thud. Thud. Thud.* Not too light, not too heavy, but each strike landed squarely on the center of the door panel, carrying a kind of businesslike steadiness. It wasn't the casual tap of a customer, nor the urgent banging of an acquaintance. Qin Wangshu's face changed drastically. She raised a finger to her lips, her eyes signaling Lu Chenzhou not to move. The knocking sounded three more times. Then, a man's voice came from outside the door, somewhat muffled by the panel but discernible as a robust, full-bodied voice: "Open up, community safety inspection." Qin Wangshu silently mouthed a word: "Fake." She quickly pointed towards the depths of the warehouse, where several empty bookshelves and cardboard boxes were piled, with some space seeming to lie behind them. Lu Chenzhou nodded, moved over quietly, crouched down, and hid himself in the shadows. Qin Wangshu then walked quickly towards the small door connecting the warehouse to the shop front. She took a deep breath, adjusted Footsteps sounded, more than one person. Lu Chenzhou pressed his body even lower, his gaze piercing through the gap between cardboard boxes towards the small door. The door... Lu Chenzhou did not stop. He continued moving, using the terrain and blind spots, like a drop of water merging into a complex network of pipes. Ten minutes later, he emerged from another exit of the residential area, facing a noisy snack street. The clamor of voices was deafening, cooking smoke filled the air, and the pungent smell of cheap chili peppers and grease tightened one's throat. He blended into the crowd, weaving between stalls while warily scanning his surroundings. He didn't see the silver commercial vehicle, nor any obvious faces keeping watch. But he didn't dare relax. Zhou Zhengping's men were not street thugs; they knew how to covertly latch onto a target. He stopped in front of a stall selling *jianbing*, ordered one, and paid by scanning a code. Using the moment the stall owner handed over the paper bag, his eyes swept over the entire street once more. On the second floor diagonally opposite, the curtain of a window moved slightly. It was very subtle, but under his deliberate observation, it was noticeable enough. Lu Chenzhou took the *jianbing* and turned to leave. He didn't look in that direction but walked straight towards the public toilet at the end of the snack street. He went in and locked the cubicle door. The cramped space was filled with the pungent smell of disinfectant mixed with the sour odor of old urine stains. He leaned against the door panel, listening to the sounds outside. Someone came in to urinate, flushed, and left. The footsteps faded away. He took out his phone, pulled up a map, and slid his finger across the screen. From here to the freight terminal was less than five kilometers in a straight line, but it required passing through a factory area slated for demolition and crossing two waterways. Walking was too slow and high-risk. Public transport had surveillance. Taxis and ride-hailing cars were easier to track. He could only move in stages, using complex terrain. He deleted all temporary information from his phone, took out the SIM card, pinched both ends between his thumb and forefinger, and snapped it forcefully. The plastic piece broke with a crack. He lifted the toilet tank lid, sprinkled the fragments inside, and pressed the flush button. The swirling water carried the remnants away. Then, from a hidden small pocket inside his jacket lining, he pulled out another prepaid phone card and inserted it. The edge of the plastic card scraped against the slot with a faint friction sound. This was one of the "legacies" Shen Yan had left behind, never activated before. Power on. Full signal. He sent a blank message to a number from memory. This was an emergency signal he and Qin Wangshu had agreed upon years ago, meaning "activate backup channel, clear original path." Wait. Outside the cubicle, someone twisted the door handle, found it locked, and walked away cursing. A minute later, the phone vibrated. The reply was also a blank message. Indicating receipt. Lu Chenzhou set the phone to the highest power-saving mode and turned the screen brightness to the lowest. He tore open the *jianbing* wrapper and took a big bite. The coarse, crispy pancake and sauce stuck to his teeth, and a real, slightly burning sense of fullness traveled down his esophagus. Hunger would weaken judgment; he needed to maintain his strength. After eating, he carefully folded the wrapper and stuffed it into his cargo pants pocket. Pushed open the cubicle door. A man was washing his hands in front of the sink, glancing at him through the water-stained mirror. A very ordinary face, wearing work clothes stained with grease. Lu Chenzhou lowered his head, turned on another faucet, and let the cold water rinse over his fingers, washing away the stickiness. He turned off the faucet, pulled out two rough gray paper towels to dry his hands, then walked out of the toilet. The sunlight on the street was somewhat glaring. He squinted, identified the direction, and walked towards the factory area slated for demolition. Every step felt like treading on the edge of a blade. The end of the alley opened onto the main street. The morning market was already bustling, with vendors' shouts, the sizzle of frying food, and bicycle bells blending into a chaotic background noise. Lu Chenzhou blended into the crowd, pulling down the brim of his cap. He needed to find a place to lie low temporarily, then think about the next step. He spotted that abandoned newspaper kiosk. Right on the street corner, its metal shell was mottled with rust, red paint peeling to reveal dark brown iron underneath. Most of the glass windows were shattered, the remaining shards like fangs. Inside was piled with garbage and faded flyers. But the location was good— He recalled the last time Zhou Zhengping came to see him before he was imprisoned. It was in the visitation room of the detention center, separated by thick glass. Zhou Zhengping wore a neat jacket, his hair meticulously combed, his face wearing that habitual, paternal gentle smile. He said, “Chenzhou, you must trust the organization, trust... time. The truth will always come to light.” At that time, Lu Chenzhou believed him. Holding the cold plastic receiver, looking at the mentor he had respected for ten years on the other side of the glass, he even felt a trace of pathetic gratitude welling up in his heart—at least someone was willing to visit him, willing to offer him a word of comfort. That voice came through the poor-quality speaker, carrying a soothing hum. Looking back now, every word in that sentence had turned into the sharpest irony. Trust the organization? That organization was systematically grinding him to dust. Trust time? Time only allowed lies to settle into “facts.” The truth will always come to light? No, the truth needed to be dug out by someone’s own hands, even if it meant digging until their hands were bloody. Lu Chenzhou closed his eyes. In the darkness, the afterimage of the three characters “Zhou Zhengping” on the kraft paper file folder still burned on his retina. When he opened them again, only a resolute chill remained within. That chill was not anger, not sorrow, but something more absolute—the naked will to survive, laid bare after a certain faith had collapsed. He realized that from this moment on, he was no longer fighting for “exoneration.” He was fighting for “judgment.” To judge all the betrayers, in his own way. The cold light of the phone screen illuminated half of his face. He began to quickly edit an encrypted memo, his fingers tapping on the virtual keyboard, movements as precise as disarming a bomb: 【1. Return safely to the Shen residence. Pretend nothing happened. Check the room for any newly added surveillance.】 【2. Take the initiative to meet with Shen Yan. Present partial DNA evidence (not all), observe his reaction.】 【3. Force Shen Yan to contact Zhou Zhengping. Monitor communication channels (requires Fang Mu’s assistance).】 【4. Simultaneously collect evidence of Zhou Zhengping’s disciplinary violations in recent years (economic? personnel?). Focus: benefits transferred to the Shen family.】 【5. Ultimate goal: Establish an evidence chain linking Shen Yan and Zhou Zhengping’s collusion, while taking down both sides.】 He finished typing the last line, paused for a moment, his fingertips hovering over the cold screen. Then, he added another line: 【6. No longer seek “innocence.” Seek “conviction.”】 He pressed save. A spinning lock icon appeared on the screen, then disappeared. The memo was encrypted. Lu Chenzhou put the phone back in his pocket and looked out through the shattered window of the newsstand. People came and went on the street, steam from breakfast stalls rising in the cold air, forming a hazy white mist. The ordinary world continued to function as if the collapse of faith that had just occurred in the bookstore warehouse was merely his own hallucination. But this was no hallucination. This was a new reality. A reality without mentors, without allies, only enemies and bargaining chips. He had to return safely to the Shen residence as soon as possible; otherwise, house arrest would turn into a full-scale manhunt. Time was passing, every second increasing the risk of exposure. He needed to go back. Back to that den of danger. Lu Chenzhou walked out of the newsstand and made his way to a public phone booth along the street—a few of these antiques were still preserved in the old city district. The green paint was peeling, and yellowed stickers advertising “drain unclogging” were pasted on the glass. He inserted coins; the metallic clink was crisp. He dialed a ride-hailing platform’s call number. His voice was calm, even carrying a trace of appropriate, early-shift worker fatigue: “Yes, to Wanxiang City. North gate. Now.” He hung up the phone. The receiver fell back into place with a dull thud. He stood by the phone booth waiting. The morning breeze blew, lifting the hem of his work clothes, revealing the dark shirt underneath. In the distance, the door of that “Zhi Zhi Bookstore” remained closed, curtains drawn tight. He didn’t know how Qin Wangshu was doing, whether Zhou Zhengping had discovered anything. But he couldn’t go back. Going back now would be suicide, and would implicate her as well. He had to believe Qin Wangshu was capable of handling it—she was the deputy captain of the city’s criminal investigation division, not a novice who needed his protection. This judgment itself was If everything went smoothly, he could be back in his room before seven o’clock. And then, waiting for him would be Shen Yan. The copycat, the potential murderer, that elegant lunatic currently waiting patiently in the Shen residence for his “return.” A faint, icy curve lifted the corner of Lu Chenzhou’s lips. The rules of the game had changed. Now, the roles of hunter and prey needed to be redefined. The car merged into the morning rush hour traffic. Outside the window, the city was waking up. Sunlight pierced the morning mist, illuminating countless blinding spots of light on the glass curtain walls of skyscrapers. And in the shadows untouched by those spots of light, something darker was quietly festering. Lu Chenzhou opened his eyes and looked into the rearview mirror. In the reflection, his gaze was as calm as stagnant water. But deep beneath the surface, something was stirring awake—a desperate clarity, a resolve to enforce justice with his own hands, a cold, clear, irrevocable writ of judgment. He had laid out clear next steps: return safely, confront Shen Yan, establish a chain of evidence for collusion, while simultaneously gathering other evidence of Zhou Zhengping’s crimes. He had transformed into a more dangerous, more focused hunter, and the Shen residence was about to become his first courtroom.