The cold light from the screen lay like a thin layer of frost on Lu Chenzhou’s face. He leaned back in the guest room’s single armchair, spine straight, his left hand pressed against the dull ache beneath his ribs. His right thumb slid along the edge of the tablet, the edge of his fingernail pale. On the screen was a silent explosion—a blurry photo of Shen Yan, face covered in blood, being loaded into an ambulance, paired with a crimson headline: “Shen Family Heir Attacked Late at Night, Another Bloody Case in Feuding Wealthy Clan.” His finger scrolled up. “Investigate the Shen Family thoroughly!” The top comment, its likes snowballing. “The police must give an answer!” The second comment, followed by three flame emojis. “I heard there’s a consultant who just got out of prison? Something fishy?” The third. Lu Chenzhou’s gaze lingered on this last comment for two seconds. A blood vessel at his temple pulsed faintly. He had the sound off, absorbing information only through text. The chirping of birds drifted in from the courtyard outside the window, crisp and drawn-out, forming a strange contrast with the ferocious images on the screen. His finger slid across the glass screen, producing a faint friction sound, like a blade scraping over ice. He opened the trending topics list. Lu Chenzhou's gaze lingered on that comment for two seconds. The blood vessels at his temples throbbed faintly. He muted the sound, relying solely on the text for information. The chirping of birds outside the window drifted in from the courtyard—crisp, drawn-out—forming a bizarre contrast with the ferocious images on the screen. His finger slid across the glass screen, emitting a faint friction sound, like a blade scraping across ice. The information stream was like a breached flood, carrying anger, speculation, conspiracy theories, and fragments of truth, washing away the dam the Shen family had tried to build. Lu Chenzhou scrolled quickly, his eyes sweeping over emotionally charged comments, sensational self-media articles, and traditional media’s cautious yet pointed inquiries. His expression was impassive, but the corner of his left eye began to twitch slightly—a habit left by an old injury that always surfaced under pressure. The tablet’s battery was down to seventeen percent. He had to be quick. His finger paused briefly over keywords like “police intervention,” “truth,” and “dark dealings.” The focus of public opinion was shifting from “Shen family infighting” toward “police inaction” and “truth being covered up.” This was good, and also bad. Good because pressure was starting to turn toward Shen Moqing and the system; bad because—he himself, that “consultant who just got out of prison,” was becoming a live target in the eye of the storm. The door was knocked. Not the gentle tap of a maid, but three crisp, firm knocks. Lu Chenzhou’s thumb swiped, the screen went dark. He slipped the tablet into the gap between the sofa cushion and the armrest, his movements steady, without any extraneous sound. “Come in.” The door opened. It was Lei Hu. The former special forces soldier stood in the doorway like a moving wall. He wore a black suit, the collar buttoned tightly, his hands hanging at his sides, but the line of his shoulders was taut like a fully drawn bowstring. “Mr. Lu.” Lei Hu’s voice was low, almost devoid of inflection. “Mr. Shen asked me to inform you that in one hour, the police will conduct a public inquiry at the Shen Group headquarters. You are required to attend in your capacity as the family’s security consultant.” Lu Chenzhou looked at him. “Public inquiry?” “Yes. The media will also be present.” Lei Hu paused, then added, “Mr. Shen hopes you can ‘handle it appropriately’.” He said the four words, “handle it appropriately,” very slowly. Each word fell like a block of ice hitting the floor. Lu Chenzhou stood up from the armchair. The pain in his side caused a momentary hitch in his movement, but he controlled it well, only his left hand instinctively pressing against that spot. He walked to the window, his back to Lei Hu, looking out at the neatly trimmed shrubs in the courtyard. “Who’s leading the police team?” “Deputy Captain Qin Wangshu.” Lu Chenzhou’s fingertip tapped lightly on the windowsill. Very lightly, almost inaudible. “Understood,” he said. “I need to change.” “The car is already waiting downstairs,” Lei Hu said. “Departure in twenty minutes.” The door closed. The room fell quiet again. The birdsong outside the window continued, but Lu Chenzhou no longer heard it. He turned, retrieved the tablet from the sofa gap. The screen lit up again, the cold light once more frosting his face. He tapped the search bar, typed “Shen Group headquarters public inquiry live stream The bruise beneath his ribs was exposed, a dark purple-black, stark against his pale skin. He stared at the bruise for two seconds, then turned and walked into the bathroom. He turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on his face. He lifted his head, looking at the face in the mirror—sunken eyes, prominent cheekbones, the left corner of his eye still twitching. He pulled down a towel and dried his face. Returning to the room, he put on that dark gray suit. The feeling of the fabric rubbing against his skin was unfamiliar, like a layer of armor. He tied his tie, his movements precise, without a hint of panic. Finally, he took a pen from the bedside table drawer—a very ordinary black gel pen, plastic casing, already more than half used. He slipped the pen into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. Then he walked to the window and looked out at the courtyard again. The black sedan was already parked downstairs. Lei Hu stood beside the car, hands clasped in front of him, like a statue. Lu Chenzhou’s right hand slipped into his pocket, gripping the pen. His fingertip rubbed against the grooves on the pen cap, once, twice. In his mind, he quickly ran through the known information: the details of Shen Yan’s attack (excessive blood loss, coma, under emergency treatment), the sign language warning made by Nanny Wu when she was taken away (“dangerous,” “don’t look”), the “accidental death of Coroner Zhou” mentioned in Gu Zhixing’s phone call, and the public opinion storm currently brewing. And Qin Wangshu. In one hour, under the dual surveillance of media cameras and the Shen family’s watchful eyes, he had to face the woman who was once his apprentice and was now his “investigator.” He had to answer her questions while burying the two fatal pieces of information—"Nanny Wu accused" and "Coroner Zhou dead"—like landmines within seemingly unrelated answers. The pen cap turned between his fingers. He released his grip, and the pen fell back into the depths of his pocket. Then he turned and walked towards the door. As his hand grasped the doorknob, he paused for a moment. The pain beneath his ribs was still there, but he had already forced it down into the depths of his consciousness. He pulled the door open. The light from the hallway flooded in, glaring. Lei Hu looked up at him. “Let’s go,” Lu Chenzhou said. His voice was steady, betraying no emotion. *** As the car drove out of the Shen family’s main gate, Lu Chenzhou closed his eyes. The light outside the window was blocked out, the world shrinking into a narrow alley. The smell of leather—specially treated, with a slightly cool, tanned scent—enveloped him. The car was so smooth he could barely feel any vibration, only the low hum of the engine, like the breathing of some large animal. The breathing of the two bodyguards in the front seats was light, but their presence was distinct. One in the driver’s seat, one in the passenger seat. The angle of the rearview mirror perfectly covered his entire face. He needed to think. Time was like sand in an hourglass, falling grain by grain, second by second. The car moved steadily forward. The street scene outside the window receded at a constant speed, blurring into a flowing ribbon of light. Lu Chenzhou kept his eyes closed, his head tilted back slightly, resting against the cool leather headrest. His breathing was even, the rhythm of his chest rising and falling almost synchronized with the low hum of the engine. A perfect, weary, submissive posture. Only he himself knew that within his skull, a storm was raging through every neuron. The details of Shen Yan’s attack were being reconstructed at high speed, not as images, but as a data stream. Time, angle, force, possible weapon, the attacker’s escape route. Gu Zhixing bringing him back to the Shen family, the deal in Shen Moqing’s study that used his sister’s life as a bargaining chip, the twenty-four-hour grace period, the old-style mobile phone Shen Qinghuan had hidden in the garden… Then Nanny Wu. The trajectory drawn in the air by the deaf-mute woman’s thin, withered hands as she was dragged away by two black-clad bodyguards. Not a farewell, but a warning. *Danger. Don’t look.* Immediately after that, outside the archive room, Gu Zhixing’s phone call in a calm tone. “Old Zhou’s situation has been cleaned up. Drunken misstep, case closed.” Coroner Zhou was dead. Nanny Wu was missing. Shen Yan lay in the ICU, his vital signs maintained by machines. And now, Shen Mo Ten years. The girl who once followed behind him, her eyes shining with an almost startling brightness, chasing after him asking, "Master, how do you differentiate between low-velocity and high-velocity blood spatter patterns?" was now the deputy captain of the city's criminal investigation division. She had led the team that searched his hotel room, scrutinizing his personal belongings inch by inch with that professional, unreadable gaze. She knew all his "priors." She knew how, back then, to save his sister's life, he had signed that confession, his fingernails digging deep into his palms until blood seeped out and stained the paper fibers. Did she still believe in him? Or rather, faced with immense public pressure, the iron-clad procedures of the system, and the indelible "stain" he himself could not cleanse, to what extent could she still defy everything she served to believe in a former mentor officially branded a "forger"? The car turned a corner, centrifugal force pressing him gently against the seatback. His heart beat heavily behind his ribs—thump, thump, thump. He could clearly feel the spot under his ribs where the assailant had elbowed him. The bruise beneath the skin was forming, throbbing with each pulse. Pain was an anchor, keeping him sharp. He could not count on Qin Wangshu's trust. That was too luxurious, and too dangerous. Placing hope in someone else's unextinguished conscience or old affections, in a game of this magnitude, was tantamount to suicide. But he had to transmit information. Nanny Wu and Coroner Zhou—these two names were the most fragile, and currently the only known, nodes connecting Shen Yan's attack to the old case from ten years ago. What had Nanny Wu seen that she shouldn't have? What crucial detail had Coroner Zhou concealed or been forced to alter in Shen Qinghuan's mother's autopsy report back then? Both had become risks that had to be "dealt with." If the police—if Qin Wangshu—could follow these two nearly severed threads... But how to transmit it? Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, under the hawk-like scrutiny of Gu Zhixing and the Shen family lawyers, before the silent yet voracious lenses of the reporters. Every word would be recorded, analyzed, twisted, amplified. He couldn't just say, "Nanny Wu has been taken, Coroner Zhou is dead, Shen Moqing is silencing witnesses." That would not only immediately provoke a full-scale counterattack from the Shen family but would also completely block any possible covert investigative moves Qin Wangshu might attempt. He needed to encode. Weave the key information into seemingly trivial, plausible statements, like wrapping a lethal poison in layers of harmless sugar coating. "Recently, some long-term employees have left due to health or family reasons..." "Including a mute servant who served for over fifteen years, communication was difficult..." "There might be some confusion during the handover, it will take time to sort out." Yes. Like that. Mention "left," hinting at an abnormal departure. Emphasize "fifteen years," highlighting their seniority and the amount of information they might possess. "Communication difficult"—mute. That was Nanny Wu's most prominent, least falsifiable characteristic, and her natural inability to speak for herself. If Qin Wangshu paid even slight attention to the Shen family's recent personnel change records, she could instantly pinpoint the target. As for Coroner Zhou... He couldn't mention the name directly. Too abrupt, the intent too obvious. But he could, when speaking of "old acquaintances" or "what he'd heard," express an appropriate amount of regret befitting an outsider. "Recently heard an old acquaintance, a doctor surnamed Zhou, passed away unexpectedly. The world is truly unpredictable." The tone had to be flat, even carrying a hint of detached sentiment, as if discussing a piece of social news. Qin Wangshu would understand. "Doctor Zhou" plus "unexpected," combined with his own sensitive status and situation at this moment—Lu Chenzhou—would be enough to piece together a clear warning signal in her mind. The strategy was set. Limited cooperation, secretly planting signposts. He was no longer the lone wolf trying to single-handedly pry open the entire Shen empire in the dark. The flood of public opinion had already broken down the Shen family's tightly shut doors, exposing all the filth and secrets under the glaring spotlight. This was a crisis, but also an opportunity. He had to use this chaotic stage, watched by countless eyes, to perfectly play the role of the Shen family's "obedient consultant" while quietly planting signposts at the most easily overlooked forks in the road leading to the truth. The rest depended on whether Qin Wangshu still retained the intuition and sharpness from years past to penetrate the thick fog, and whether... she still harbored a trace of that final, fundamental "We're here, Mr. Lu." The driver spoke, his voice steady and devoid of any inflection. Lu Chenzhou slowly opened his eyes. All the turbulent thoughts, calculations, and doubts swirling in their depths were instantly suppressed into a fathomless, icy abyss. No superfluous expression touched his face. He merely raised a hand, with utmost naturalness, to straighten his already immaculate shirt cuff, then pushed open the heavy car door. Cold, hard air, carrying the dampness peculiar to underground spaces, rushed against his face. The garage was cavernous, footsteps echoing with distinct clarity. In the distance, the indicator light by the elevator glowed with a dim green light, like a silent, watching eye. He stepped forward, his spine ramrod straight. The heels of his leather shoes struck the concrete floor, producing clear, solitary sounds. *Tap, tap, tap.* Each step carried him toward that glaringly lit, camera-crowded public arena, where lies and truth intertwined, and friend from foe was hard to distinguish—a public execution ground. The car door closed behind him, the lock engaging with a crisp, decisive click, stirring a brief echo in the empty garage. The world sealed shut seamlessly behind him. Ahead lay the knife-edge-bright spotlight and, under its glare, the person he had to face, navigate, and attempt to draw as an ally from within this desperate situation—his former apprentice. The white light from the ceiling lamps in the conference room was piercing. The smooth wooden surface of the long table reflected the figures around it like a dark lake. Lu Chenzhou sat on one side. Opposite him were Qin Wangshu and two criminal police officers. The tip of the recorder's pen scratched softly against the paper. Behind them, several media reporters who had been granted access had set up their equipment, lenses silently trained on him. Gu Zhixing sat diagonally behind Lu Chenzhou. Behind his gold-rimmed glasses, his gaze was calm, yet it felt like an intangible barrier. "Mr. Lu," Qin Wangshu opened a folder, her voice clear and steady. "Please confirm once again: on the night Mr. Shen Yan was attacked, when and where did you last see him?" The questioning began. Every word followed a predetermined track. Lu Chenzhou's speech was measured: "Around 9:40 PM, in the corridor outside the study on the second floor of the residence. He was about to return to his bedroom to rest. We had a brief conversation." "The content of the conversation?" "Regarding the board meeting schedule for the following day. He mentioned an overseas asset report that needed review." "What was his mental state at the time? Any abnormalities?" "No." Lu Chenzhou paused for half a second. "He seemed a bit tired, but otherwise normal." The tip of Qin Wangshu's pen halted briefly. She raised her eyes, her gaze meeting Lu Chenzhou's before quickly lowering again. "According to security records, there was an abnormal three-minute interruption in the surveillance footage for the east side of the residence between 10:00 and 11:00 PM that night. Were you aware of this?" "Unaware." Lu Chenzhou replied. "Security falls under Attorney Gu's direct responsibility." Gu Zhixing spoke up at the opportune moment, his voice gentle: "A technical malfunction. A detailed report has already been submitted. The police can access it at any time." Qin Wangshu did not look at him, continuing to question Lu Chenzhou: "Has Mr. Shen Yan had any recent conflicts or disputes with other members of the family?" "To my knowledge, no." Lu Chenzhou's fingertips pressed lightly against his palm beneath the table. "Mr. Shen Yan is tolerant and amiable toward others. Family affairs are currently primarily managed by Mr. Shen Moqing. There are no public disagreements between the brothers." He had mentioned Shen Moqing's name. Enunciated clearly and precisely. Gu Zhixing's gaze fell on the back of Lu Chenzhou's neck, cold as a needle. "What about non-family members, then?" Qin Wangshu pressed. "Are there any external individuals who might harbor animosity toward him?" Lu Chenzhou was silent for two seconds. In the conference room, only the low hum of the air conditioner and the faint sounds of reporters adjusting their equipment could be heard. The ceiling light cast a small shadow beneath his eyelashes. "I am not privy to such information." He said, then added, as if offhandedly, "However, Mr. Shen Yan has always been considerate toward those around him. For example, a deaf-mute servant who had served for a long time recently resigned due to personal reasons. He specifically instructed that an additional three months' salary be paid as severance." "A deaf-mute servant?" Qin Wangshu's pen stopped. "Served the Shen family for over fifteen years." Lu Chenzhou said, his tone as flat as if discussing the weather "Forensic Pathologist Zhou Zhengping." Lu Chenzhou said. "Many years ago, we met a few times due to work. I heard he died suddenly from an acute illness at home. Life is unpredictable." Forensic Pathologist Zhou. Died suddenly from an acute illness. Qin Wangshu's gaze froze. It was an extremely brief, ice-cracking kind of freeze, immediately covered by professional calm. But she didn't press further. Instead, she closed the folder and leaned back slightly in her seat. This gesture signaled a temporary end to the current line of questioning. It also meant she understood. At that moment, a landline phone in the corner of the conference room, used for backup recording, suddenly rang out violently. The piercing ringtone tore through the tense silence. Everyone was startled. Qin Wangshu frowned and signaled to a nearby detective. A young detective stood up to answer, but the moment his hand touched the receiver, the ringing stopped abruptly. Immediately after, from the built-in speaker on the conference room wall, came an electronically distorted, hoarse, twisted voice, clearly processed through a voice changer: "Lu Chenzhou." The voice wasn't loud, but it echoed in the empty conference room. The journalists' cameras instantly swiveled toward the sound source, then snapped back to Lu Chenzhou's face. The electronic voice continued, word by word, like rusty gears grinding: "People who talk too much usually die quickly. Forensic Pathologist Zhou is an example. Who should be next?" Silence fell after the words ended. A long, dead silence. The journalists' phone cameras swiveled in unison toward Lu Chenzhou. Camera flashes began to flicker, the white light stabbing over like daggers. Lu Chenzhou's hand under the table clenched instantly, fingernails digging into his palm. A sharp, stabbing pain shot from his old rib injury, as if that nail was twisting beneath his skin. But his face showed only appropriate shock and confusion. He turned to Qin Wangshu, a hint of perfectly measured tension in his voice: "What is this..." "Clearly a malicious threat." Gu Zhixing spoke first, his voice regaining its steadiness. He faced the cameras, posture composed. "The Shen Group strongly condemns this behavior and will fully cooperate with the police in the investigation. This precisely shows that someone is trying to interfere with the investigation and muddy the waters." Qin Wangshu stood up. Her movement was slow, as if suppressing some imminent eruption of emotion. "Questioning is suspended," she said, her voice cold and hard. "Technical personnel, trace the audio source. Everyone, silence your phones. No unauthorized recording or filming." A commotion broke out in the conference room. Journalists conversed in low voices, detectives moved swiftly into action. Lu Chenzhou also stood up. His gaze briefly met Qin Wangshu's—for only a fraction of a second—but he saw that familiar sharpness deep in her eyes, like a blade beneath ice. Then she looked away and began directing personnel to control the scene. Amid the chaos, Qin Wangshu "accidentally" knocked over the half-full coffee cup beside her hand. Brown liquid spilled out, flowed over the edge of the table, dripped onto the dark carpet, and spread into a stain. The tissue box was knocked over, rolling to Lu Chenzhou's side. She bent down to pick it up, her movements somewhat hurried. Lu Chenzhou also leaned down, pulling out a few tissues to wipe the droplets splashed onto his cuff. His fingers paused for a moment among the pile of tissues, touching the innermost one—folded unusually neatly, edges dry, completely different from the damp tissues around it. He closed his hand around it. The motion was fluid and natural, as if he had just taken an extra tissue. He straightened up, threw the damp tissues into the trash can, and the dry, folded paper slid silently into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. Qin Wangshu had already retreated behind the detectives and was speaking to them in a low voice. She didn't look at Lu Chenzhou again. "Today's questioning ends here," she raised her head, addressing the media, her tone leaving no room for doubt. "The police will treat this threat incident seriously. Please report truthfully and do not spread unverified speculation." The journalists still wanted to ask questions, but the detectives had already begun clearing the room. Lu Chenzhou left the conference room accompanied by Gu Zhixing. In the corridor, Gu Zhixing said softly, "Mr. Lu, you've had a shock. The Group will strengthen your security." "Thank you," Lu Chenzhou said, his voice flat. "However, the caller seems very well-informed." "Just a clown jumping on the stage," Gu Zhixing smiled, the smile not reaching his eyes. The elevator descended. In the enclosed space, Lu Chenzhou could smell the faint scent The car emerged from the underground garage and merged into the afternoon traffic. Sunlight filtered through the window, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow on his face. He maintained his posture with eyes closed, his breathing steady, as if truly resting. Until the car entered a tunnel. The moment darkness swallowed the interior, Lu Chenzhou opened his eyes. The lights on the tunnel ceiling swept past at a fixed frequency, like a regular, icy heartbeat. In this flickering light, he retrieved that piece of paper from his inner pocket. Unfolded it. On the inner layer of the tissue paper, a line of characters was written very lightly in pencil, the handwriting neat to the point of being rigid: "Jing'an Sanatorium (77 Longquan Road, North Suburb). This location may be relevant. Do not make direct contact. Take care." The last two characters were written with exceptional force, the pencil lead nearly tearing through the paper. Lu Chenzhou stared at the line of text. The tunnel lights swept past again and again, the characters appearing and disappearing in the alternating light and dark. Jing'an Sanatorium... Was Aunt Wu sent there for "recuperation"? Or was something else hidden there? The truth behind Zhou Zhengping's death? Or perhaps—the real source of the rot that began behind that "confession" from all those years ago? He thought of the final look in Qin Wangshu's eyes. A blade beneath the ice. *Take care.* These two words held no real power. They couldn't deflect bullets, nor could they prove innocence. But after enduring public humiliation, naked death threats, and that icy, knife-like confrontation with his former disciple, these two words—risked and passed to him from the opposing camp, from that person he knew best and yet was now most estranged from—fell like a minuscule spark onto the ashes of his nearly frozen will. No warmth. No promise. Only a cold confirmation—on this dark, lonely road, he was not one hundred percent alone. At least, there was still one person who remembered he was Lu Chenzhou, and not "that forger." Lu Chenzhou refolded the tissue paper and clenched it in his palm. The paper's edge pressed against his skin, bringing a subtle, persistent sting. The car exited the tunnel, and sunlight flooded back in. He closed his eyes, but the sting in his palm spread, traveling along his blood vessels, burning its way deep into his heart. Jing'an Sanatorium. 77 Longquan Road, North Suburb. The next battlefield was already illuminated on the map. But the person who handed him that map—had they given him a path to survival, or the entrance to another, more elaborate trap? He didn't know. He only knew that the hand holding the blade could no longer afford to tremble.