The roar of the opening blast door still echoed in the archival zone, the afterimage of the severed red line burned onto his retinas like an unhealed wound. Lu Chenzhou did not look back. He clutched the silver USB drive, his knuckles white, its metal edge digging deep into the old scar on his palm. The fresh sting suppressed the twisting, churning knot in his gut. He walked towards that patch of shadow, his footsteps leaving clear, solitary prints on the dusty terrazzo floor. Behind him, the dense sound of tactical boots stomping on debris mixed with terse radio commands, like a pack of hounds finally breaching the fence. “Target entering D-7 Shadow Zone! Lights!” The beams of high-power flashlights abruptly tore through the gloom, crisscrossing over the area ahead of him. It wasn't a wall, but rows upon rows of towering dark metal filing cabinets that reached the ceiling. The cabinets were covered with thick dust covers, which reflected a cold, hard matte sheen under the intense light. The air was thick with the smell of aged paper, ink, and an extremely faint chemical odor reminiscent of formaldehyde. Dust danced wildly in the light beams. “Halt! Lu Chenzhou, hands above your head!” Gu Zhixing’s voice came through the bullhorn, lacking its usual steadiness, tinged with a scorched urgency as if seared by the high heat of the melted door. Lu Chenzhou didn’t stop. A slight twitch flickered at the corner of his left eye as his gaze rapidly scanned the numbers on the cabinets on either side. D-7-13, D-7-14… The area of deepest shadow was D-7-19. The direction Shen Yan’s hologram had last stared at in life. The light beams locked onto his back. He could feel the icy drift of at least three infrared laser dots shifting across his back, his spine, the nape of his neck. The pressure inside the sealed container was spiking, his eardrums buzzing. “One more step, authorization granted for non-lethal force!” Gu Zhixing’s command pursued him relentlessly. Lu Chenzhou stopped before cabinet D-7-19. It was wider than the ones beside it, the edges of its dust cover severely worn, revealing a corner of dark red wood inlay. He extended his empty left hand, fingertips touching the cover cloth—a rough canvas texture, cold, the accumulated dust so thick it would leave a fingerprint. “That is the highest family security classification archival area. You have no authority to touch it.” Shen Moqing’s voice suddenly cut through, not loud, but piercing the on-site clamor like an ice pick. Lu Chenzhou slowly turned around. At the blast door, Shen Moqing stood in front of Gu Zhixing and three armed tactical team members, draped in a dark gray cashmere cardigan. The jade thumb ring on his left hand was being rubbed and turned with a startling frequency, while his right hand held the brass key that had just opened the door. There was no sweat on the old man’s face, his breathing was steady, but his gaze went past Lu Chenzhou, landing on cabinet D-7-19—a look not as if regarding an object, but more like gazing upon a grave urgently needing to be sealed. “No authority?” Lu Chenzhou spoke, his voice hoarse from prolonged silence and tension, but each word enunciated clearly. “According to the supplementary clause, item three, of the *Temporary Authorization Agreement for Special Criminal Investigation*, in emergency situations where a suspect may destroy or transfer core physical evidence, investigators are authorized to take necessary measures to secure evidence first. The agreement was signed by Mr. Gu Zhixing, legal counsel for the Shen Group. You, Mr. Shen Moqing… were the witness.” Gu Zhixing pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up; the eyes behind the lenses were sharp as knives. “The agreement’s applicability is predicated on ‘reasonable suspicion’ and an ‘emergency situation.’ Mr. Lu, your current actions align more with forcible entry and intent to destroy.” “Reasonable suspicion?” Lu Chenzhou repeated the phrase, but his left hand gave a fierce yank! *Rrrrip—* The heavy dust cover was torn mostly away. Dust billowed up like a gray avalanche, churning and spreading in the beams of the flashlights. A choking smell rushed forward. The cabinet was fully exposed—it wasn’t a metal filing cabinet, but an old-fashioned analog signal analyzer with mechanical dials and vacuum tube displays, embedded in a dark red rosewood cabinet. The instrument’s surface was covered in dust, but several main knobs and ports were unusually clean, gleaming faintly with the slight oiliness left by recent, frequent touches. Above the analyzer was an equally dusty LCD screen, and below it "Shut down all recording devices!" Shen Moqing's voice suddenly rose, shedding all pretense of gentleness, sharp as glass scraping against metal. "Now!" Gu Zhixing immediately barked into the radio: "Jamming team! Full-spectrum interference, cover Zone D! Physically cut all external data lines! Hurry!" A low hum instantly filled the space, the air turning viscous, pressing against eardrums. Inside Lu Chenzhou's suit, the miniature transmission device pressed against his ribs vibrated with an intense, jamming-induced sting, followed by Fang Mu's frantic, fragmented electronic voice in his hidden earpiece: "...strong interference...link about to break...hold on..." Time was running out. Lu Chenzhou stopped looking at the photo. His right hand still tightly gripped the silver flash drive, while his left hand swiftly brushed the dust off the terminal keyboard. The keycaps of the old mechanical keyboard were cold and hard. He pressed the power button. No response. "The backup power is also cut," Gu Zhixing said coldly, signaling two team members to close in from the flanks, their boots crunching ominously in the dust. "Mr. Lu, the game is over. You've illegally trespassed, damaged private property, and now you're attempting to operate classified family equipment. That's more than enough to send you back where you belong." Infrared laser sights converged on his chest, forming a glaring red patch. Lu Chenzhou looked at the unresponsive screen, then raised his gaze to the old analyzer. His eyes fell on an inconspicuous interface on the side of the analyzer, one with a brass manual crank handle. It was... an early physical input port for analog video signals. An almost absurd idea flashed through his mind. He abruptly raised the silver flash drive he'd been clutching, not towards the terminal, but into the beam of the strong flashlight. Under the intense light, the flash drive became semi-transparent, revealing faint, extremely fine, intricately arranged metal filament patterns inside. "Attorney Gu, when you signed the agreement, did you carefully verify the definition of 'core physical evidence'? Especially... when the evidence itself is a 'device' capable of reading specific historical media and potentially outputting raw analog signals?" Gu Zhixing paused, his hand adjusting his glasses frozen mid-motion. Shen Moqing's thumb rubbing his jade ring sped up to almost a blur, the friction between jade and knuckle emitting a faint, grating sound. Lu Chenzhou didn't wait for an answer. He flicked his wrist, pressed his fingertip hard into a hidden indentation at the end of the flash drive— *Click.* A slight mechanical snap. The end of the flash drive actually popped out a non-standard metal probe with a seven-pin connector. Without hesitation, he aimed the probe at the brass input port on the side of the old analyzer and thrust it in! *Clack.* A precise, perfectly fitted sound was clearly audible in the suddenly silent space. Immediately after, the analyzer, dormant for who knows how many years, emitted a low "hum... sizzle..." of electrical current from within, like a slumbering beast forcibly awakened. One by one, the vacuum tube displays lit up with a dim red, faint glow. The needles on the dials began to twitch nervously. "No—!" Shen Moqing lost composure for the first time, lunging forward a step, only to be instinctively blocked by Gu Zhixing. On the screen, no operating system interface appeared. Instead, black-and-white static flickered, then stabilized into a blurry but discernible image. It was the east corridor of the main building of the Shen family estate. An earlier surveillance camera, the image in a 4:3 aspect ratio, heavily grainy, but the timestamp was piercingly clear: **2013-07-15 22:17:33**. In the footage, Shen Moqing (much younger than now, but the cold severity in his eyes identical) in casual homewear was speaking in low tones with a man whose back was to the camera. The man took a manila file folder handed to him by Shen Moqing, nodded, and turned to leave. Just as he turned, the light from another lamp in the corridor swept across his profile— Blurry, but that outline, that gait... Lu Chenzhou's blood nearly froze. It was him. Wang Jianguo. The most crucial "deceased" in that political murder case back then, the sole "eyewitness" who had identified Lu Chenzhou as the murderer, the witness who later "accidentally died" during the trial proceedings. The footage continued. After the witness left, Shen Moqing stood alone in the corridor for over ten seconds, pulled a cigar from his pocket, lit it, and took a deep drag. The smoke obscured his expression. Then, he walked directly under the surveillance camera, looked up, and faced the lens The video ended. The analyzer screen returned to static, then went completely black. The glow of the vacuum tubes dimmed one by one. Dead silence. Dust drifted slowly downward. The beam from the tactical flashlight seemed frozen. The three infrared laser dots, unnoticed by anyone, had already shifted away from Lu Chenzhou's body, trembling slightly, losing their focus. Gu Zhixing's mouth hung open, his gold-rimmed glasses slipping to the tip of his nose, forgotten. Shen Moqing stood in place, the color draining completely from his face, like a plaster statue painted white. Only his left thumb continued to rub the jade thumb ring mechanically, frantically, the knuckles turning pale from the pressure. Lu Chenzhou slowly withdrew the special USB drive. The probe retracted. He turned around to face the group, gently placing the USB drive on the dusty top of the analyzer. Inside his suit lining, the miniature device, under intense interference, had completed its final, most crucial pulsed data packet transmission. A distorted, fragmented confirmation came through his hidden earpiece from Fang Mu: "...last... piece... out... Captain Qin... channel..." He had completed the transmission. In Shen Moqing's lair, using Shen Moqing's sealed equipment, he had played evidence Shen Moqing could not refute, and sent it out. The cost was that he was now fully exposed under the spotlight—no, under the gun barrels. He raised his eyes, looking at Shen Moqing, his voice calm as if discussing the weather: "July 15, 2013, night, 22:17. Wang Jianguo was still alive, and he received something from you. Three hours later, he 'committed suicide' near my apartment. Seven days later, he became the 'ironclad evidence' used to accuse me of murder." He paused, the left corner of his eye twitching again. "This analog signal stream comes from the independent backup tape drive of the estate's early security system, physically archived, unaffected by later digital system overrides. Its original carrier is inside this cabinet. The digitally restored version just played, and already transmitted via redundant paths to Deputy Captain Qin Wangshu's encrypted terminal at the Municipal Bureau's Criminal Investigation Division, contains complete, verifiable tape head encoding information and timestamp verification codes." With each sentence he spoke, Shen Moqing's face grew ashen. That layer of elegant composure was being torn off alive, revealing the cold, ugly, trembling truth beneath. "Father..." A trembling, young female voice came from behind the tactical team members. Shen Qinghuan had followed them unnoticed, her face as pale as paper, her hands clutching her own sleeves tightly, knuckles white. She looked at the screen, then at Shen Moqing, her eyes filled with disbelief, shock, and something deeper, verging on collapse. "That... that person... did... did brother know?" Shen Moqing whipped his head around to glare at her, the ferocity and panic in his eyes making Shen Qinghuan stumble back a step, colliding with a filing cabinet with a loud clang. "Shut up!" Shen Moqing roared, his voice hoarse and cracked. He no longer looked at his daughter, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Lu Chenzhou like poisoned daggers. "You think... sending it out... means you've won?" He squeezed out each word through gritted teeth. "You won't leave this room. Tonight, everything that happens here will be recorded as 'the violent criminal Lu Chenzhou broke into the family's restricted area, destroyed precious historical data, assaulted security personnel, and was shot dead on the spot.'" He raised his hand, pointing at Lu Chenzhou, issuing orders to Gu Zhixing and the tactical team: "He attempted to destroy evidence and violently resisted arrest. Execute... the clearance procedure." "Mr. Shen!" Gu Zhixing cried out, his face showing intense struggle for the first time. He looked at the old analyzer, at the ghostly images that seemed not yet fully dissipated on the screen, then at Lu Chenzhou's placid, unreadable face. "The protocol... the evidence has already..." "I said, execute!" Shen Moqing bellowed, spittle flying. He had completely torn off the mask, revealing the hysterical, fear-driven madness beneath. The tactical team members hesitated, raising their muzzles, then lowering them, exchanging uncertain glances. The footage they had just seen, and Shen Qinghuan's questioning, had clearly shaken something. At that very moment— "Woo—woo—woo—!!" A piercing, shrill alarm suddenly blared simultaneously from every corner of the estate! Not a fire alarm, not an intrusion alarm, but the highest-level "Black Kite" alarm, signifying loss of control in a core area and full lockdown! Red rotating warning lights lit up in the corners of the archive area's ceiling, casting everyone's faces in an The frantic voice from the security center crackled over the radio: "M-Mr. Gu! An unidentified external signal source has forcibly breached the local interference, triggering the 'Black Kite' protocol! The electromagnetic locks on the main house, the archives, all exits—they've all automatically deadlocked! Backup power is switching on, but the system shows… shows unauthorized data packets are being broadcast back through the alarm channel… We can't stop it!" Broadcast back? Lu Chenzhou's heart clenched violently. Fang Mu? No, this wasn't his style. It was too brutal, too direct, equivalent to fully exposing oneself to enemy fire. Unless… the receiving party had taken more radical action. Shen Moqing had also heard the radio report. The madness on his face solidified, transforming into a deeper, more profound mixture of fury and a trace of fear so subtle it was almost imperceptible. "Qin… Wang… Shu…" He squeezed the name out from the depths of his throat. The alarm was deafening. The red light swept over each person's panicked face. The sealed space had now become a true iron cage, but the beasts trapped within it seemed to be more than one. Lu Chenzhou stood in place, the waves of alarm sound washing over him. Inside the lining of his suit, the micro-device, its energy depleted, no longer vibrated, becoming a cold metal patch. The transmission was complete. The evidence was out. Shen Moqing's mask had been torn off. But, the doors were deadlocked. The hounds were still by his side, and their master had already gone mad. Slowly, he raised his hand and wiped away the moisture on the tip of his nose—whether it was dust or cold sweat, he didn't know. His gaze swept over Shen Qinghuan's ashen face, over Gu Zhixing's expression contorted with intense internal struggle, over the tactical team members whose gun muzzles no longer knew where to point, and finally, settled on Shen Moqing's eyes, now bloodshot with extreme rage and fear. "It seems," Lu Chenzhou said, his voice unnervingly clear in the gaps between the alarms, "your 'order' machine can't digest reality. It's starting to… attack indiscriminately." He paused, then asked the question that had been circling in his mind since he saw the emptiness in the 1996 group photo: "Who was the person you cut out of that photo? Was he… the 'variable' in the 'Swift' project that I couldn't deduce back then?" Shen Moqing's pupils suddenly contracted into pinpricks.