Lu Chenzhou’s fingers touched the iron grate at the top of the vertical shaft. Cold, damp, its edges rough with tiny burrs. He halted his movement, his entire body suspended on the climbing ladder. His ears captured every faint sound from above the grate—footsteps moving back and forth across the wooden floor overhead, muffled, chaotic, at least three people. Boots stepped on broken glass, emitting a dry *crunch*. Flashlight beams occasionally leaked through the gaps, pale spots of light swaying on the well shaft walls. He slowly exhaled a breath, white mist dispersing in the darkness. The sickly sweet smell from the underground chamber still lingered in his lungs, mixed with the older, mustier scents of wood and dust from the old house’s second floor. Waves of mild dizziness beat against his temples. His left hand pressed against the inner pocket of his suit—the hard photograph and suicide letter pressed close to his chest, thumping against his ribs with each heartbeat. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the faint flicker of hesitation in his pupils had vanished. His left hand moved away from the inner pocket and gently pushed against the iron grate overhead. Not locked, just weighed down by something heavy. He adjusted his posture, shoulder braced against it, muscles tensing, slowly, inch by inch, pushing upward. What weighed down the grate was a worn-out rattan lounge chair. The sound of snapping rattan was especially sharp in the silence. Lu Chenzhou froze. He held his breath, body pressed tight against the well wall, even his heartbeat seemingly forced into submission. A flashlight beam swept over, lingering in the gaps of the rattan chair for a few seconds. The light spot swayed less than twenty centimeters above his head; he could see the trail of dust tumbling within the beam. "Old Chen, over here." A coarse, hoarse voice sounded, tinged with impatience. "Finished searching?" "What's the hurry?" Another voice, closer, right beside the rattan chair. "This dump of a house, hiding someone would be easy." Lu Chenzhou waited three seconds. In those three seconds, he heard his own blood pounding against his eardrums, heard the footsteps of the two searchers upstairs moving toward the other end of the hallway, heard a third, lighter, more cautious set of footsteps staying put. He hesitated no longer, his shoulder suddenly exerting force— He squeezed through the gap, rolling into the shadows of the second-floor hallway. The movement was light, landing with only a faint *rustle* of fabric against the floor. But that stationary set of footsteps immediately turned. Lu Chenzhou did not respond. He had already rolled into a corner of the hallway piled with clutter, his body curling behind a huge, dust-covered standing cabinet. The dust cover reeked of thick dust, making his throat itch. He clenched his teeth, forcing the cough back into his chest. Light swept past the edge of the cabinet, illuminating the accumulated stains on the dust cover. Lu Chenzhou held his breath, his body tensed like a fully drawn bow. He could hear his own heartbeat, and also the heavy breathing of that searcher—just on the other side of the cabinet, no more than two meters away. Five seconds stretched long as a century. Lu Chenzhou’s left hand slowly lowered, touching scattered old newspapers on the floor. Beneath the newspapers was a rusted iron pipe, one end sharpened to a point. He gripped the pipe; the cold sensation spread from his palm to his forearm. What was he waiting for? For his companions? Or listening? Lu Chenzhou’s gaze pierced through the gap at the bottom of the dust cover, seeing only a pair of black tactical boots, soles caked with mud and broken glass. The boot’s owner stood steady, weight evenly distributed. Shouts came from upstairs: "Old Wu? Anything?" The searcher called Old Wu did not answer immediately. He raised his flashlight, the beam sweeping upward over the mottled paint on the ceiling before falling back to the floor. Then he took a step forward. The boot stepped on the floor, emitting a faint *creak*. Old Wu took two more steps, stopping at the doorway of the storage room. The door was closed, its handle covered in rust. He reached out to twist it—the door was jammed from the inside. A wooden stick was wedged behind the latch, something Lu Chenzhou had done in passing when he climbed out of the vertical shaft. He retreated half a step, focusing his flashlight beam on the door handle. "In here," he whispered down to the floor below. "Door's jammed." Urgent footsteps sounded from downstairs; the other two were coming up. The wooden stairs groaned under the strain, each step like a footfall on Lu Chenzhou's taut nerves. A brick sailed through the room, accurately shattering the remaining paper on the window lattice. *Crash!* The brittle tearing of paper was startlingly sharp in the night. The broken brick landed on the eaves outside, then rolled off, producing a series of dull *thuds*. "Over there!" Old Wu growled low, his footsteps charging toward the window. The other two also rushed up to the second floor, boots thudding heavily on the floorboards. "The window! Did he jump out?" Lu Chenzhou huddled behind the desk, ears pricked, straining to catch the third sound—that lighter, more cautious set of footsteps that hadn't left. It had stopped at the door to the storage room, paused for about three seconds, and then the door was kicked open with a bang! The door slammed against the wall, splinters flying. A powerful flashlight beam stabbed into the room, shining directly at the shadows behind the wardrobe—Lu Chenzhou's previous hiding spot. The beam swept over the empty dust cover, leaving a stark white afterimage in the air. It was a lean man, wearing a dark jacket. Besides the flashlight, he held a black telescopic baton. His movements were steady; the beam moved slowly across the room, sweeping over the desk, the chair, the pile of old newspapers in the corner. His breathing was light, almost inaudible. The desk lay toppled on the floor, its surface forming a narrow triangular space with the ground. Lu Chenzhou was curled inside, his body pressed against the cold floorboards. The smell of dust and cobwebs invaded his nostrils, itching so badly he wanted to sneeze. He bit the inside of his lower lip, using the pain to suppress the physical reaction. The light first fell on the edge of the desk, illuminating the deep scratches in the wood. Then it slowly moved downward, shining into the gap between the desk and the floor—right where Lu Chenzhou's feet were, the tips of his black leather shoes peeking out slightly. The searcher crouched down, the beam focusing on the shoe tips. Lu Chenzhou could hear the rustle of his clothing, could smell the faint scent of tobacco on him. The distance was less than two meters. He tightened his grip on the iron pipe in his hand, his knuckles turning white with the force. Just as the searcher reached out to lift the desk board— A secret door, disguised as a wall panel on the inner side of the room, slid open soundlessly. A faint sliding sound. The searcher whipped his head around, swinging the flashlight beam toward the source of the noise. But the shadow was faster—a slender figure lunged out from the secret door, moving with swift agility. Before the beam could catch her, she was already behind the searcher. Left arm around the neck, the edge of the right hand striking precisely on the side of the neck. "Ugh..." The searcher grunted, his body going limp. The flashlight slipped from his hand and rolled away, its beam spinning wildly across the floor before finally coming to rest at an angle against the wall, casting a shifting patch of light. The shadow released her hold. The searcher slumped to the floor, motionless. Lu Chenzhou slowly rose from behind the desk, the iron pipe still tightly gripped in his hand. By the flickering residual light from the rolling flashlight, he could make out the newcomer's profile—short hair, a tense jawline, eyes sharp as knives in the dim light. She wore plain clothes—a dark jacket and trousers, dust clinging to her. Her gaze first fell on the iron pipe in Lu Chenzhou's hand, lingered for half a second, then lifted to meet his eyes. Three meters separated them, yet the air felt frozen solid. Lu Chenzhou's pupils contracted slightly. His blood seemed to freeze instantly, then boil the next second. Shock, suspicion, wariness—all these emotions collided in his chest, finally forced into a cold, dead silence. A slight twitch began at the corner of his left eye, something he himself didn't notice. "Don't move the pipe," her voice was very low, spoken rapidly. "I'm not here to catch you." She tilted her head, listening toward the corridor. "There are at least two more outside. They'll come as soon as they hear the commotion." His gaze lingered on her face for two seconds, then swept over the unconscious searcher on the floor, over the open secret door, and finally returned to her eyes. "How are you here?" His voice was hoarse, like sandpaper rubbing against wood. "Tracking the signal from Gu Zhixing's subordinate's vehicle," Qin Wangshu replied without slowing her pace. "Their movements were unusual tonight. Long story short—" She took half a step forward, her sharp gaze pinning his face. "Did you get it? Shen Bojun's A cold laugh, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly, but there was no warmth in his eyes. "Give it to you?" he repeated, his voice dropping even lower, "So it can 'accidentally' disappear, or become your bargaining chip?" Qin Wangshu's expression didn't change, but her tone turned sharply cold. "Lu Chenzhou." She enunciated each word deliberately, "If I wanted to harm you, I could have just watched them take you away earlier. Or I could shout right now." She paused, her gaze sweeping over the corridor. "You can't afford to gamble, and I don't have time to convince you. Trust me once, or die here with it. Choose." Shouts for a comrade came from downstairs: "Old Wu? Old Wu!" Lu Chenzhou stared at her. His mind was racing—Qin Wangshu's timing, her explanation, her actions subduing the searcher, the look in her eyes now. All the fragments of information collided, reassembled, and were evaluated in his mind. The risk was extremely high. The basis for trust was almost zero. But the current situation was desperate, and she had torn an opening in that desperation. "...I'll send you the photo." He forced the words through gritted teeth. His left hand released the iron pipe, reaching for the phone in his trouser pocket. "The original is behind the third loose brick to the left in the ventilation duct in the northeast corner." He unlocked the screen. The blue light glared piercingly in the darkness, illuminating his tense jawline. "If you're lying to me..." "I don't have time to lie." Qin Wangshu cut him off, simultaneously pulling a folded, simple gas mask from her jacket's inner pocket and tossing it to him. "Put it on. Go down through that hidden door. At the bottom, turn left. There's a sealed window; the wooden board is loose. Outside is the overgrown backyard." She stepped aside, clearing the entrance to the hidden door, her gaze sweeping the corridor. "Hurry." Lu Chenzhou caught the gas mask, his fingers moving quickly on the phone screen. The photo file was sent; the progress bar crawled slowly in the blue light. Ten percent, thirty, seventy... Footsteps from the other end of the corridor were now clearly audible, the rhythm of boots on the floor growing faster and faster. Qin Wangshu turned toward the doorway, her body sinking slightly into a guarded stance. Her right hand moved toward the small of her back—there was a bulge there, likely a sidearm. But she didn't draw it, merely resting her fingers on the grip. "Sent." Lu Chenzhou put away the phone, unfolded the gas mask, and pulled it over his head. The rubber edge pressed tightly against his skin, carrying the pungent smell unique to industrial products. He took one last look at Qin Wangshu—her back was to him, her profile appearing exceptionally cold and hard in the dim light. He turned and ducked into the hidden door. The door slid shut silently behind him, cutting off the approaching footsteps, flashlight beams, and the figure standing beside the unconscious searcher in the corridor. Behind the hidden door was a narrow staircase. The wooden steps were already rotten, emitting groaning creaks underfoot. Lu Chenzhou descended, holding onto the wall. The gas mask made his breathing sound heavy and muffled. The stairs were deep, turning twice. The air was thick with the smell of mold and rat droppings. Sure enough, there was a sealed window, a wooden board nailed to the frame, but with fresh prying marks around the edges. He reached out and pushed—the board was loose; it swung outward with a push. The night wind, carrying the damp scent of grass and plants after the rain, rushed in, diluting the industrial rubber smell inside the mask. He leaned out and squeezed through the window. His back scraped against rough, damp bricks; his suit jacket caught and tore. He stumbled into the overgrown weeds, his knees buckling, nearly dropping him to the ground. He ripped off the gas mask, greedily gulping several mouthfuls of the cool air, then broke into a violent coughing fit—his lungs burned painfully, tears welling up from the strain. He immediately covered his mouth, forcing himself to stop, ears pricked up to listen. Faint shouts and running sounds came from inside the old house; flashlight beams swept across second-floor windows. But no one came chasing out the back. Qin Wangshu's hidden door and misdirection had worked—at least for now. Lu Chenzhou leaned against the damp outer wall, slowly sliding down to sit on the ground. The weeds were overgrown; dew soaked his trouser legs. He reached inside his suit jacket—the inner pocket was empty. The original will and group photo were no longer on him. They were now hidden The flashlight rolled on the floor, its beam slicing diagonally across the wall, casting a shifting patch of light. At the edge of that light, Qin Wangshu's profile flickered once in the gloom. The cold, rusted iron pipe pressed against his palm, which was already slick with a thin layer of sweat. His body remained frozen in the posture of having rolled from the shadow of the cabinet to behind the desk. His muscles were taut like a fully drawn bowstring, every nerve screaming—danger. New danger. More unpredictable than the three outside the door. Qin Wangshu released her hold. The searcher she had subdued slumped bonelessly to the floor with a dull thud. She didn't spare a glance for the fallen man, swiftly turning, her gaze snapping precisely toward the desk—the block of wood—where Lu Chenzhou hid. Her breathing was light, almost inaudible, but the rhythm of her chest's rise and fall betrayed the intensity of her recent movement. "Don't move the pipe," her voice was hushed, spoken quickly. "I'm not here to arrest you. There are at least two more outside. They'll come running at any sound." His line of sight passed over the edge of the desk, landing on her. A dark jacket, smudged with wall dust and cobwebs, mud stains on her trouser cuffs. Not her uniform. Her hair was tied in a neat ponytail at the back of her head, a few stray strands stuck to her forehead with sweat. Her eyes—in the fading, swaying light of the flashlight—were sharp, yet veiled by something he couldn't decipher. Not pure hostility. Not pure goodwill either. It was a more complex, more tense kind of assessment. "How are you here?" Lu Chenzhou spoke, his voice terribly hoarse, his throat still burning with the dust and toxic fumes from the underground network. Qin Wangshu didn't answer. Instead, she took half a step forward, her eyes sweeping the room rapidly. "Tracking the signal from Gu Zhixing's men's vehicles. Their mobilization tonight was abnormal." She paused, her gaze returning to his face. "Long story short, did you get it? Shen Bojun's?" Each word fell like a hammer on his taut nerves. She knew. She not only knew he was here, but also what he had come to retrieve. The corner of Lu Chenzhou's left eye twitched faintly. His fingers gripping the pipe unconsciously tightened, knuckles whitening. In an instant, countless possibilities flashed through his mind—a trap? The mantis stalking the cicada? Were she and Gu Zhixing working together? Or… was she genuinely tracking Gu Zhixing? "Got it," he spat out the two words, his tone devoid of emotion. "Gu Zhiyuan. The photo and the will." The moment he spoke that name, he stared into her eyes. Qin Wangshu's pupils contracted almost imperceptibly. Not surprise, more like a kind of confirmation. Her lips pressed together, the line of her jaw tightening into a sharp, severe angle. "The originals are on you?" Her tone grew more urgent. "Too dangerous. If they don't find you, they'll expand the search or even lock down the area. Give them to me. I'll keep a copy for you." His laugh was cold, dry, devoid of any warmth. "Give them to you?" he repeated, each word like shards of ice. "So they can 'accidentally' disappear, or become your bargaining chip?" The flashlight's light on the floor slowly dimmed, the batteries nearly spent. The gloom deepened, their outlines growing more indistinct in the shadows. Only the sound of their breathing interwove in the cramped storage room—his, heavy with exhaustion and wariness; hers, rapid, suppressing a kind of agitation. Faint shouts came from downstairs, the content unclear, but the distance wasn't far. "Lu Chenzhou." Qin Wangshu's voice suddenly turned cold, yet remained low. "If I wanted to harm you, I could have just watched them take you away earlier. Or I could shout right now." She took another step forward, now less than two meters from the desk. Lu Chenzhou could smell the faint scent of soap on her, mixed with the dust of the old house, creating a jarring, sharp contrast. "You can't afford to gamble, and I don't have time to convince you. Trust me once, or die here with it. Choose." His gaze shifted past her, landing on the unconscious searcher on the floor. A walkie-talkie was clipped to the man's waist, its red indicator light blinking faintly. Another, clearer shout came from downstairs, accompanied by heavy footsteps—ascending the stairs. He had no time to weigh all possibilities, no chance to verify her motives, not even the luxury to consider if this "...I'll send you the photos." Lu Chenzhou gritted out the words. He let go of the iron pipe, which fell into the pile of junk with a dull thud. Pulling out his phone, its screen cast a harsh blue light in the darkness, illuminating his face smeared with grime and sweat. His fingers swiped rapidly across the screen—he had taken the photos long ago. The moment he finished reading the suicide note in the secret room, he had used his phone to photograph every page, every detail of the note and the group photo. File sent. The progress bar crawled slowly across the screen. The footsteps downstairs had already reached the second-floor hallway, the wooden floorboards groaning under the strain. "The originals are in the ventilation duct in the northeast corner, behind the third loose brick to the left." Lu Chenzhou spoke rapidly, each word like a nail being hammered in. "If you're lying to me..." "There is no 'if'." Qin Wangshu cut him off. She didn't look at her phone, didn't even confirm receipt, her gaze fixed unwaveringly on the door, on Fang Mu. She pulled a small object from her jacket's inner pocket and tossed it over. A simple, foldable gas mask, rubber material, cold to the touch with its unopened plastic packaging. "Go down through that hidden door." Qin Wangshu gestured with her chin towards the concealed door disguised as a wall panel from which she had emerged earlier. It was still slightly ajar, revealing deeper darkness within. "At the bottom, turn left. There's a sealed-up window; the wooden board is loose. Outside is the backyard, overgrown with weeds." She paused, gave him one last look. Something complicated churned in her eyes for a moment before being swiftly pressed back into calmness. "Go. Now." The progress bar on the phone screen jumped to one hundred percent. A "Send Successful" notification popped up. The blue light went out. Almost simultaneously, another searcher's shout came from outside the storage room door: "Third Brother? What the hell are you dawdling for in there?" Then came the sound of the door handle being forcefully twisted—the door, blocked by the wooden stick Lu Chenzhou had wedged earlier, didn't open. "Something's wrong!" the person outside roared. "Break it down!" Qin Wangshu didn't look at him again. She turned and strode swiftly towards the hidden door, bending down to slip inside. Her figure vanished into the darkness. Lu Chenzhou clenched the gas mask in his hand, the plastic packaging making a faint rustling sound against his palm. He took one last look at the unconscious searcher on the floor, one last look at the wooden door that was being violently rammed, swaying and on the verge of collapse. Then he turned and rushed towards the hidden door. A scent of decaying old wood, and a faint, elusive trace of soapberry fragrance. The hidden door slid silently back into place behind him, completely sealing out the sounds of pounding, the shouts, and those stark white flashlight beams.