The laboratory fell under the management of the Blue Training Department’s Analysis Section. Upon receiving the testing application, they immediately activated task mode and rushed the processing. The report came out early the next morning.
Ji Tingxi examined the report, lost in thought for a moment. The soil contained carbon and inorganic salts, consistent with ordinary paper. The toilet residue included hydrochloric acid, nitric acid, sulfuric acid, and a substantial amount of metal elements—like someone had just flushed an entire periodic table down it.
More than the lab operative’s formal summary, Ji Tingxi wanted to hear Bai Zhuo’s take.
“Actually, Ruo Xing and the others were right. There were no suspicious items in the shop. Any dubious stuff was either physically burned or chemically decomposed, transformed into something else entirely. Of course a search wouldn’t turn up anything.”
“But if it’s all in another form now, that’s hardly enough to convict.”
Bai Zhuo stroked his chin. After two idle days at the institute, he hadn’t bothered shaving, and coarse stubble now jutted out like a badge of hard-earned wisdom.
“Even if suspicious items had existed, they wouldn’t necessarily make someone a criminal—not these days. But having zero suspicious items while reeking of ‘destroying evidence’? That’s a dead giveaway something’s wrong.”
Ji Tingxi shot him an approving glance, her smile carrying layers of meaning. “Section Chief Bai’s instincts are battle-tested. No wonder the Libo Faction nearly got wiped out on your watch back then.”
Bai Zhuo waved it off. “Just gut feelings honed from years of outsmarting those bastards. Roll in the mud long enough, and even a blockhead turns sharp.”
…
Bai Zhuo’s judgment was firm, but Xia Lie wasn’t having it.
When she first entered the interrogation room, she had been cautious, brimming with the average person’s confusion and awe toward the Guard Institute. But after chatting with Pu Ningxiu for a while, they seemed to loosen up, and her unusual edge finally slipped through.
“It’s not like that, Commander. Burning paper? Sure, I do that. Old decorative paper—I just burn it in the soil. Fertilizes the flowers, right? Why not?”
“But you always bundle up your waste paper neatly and toss it in the recycling bin. And the types are always sorted so clearly.”
“Exactly. I don’t need that much paper for fertilizer.”
Bai Zhuo leaned in. “What about the corrosive residues in the sewer? How do you explain those?”
“That? I can’t explain it. I have no idea. You should ask Lu Binbin.”
“He’s gone missing.”
“That’s why I’m helping you find him!”
Bai Zhuo pulled out the conversation transcript. The red-marked sections glowed like neon in his eyes. “Some help. You’re all over the place—one minute you don’t know his hometown, the next he’s probably headed to Ear City.”
“Hey, your questions are the problem! Same thing asked in different ways—I take it to mean different stuff!”
The words tumbled out before Xia Lie could stop them. In an interrogation room, debating the commander like this? What reward for winning—summary execution?
“Sorry, Commander. My brain’s a bit slow, comprehension issues too. Bear with me. If anything’s unclear, just ask again. I’ll answer straight, no holds barred.”
A full day of questioning had left Xia Lie’s mind frayed. She’d almost prefer outright torture—her bones were tougher than her wits. Even prying out her molars wouldn’t yield a confession.
But under Ji Tingxi’s lead, this pack of sleazebags had shifted to “heart-to-heart chats.” Talk till you drop, and a slip-up becomes courtroom gold before you know it.
Maybe she should clam up? But silence would shatter her “innocent, helpful shopkeeper” persona from the start.
Which was worse—persona collapse or plot holes galore?
Back when Xia Lie couldn’t decide, she’d summon Wen Du to the shop for a talk. Miss Wen was a master schemer, always pointing out the smart path.
Now, she knew Wen Du was right above her—the closest they’d been physically, yet the farthest apart. No consulting her for advice.
Exhausted, Xia Lie watched Bai Zhuo’s patience fray. He was straightforward in everything, interrogation included—no back-and-forth time sinks when he could be out handling real work.
“Those sewer elements? All ions, sure—but that combination? I know it like the back of my hand. Metal parts from a handgun and bullets. Shopkeeper Xia, care to explain why your store had illegal weapons like that?”
Weapons? Yes, the shop had them. Not for fighting enemies, though. If it came to clashing with Guard Institute folks, a utility room full of ammo wouldn’t save them.
No, the weapons were for protecting comrades during evacuations—or for self-termination.
After Lu Binbin left, she no longer needed them. She’d disposed of them hastily, doing her best to cover tracks. But even reduced to ions, they’d evaded detection and become the interrogation’s sharpest leverage.
“Commander, your words surprise me. My store does constant digging and planting—tons of metal tools. But corrosive solvents or illegal weapons? Never seen ’em. No clue why they’d end up in the sewer… Our street’s sewers are all connected, right? Could it be…”
“Only possible from your sewer. Flushed from your toilet. No more dodging!”
“Then I don’t know. Too bad there’s no bathroom camera—who knows what others did in there!”
Bai Zhuo tapped the report on the table, snorting heavily through his nose.
“Handy having a missing person. Push everything on him, huh?”
Xia Lie kept her tone mild. “Once we find him, a lot’ll clear up.”
Bai Zhuo fixed her with a cold stare for a long moment, then fell silent.
He wanted to get physical.
Unlike Ji Tingxi, he blended “talk” with “demonstration.” When questioning stalled, he’d pivot to torture—pressure on mind and body under reasonable suspicion, breaking the suspect at the perfect moment.
It always worked: saved time, vented frustration.
But Ji Tingxi was holding him back. To avoid “physical contact” with the suspect, Bai Zhuo wisely stepped out, plopping down by his leader. Let her see how to wrap this up.
“I’ve seen Net Intelligence Section’s results. No tracking via cameras or signals. Lu Binbin vanished into thin air—no trace.”
Ji Tingxi propped her chin at a slant. “Fits the Sern Organization to a T, doesn’t it? Whisking someone away without a whisper. Wild guess? He might’ve already left Bailunting for safe territory.”
Bai Zhuo pondered. “Didn’t you just check the underground pipes?”
“Too vast to cover fully. And not their only route—proven, since whatever path they use, we can’t track it.”
Bai Zhuo let out a dry chuckle in agreement. She stated their glaring failure so casually—what gall!
Silence settled. The issue loomed large.
Evading pursuit, slipping away fast—it proved the Sern Organization had carved multiple “secret paths” through the city. Sites coordinated tightly, operations slick.
Further evidence: their roots ran deep. Every street, corner, camera, even Guard Institute and Police Bureau patrol routes—they knew it all cold.
Like rats burrowing unseen, popping into view then vanishing. Might even sneak into homes at midnight, scamper over your bed.
Everyone in the observation room shivered quietly.
Rat poison? Buy it off the shelf. Sern people poison? They’d have to brew their own.
Pu Ningxiu had nursed a doubt all along—one that made him question if they’d nabbed the right person.
“Director Ji, if the lab proves she destroyed evidence, why didn’t she just bolt? Their network’s solid—fleeing would’ve been safer, simpler.”
Ji Tingxi’s gaze drifted for the first time, toward the monitor but missing it, landing elsewhere midway.
“Probably for someone.”
If she’d fled, that someone would be in the hot seat now.
Evening hit 7:30 p.m. Four and a half hours to the midnight deadline. No results? Gates open, everyone home.
“Torture her,” Bai Zhuo urged, duty kicking in. “Not to harm the body—to shatter the will. Hundred percent success rate before. We’ll get answers!”
“Really?” Ji Tingxi sounded skeptical. “That confident?”
“Damn right. Those Libo Faction ‘gentlemen’? Hated our guts, wouldn’t cough up a syllable. But I always cracked ’em—key intel every time!”
Ji Tingxi’s wandering gaze sharpened, centering on him. She sized Bai Zhuo up properly, weighing if his confidence merited trust.
In the end, she gave no answer. Not a word.
She smoothed the wrinkles on her gray shirt and left the room without a sound.
…
With Ji Tingxi gone, Bai Zhuo became the Investigation Section’s top dog. Leveraging rank, he barked orders.
“Quick, strap her to the torture room!”
Pu Ningxiu blinked in shock. “Section Chief Bai, Director Ji didn’t approve that.”
“But she didn’t say no, did she? That’s as good as a green light.”
Pu Ningxiu handled interrogations in the Investigation Section but hadn’t touched torture gear in ages—rusty now, uneasy at the prospect.
“Maybe we should check with Director Ji first? Get explicit okay?”
“She’s briefing the Institute Director—don’t bug her. If we get results, that’s the biggest help to her. Right?”
Seeing Pu Ningxiu waver, Bai Zhuo snatched his cap and smacked his shoulder.
“The suspect’s jerking you around like a fool, and you’re worried about procedure? Save the mercy for street ants—watch your step so you don’t squash their crumbs.”
Nearly a full day of sitting, and Xia Lie finally changed positions—from chair to standing. Arms and legs still bound, like a scarecrow on a spread-eagle frame. No leverage anywhere.
The torture room’s gear was Bai Zhuo’s old pals. Dusting them fondly after so long:
“Know what this is?” Bai Zhuo flicked a machine on.
Xia Lie eyed it: tangled wires ending in points, main body a boxy square—like a defibrillator, with a digital display.
Weird-looking, but this room brimmed with flashier horrors: barbed whips, tilted stools, wall racks of colorful vials.
No tool here to ignore. Names probably punched hard too.
“Commander, they all look like torture gear to me.”
“Not torture—auxiliary tools. Help us talk clearer, think sharper.”
Bai Zhuo untangled the wires, selecting one.
“Know our body’s most sensitive spot?”
Xia Lie swallowed. Not scared—pissed. Torture away, skip the chit-chat. Show off expertise to rookies; she wasn’t free audience for his TED talk.
“The tongue?”
Rip his out!
“No, fingertips. Packed with nerve endings, wired straight to the brain. Every tiny touch hits instant—object feel, your reaction.
He slipped on rubber gloves, gripped a wire. Up close: a steel needle, razor-sharp, glinting brighter than a bullet.
“Not lecturing for fun. Just saying: fingertips rocket pain to your brain. So reciprocate—spit answers fast. No thinking, no pause. Pure reflex, raw truth.”
Bai Zhuo pinched her index finger, lips taut, words needling harder than steel.
“Starting now. Every question—answer in three seconds. Ready?”
The needle plunged into her fingertip. Pain lanced like lightning through nerves, exploding in her brain—gut-wrenching agony. Every fiber quivered, howling inside.
Xia Lie sought purchase to vent, but legs dangled, hands clenched nothing. Pain ricocheted wildly, no outlet—brain numbing.
“Were the handgun’s metal parts dissolved in solvent?”
Bai Zhuo hit his watch timer, counting down three seconds.
The question pierced her ears, but pain drowned thought. Flashes hit: dismantling the gun—frame, parts, mag—into corrosive brew. Bubbled quick, dumped down sewer.
Yeah, dissolved. Fast work, her specialty. Masked the acid smell specially… No! No dissolving, no gun—never saw one!
“No, I didn’t!”
Blood welled from her fingertip, dripping, splattering tiny blooms on the floor. Bai Zhuo stepped back, sparing his shoes.
“So where’d the shop handgun go?”
Why gone… Say Lu Binbin took it? Hidden? No—shop had no gun. Never!
“No handgun in the shop. Don’t know.”
“Oh, over three seconds.” Watch beeped. Bai Zhuo twisted a dial.
Back at the panel, he cranked the voltage, needle raised again.
“Exceed three seconds, we add a needle. Careful this time, Shopkeeper Xia. Don’t overthink!”
