“Get Director Wen over here.”
Qiao Lai raced urgently toward the basement exit. When he arrived, he ran straight into Kati, forcing him to veer off sharply and chase her down the street.
Nearby traffic cops and patrol officers, alerted by the notice, hurried to the relevant blocks to set up blockades.
Kati was sprinting too hard, and her left leg cramped up. She didn’t dare stop for a moment, hopping along as she ran, hoping the dense traffic ahead would block the escape route.
But the black motorcycle, carrying two figures in black, seemed guided by GPS. It wove effortlessly through the crowds and vehicles. The people and cars hindered the pursuers but formed a perfect shield for the fugitives.
Seeing pursuit was hopeless, Qiao Lai came to a halt. His right hand flicked to his waist, grasping his pistol—if he couldn’t catch them, at least he could take their lives!
Kati gradually slowed, the pain in her calf hitting her belatedly. She turned her head and spotted her partner’s move. Even before her eyes fully focused, she grasped his intent and bounded over, nearly tackling him.
“Put it away—don’t make this bigger than it is!”
Qiao Lai glanced down at her, his hand still on the weapon, even though the targets had sped beyond shooting range.
“Wasn’t the last lesson big enough? Put it away!”
Qiao Lai looked up as a suddenly accelerating SUV barreled through the intersection, ignoring the light and blocking the motorcycle’s final glimpse.
After the red light flashed, the green came on, and the road grew congested. But his eyes lost focus, making the street feel strangely empty, like a midnight crossroads.
…
He De received the confirmed report: the suspected data thief had escaped in a vehicle with an unknown license plate. Even with traffic police involved, surveillance hadn’t traced its route. Another ghost car, origin unknown and now vanished.
He De rubbed his chin—his signature gesture. His subordinates had once thought he kept it clean-shaven just to make it easy to grab during moments of thought.
“This is ridiculous. This is our turf, crawling with traffic cops and patrols on every street. Yet someone always slips right under our noses. Looks like the old bad habits in our city haven’t changed a bit.”
It was like this three years ago, and three years later, the same story. A playground for spies, a cozy haven for moles.
He’d been so confident before, believing the Guard Institute’s firepower could sweep those shadowy types out of North County. But now? They couldn’t even draw their guns without second thoughts. How were they supposed to intimidate the fiends and shadows lurking in the dark?
Worse, those fiends had adapted, slinking through the city’s underbelly in new ways—harder to pin down.
After bitterly mocking himself, nursing a bellyful of suppressed rage, he received Ji Tingxi’s report at the worst possible moment.
“Dean He, there was an accident on the road. During the subsequent search of the transport vehicle, they found a drone with a camera, possibly other functions too. I’d like the transport to return for a full inspection. What’s your order?”
“Hah?” He De snorted through his nose, abandoning his chin-rub. No more thinking needed. “They made a move there too? These guys planned this down to the last detail!”
Stealing data while the Guard Institute was tied up with a major op; tailing the transport during the online breach.
If he didn’t crack down hard now, it’d be a blow to his own authority.
“Bring the vehicle and everyone back. Full sweep!”
“Got it. What about the two prisoners? Switch vehicles and continue to the Labor Training Camp?”
“No. Let them sit tight in the vehicle. Nowhere else. We can’t afford another screw-up!”
…
In the theater hall, under the pressure of gun barrels and shouts, the audience dropped to a crouch in unison. Some hadn’t grasped the situation, but they could smell the thick killing intent. Keep your head down, or it might get taken off.
What you did hardly mattered—keeping your head on your shoulders did.
The operatives’ thunderous momentum didn’t just cow the crowd; it alerted off-site staff. Two security guards rushed in, only to be stopped cold by the operatives’ Guard Institute badges.
“Guard Institute. Stay out of the way!”
The theater lights blazed on suddenly—spotlights and floods all at once. The audience squinted against the glare, but the two operatives’ sweeping gazes cut sharper. One spotted something off and yanked the man in front of the screen upright, forcing his head up.
A completely unfamiliar face stared back at the operative, shocking him so much his facial muscles twitched.
This wasn’t Cheng Yiqing. Sure, the man wore a crisp suit, a three-seven part in his hair, even shoe polish gleaming just like that Cheng guy’s. But no.
“Who the hell are you!?”
The man looked terrified, unsure if now was the time for introductions.
“I’m Cha Li, operations planner for Spectator Entertainment City and host of this event. I’m thirty-six…”
“ID?”
Cha Li’s hands twitched but didn’t reach for his pocket. “My ID’s in my office. I have my work badge on me. Want it?”
Kefan loosened his grip. Even if the looks weren’t a perfect match, the vibe and accent confirmed it: this wasn’t Cheng Yiqing. Just some average Joe dressed in uncanny imitation.
Cha Li thumped to the floor ass-first, then wobbled back up. His side-gig host instincts kicked in. “Officers, how can I assist with your mission?”
Bai Zhuo had been listening to the on-site chatter through his earpiece, fists clenched like coiled springs.
The channel filled with more voices—not just the host, but the theater manager and security captain, all negotiating with the operatives.
“Officers, this is a standard event, a special show to thank loyal Theater City patrons. There’s a raffle afterward; the box and prizes are behind the curtain.”
“Yeah, officers, these are our invite tickets. Every audience member has one. Check them.”
“Officers, is there some irregularity? Tell us, and we’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again!”
Kefan and Ma Gefan listened, as did Group 2 over their earpieces. But this clashed wildly with their intel. A few words wouldn’t erase the discrepancies.
“Ma Gefan, find a quiet spot. I have questions.” Bai Zhuo’s eyes burned into the screen’s audio readout. No need to replay—he’d pieced together the theater staff’s logic.
“Chief Bai, they’re saying it’s a Theater City thank-you event for regulars. No public sales, no ads—just internal circulation.”
“And how’d they get the tickets?”
“Directly mailed to their addresses by Theater City. No online process.”
“Send the invite ticket info.”
The channel pinged with a transmitted image: a paper ticket movie-ticket sized but classier, blue and white, just time and place, no fluff.
Bai Zhuo let the ticket slide but dropped the hammer next. “Confirm the guy on stage isn’t Cheng Yiqing?”
“Pretty sure it’s not him.” Ma Gefan sounded hesitant—not about the call, but himself.
“Then why were you so certain you saw him?”
Ma Gefan paused, then stuck to his guns. “Chief Bai… I did see him. I trust my eyes. He headed toward Theater 2.”
Bai Zhuo went quiet too. The channel buzzed with awkward static.
“Have Theater City pull the surveillance and send it over.”
“Got it, Chief Bai. What about the people in the theater?”
“Round them all up. Interrogate one by one.”
Doubts piled high, but Bai Zhuo’s urge to sweep the net burned at its peak. The duck was plucked, washed, prepped on the stove with seasonings ready—just needed the flame. Dead duck’s stubborn beak or not, it was getting cooked tender.
Fifteen minutes later, Group 2’s terminal received Spectator Entertainment City’s footage. Bai Zhuo dove in as a subordinate’s report crackled through, even more hesitant.
“Chief Bai, rounding up everyone on site… it’s tricky.”
“No issue. We can send two more vehicles.”
“There are over twenty people,” Ma Gefan said, glancing back. “And some have special statuses.”
Bai Zhuo thought, Duh—not special, we wouldn’t bother. But he paused, waiting.
“One’s Director Mo from North County Station’s son. Another’s police family. One’s a foreigner.”
Bai Zhuo fell silent. Not just him—his colleagues too.
They’d taken heat before for nabbing a Gailie tourist and passerby. With this crowd’s makeup, scooping them all up could spark a storm if mishandled.
Riding the silence, Bai Zhuo suddenly chuckled. “This theater’s something else—rounding up all these VIPs just to stonewall us?”
His resolve to press charges held firm.
Even if the main guy wasn’t Cheng Yiqing, the pro-Libo leads they’d trailed for months converged here. This was the nexus of suspicion—the crime scene. No letting it slide!
Beside him, Pu Ningxiu waved the white flag first. “Chief Bai, maybe consult Dean He?”
Bai Zhuo’s blazing heart cooled half at the suggestion. That chill cleared his head.
Ji Tingxi’s case was lesson one. Even with Guard Institute and North District Guard Investigation Station knowing detainee Kuper was dirty, public backlash and voter outrage left no backup—just blame for sloppy work, failure to confirm suspicion or contain fallout. Then the knife: power trimmed, position downgraded.
Calmed, Bai Zhuo felt a chill of aftershock. Good thing he hadn’t rushed the arrest order—fire would’ve blazed, and he couldn’t douse it.
He De had weathered two heavy reports already; the third barely fazed him. The turbulence was past; little room left to rock.
But his focus wasn’t Bai Zhuo’s update—it was Spectator Entertainment City’s surveillance.
“Hold up. You said this is Cheng Yiqing, Libo Faction’s Cheng Yiqing?”
In the clip, a suited man strolled by. Zoomed and enhanced, facial recognition bracketed the face twice, spitting out: event planner ID.
Bai Zhuo skimmed it, awkward. “Field team reported spotting Cheng Yiqing on site. Confirmed no mistake.”
“Time and angle match?”
Bai Zhuo had double-checked with Ma Gefan. Solid. Around ten, between Theaters 2 and 3—he’d seen Cheng Yiqing pass.
“Then he definitely misidentified. We’re all top-notch, but even peak human eyes lose to computers. Recognition says no—this isn’t Cheng Yiqing.”
No AI needed; Bai Zhuo saw it himself. Similar getup, but features differed. Discernible.
Odd, though—Ma Gefan was trained fieldwork; he wouldn’t fabricate. Added to the mystery.
“Fine. Release the audience, bring in event organizers. Grill them proper.”
Bai Zhuo didn’t reply right away. His resolve thrashed in its death throes.
The real arrests sat in that crowd: pro-Libo types blending with “special” guests, invisible without cause.
Just let them walk?
His heart wrestled, but Bai Zhuo knew his silver tongue wasn’t up to swaying He De.
“Understood. Thanks for the guidance, Dean He.”
…
That Saturday morning was hectic and packed.
In the Guard Institute building, most staff were out, yet the atmosphere crackled with friction-heat, breaths scorching. Plans clashed with surprises, every moment critical.
Dai Enrui sat in the swelter but played it cool. Shift nearly done, no tasks—she was shutting down for home. Then Special Action Department colleagues loomed at her desk, telling her to drop everything and head downstairs.
After the morning’s failed arrest of the external data thief, Dai Enrui was detained, marched to the Interrogation Room.
Shock etched deeper on her face. “There must be some mistake! I haven’t done anything!”
Her tone rang sincere, like an innocent overtime drone diligently clocked in, struck by random disaster.
Amid the shock, regret poured out—why volunteer for the shift? Staying home cozy beat stumbling into suspicion’s bad luck.
Internal interrogations proved tougher than expected.
For one, interrogator and subject knew each other—morning hellos, pop-ins. Now in the room, tension hung awkward.
For two, the subject knew the interrogators and the drill, compounding issues.
Familiarity blunted the interrogator’s edge, dulled the tactics. Halfway through, they wallowed in shock and regret. Emotions primed, progress stalled. Even the interrogators yawned along in shared remorse.
He De knew it wouldn’t crack easy. Plan B: flank from outside.
Group 1’s transport was scrubbed; manpower shifted to raid the Information Room, tracing the Trojan Program’s entry. Finally, in Dai Enrui’s drawer—a metal box held the USB drive laced with the malware.
The program surprised He De not at all. The drive itself baffled him.
“How’d this get brought in?”
Not an accusation—just a plain question. But silence answered, for it struck at the extraordinary.
The Wei Investigation Institute ran tighter than an exam hall: entry face-recog and security scans. No metal outsider passed.
Changing rooms at the gate: personal lockers. Swap street clothes for uniforms, then scan. Uniform buttons, rivets, clips—all plastic, metal-look only.
Exit stricter: no unapproved items out, or criminal charges.
Electronics abounded, cycled regularly—but Logistics Department procured, vetted jointly with General Affairs Office. Another security layer.
Dai Enrui’s drive? No brand log, not institute-bought. No approval. Smuggled from outside.
Key: How’d it beat security?
In the choking quiet, Ji Tingxi broke it, nudging forward.
“Dean He, shall I check with security for recent surveillance and logs?”
He De’s brows knit, eyes sharpening with a clear path. It darkened his face—like a proctor confiscating crib sheets mid-exam, ready for on-site justice.
“No need. Go get Director Wen.”
