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Chapter 37: The giant shark had a grotesque appearance, but in Tang Cuo’s eyes, it exuded elegance and solemnity, like a celestial deity.
—Dear Enemy: Prologue—
A streak of lightning flashed across the sky, and the distant rumble of thunder reverberated, making the corrugated iron roof overhead buzz.
The rain was pouring down heavily, and debris had clogged the already narrow drain, causing sewage to gurgle up. The woman standing under the iron roof cursed, grabbed her phone, and dialed a number, the wet light casting a glow on her legs. Her short skirt left her shivering in the cold.
“How much longer are you going to be?” She shouted into the phone. “You said you’d be back in ten minutes; it’s been half an hour!”
The response on the other end was muffled, and the thunder grew louder. She dared not touch the phone again and decided to turn it off.
The streetlights flickered through the rain curtain, and her frustration at being unable to open the door fueled her impatience. She kept looking toward the intersection.
A person in a raincoat hurriedly ran from the intersection. The black hood nearly covered their entire head, but as they approached, the woman suddenly noticed that this person was also wearing a mask and a pair of large glasses. She instinctively took a few steps back and leaned against the wall.
The person walked under the iron roof, carefully removed their glasses, and shook off the water droplets from the lenses.
In the dim light, the woman noticed that their fingers seemed abnormal, and upon closer inspection, she realized they were all wrinkled.
The person turned around, put on their glasses, and gave the woman a glance.
The woman instinctively covered her nose and mouth, pressing herself against the wall, but there was nowhere for her to escape. Her luck was terrible—she had encountered a half-zombified human! In that moment of evasion and regret, she seemed to see the virus of the living dead spreading through the air around her, swarming towards her, teeth bared.
“How do I get to the police station?” the person suddenly asked.
Their voice was hoarse and unpleasant, sounding like the sharp, scraping noise of chalk on a blackboard.
The woman couldn’t speak at all, raising her hand and gesturing vaguely in one direction.
“Do you… live here?” The person asked again. “Have you seen two old people passing by, about this tall, the man was in gray…?”
“I haven’t seen anything!” the woman screamed. “I don’t know anything!”
The rain intensified again. She regretted her outburst—what if she had angered this person and they decided to attack her? But after a long while, she didn’t hear any movement. The woman cautiously turned her head to look, but the person had disappeared under the iron roof.
A streetlight went out as thunder and lightning raged, and suddenly, the street seemed to be severed. The person ran into the darkness, and she stared in the direction where they had vanished, muttering under her breath, “Bad luck.”
—Dear Enemy—
In the blink of an eye, May had arrived. The mid-year approached, and every department in the crisis management office was busy preparing for mid-year reviews and reports.
The only exception was the Criminal Investigation Division. Whether it was the beginning, middle, or end of the year, their busyness remained the same.
Early that morning, Lei Chí hurried to the office and immediately called a meeting with his team members.
Their team was responsible for investigating various individuals connected to the Cai Mingyue baby-killing incident. News had arrived from other provinces and cities the previous night that all the families of the babies killed by Cai Mingyue had been located by various crisis office branches.
This was the most complex and challenging aspect of the entire case. More than thirty years had passed; some people had died, others had moved away, and some were hiding from creditors under assumed identities. Fortunately, the special individuals had always been under strict surveillance. Although it was extremely difficult, they managed to find all of them.
There were a total of 154 dead babies, including chromosomal mutants, also known as Sentinel Guides, a few semi-zombified humans infected in the womb, underground people, and even a few Tea Ladies.
“Tea Ladies? Are tea ladies internationally recognized as super-rare humans? Are they on the same level as Sentinal Guides?” One of the team members asked as they examined the information. “There are fewer than one hundred registered tea ladies in the whole country, and yet…”
“There’s nothing we can do. It’s probably because of their appearance. Their parents and relatives found them terrifying and decided to give them up,” Lei Chi said, looking at the information in his hand.
The situation was even worse than he had originally thought. Out of the 154 children, 35 had disabilities, while the rest were perfectly healthy babies, including 67 female infants. They had all been killed by their own families and Cai Mingyue, simply because they were “unwanted.”
“Are tea ladies the type of special individuals who are born looking very old, right from birth?” a young team member who had recently joined asked. “They always have the appearance of elderly people from birth, don’t they?”
Lei Chi nodded. “Tea ladies are all women, and they are born with the appearance of seventy or eighty-year-old elderly women. In ancient times, many of them were killed and treated as monsters.”
They are only born in the Jiangsu, Zhejiang, and Fujian areas, rolling around in mountainous terrain from a young age. In various folklore and legends from all over the country, you often find descriptions like “naturally old women,” which are typically referring to tea ladies. But tea ladies are all naturally gifted tea masters: tea gardens and botanical gardens tended to by tea ladies always grow better and more vigorously than those cared for by others. They seem to have an innate understanding of how to communicate with nature and are naturally skilled at helping plants adapt to different climatic conditions. In recent years, tea ladies have gained more and more attention, and famous tea ladies often travel all over the country, providing guidance on how to manage and operate different tea gardens.
“…It’s really a pity,” the young team member muttered.
Lei Chi glanced at him. “It’s not a pity because of that.”
The young man quickly nodded and, after a pause, checked the information in front of him. “By the way, Team Leader, there’s one person we haven’t found.”
“Who?”
“The child that Cai Mingyue didn’t kill in the end.”
Lei Chi frowned and immediately took the information from his hand.
The child who had died and come back to life that day had left no information in the records. They could only rely on what Cai Mingyue had said at the time and the medical records left by the hospital. He was a guide.
“He’s from Wuhan, Hubei, and his parents’ registered address is in Qiaokou District,” the young man reported to the other team members. “But the people from the Hubei office have investigated it, and that house was sold thirty years ago. The family later moved somewhere else, and neither the neighbors nor the new owner know where they went. The purchase of the house was done in a hurry, and the price was not high.”
The records showed that this couple had not registered their marriage. The father’s name was Zhou Xuefeng, and the last information about him was a death certificate over a decade ago.
“The Hubei office did a thorough check. Zhou Xuefeng and his cohabitant did indeed have a son, but he was never registered. The family of three later moved back to Zhou Xuefeng’s hometown, near Shennongjia. The village isn’t big, but the elderly still remember Zhou Xuefeng, his wife, and their son.”
Zhou Xuefeng was not kind to his wife and child. The child was made to help with farming from the age of three or four, and the household was often filled with sounds of yelling and crying from the woman. The child frequently had bruises and rarely spoke to others, often squatting in front of the house to play with the family’s dog. Even the dog was beaten or whipped by him, and after that, he would take it to find food, carefully grooming and cleaning it. People in the village remembered the child as very odd, not playing with children his age, staying alone with the dog, and muttering to himself.
There were also several stories circulating in the village, most of them related to the mother and son. In these stories, both of them were considered monsters, capable of controlling spirits and conversing with invisible lost souls and wild ghosts, which frightened those who saw them.
“When the child was about seven or eight years old, Zhou Xuefeng’s wife disappeared. People in the village say it was because Zhou Xuefeng beat her too harshly, and she couldn’t take it anymore, so she left. But they can’t pinpoint when she disappeared. The woman was severely beaten by Zhou Xuefeng, often bedridden, and it was common for her to be absent for ten days or half a month. People in the village usually called her A-Fang, but nobody knew her real name. The village head and the elderly scolded Zhou Xuefeng, saying he beat his wife too severely, but Zhou Xuefeng claimed that his wife was mentally unstable and that if he didn’t beat her, she would go out and kill someone. Later on, nobody bothered trying to persuade him anymore.”
Lei Chi said, “The woman’s identity is easily traceable since she registered her name and ID when she was hospitalized at the 267th Hospital. But what happened to her disappearance? Don’t be careless about this. Keep investigating. This family might be important witnesses in the Cai Mingyue case.”
“But Zhou Xuefeng is dead, and the child is missing.” The young man seemed somewhat troubled. “The child was never registered in the household registration system; there’s no record. How can we track him?”
Lei Chi had a family portrait of the three in his hand. It was a completely discordant image, with all three people appearing somber. Zhou Xuefeng was tall and strong, with dark skin. The woman appeared extremely frail, hunched when she raised her head, her long hair in disarray, and her gaze fixed on the ground. The child was only three or four years old, held in the woman’s arms, with an exceptionally cold and emotionless look in his eyes.
The photo was taken when their house was being renovated by the village, and it seemed to be the only photo of the family.
Shortly thereafter, Zhou Xuefeng’s wife disappeared from home. Six years later, Zhou Xuefeng died from a head injury caused by falling rocks on the mountain.
“This child must be tracked down,” Lei Chi ordered. “He’s a guide and should be in his thirties now. If he’s still alive, he must work and earn a living. He needs to register his identity because a special individual can’t survive in this society without proper documentation.”
While the Criminal Investigation Division was overwhelmed and struggling to keep up, the Investigation Division had finally finished a month of intensive overtime work on the “sea area” examination for the college entrance exam.
But their work wasn’t over; there were thousands of documents waiting to be classified and organized, and the department had only four members, which was insufficient.
Qin Ge went to find Gao Tianyue, but Gao Tianyue informed him that it was already May and many projects had to show progress before the mid-year assessment, so all the departments were equally swamped.
“You’re all young people in your department, so work hard,” Gao Tianyue said with a beaming smile while adjusting his hair.
Qin Ge muttered to himself as he left and managed to secure a bonus for the team. When he was leaving, Gao Tianyue told him that he was being clever, and Qin Ge couldn’t tell if it was praise or criticism, but one thing was certain: saying “Director Gao is wise” was absolutely correct.
Bai Xiaoyuan no longer bothered with makeup. When Tang Cuo asked her why she didn’t tidy up, she said makeup was for people to see, but her colleagues were not really people, and she didn’t want to waste expensive cosmetics on them.
Xie Zijing scoffed, “Why do you find so many excuses for your laziness?”
Bai Xiaoyuan: “You are the laziest one here. What have you done? You, as the most famous sentinel in the entire Crisis Management Office, what have you done besides ordering food?”
Sand Cat sat perched on top of the pile of documents on Bai Xiaoyuan’s desk and shouted at Xie Zijing in a childish tone.
Xie Zijing didn’t dare confront the furious female sentinel and quickly buried himself in the paperwork in front of him.
Qin Ge returned from Director Gao Tianyue’s office and reluctantly mustered some energy. “Forget it; these are all classified materials. Let’s handle it ourselves. After we’re done, there will be a bonus, and I’ll grant everyone compensatory leave.”
Amidst Sand Cat’s angry roars and Tang Cuo’s lament, Qin Ge reassigned tasks to them. He and Bai Xiaoyuan were responsible for writing summaries; Tang Cuo provided various data analyses; and Xie Zijing claimed he didn’t understand administrative work. Qin Ge instructed him to categorize and organize all the students’ forms based on the different issues detected and work with Bai Xiaoyuan to create standardized forms for later submission to the Special Management Committee.
Bai Xiaoyuan, burdened with the heaviest task, massaged her kitten’s head and said, “I’m starving. Qin Ge, I want some late-night snacks.”
Qin Ge couldn’t disobey and took everyone’s orders before personally going to the Crisis Management Office’s entrance to wait for the food delivery.
Xie Zijing looked at his retreating figure and then turned to find Bai Xiaoyuan and Tang Cuo both staring at him.
Their eyes were sticky with an ambiguous and lecherous expression, with a salty and lascivious smile at the corners of their mouths.
“Oh god, this is disgusting.” Xie Zijing shivered his shoulders. “What are you two doing?”
“Disgusting, huh?” Bai Xiaoyuan asked.
“Extremely disgusting. Do you have any inappropriate thoughts about me?” Xie Zijing said.
Tang Cuo and Bai Xiaoyuan exchanged glances and both laughed. “Being disgusting is just right. You’ve been looking at Qin Ge that way recently.”
Xie Zijing: “…”
Bai Xiaoyuan: “Do you have any inappropriate thoughts about Qin Ge?”
Xie Zijing: “We used to date.”
Tang Cuo: “Are you still in a dream?”
Xie Zijing felt that he couldn’t communicate with them and chuckled, opening his computer to search for keywords like “Learn Excel Spreadsheets in One Minute.”
After finishing their grilled skewers, the adjustment department team rubbed their stomachs and continued to work at their desks. It was already late at night, and Xie Zijing had been experiencing poor sleep for the past few days. At this moment, he looked at the lines of characters on the computer, yawning repeatedly.
He wanted to stay at Qin Ge’s place, but Qin Ge didn’t allow it. They seemed to be in a romantic relationship, but Xie Zijing couldn’t be sure. After thinking for a while, he concluded that “office romances are complicated” because both of them were too busy. Qin Ge was also quite shy, so Xie Zijing couldn’t push too hard. After all, they were getting back together, and everything had to progress gradually.
“I’m going out for a smoke,” he said, grabbing a lighter and a pack of cigarettes before rushing out of the office building.
The surroundings were quiet, with only the lights still on in the adjustment department on the first floor and the Criminal Investigation Division on the floor above. As soon as Xie Zijing stepped outside, he was immediately covered in cottonwood fluff. He rubbed his face and felt a patch of white fluff, unable to stop himself from sneezing multiple times.
He was still not used to the cottonwood fluff that filled the streets and alleys in the spring. During the first week, he couldn’t work at all; even when he returned home, he kept sneezing and coughing, his nose kept running, and his head felt heavy. Even going out for three minutes made him feel like his nasal passages and throat were completely stuffed with fluff.
Fortunately, in May, the cottonwood fluff decreased a bit, and Xie Zijing dared to go out without wearing a mask and goggles. He walked to a spot shielded from the wind to light a cigarette and looked up to see Lei Chi, who had just arrived at the Crisis Management Office.
“On duty?” Xie Zijing asked.
“Yeah, work is too busy. The Special Management Committee has given a tight deadline for these days, so I have to do it,” Lei Chi declined Xie Zijing’s cigarette. “I don’t smoke.”
He pointed to his nose.
“My sense of smell is quite sensitive and developed, and smoking would damage that ability.”
Xie Zijing’s admiration for Lei Chi grew even more. “You’re really handsome.”
Lei Chi: “…What?”
Xie Zijing: “I admire you.”
He casually praised Lei Chi, whose expression turned quite peculiar. It took a while before Lei Chi finally smiled and said, “Are all the people in your department this interesting?”
Xie Zijing was taken aback. “Lei Chi, you should smile more. You look incredibly handsome when you smile.”
Lei Chi immediately suppressed his smile. “No need. What’s the use of being good-looking in our line of work?”
Xie Zijing smiled mysteriously. He had heard from Qin Ge about Lei Chi’s subtle interest in Bai Xiaoyuan. “Do you have something to give me?” he asked. “Or something for Bai Xiaoyuan?”
Looking at the hand Xie Zijing extended, Lei Chi earnestly rummaged through his bag for a while. “I don’t have it today, but I have it in my office.”
“You should get it and then come over.” Xie Zijing lowered his voice. “You want to see Bai Xiaoyuan’s cat, right? Tonight, it’s just sitting on her desk. It’s acting fierce. When Bai Xiaoyuan says something, it responds with a ‘meow,’ pretending to be a tiger.”
Lei Chi suddenly became lively and responded, “Sure thing.”
After finishing his cigarette, Xie Zijing returned to the office but found Sand Cat missing.
“Where’s your little cat?”
“Lost to Tang Cuo’s panda in a fight,” Bai Xiaoyuan said without looking up, focused on typing on the computer. “It won’t come out.”
Xie Zijing: “…”
A few minutes later, true to his word, Lei Chi arrived with candy. Bai Xiaoyuan didn’t even acknowledge him, muttering complaints about the smell of smoke on Xie Zijing. Lei Chi scanned the office, shot a cold glance at Xie Zijing, and left.
It was nearly 11 p.m. after finishing the day’s work. Qin Ge intended to drop off Bai Xiaoyuan and Tang Cuo, but both refused, citing different directions. “You’re tired too; just go rest. We’ll take a cab.”
Xie Zijing hitched a ride with Qin Ge. A few minutes later, Bai Xiaoyuan successfully caught a ride using a rideshare service. Only Tang Cuo, whose destination was a bit off, waited for ten minutes with no available ride.
He wasn’t in a hurry. He’d just had two cups of coffee in the office and was still wide awake. He decided to find a nearby hotel for a few hours’ rest. It would be fine to wake up around 6 a.m. tomorrow. As he walked toward the intersection, Tang Cuo took out his phone and saw a message from Gao Shu.
Since he dared not go to the gym anymore, Gao Shu messaged him every few days, apart from urging him to exercise and occasionally suggesting home-based workout routines. Tang Cuo occasionally replied with a “thank you,” but it only encouraged Gao Shu’s more enthusiastic greetings.
[“Is work very tiring? Proper exercise can boost your physical strength and energy. You can come over whenever it’s convenient for you, and I can help you book a gym time.]
Tang Cuo scrolled up and realized he had ignored ten consecutive messages. Out of politeness, he decided to give a response.
[Thank you, coach. I’ve just finished overtime and I’m heading home.]
Gao Shu’s reply came quickly: [You’ve been working for so long? Is your back and shoulders sore? I’m still at the gym. Can you come over?]
Tang Cuo thought, “It’s not convenient, handsome,” but he didn’t want to keep showing up with a face full of blood in front of Gao Shu. It would be too embarrassing.
[Thanks, but I’ll just go home.]
Tang Cuo clutched his phone, bought a Starbucks coffee, and didn’t receive a reply from Gao Shu. He knew that Gao Shu might be a little dissatisfied.
Outside, it started to rain, and the downpour gradually intensified. As Tang Cuo sipped his coffee, he felt his heart rate increase.
He saw a massive object in the pitch-black sky, illuminated by the raindrops under the streetlights.
Grabbing his coffee, Tang Cuo rushed out of the door, running desperately on the road, not minding the pouring rain.
He had once seen a colossal shark on one side, slowly swaying its heavy tail in the rain’s drizzle.
A lightning bolt pierced the night sky.
The giant shark had a grotesque appearance, but in Tang Cuo’s eyes, it exuded elegance and solemnity, like a celestial deity.
Tang Cuo was frantically fumbling, taking out his phone and recording a short video to send to Gao Shu. He had only shared the story of the shark with Gao Shu, and he could only send it to him.
[I’ve seen it again! It’s so beautiful!]
He followed the shark, hurrying along the way until the shark completely disappeared in the heavy rain. His phone screen flashed, and Gao Shu replied with a smiling face.
“There have been a lot of thunderstorms recently,” a voice came from the corner of the office. “It’s making it hard to sleep… I’ve only had seven hours of sleep in the last three days…”
“You go ahead and sleep,” Lei Chi said from the side. “I’ll wake you up in two hours.”
Moments later, the sound of snoring filled the room, and Lei Chi browsed through the investigation materials in front of him, feeling uneasy about the missing person who had disappeared without a trace.
At that moment, the office phone rang, and he answered it immediately before the first ring even finished. “Criminal Investigation Division.”
The call was from the messenger at the front desk, who said someone had come to see the Criminal Investigation Division and claimed to want to file a report. “It’s quite strange. Can you come and take a look?”
Lei Chi grabbed his umbrella and went downstairs, where he could already see a tall, thin figure standing at the entrance of the messenger’s room.
The person was wearing a black raincoat, and the oversized hood covered most of their face. When they walked inside, Lei Chi noticed that their face was covered by a mask and goggles, leaving no gap.
“I’m from the Criminal Investigation Division. What can I help you with?”
The person immediately looked up, and rainwater rolled down from the edge of the hood. They had dark red eyes.
Sensing Lei Chi’s gaze, they immediately lowered their head, nervously rubbing their fingers. After a while, they finally spoke, “I want to report a case.”
“The Crisis Management Office doesn’t handle police reports,” Lei Chi said. “If you walk 600 meters west from here, there’s a police station…”
“I know, but they won’t let me file a report,” the person said, wiping the rain off the lenses with their hand. “They told me to come to the Crisis Management Office.”
Their hands had dry, wrinkled skin, and their voice was rough and hoarse.
Lei Chi understood. This was likely a semi-zombified individual, which was why regular human police stations refused to accept their report.
“What happened to you?” Lei Chi asked.
“It’s not about me; it’s about my parents,” the person said, swallowing hard and speaking in a raspy voice. “They’ve gone missing.”
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