Because he had been forced to drink a cup of his most hated carrot juice, Shan Feibai looked downcast as Ning Zhuo led him outside. His arm was loosely bandaged over a spot where it had been burned by a lighter. His typically bold eyebrows drooped a little, clearly feeling defeated.
Shan Feibai wiped his mouth, grumbling, “It tasted terrible.”
“Oh,” Ning Zhuo replied calmly, “I bought ten kilos. Take your time drinking it.”
Shan Feibai: “…Can I change my mind now? I want to go home.”
Ning Zhuo, cold-hearted as ever, said, “Too late. Now the only way you’re getting out of here is on a stretcher, drowned by ten kilos of carrot juice.”
Shan Feibai, dejected, sighed, “Then I’d better stay alive.”
After a pause, Shan Feibai, who was born into wealth, forced out a rather insincere sentiment: “Vegetables are expensive.”
Ning Zhuo’s mood was decent. “Not for you; they’re not. I even ordered an extra thirty kilos. They’ll be delivered whenever they’re in stock.”
Shan Feibai: “…”
Clinging to a last bit of hope, he muttered, “Carrots really don’t do anything for me.”
Ning Zhuo: “How so? They don’t give you a headache?”
Shan Feibai, thoroughly defeated by the carrot juice, looked even more downtrodden.
Normally, Ning Zhuo could have just gathered everyone in Haina together and announced his decision. But he changed his mind, deciding instead to give Shan Feibai a full tour of Haina.
Shan Feibai wasn’t exactly a guest, but he was far from being one of their own either.
However, he wasn’t a naive thirteen-year-old anymore, nor someone you could simply lock away.
Rather than letting his curiosity lead him to snoop around, Ning Zhuo figured he might as well show him everything from top to bottom.
The Haina base had essentially tunneled through an entire cliffside, descending deep into the earth with eighteen distinct levels, each serving a specific function.
This underground space had been painstakingly carved out of rock as hard as steel, and machines generating artificial light, oxygen, and air conditioning ran year-round, turning this inverted fortress into a small city.
The first level underground was a meeting area and office space designated for visitors, and the most ornately decorated area in all of Haina.
The second level held the communal dining hall, with cold storage, food reserves, a small stone winery, and a bar.
The third level was entirely a leisure zone.
It had an e-library, a hot spring bathhouse, a small music hall, a mini movie theater, a retro arcade, and even a billiard room and a badminton court.
These top three levels were where Haina’s true leader, Boss Fu, spent his days.
Without ambition for grand schemes, he passed his days here in leisure, often taking over the cleaning duties from the robots, wielding a broom to meticulously sweep each corner of the base. He lived a life of simple satisfaction.
As for the levels below the third, they were considerably less charming.
Levels 4 through 6 were training rooms and the main weapons cache, making them the most heavily fortified areas of Haina.
Levels 7 through 9 were Ning Zhuo’s personal floors, off-limits to others.
Levels 10 to 15 were for other mercenaries to rest.
These mercenaries, like moles, either grouped up or kept to themselves depending on their habits.
Level 16 was reserved for medical use, with a dedicated lane for emergency vehicles, ensuring that the wounded could be brought in immediately.
However, Level 16 also contained detention rooms and interrogation chambers, intended for less-than-savory activities.
The reason that the life-and-death extremes of the emergency room and interrogation chamber were on the same level was for convenience.
Levels 17 and 18 had simpler purposes: housing the control room, research lab, and storage areas. They were the least frequented floors.
Ning Zhuo had planned to find Boss Fu first.
Unfortunately, after searching the first three floors, he didn’t find a trace of him.
Shan Feibai, however, seemed intrigued by the vibrant sense of life here. “Ge, this place is great! Why don’t you live here?”
Ning Zhuo was unmoved, replying casually, “I don’t have his kind of taste.”
Shan Feibai glanced at Ning Zhuo but stayed silent.
He’d heard endless rumors over the years about Ning Zhuo and Boss Fu.
The last time Shan Feibai had been here, he’d been a thirteen-year-old kid, clueless about emotions and only focused on staying alive.
Later, he’d developed an uncontrollable admiration for someone, wanting to stay and follow them, but things hadn’t turned out well.
From beginning to end, he’d only kept his eye on one person.
As for Boss Fu, he could barely remember what he looked like.
Shan Feibai moved his hand from his stomach to his chest, lightly rubbing at the faint ache there.
He did want to see the face of this Boss Fu who was rumored to have such a “close relationship” with Ning Zhuo.
Ning Zhuo pressed the button for the elevator to the fourth underground level.
This time, they ran into someone.
They’d only walked a short distance before encountering Jin Xueshen, who was deep in his own archery practice in a dedicated training room.
When he trained, he didn’t use his usual deadly plasma bow.
Instead, he practiced with regular iron arrows and a mechanical recurve bow, shooting at a steady pace with every arrow striking dead center, as if he were imagining a certain someone’s head in the bullseye.
Ning Zhuo curled his fingers and knocked lightly on the soundproof glass.
Jin Xueshen, who was attuned to even the faintest sounds, wouldn’t miss such a subtle vibration.
He turned his head and clearly saw Ning Zhuo, along with Shan Feibai behind him, squinting as he greeted him.
Jin Xueshen was already fuming. Ning Zhuo had casually taken the debts he’d just collected, leaving him still seething with anger.
Holding his bow and arrows, Jin Xueshen stormed over, and as soon as the automatic door opened, he aimed the iron arrowhead directly at Shan Feibai.
Shan Feibai quickly dodged behind Ning Zhuo, softly saying, “Ning-ge, look at him.”
Jin Xueshen hadn’t expected him to play the victim first, which only fueled his fury. “Ning Zhuo, move aside!”
Hands in his pockets, Ning Zhuo looked icily at him, not budging an inch, staring Jin Xueshen down. They stood there in silent opposition, one unmoving and the other raging.
After about ten seconds, Jin Xueshen subconsciously shifted the arrowhead three inches away.
Ning Zhuo asked, “Who’s in charge here?”
Jin Xueshen replied aggressively, “Boss Fu!”
Ning Zhuo looked at him. “Boss Fu approved.”
This managed to momentarily silence Jin Xueshen, who practically worshipped Boss Fu. “He…where is he? I’ll go find him!”
“Together?” Ning Zhuo said. “I was just heading to see him.”
Jin Xueshen: “…”
After some mental gymnastics, Jin Xueshen finally grasped Ning Zhuo’s meaning. “…You haven’t even asked him?”
“Does it matter?” Ning Zhuo shrugged coolly. “Let’s go together. Let’s see if he listens to you or me.”
Jin Xueshen, trembling with rage, let go of his arrow and slapped his left hand onto Ning Zhuo’s shoulder. “Right here!”
His finger moved downward, firmly pressing on Ning Zhuo’s thigh, and then he kicked him in the shin. “Forgot how you got those three cuts?”
Hearing this, Shan Feibai’s gaze dropped slightly, as if recalling distant memories.
Jin Xueshen, biting his lip, was practically shaking with anger. “Three cuts and six wounds! You think I need your sacrifice? I hate owing people!”
Ning Zhuo seemed indifferent, avoiding the topic. “You’re an analyst. Analyze this: would you rather kill him with one shot, or hold ‘Panqiao’ in the palm of your hand?”
Jin Xueshen responded steadily, “The second option is too risky. I refuse.”
Ning Zhuo tilted his head and stepped aside. “Then go ahead.”
Shan Feibai, bold as ever, stepped forward, standing his ground, meeting Jin Xueshen’s arrowhead head-on.
Before his eyes, a trail of bloody footprints appeared, hot and vivid, stretching into the distance.
Shan Feibai murmured, “I already told them—these things are mine to repay.”
Jin Xueshen drew his bow fully.
Just a slight release of his fingers, and he could pierce Shan Feibai’s head right through.
That would settle his grudge for being kidnapped by them back then, erasing his debt to Ning Zhuo in one shot.
But Jin Xueshen restrained himself with every ounce of willpower, keeping his fingers tight on the bowstring.
—Though Ning Zhuo’s second option was highly variable, the first one would mean instant war and unending troubles afterward.
A life-or-death grudge meant repeated kidnappings and retaliation, a vicious cycle that a few wounds could never redeem.
Jin Xueshen’s chest heaved as he struggled to breathe, then finally turned and stormed away.
He grumbled as he went, “I’m telling Boss Fu!”
Ning Zhuo: “Thanks. Just tell him for me.”
Jin Xueshen: “I’ll make sure he kicks out that guy with the surname Shan!”
Ning Zhuo: “Help me out. Don’t you always?”
Jin Xueshen’s frustrated voice echoed down the hall: “Get lost!”
Watching him storm away, his figure disappearing down the corridor, Ning Zhuo briefly introduced him to Shan Feibai: “Jin Xueshen—you’ve met him. Not true to his name, hot-tempered, our analyst.”
Shan Feibai casually slung his arm over Ning Zhuo’s shoulder. “I remember; several of his organs are mechanical. Must’ve been badly hurt in the past, right?”
Ning Zhuo shifted Shan Feibai’s arm, gave him a hard nudge, numbing his side, and walked on with a blank expression. “Keep moving.”
After a few steps, he turned back, pulled out Shan Feibai’s hairband, and tousled his hair into a mess.
Satisfied with this handsome but dazed look, Ning Zhuo ordered, “Let’s go.”
Next, they met Yu Shujian and his mercenary team. Ning Zhuo gathered them together, bringing Shan Feibai over, and concisely expressed his intention for “Panqiao” and “Haina” to merge.
These people, Ning Zhuo’s loyal followers, were much easier to convince than Jin Xueshen.
Since Ning Zhuo agreed to let him stay, and a merger would only benefit them, no one objected.
Seeing Shan Feibai’s disheveled hair and his arm with additional injuries, looking thoroughly pathetic, they even found themselves less hostile toward him.
…
As Ning Zhuo led Shan Feibai through the “Haina” base, layer by layer, “White Shield” was holding a top-secret virtual meeting.
In the conference room, tension and awkward silence filled the air as everyone sat mute.
At the headquarters of “White Shield.”
Overseeing the meeting, Deputy Director Eller looked at the lifeless expressions around him, feeling both frustrated and helpless.
The purpose of the meeting was to establish a task force for the Charlemagne incident, drawing skilled officers from various districts.
Eller wanted nothing to do with this hot potato, but being the most under-supported among the deputy directors, he’d naturally been put in charge.
However, none of the officials seemed willing to step up to lead the task force.
He called out a few district heads to recommend candidates, but these old foxes dodged the responsibility with elaborate analyses of risks, public opinion, and political impacts without offering a single name.
Everyone knew this was a thankless job: successfully resolving the case would bring no rewards, but botching it would earn only criticism from the public and powerful enemies that could hurt future career prospects.
They calculated carefully: they couldn’t appoint an incompetent person, as that one likely had backing.
Nor could they put forth their protégés, the successors they favored. Who would risk their protégé’s future on this quagmire?
But if they nominated someone too independent, they might find themselves with unexpected trouble.
So everyone kept hedging, unwilling to stick their necks out.
Eller, deeply troubled, rubbed his head before an idea struck him. “Wait—who was it that reached out to the public relations department and had that critical part of the footage blurred?”
The head of the Chang’an district thought carefully, cleared his throat, and cautiously replied, “Um…it was one of our people, a vice captain of the special operations team, named Lin Qin.”
Eller’s eyes brightened. “How is he?”
The Chang’an district head knew Lin Qin well. He was just the kind of person who’d be perfect for this thankless task.
But he also knew Lin Qin had a peculiar personality—a strange blend of softness and resolve—difficult to manipulate.
After careful thought, he cautiously replied, “No issues with his skills, just a bit…single-minded.”
Eller understood. It also meant Lin Qin had no significant connections.
Eager to seize upon this rare volunteer for dirty work, Eller, thrilled at the prospect, wouldn’t let him slip away.
He ordered, “Send him to the ‘White Shield’ headquarters immediately. We need to press forward and discuss the case in detail.”
The Chang’an district head hesitated. “His position is vice captain of the special operations team…”
This was a way of asking what position Eller intended to assign Lin Qin in the task force.
Eller asked, “How old is he?”
The Chang’an district head replied, “Twenty-eight.”
Eller made his decision. “A young man should take on a challenge when the opportunity arises. I’ll lead; he’ll be task force captain, to shoulder his share of responsibility!”
__
Author’s Note:
Tensions rise in the shadows.
