After finishing a diabolo routine, Boss Fu broke into a light sweat, his hair still fluffy, making his face look even more youthful.
He handed the diabolo to Ning Zhuo. “Want to try?”
Ning Zhuo took it and immediately passed it to Shan Feibai behind him. “Can’t.”
Boss Fu didn’t press the issue. He twirled around nimbly in front of Ning Zhuo and asked, “How’s my new training outfit?”
As the second-in-command under Boss Fu, Ning Zhuo offered a sharp critique: “Not bad. Looks like postpartum wear.”
Boss Fu kicked at him, pretending to strike.
Ning Zhuo caught his ankle and casually redirected it aside.
Boss Fu didn’t pursue the matter further. A single kick was enough to vent his irritation.
As he moved, he noticed the person behind Ning Zhuo.
Boss Fu leaned over with a youthful, agile posture. “Here already?”
Shan Feibai, who had been fiddling with the diabolo filled with iron, looked up when Boss Fu called him. He nodded obediently. “Boss Fu.”
Without glasses, Boss Fu’s eyes were as bright as if light were flowing through them. “How’s your injury? You looked terrible the night before last.”
Shan Feibai remained silent.
In truth, he was still in pain.
Although his new spine had been installed, the human body naturally rejected steel. He had eagerly begun moving, jumping, training his body, and trying to catch Ning Zhuo’s flaws—all to appear lively and talkative in front of him.
Because he knew that even if he slowed down for a single step, it would be hard to keep up with Ning Zhuo.
To Shan Feibai, Ning Zhuo was always a gateway to an unknown world.
Every time he approached Ning Zhuo, his heart felt the same awe and reverence as when he used to chase hurricanes and witnessed the colossal vortex that could upend the heavens and the earth.
He knew it was dangerous.
But hurricanes held an inexplicable allure, drawing him to dive in and pursue them relentlessly.
Just as Shan Feibai was about to say, “It’s fine,” Ning Zhuo cut him off. “Someone severed his shrimp nerve. How could he be fine?”
Boss Fu ignored Ning Zhuo’s rudeness and spoke with the amiable tone of a neighborly uncle. “Since you’re here, are you staying?”
Shan Feibai was still pondering the fact that Ning Zhuo had noticed his pain, unable to hide the smile in his heart or on his face. “Ning-ge bought me out.”
Boss Fu let out a surprised “Oh,” and said, “That’s good. Where are you staying?”
Once again, Ning Zhuo intercepted the conversation. “You’re in charge of arranging it. Also…”
He turned to Shan Feibai and asked, “How many people in ‘Panqiao’?”
Shan Feibai answered promptly, “Seventy-three.”
Ning Zhuo gave an “Oh.” “Also your responsibility,” he told Boss Fu.
Boss Fu froze.
He repeated, “Seventy-three?”
Sensing trouble, Ning Zhuo preemptively took a step back, but Boss Fu still managed to grab his collar.
Shan Feibai blinked. “…”
He hadn’t even seen how Boss Fu got close to Ning Zhuo.
“Come back here!” Boss Fu said, looking deeply aggrieved. “Cooking for seventy-plus people? Are you trying to kill me?”
Ning Zhuo averted his gaze, staring at the sky.
Boss Fu scolded, “When you talk to your elders, look at them!”
Though it was a senior reprimanding a junior, given Boss Fu’s relatively short stature, Ning Zhuo reluctantly bent his knees slightly, crouching a bit to meet Boss Fu’s gaze. “If it’s too much, buy them meals.”
Boss Fu dropped another bombshell: “No, that’s not nutritious! How many times have I told you? Don’t keep eating those synthetic quick meals, or you’ll stunt your growth!”
Ning Zhuo: “I’m taller than you.”
Boss Fu: “…Talking back, huh?”
Ning Zhuo: “I was taller than you at seventeen.”
Boss Fu: “…”
As Boss Fu found himself at a disadvantage, Shan Feibai, who was half a head taller than Ning Zhuo, chimed in, “I…”
Ning Zhuo: “Shut up. What does this have to do with you?”
Shan Feibai: “I was eighteen when…”
Ning Zhuo abruptly changed the subject. “What’s the plan? The food problem has to be sorted out.”
Boss Fu, for once, managed to gain the upper hand in his banter with Ning Zhuo, and his gaze toward Shan Feibai carried an uncharacteristic tenderness.
But after thinking it over, there really was no better solution.
Boss Fu released Ning Zhuo, casually tidying his collar while muttering softly, “You’ve really turned me into a cafeteria chef.”
Shan Feibai obediently suggested, “They can cook for themselves too.”
Ning Zhuo turned toward Shan Feibai. “My people are taken care of. As for yours—can you actually call the shots for them?”
Shan Feibai smiled lightly. “Ning-ge, no problem at all.”
Ning Zhuo laid down his condition. “I want stability. If they come here and cause trouble, of course I’ll stand by my people. Don’t blame me for being harsh.”
Shan Feibai readily agreed. He stepped forward a few paces, pressed his tongue against his teeth, placed a finger to his lips, and blew a loud, sharp whistle.
The whistle echoed intermittently through the valley, resembling melodic bird calls.
Moments later, a clear, melodious response echoed back from within the valley.
Ning Zhuo recognized it as the standard signal-response code used by “Panqiao,” conveying different meanings through variations in tone and pitch.
He was very familiar with this particular whistle’s frequency; it was a signal to summon the “Panqiao” members stationed around “Haina” to gather.
It was efficient and far more dignified than shouting for a roll call.
Yet hearing this whistle made it difficult for Ning Zhuo not to recall the past—those moments when that little rascal hid in the shadows, whistling to rally reinforcements and encircle him.
Ning Zhuo clenched his fists, his brows furrowing slightly.
Boss Fu, however, was completely unconcerned, listening cheerfully with his arms crossed.
Without turning his head or shifting his gaze, he seemed to read Ning Zhuo’s thoughts and quietly murmured in a voice only the two of them could hear, “If you don’t trust him, I’ll kill him for you.”
Ning Zhuo paused. “…That won’t be necessary.”
Boss Fu continued, “Exactly. You know it’s unnecessary. Keeping him around but not trusting him—aren’t you just making life hard for yourself?”
Ning Zhuo didn’t explain to Boss Fu that he kept Shan Feibai around because Shan Feibai had leverage over him.
He knew Shan Feibai wasn’t someone who could be easily bought with simple benefits.
But he couldn’t kill Shan Feibai so casually either.
The years of groundwork laid by “Haina” needed to be used wisely and couldn’t be wasted on a prolonged tug-of-war with “Panqiao.”
This made him suspect that Shan Feibai’s effort to “find leverage against him” might have been intentional.
After waking up, Shan Feibai had seen the report of Jin Charlemagne’s violent death.
That incident, his own severe injuries, Ning Zhuo’s discovery of him in the abandoned warehouse in Chang’an District, and the city-wide lockdown had all occurred on the same day.
With Shan Feibai’s intellect, he might have deduced some subtle connections between these events.
Thus, he proactively took the initiative, using minimal resources to gradually steer events to the current situation—where Ning Zhuo had no choice but to take him in.
Of course, this gambit carried some risk to his life—such as Ning Zhuo deciding to kill him outright.
But…
If he had been so deliberate, what exactly did he want from Ning Zhuo?
Still, Ning Zhuo had to admit that Shan Feibai was very useful.
If he were to have a partner in crime, Shan Feibai would be the best choice.
Meanwhile, Boss Fu, looking serious, laid out the pros and cons. “If you don’t keep him, deal with him. If you do keep him, trust him. It’s a simple matter.”
Ning Zhuo couldn’t explain his tangled thoughts to Boss Fu. Fixing his gaze on Shan Feibai’s back, he wondered if Shan Feibai was truly willing.
Was he really entrusting his spine, his life, and his future to Ning Zhuo?
Once, Ning Zhuo had believed in Shan Feibai’s sincerity.
But that was many years ago.
“Ah, right.”
Seeing Ning Zhuo’s habitual distrust, which seemed impossible to alleviate, Boss Fu rubbed his ears and shifted the topic. “Some of the notes in that whistle earlier sounded a lot like ‘Nightingale.’ Maybe it’s the cipher base. If you work it out, you might be able to decode whatever they whistle in the future.”
As Ning Zhuo’s thoughts momentarily shifted, the communication device on his wrist lit up and chimed softly.
He pressed his right hand to his ear. “Who?”
It was Yu Shujian.
He reported, “Ning-ge, someone called. They specifically asked for you and said they wanted to discuss a business deal.”
After a pause, he added, “…and said they’d only talk to you.”
Ning Zhuo asked, “Who is it? A new client or an old one?”
Yu Shujian answered cautiously, “Can’t tell. They used voice-changing software, and the number is virtual. If we trace it, the connection will immediately cut off.”
Ning Zhuo had a general idea. “Tell them to hold. I’ll be there shortly.”
……
At the same time, at “White Shield” headquarters—
The Justice Show’s live broadcast mishap, which occurred on September 30th, had prompted headquarters to lead the investigation. Lin Qin served as the team leader, naming the special task force the 930 Task Force.
Every room in “White Shield” headquarters had its own dedicated purpose.
The meeting room used by the 930 Task Force had been temporarily converted from a billiard club. The square imprints of pool table legs were still visible on the floor, and the walls bore untouched slogans:
“One stroke affects the whole game, every strike showcases brilliance.”
The people in the room were either seasoned veterans conscripted last minute, slouching listlessly with little enthusiasm, or greenhorn rookies, wide-eyed and nervously glancing around, brimming with youthful recklessness.
From the overall atmosphere of the room to the mixed quality of the team members, everything exuded an air of unreliability.
At the designated start time, Deputy Director Aile entered the room with Lin Qin, the task force leader.
The sight of Lin Qin’s face stirred a buzz of whispers in the room.
Lin Qin’s appearance was, frankly, unimpressive.
Moreover, his rank was… low.
At least three members present were of the same rank as him, and two others were of higher rank.
As the deputy team leader of a network security division—a desk job—Lin Qin didn’t even have the right to carry a firearm. Instead, a short black copper baton hung by his side, making him look exceedingly shabby.
Ignoring the murmurs, Aile cleared his throat. After delivering an uninspiring opening speech, he signaled Lin Qin to provide a preliminary case analysis.
Lin Qin wasted no time on small talk or pleasantries. He went straight to the point:
“We all understand the significance of this case, so I won’t elaborate. Let’s begin by organizing the details.”
With a flick of his hand, a screen displayed a video that had already been played over a hundred million times in public.
“On September 30th, an inmate, Ruskin Devin, who was supposed to face execution by lethal injection, had his potassium chloride replaced with the potent toxin strychnine.”
The screen switched to an image of the tampered syringe.
“Tracing the origin of the substance is underway, but initial tests suggest that the strychnine is not a standard industrial product. The presence of minimal crystalline impurities indicates the purification process was poorly executed—it’s homemade poison.”
The seasoned officers couldn’t help but feel deflated at this information.
They understood this meant a crucial chain of evidence had been severed.
Lin Qin shifted gears. “However, what’s valuable is that aside from this step, the rest of the operation was executed flawlessly. This indicates that the suspect at least had access to a well-equipped chemical laboratory.”
A police officer suggested, “Then let’s investigate recent purchases of chemical equipment. These records should be traceable.”
Lin Qin replied, “We’re already on it. Schools, industrial enterprises, and independent labs are being investigated. We’re also looking into individuals. Making this kind of poison requires specialized knowledge, and in today’s world, such knowledge is tightly controlled. There aren’t many people with both the resources and the expertise to produce this poison. We’ll conduct a thorough screening.”
He avoided mentioning the negligence of Charlimagne and White Shield during this process. Instead, he directed attention solely toward the perpetrator, which earned a silent nod of approval from Aile, who appreciated Lin Qin’s tact.
Lin Qin quickly transitioned to the next piece of evidence:
“During the investigation, we obtained surveillance footage. This video records the suspect swapping the syringe in the early hours of September 30th. Notably, he not only displayed a face that could serve as a communication credential…”
The video froze on a frame showing the perpetrator standing by the syringe case.
“…he also wrote a string of characters on the case.”
“Due to deliberate obstruction, the characters are incomplete in the video. However, we’ve confirmed that what he wrote was not Ruskin’s prisoner number, P-987.”
“Through technical analysis, we reconstructed the obscured characters. There are three possibilities.”
“After ruling out two meaningless options, we found one that matches an individual in our database.”
Lin Qin paused briefly.
“Ruiteng Corporation owns a subsidiary called Titan, a bionic robotics company. Their technical director, Honbu Ryo, has two children. The elder son is mediocre and works in the company’s administrative department. The younger son, Honbu Takeshi, is currently serving time in Yatebo District Prison No. 1. His inmate number is M-611, and his crime…”
“Human trafficking.”
……
In the external reception room of the “Haina” base, Ning Zhuo answered the phone.
A slightly distorted mechanical voice came through:
“Hello, is this Ning Zhuo?”
Ning Zhuo: “Yes, it’s me.”
The caller cut to the chase: “I need you to do something.”
Ning Zhuo: “What’s the price range?”
The other party responded decisively, “Whatever you want.”
Ning Zhuo replied, “A million-dollar job has a million-dollar approach. A hundred-thousand-dollar job has a hundred-thousand-dollar approach. Which one do you want?”
Charlimagne gritted his teeth, speaking with venom: “The top-tier approach.”
He knew this setback had cost him dearly, leaving him no chance of recovery.
Rumor had it that White Shield had even established a 930 Task Force to investigate the incident.
Although Charlimagne didn’t know exactly what they were investigating, his instincts told him it must involve his rivals at work—those who would take this chance to expose more dirt on him and completely destroy him.
Charlimagne wouldn’t sit idly by.
Through an inside source, he had obtained some leads.
He was determined to muddy the waters as much as possible. The messier the situation, the more it would exhaust the task force’s efforts, redirecting their focus toward the true mastermind behind the scenes.
At this point, the professional mercenary teams fostered by White Shield were likely gauging the situation and unwilling to collaborate with him.
Charlimagne didn’t trust them anyway.
Fortunately, just a few days ago, he had established a new connection with a relatively reliable mercenary group.
This group didn’t know his true identity and had a clean track record, giving him greater confidence in using them.
Thus, Charlimagne decided to take a gamble, clinging to this last lifeline.
“I’ll arrange a few channels to get you into Yatebo District Prison No. 1.”
“There’s someone I have a grudge against. His inmate number is M-611. His name is Honbu Takeshi.”
Charlimagne’s voice turned icy.
“Watch him. Monitor his surroundings to see if anyone tries to approach him. Then, find an opportunity… and kill him.”
