To Shan Feibai’s question, Ning Zhuo answered with action.
After distributing the late-night snacks and changing into casual clothes, Ning Zhuo hopped on Abu, taking Shan Feibai out.
Their destination was a barren hill five kilometers away, an unremarkable corner of the sprawling mountains.
Less a mountain, it was more a mound.
But its cliffside edge held a secret.
“Associate Professor Xue wasn’t idle while staying with me,” Ning Zhuo said.
He led Shan Feibai to a shaded spot, lifting a layer of dry grass to reveal a soil-colored stone slab.
Pressing his right index finger to a corner, the mechanism activated, and the slab flipped upward.
Ning Zhuo continued, “…He helped a lot.”
Shan Feibai scanned the area, spotting a lightning rod disguised as a branch, angled at 45 degrees, silently shielding the cave from strikes.
As the cave opened, a cold breeze with a faint sulfur smell wafted out.
The space was small, ten square meters, its walls lined with black steel plates for moisture and heat resistance, solemnly guarding a bottle of 600 milliliters of translucent liquid.
It was CL-30, a fifth-generation high-explosive.
A watch-sized amount could level an entire building.
That unassuming man had crafted a weapon capable of flattening a mountain.
But when Ning Zhuo first made the request, Xue hadn’t agreed immediately.
Nervously touching his nose, he asked, “Can I know what it’s for?”
Ning Zhuo was candid. “I’ll use it to blow up the memorial concert hall.”
Xue, startled, asked, “…Why?”
Ning Zhuo replied, “To take out five people who should’ve died but didn’t.”
Xue fell silent, shaking his head slightly.
Ning Zhuo: “Unwilling?”
Adjusting his glasses, Xue said slowly, “No. I always thought the ‘Columbus’ sinking was odd. Our school helped build it. I know its specs—watertight compartments dozens of times stronger than a civilian ship, 6,000-ton displacement, weather radar. It could dodge major storms or withstand them. They claimed a storm sank it, but a storm that could destroy the ‘Columbus’ should’ve shredded their lifeboat too.”
He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Everyone called it a miracle. I thought I was just cynical.”
Ning Zhuo knew he’d agreed.
He asked Xue, “Aren’t you worried I’m tricking you into making this for some other scheme?”
Xue’s smile was gentle. “Mr. Ning, if you had ulterior motives, you wouldn’t have asked that.”
The explosive was ready; the next issue was timing its detonation.
On the ride home, Shan Feibai sat behind Ning Zhuo on the motorcycle, arms naturally around his waist, analyzing, “…The concert hall’s security is too tight.”
Its system was like a fine comb, filtering out any risk.
Ning Zhuo nodded, adding, “The surveillance is ‘Swarm Bee’ brand, full coverage, no blind spots. Same company as Interest’s ‘Goose Array’ cameras—compatible, invisible, unavoidable.”
Shan Feibai: “Uploads to the cloud in real-time, right?”
Ning Zhuo: “Mm.”
Shan Feibai clicked his tongue.
This was unlike framing Motobu Takeshi in prison.
The high-security prison had no internal cameras, making their moves easy.
Placing the explosive was a challenge.
Dealing with the five survivors was equally daunting.
Ning Zhuo, via the “Tuner,” knew they were former mercenary assassins.
Taking them all out at once was near impossible.
Any move would alert them.
Unlike the disgraced Motobu Takeshi or Raskin, these five were public heroes.
Acting against them was fraught with difficulty.
Ning Zhuo let out a faint sigh in the chilly winter air.
He’d often strolled near Dragon Bay, gazing at the grand ship, lost in thought.
He never bought concert hall tickets, restricted to B-class citizens or above.
He could’ve used the black market to scout early, but Sanjay, the group’s core, was overly cautious.
Frequent visits as a regular would draw his attention, causing trouble.
Fortunately, the “Columbus” museum tickets were open to all Silver Hammer citizens.
Ning Zhuo had visited a few times, mingling with groups of students.
Among kids barely waist-high, staring at the “Columbus” model, he’d hallucinate a cold-faced woman on its deck.
Her hair swayed in the gentle sea breeze, moonlight pooling in her eyes.
A beautiful scene, but an unattainable illusion.
Ning Zhuo stood still as people passed.
He heard a child say naively, “When I grow up, I’ll sail like them!”
But other childish voices chimed in:
“Go die out there?”
“Even that great ship sank. Only idiots would go.”
“You’re an only child, right? Your parents would cry if you went.”
“Go ahead, end up a photo on these walls.”
The ambitious kid fell silent, his budding passion doused.
In Silver Hammer City, even children were ruthlessly pragmatic.
Those with romantic bones lay buried at sea.
Over time, the museum had become a negative totem.
Standing in a corner of the city, it was impossible to ignore.
It warned the young: adventure is foolish.
Stay here, obediently, from winter to summer, birth to death.
Erasing this totem would take time.
Both men, lost in thought, rode in silence.
When Ning Zhuo emerged from the bathroom, toweling his hair, he saw Shan Feibai nestled in the new double bed.
Surprised, Ning Zhuo glanced at the idle sofa bed.
With two beds now, they should each take one.
Catching his meaning, Shan Feibai shook his head firmly, rejecting the arrangement.
Ning Zhuo didn’t argue, heading to the sofa bed, lying down to rest.
Within ten seconds, he heard sneaky tiptoeing.
…Terrible stealth skills.
Chapter 72, Section 1: Date (Continued)
As Ning Zhuo turned over, a shadow, warm with a cozy scent, rolled onto his sofa bed.
Unavoidably, he found himself face-to-face with Shan Feibai.
Shan Feibai smelled warm and fresh, like pomelo—strange yet familiar.
Ning Zhuo was about to shove him off with a kick, but Shan Feibai, perceptive, hugged him tightly, sniffing his neck like a puppy and proudly declaring, “Ning-ge, we smell the same now.”
Ning Zhuo realized Shan Feibai had, without asking, swapped out all his toiletries.
They were using the same body wash.
The closeness sent a faint heat through Ning Zhuo’s abdomen, uncomfortable, so he snapped, “…Get back to your own bed.”
Shan Feibai: “This is my bed. I brought my warmed-up blanket!”
With that, he pulled the blanket over them both, enthusiastically asking, “Warm enough?”
Ning Zhuo didn’t reply, his heart oddly skipping, each beat aching against his ribs.
He grabbed Shan Feibai’s arm, forcing eye contact.
No matter how obedient or sweet Shan Feibai acted, Ning Zhuo always saw him as untamable.
It wasn’t an illusion.
Ning Zhuo had too many lessons from him.
Shan Feibai did as he pleased, effortlessly sparking a fire in Ning Zhuo’s heart, making him… less himself.
In Shan Feibai’s presence, the usually composed Ning Zhuo felt like a beast, itching to seize his throat, draw blood, overpower him, make him submit, make him yield willingly.
Only then could Ning Zhuo feel at ease.
…But what then?
He didn’t know.
In their gaze, Shan Feibai’s heterochromatic eyes gleamed in the dark. “Hey, Ning-ge.”
Ning Zhuo: “What?”
Shan Feibai: “Didn’t we agree this is my job? Let me handle it.”
Ning Zhuo: “…Got a plan?”
Shan Feibai grinned slyly. “Yup. I want to make it big.”
Ning Zhuo: “How big?”
Leaning to his ear, Shan Feibai whispered excitedly, “Big enough to tear the sky apart, how’s that?”
His innocent expression paired with such bold words created a strange, captivating contrast.
A peculiar heat surged in Ning Zhuo’s chest.
Shan Feibai’s proposal seemed to ignite a dormant emotion within him.
His teeth itched, urging him to bite Shan Feibai’s neck.
Suppressing the impulse, he patted Shan Feibai’s face. “Tear the sky? Can you clean up the mess?”
Straddling Ning Zhuo, Shan Feibai said brazenly, “Depends on how much intel Min Qiu-jie can give me.”
Ning Zhuo hummed softly.
As a mechanic, Min Qiu excelled at observing life beyond her trade.
She stayed dormant in her sister’s body, not interfering, preserving vivid memories of the “Columbus.”
Tasked, Shan Feibai acted like an unleashed boy, pushing further. “Let’s sleep then. This bed’s so hard, I’ll have nightmares.”
Before Ning Zhuo could kick him off, Shan Feibai sprang up, hoisting Ning Zhuo, blanket and all. “Let’s go!”
He forgot they were both tall.
Bang—Ning Zhuo’s head hit the ceiling.
The wild puppy got two hard smacks on the back of his head, finally calming down, left alone on the sofa bed.
On the soft double bed, Ning Zhuo left space for one.
After closing his eyes, he heard stealthy footsteps.
Someone crept onto the bed, nestling cautiously against his neck, rubbing affectionately.
Annoyed but too lazy to deal with it, Ning Zhuo pretended to sleep.
Pretending, he drifted off.
The night was calm.
No dreams of blood, fire, corpses, or accusing eyes—just a wolf cub circling him, as if claiming him.
…
Recently, strange explosions cropped up across districts.
Most occurred in Lower City and less-monitored Mid-City areas.
The bombs were crude, barely stronger than large firecrackers.
They went off in deserted places.
The first hit an old, rusty container at the old docks, startling a guard.
Three days later, the second struck.
A midnight blast in a condemned building shattered already-broken windows.
A scavenging urchin, mistaking it for gunfire, fled screaming.
The third explosion made a splash online.
A makeshift bomb blew a trash can sky-high in a park at night.
Nearby “White Shield” patrols rushed over, catching no bomber but nabbing a rentboy and his client in the park’s woods.
Since the bomber’s acts were minor, more performative than threatening, most Silver Hammer citizens treated it as gossip, not panic.
A few remarked, “The first bomb went off at the old port where the ‘Columbus’ set sail, right?”
Their voices drowned in debates about whether the bomber was another cyberpsycho, barely noticed in the flood of chatter.
Author’s Note:
[Silver Hammer Daily]
Guest Commentary:
The recent serial bomber incidents remind me of the tragic story of “Mad Artisan,” a bomber from five years ago.
Once a beloved “White Shield” officer, Mad Artisan was injured in the line of duty, losing his right eye. Opting for a cheap prosthetic, he suffered organ infections, forcing early retirement.
The infections drove him mad. After mistakenly killing his wife, he snapped, taking homemade bombs to the streets, targeting the hospital that fitted his prosthetic, ignoring his signed waiver, and causing widespread panic.
Ultimately, his former colleagues gunned him down.
For your health, use certified prosthetics and take responsibility for your well-being. Support Ruiteng Corporation’s efforts to protect intellectual property with action!
