The earth-shaking blast rocked all of Silver Hammer City.
Sanjay, in the midst of planning the 12th anniversary gala for the “Columbus” voyage, halted all work.
When Hardan found him, he was at his desk.
The explosion’s shockwave shattered most of the concert hall’s bulletproof glass.
Sea winds whipped in, hardening Sanjay’s face.
Fearing death, determined to outlive those who knew his past, Sanjay never smoked, meticulously preserving his health.
Jansen, when alive, mocked him for guarding a fortune yet living like a beggar.
Xiao Lin, taciturn, disapproved of Sanjay’s self-denial but kept quiet.
Now, both Jansen and Xiao Lin were gone.
Police reportedly couldn’t even piece together a complete body.
The five, bound for years by a shared secret like sentinels guarding treasure, had become one.
They’d grumbled about Jansen’s foul mouth and Xiao Lin’s gloom, but their loss felt like flesh torn from the remaining three.
Yet their bond ended there.
Too much emotion disqualified one from being an assassin.
Sanjay’s thoughts churned like wind and rain, but his face betrayed nothing. “‘White Shield’ says what?”
Hardan, grinning, was a carefree giant; unsmiling, he was a cold, chiseled statue, eyes shadowed deep in his sockets.
His answer surprised: “Don’t know.”
Sanjay echoed, “‘Don’t know’?”
Hardan, matter-of-fact: “Blown to bits, burned too clean. Car’s small, bomb’s big—no telling where it started. Chassis and recorder got blasted into the sea. They’re salvaging, but might not find much…”
His plain words jolted Sanjay to his feet.
Outside, the sky was dim; the room unlit. Only then did Hardan notice Sanjay’s face and hair drenched in sweat, dripping from his chin.
Hardan watched Sanjay’s wild stare and ragged breaths, half-expecting madness.
Sanjay was near it.
Already paranoid, Xiao Lin and Jansen’s deaths had unleashed his inner demons.
The explosion still echoed in his heart and ears, deafening, relentless.
No source found meant every place was a source.
Even the chair he sat on.
Now, Sanjay eyed Hardan like a massive bomb.
Seeing his unhinged look, Hardan hesitated to continue.
Words circled his mouth but were swallowed.
He feared pushing Sanjay over the edge.
Quietly closing the door, Hardan faced Leighton outside.
Leighton, average height, had a sharp, standard handsomeness.
All eight who boarded were chosen carefully—kind-faced, clean-cut young men.
Now older, each carried their own dignity.
Leighton, the calmest and most decisive, asked, “Told him about the call?”
Bell, Dragon Bay’s “White Shield” chief, was friendly, getting free hall tickets for kin and friends.
Reluctantly, he’d sent them a recording.
After hemming and hawing, Bell offered no opinion.
The recording, from Jansen’s communicator, was their only clue—public lines auto-record all calls.
But it was chilling, hinting at hidden truths from the “Columbus” sinking 11 years ago.
Too big a matter, Bell wasn’t sure whether to report it.
After hearing it, Leighton and Hardan calmly claimed the caller admitted to being the serial bomber.
Just another fame-seeker using their lives for clout.
Silver Hammer’s bored, stifled residents birthed a few deranged freaks now and then.
They had clear consciences, unfazed by slander, standing upright against crooked shadows.
How much Bell bought their righteous spiel, they didn’t know, but the surviving trio didn’t believe it themselves.
They knew they’d skew “White Shield’s” investigation, but had no choice.
The truth sank with the ship and its people.
To keep living, they had to guard their tongues.
“Ghosts? Who the fuck believes that?” Hardan wasn’t scared—his words carried a thrill. “I wanna see who’s playing tricks.”
After years of boredom, he smelled blood and danger again.
His pulse quickened.
Leighton, less sanguine, wore a grim face, lost in thought.
Hardan grinned. “What’s the worry? Scared? Probably Feng Xueyuan’s kin. Who else would bother using his name to mess with us?”
Leighton countered, “Forgot? Feng was an only child. After he died, his parents passed from illness in the third year post-sinking. We attended their funerals.”
Hardan blinked, scratching his head.
As survivors, attending victims’ family funerals was a key public duty.
Over years, too many funerals blurred who died.
Leighton’s face was stern.
His theory diverged sharply from Hardan’s: “I’m worried it’s not his kin… but our ‘boss.’”
They called the one who assigned their sea massacre “boss.”
Hardan, blunt but no fool, caught the implication.
Hardan blinked, finding Leighton’s theory chilling but shaky. “It’s been years, everything’s been fine. Why would they suddenly lose their minds and come for us?”
Leighton’s brow furrowed. “Maybe… because it’s been so many years.”
“We barely survived back then. If we’d died right after landing, it’d have been too obvious. Now, they can finally act.”
Leighton’s voice dropped, as if wary of eavesdroppers. “…Don’t forget, they weren’t thrilled when we made it back alive.”
Hardan’s jaw dropped. Thinking it over, Leighton’s logic wasn’t baseless.
An explosive that powerful wasn’t something you could whip up casually.
Mimicking Feng Xueyuan’s voice meant the perpetrator knew the old events intimately.
And it was Xiao Lin and Jansen who died—wasn’t that a warning against their high profiles?
Hardan glanced instinctively at Sanjay’s closed study door, guessing Sanjay’s sweat-soaked panic stemmed from the same realization.
Mimicking Leighton, Hardan lowered his voice. “…So what do we do?”
“If they’re moving, Xiao Lin and Jansen are just the start,” Leighton said. “Dead men’s names are useful; they’ll keep using them.”
Hardan: “So, what, we just wait to die?”
Leighton gave a bitter smile.
He’d mulled this over since learning of the deaths.
“We go nowhere. We stay here.”
Leighton spoke slowly, steadily. “They placed us here to keep us in line. This is our turf, covered in cameras. If they want to try again, they’ll have to come to the island.”
Hardan, blunt: “Isn’t that just sitting in a cage?”
Leighton was silent.
To live, they had to stay caged.
He unbuttoned his collar, breathing easier. “And… the 12th anniversary is coming.”
Every year on the “Columbus” launch date, they hosted a memorial gala on the island, inviting Silver Hammer’s elite.
Ostensibly for remembrance, it was really a high-society excuse.
With crowds and chaos, it was prime for an attack.
If they wanted revenge for Xiao Lin and Jansen, it was also their best shot.
…
The “Columbus” crew were old heroes, less revered now, but this explosion stunned everyone.
Lenzburg University, a stop for Xiao Lin and Jansen, was locked down immediately, all anniversary attendees told to stay put.
In this era, secrets were rare.
Those confined soon learned the two who’d just given a dull speech were now charred fragments.
Some felt dread; others were indifferent.
Like Lenzburg alum Shan Feibai, playing tennis with his coach.
A navy headband tamed his fluffy, striking hair.
Vibrant, he wore a thin tracksuit in winter, sleeves rolled up, revealing sleek forearms, radiating like a small sun.
After a game, he glimpsed a figure courtside.
Waving to pause the coach, he strode over.
His half-brother, Zhang Xingshu, wiped sweat from his nose. “Feibai, been looking for you.”
Shan Feibai eyed his brother, nodding, blunt: “…Bro, you’re really unlucky.”
Zhang Xingshu grimaced, agreeing with his bad luck.
Tasked by their father to deliver something to Shan Feibai, he hadn’t expected an incident, trapping him in the campus lockdown.
No choice, though.
Zhang, timid by nature, didn’t dare visit “Haina” openly.
After meeting Ning Zhuo, he’d privately dubbed it a house of death. Despite Ning Zhuo’s ghostly beauty, Zhang was terrified.
Lenzburg’s 120th anniversary saved him.
Zhang, relieved, called Shan Feibai to confirm he’d attend.
Shan Feibai was cheery on the phone. “Yup, I’m going.”
…
“Here.” Zhang handed over a gold-embossed invitation. “Dad asked me to give you this.”
Shan Feibai took it, not looking, smirking. “What, the old man realized he can’t live without me?”
Zhang rubbed his nose, uneasy.
…Zhang Rong’en had been frantic over this.
He’d called Ning Zhuo countless times, even tried visiting, only to eat rejection after rejection.
—He’d discovered that after signing the notarized agreement handing Shan Feibai to Ning Zhuo, he could no longer freely siphon funds from any Tangdi company account.
Panicked, he inquired, and the answer hit like thunder.
After his mother’s sudden death, Zhang Rong’en took over smoothly.
He’d been smug, thinking his mother, despite her coldness, couldn’t bear to cut off her only son.
Now, the young talents she’d nurtured had grown into cunning foxes.
Smiling politely, they told him, Mr. Zhang, you missed a clause in the handover. Take a close look.
Stunned, Zhang dug up the old agreement, finding a tiny, overlooked term in fine print.
In short, the “Tangdi” brand and all its companies were Shan Yunhua’s gift to her grandson.
Zhang Rong’en was the primary heir, but if the “father-son relationship ceased,” it all transferred to Shan Feibai.
He’d seen the clause back then.
But he’d assumed “relationship ceased” meant his death.
Once he controlled Tangdi’s lifeline and ousted his mother’s loyalists, he could rewrite it.
Later, Shan Feibai grew defiant, embarrassing him, causing trouble. Zhang had long wanted to kick him out.
After all, he was the father.
Chapter 76, Section 1: Return (Continued)
Zhang Rong’en never imagined Shan Yunhua would outmaneuver him like this.
He even suspected Ning Zhuo’s agreement was a staged act between them.
Suspicion aside, Zhang had no choice but to mend their fractured father-son bond.
After years of squandering, with finances tightening, he couldn’t stomach groveling to his son, so he sent his other son instead.
Truth be told, Zhang Xingshu didn’t dislike his younger brother—he rather liked him.
But he knew his status ensured Shan Feibai wouldn’t reciprocate.
They were brothers doomed to never get along.
Zhang’s fraternal affection, unexpressed, became an awkward smile. “…Can you make it?”
“I’ll be there.” Shan Feibai tapped the invitation against his palm, adding casually, “By the way, can I bring a plus-one?”
…
As a senior Interest reporter, Kainan saw the explosion’s news value and raced to Dragon Bay to investigate.
Bell, swamped, greeted him solemnly at the parking lot.
Kainan, from the driver’s seat, cut to the chase: “I’ve got a talk show at seven tonight. Give me everything you’ve got.”
Bell knew Kainan’s platform had propelled Charlemagne to “White Shield” fame.
A case this big was a rare opportunity.
If Xiao Lin and Jansen’s deaths could boost his profile and secure a promotion, Bell was eager to leak sensitive details.
He jumped in: “We found the bomb was CL-30, but not standard CL-30.”
Kainan raised a brow.
Before Bell could spill more, the rear window of Kainan’s car slid down.
Lin Qin, eyes still bandaged, clutched a thin sheet of paper, asking softly, “…Homemade explosive?”
Seeing a peer, Bell was surprised. “…You?”
Lin Qin nodded slightly, shaking his interview outline. “I’m his guest tonight.”
Meanwhile, Lin Qin thought calmly: Raskin died from homemade poison.
Silver Hammer City was indeed full of hidden talents.
Bell, deflated, lost enthusiasm, reciting what he knew dryly.
He mentioned the recording’s existence too.
Kainan was predictably intrigued.
Lin Qin focused on details: “No explosion when they left, but it went off near the concert hall on their return, right?”
Bell: “Yes.”
Lin Qin lowered his head, pondering.
The bomber admitted to being the clumsy serial bomber.
His gradual buildup led to this shocking blast.
Clearly, the bomber targeted them, sparing others.
But if avoiding collateral damage, why not strike in the morning, instead of on their return from the speech?
The bomb was likely planted at Lenzburg University.
Lin Qin asked, “Did the school give them any mementos after the speech?”
Bell shook his head. “No mementos.”
Lin Qin: “That’s what the school said?”
Bell, impatient, wanted to talk with Kainan, not spar with Lin Qin.
He brushed off, “Yeah.”
Lin Qin pulled out his portable computer, typing.
Relieved by his silence, Bell sighed, diving into a lively chat with Kainan about the recording’s news potential.
But before they hit their stride, Lin Qin looked up from his screen’s glow.
“They lied.”
He turned the screen to Bell, showing Jansen holding a bouquet, posing with Xiao Lin and school officials.
Lin Qin stated softly, “They gave flowers after the speech, took photos, posted them on the school’s site. Removed two minutes after the explosion.”
He lowered his gaze, ignoring Bell’s stunned face. “Check again.”
