After Ning Zhuo left, Shan Feibai gleefully rolled around on the bed, indulging in a brief bout of madness before dutifully getting up to work on his personal crafting project.
When Shan Feibai was born, the once-dominant “Tangdi” had already lost its former glory under the onslaught of low-cost neural prosthetics.
But his grandmother, Shan Yunhua, had anticipated this and didn’t care.
Influenced by her, Shan Feibai grew up fascinated with all kinds of machinery.
At seven, he designed a crude scare box—seemingly empty, but when a hand reached inside, a heat sensor triggered a hidden compartment to spring open, revealing a fuzzy, lifelike spider.
Holding his little invention, with his charming, sweet face, Shan Feibai roamed the world scaring boys and girls until his grandmother dragged him home and spanked his palms.
…In truth, he’d had his fun.
Once the sting in his hands faded, Shan Feibai dove into developing an upgraded scare box.
Now, he held a delicate mechanical box—a more advanced, more interesting, and weightier “scare box.”
The palm-sized device was a marvel inside, its circuits meticulously organized, each with a purpose, almost like a diverse ecosystem crafted by his deft hands.
Beside him sat an identical, already completed box.
After staying still for about fifteen minutes, Shan Feibai’s bones began to itch with restlessness.
On a whim, he opened Ning Zhuo’s wardrobe and slipped on one of his tank tops.
Humming happily while working in Ning Zhuo’s clothes, he was startled when the rarely used door was knocked on softly.
Shan Feibai looked up, puzzled, and didn’t respond.
Soon, someone turned the handle and poked their head in.
—Boss Fu.
“…Feibai?”
As “Haina’s” boss, Fu handled errands with ease. “Someone’s here for you.”
Shan Feibai blinked rapidly.
…That was quick.
He answered with cheerful nonchalance, “Got it!”
Shan Feibai didn’t know much about Boss Fu, but his mind was always calculating, ticking away to carve out his own little world.
Ning Zhuo didn’t seem to respect Boss Fu much, but Shan Feibai knew better than to act out.
Playing the obedient quail, he threw on a light jacket and followed Boss Fu to the reception room.
As expected, the visitor was Lin Qin.
Before Shan Feibai entered, Lin Qin was warming his hands with a coffee cup. Seeing him, he stood, extending a hand warmly: “Hello.”
Noticing Shan Feibai’s guarded expression and reluctance to shake hands, Lin Qin withdrew his palm naturally, smiling, “Do you remember who I am?”
“I do,” Shan Feibai said, pulling up a stool and sitting with a hint of grievance. “You stole my apple.”
Lin Qin: “…”
His face reddened slightly, and he gave a half-laugh, half-sigh, glancing at Boss Fu for help. “Papa Fu…”
Boss Fu’s eyes twinkled. “Craving an apple? I’ll grab some. You two chat.”
He glided out of the room with light steps.
The door closed, leaving just the two of them in the spacious reception room.
Before Lin Qin could ask anything, Shan Feibai took the offensive.
Chin slightly raised, he played the petulant young master: “What do you want? Hurry up, I’ve got things to do.”
Lin Qin met his gaze, smiling faintly, undeterred by his prickly attitude.
Though he didn’t oversee the Chaoge District and had no personal ties with Shan Feibai, Lin Qin knew that anyone who could stand toe-to-toe with Ning Zhuo in the mercenary world for years was no mere show-off.
Lin Qin spoke gently, “A few days ago, you attended your school’s 120th anniversary celebration, right?”
“I knew it’d be about the explosion,” Shan Feibai said, clapping his hands with an air of ease. “What, just because I went from college student to mercenary, you’re trying to pin the crime on an upstanding youth like me?”
Lin Qin quickly adapted to Shan Feibai’s style: “Don’t misunderstand. I’m just curious—since you’re a mercenary now, your old social ties must’ve weakened. Why bother attending the celebration?”
Shan Feibai asked, “You want to know why?”
Lin Qin: “If it’s okay to share.”
Shan Feibai licked his upper lip, flashing dimples in a cheeky, roguish grin: “…Because I felt like it.”
Lin Qin chuckled. “Alright, you felt like it. But according to the gate surveillance, you didn’t enter until noon. That’s a bit late, isn’t it?”
Shan Feibai pouted slightly. “Ning-ge keeps a tight leash on me. Getting out isn’t easy. Ever tried escaping his grip?”
Lin Qin thought for a moment. “No.”
Shan Feibai: “Oh, then he doesn’t take you seriously enough.”
Lin Qin laughed, at a loss.
He noticed that every time he asked a question, Shan Feibai threw it back, probing and trying to rile him up.
Maybe Shan Feibai was just a wild, confrontational character.
Or perhaps he was deliberately clowning to distract and derail Lin Qin’s focus, achieving his own ends.
—Bold, meticulous.
If the latter, Shan Feibai matched Lin Qin’s mental profile of the bomber.
But it was just a hunch, not proof.
To dig deeper, he’d need to probe further.
Lin Qin knew coming here was a risk.
His right hand brushed the handle of the black copper baton at his waist twice.
At the same time, Shan Feibai subtly rested his hand on his own waist.
There, he had a small handgun.
He mentally rehearsed how many seconds it’d take to draw and how to predict Lin Qin’s dodge.
Yet, despite the undercurrent of tension, they maintained a calm facade.
Lin Qin relaxed, sipped his coffee, and said seriously, “If I understand correctly, you’re saying Ning Zhuo didn’t want you to go, but you went anyway? Was this celebration that important to you?”
Shan Feibai shrugged carelessly, “The school celebration wasn’t important. I was there to handle business.”
“What business?”
“To deal with the Zhang family. Zhang Lizao, from ‘Tangdi’—you’ve probably heard of him.” Shan Feibai lazily tossed Lin Qin a lead to investigate. “Seeing the Zhang family fall on hard times in person felt pretty important to me.”
With that, he leaned back in his chair, intending to cross his arms and strike an arrogant pose to size up Lin Qin.
But the moment his back touched the chair, Shan Feibai jolted as if scalded, his handsome brows furrowing in pain.
Lin Qin instinctively asked, “What’s wrong?”
Shan Feibai slowly relaxed his tense neck and shoulders, his tone tinged with a hint of grievance, “…Ask Ning Zhuo!”
Lin Qin observed him closely, noting that his pained reaction seemed genuine.
He sniffed lightly.
The air carried the faint, sharp scent of medicinal oil.
“He hit you?”
“Who else, you?” Shan Feibai grumbled. “That bastard—just because I snuck out to have some fun, he went so hard on me.”
After his rant, he looked up warily, “…Wait, you’re not gonna tell him I called him a bastard, are you?”
Lin Qin pressed a hand to his lips, coughing lightly, “I… won’t.”
Shan Feibai: “Oh.”
Shan Feibai: “If Ning-ge comes back and beats me, I’m coming for you.”
Shan Feibai’s theatrics in front of Lin Qin were lively and flawless.
According to him, he arrived late to the celebration because escaping “Haina” was no easy feat, and someone from his circle had issues, arranging to meet him first—it wasn’t his initiative to attend.
After returning, Shan Feibai, having gone AWOL, didn’t get off easy with Ning Zhuo, taking a beating that still hadn’t healed.
It all sounded perfectly reasonable.
Lin Qin noted it mentally but didn’t fully buy it, planning to verify each detail.
He asked another question, “What were you doing two days before Lentzburg University’s celebration?”
“Hmm—”
Shan Feibai propped his chin, pretending to think hard.
Answering instantly about something from days ago would seem too rehearsed.
He was finally experiencing the intense, inexplicable pressure Ning Zhuo had warned about when talking to Lin Qin.
He had to muster all his focus to handle this tricky opponent.
But before he could respond, a male voice abruptly cut in from the corner, “School celebration… explosion case… so that’s five days ago, right?”
Both men, locked in their subtle standoff, were startled.
…They’d been so focused on each other that neither noticed when Boss Fu had returned.
Shan Feibai’s heart skipped a beat.
He quickly reviewed his actions, growing uneasy.
…Could Boss Fu have seen him when he went out that day?
Seeing Shan Feibai purse his lips, looking confused, Boss Fu prompted, “That day, you fought with Ning-ning, and he locked you up for a day, remember?”
Shan Feibai’s mind raced, and he instantly played along, pouting pitifully, “He’s always locking me up or hitting me—how am I supposed to keep track?”
Boss Fu scratched his earlobe, smiling at Lin Qin, “Family matters, always a mess.”
To reassure Lin Qin, Boss Fu picked up his communicator and called Tang Kaichang, “Xiao Tang, send over the footage from Room 1409, five days ago. …Just the part with Shan Feibai.”
Two or three minutes later, the footage arrived.
Boss Fu held up the communicator, openly showing it to Lin Qin and pressing play, “Here.”
The bottom-left corner clearly displayed the time and place: Room 1409, five days ago.
The camera angle was tilted downward.
In the footage, Shan Feibai was confined in a cramped room.
At first, he paced restlessly, head down. Then, as if fed up, he flopped onto the bed, kicked off his slippers, wrapped himself in a blanket, and slept from night to day.
Shan Feibai curiously watched the screen’s “him,” who wasn’t him at all.
Due to the tricky camera angle, this “Shan Feibai” never showed his full face, but his posture, movements, and occasional glimpses of his profile were uncannily accurate.
The footage was sped up 32 times.
Lin Qin patiently watched until the wall’s mechanical clock hit 16:00, then stopped.
The bomber had appeared between 14:00 and 16:00 that afternoon, crafting the sliding door.
Shan Feibai had a solid alibi.
Still, for thoroughness, Lin Qin gently requested, “Can I take this footage with me?”
Boss Fu agreed readily, “Sure. But don’t tell Ning-ning—he doesn’t like our footage leaking. …It’s not personal; he’d say no to anyone.”
Before leaving, Lin Qin gave Boss Fu a warm hug, “Papa Fu, I’m off. Sorry for the trouble today.”
Boss Fu accepted the hug naturally, “I’ll walk you out.”
Once they left the meeting room, Shan Feibai crouched, searching everywhere to ensure Lin Qin hadn’t planted any surveillance devices.
Emerging from under the table, he looked up and locked eyes with Boss Fu, who’d returned silently.
Boss Fu said casually, “Xiao Lin trusts me, so you should too. He’s clean—won’t bug us.”
Shan Feibai blinked, finding “Haina’s” boss increasingly enigmatic.
He asked, “Boss Fu, how’d you pull it off?”
Boss Fu tucked his hands into his sleeves, relaxed, “You guys have been busy lately, and I’m not, so I figured I’d cover your backs.”
Sensing Shan Feibai’s concern, Boss Fu paused and added, “Don’t worry, Xiao Lin won’t spot any tampering. The video’s real, not spliced. The date was faked and added later, but Xiao Tang’s skilled—something this simple, he wouldn’t mess up.”
Shan Feibai lowered his head, piecing it together.
“1409” must be a prearranged code between Boss Fu and Tang Kaichang.
Boss Fu had recorded several different videos in advance.
All he needed was the right moment to openly call out his code.
“Xiao Tang, send over the footage from Room 1409, five days ago. …Just the part with Shan Feibai.”
Code.
Timing.
Everyone was in place.
Tang Kaichang even had enough time to edit the source file, embedding the timestamp into the footage before sending it to Boss Fu.
The only question was: how could Boss Fu impersonate him so perfectly?
Every gesture, every posture, even the smallest daily habits—he mimicked them flawlessly.
Even Shan Feibai himself couldn’t spot any flaws.
Shan Feibai felt he hadn’t met Boss Fu often.
How could he, in those few encounters, observe him so thoroughly?
But Boss Fu clearly had no interest in explaining, only muttering complaints: “You two and your long legs, bullying an old man like me for being short, huh? Impersonating you both wasn’t easy. I recorded one for Ning-ning, one for you, and for two days I barely moved, just lying in bed. —Lying down’s exhausting too, you know.”
Shan Feibai studied Boss Fu intently.
Before, Ning Zhuo had insisted on keeping everyone from “Haina” or “Panqiao” out of their plans.
But now, Shan Feibai thought, as their plan progressed, they might need to adjust.
Looking at Boss Fu—self-proclaimed “old man” yet exuding no trace of age, even carrying a youthful air—Shan Feibai’s eyes glinted with sly mischief, curving slightly: “Boss Fu, can you do me a favor?”
Boss Fu leaned against the wall, pausing his grumbling, his tone tinged with amused curiosity: “Let’s hear it. But fair warning—I don’t do anything too dangerous.”
…
As Lin Qin predicted, Bell and Hardy’s investigation yielded nothing.
The warehouse was full of DNA from school students.
The real bomber left not a single hair, fingerprint, or partial shoe print.
He came and went like a phantom.
If the two officers hadn’t seen his brazen wall-breaking act on surveillance, they might’ve believed it was a ghost.
After a bout of helpless rage, they realized this bomber likely wouldn’t stop here.
Three people were still at the “Columbus” Memorial Concert Hall.
Bell rushed to the hall and, facing Sanjay, hesitated before briefly summarizing the investigation.
He laid out facts and reasoning, his sole request: that Sanjay cancel the “Columbus” 12th anniversary banquet in two days.
The banquet was to be held at the concert hall.
If anything went wrong, it’d be an inescapable failure on his part!
Sanjay remained calm, his face impassive.
He knew the 12th anniversary banquet couldn’t be canceled.
He didn’t have the authority.
So, he could only steel himself, saying coldly, “If someone wants to kill me, let them try. I’d like to see how they pull tricks with all these cameras.”
Bell exhaled heavily, feeling no relief.
Before leaving, he hesitated repeatedly, then asked an unwelcome question: “Mr. Sanjay, how did Feng Xueyuan die?”
Sanjay’s face and heart were numb in unison, his tone flat: “The storm came suddenly. We got separated on the ship. We don’t know how he died.”
Matching his numb tone, Sanjay’s hands trembled uncontrollably under the table.
He’d been so terrified he hadn’t slept in days.
But the banquet was mandated by the big company—he couldn’t escape it.
In the suffocating, endless wait, the fated banquet officially began.
Author’s Note:
[Silver Hammer Daily]
Breaking News: Today, the 12th anniversary banquet commemorating the “Columbus” voyage officially kicks off.
Many social elites will attend tonight’s event in formal attire, hosting a charity fundraiser to donate to the “Columbus” Foundation.
The foundation aims to encourage young people to speak out, strive forward, contribute ideas for Silver Hammer City’s future, and aim high!
Top Comment: Donating to the foundation gets you exemptions on income and inheritance taxes, right? [This comment has been deleted, and the account has been muted for violating speech rules.]
