All the CL-30 explosives manufactured by Associate Professor Xue were used here.
After the massive explosion, the “Columbus” Memorial Concert Hall was razed to the ground.
Every trace of the past was reduced to ashes, equal in destruction.
Under immense pressure and fury, “White Shield” launched an investigation overnight without pause.
However, disappointments piled up one after another.
The first question was: How did the perpetrator infiltrate those major companies and successfully plant the bombs?
The answer was deceptively simple: Enter, find a spot, place the bomb, and leave.
It sounded absurdly straightforward.
Even in the surveillance footage, it looked shockingly simple.
The bomb at Ruiteng Corporation’s mining platform was planted three days prior by someone posing as an employee “inspecting equipment confidentiality.”
He arrived at midnight.
The platform’s perimeter guards immediately called headquarters to verify.
The call was quickly answered, confirming that two inspection teams were scheduled to arrive that night and should be granted access.
Post-incident investigation revealed that the dedicated line from the mining platform had been briefly hijacked during that time.
As a result, this disguised “inspector” boldly approached the core of the energy storage room and placed a small bomb nearby.
At United Health’s raw materials warehouse, it was a clean, precise infiltration.
The intruder evaded all security measures, including an expensive, top-tier infrared anti-theft system—slipping through a blind spot with pinpoint accuracy.
In the surveillance footage, his movements were so fluid and natural they were almost mesmerizing.
As for Webway’s imitation chicken canned meat production line…
A day before the explosion, a man in a worker’s uniform, wearing a wide-brimmed hat that obscured his face, chewing gum, entered the factory with the morning shift. He skillfully avoided all cameras, then stopped at the chosen detonation site.
He spat out his gum, wrapped it around a chip-sized object, and stuck it to the inner rim of a fixed trash bin outside the production line.
Then, he walked out, telling security he’d been fired, his office belongings confiscated, and asked to be let out.
On the night of the banquet, the person who released the bomb-laden balloons upwind was another man, wrapped head-to-toe.
This individual completed four bomb-planting tasks with ease and left no traceable evidence.
Moreover, surveillance showed subtle differences in height and build among the bombers at the four locations.
Most of “White Shield”’s leadership immediately concluded it was a group effort.
But some argued that bombings weren’t suited for team operations.
Whether it was four people working together or a single seasoned expert remained up for debate.
So, who placed the suitcase containing the real bomb under the cover of the interview vans?
“White Shield” investigated every single interview vehicle at the scene and finally identified one with fake plates.
But that van had already left, brazenly driving into the lower city district, vanishing without a trace.
The person inside wore full cold-weather gear—gloves, mask, long coat—not a single inch of skin exposed.
Such attire was perfectly unremarkable in Silver Hammer City’s winter.
Everyone around was caught up in the frenzy of breaking news and potential hefty bonuses.
No one paid attention to a “colleague” sitting in the driver’s seat, wearing earphones, and talking to someone.
This left “White Shield”’s investigation in an awkward stalemate:
Those with motive lacked access to explosives.
Those with access to explosives had no apparent motive.
With no leads, “White Shield” turned to the possibility of “hired killers.”
They mobilized informants from both legal and illegal channels, investigating large fund transfers and cash withdrawals in the recent period.
A few low-tier mercenary groups, specializing in black-market jobs like fencing, theft, robbery, and trafficking electronic opium, were flagged during this sieve-like scrutiny and promptly dismantled by the police.
For the next few months, Silver Hammer City’s crime rate dipped slightly.
But evidence showed that none of these groups capable of orchestrating such a terrifying plan had any recent suspicious financial activity.
Even the large payments received by “Haina” and Ning Zhuo were fully traceable.
Speaking of “Haina,” when “White Shield” officers reviewed the guest list from the “Columbus” banquet and discovered that the heads of the mercenary groups “Haina” and “Panqiao,” Ning Zhuo and Shan Feibai, were present, their spirits lifted.
Learning that Shan Feibai had also been at the scene of the Kobayashi and Jensen explosion cases, they were ecstatic, thinking they’d found a breakthrough.
But Shan Feibai doused their hopes with cold water:
“The Lentzburg University anniversary was my brother’s idea. He gave me the invitation. I never asked him for it or sought him out. Check it all you want. …Oh, come to think of it, my brother seems pretty suspicious, doesn’t he? You should look into him—maybe he’s the mastermind.”
Zhang Xingshu, jittery as a startled bird, also underwent “White Shield”’s questioning.
His call records with Shan Feibai confirmed that the Zhang family had approached Shan Feibai first, needing his help and insisting on meeting in a public setting.
The tennis coach who met Shan Feibai on the anniversary day also verified that Zhang Xingshu had personally handed him the invitation.
As for why Shan Feibai appeared at the banquet in handcuffs…
In front of “White Shield” officers, Shan Feibai stripped off his shirt, candidly showing a fresh whip mark, saying he didn’t dare run off without notice again, lest Ning Zhuo “beat him to death.”
His injury corroborated an underground rumor in Silver Hammer City:
The longstanding rivalry between “Haina” and “Panqiao” hadn’t eased despite their unexpected merger.
Whether this antagonistic duo would achieve synergy or spiral downward remained to be seen.
For now, no one would believe such a discordant pair had the coordination to pull off this seamless bombing plot.
Every lead “White Shield” pursued snapped like a brittle thread.
Just as they were stewing in frustration, a highly valuable clue emerged like a beacon in the dark.
A few days before the banquet, the “Columbus” Memorial Concert Hall underwent its routine deep cleaning.
Nowadays, professional androids were increasingly popular for cleaning tasks, prized for their efficiency, speed, and consistent quality.
In today’s era, manual cleaning has become a high-end, niche luxury.
To keep their jobs, cleaners have gone to extreme lengths to outdo androids, obsessing over every detail to surpass their mechanical rivals in thoroughness.
The cleaning company contracted by the concert hall worked for three days, with records clearly documenting 20 cleaners dispatched daily.
But a check of the “Swarm” cloud storage records revealed a startling anomaly: on the third day, 21 people entered the concert hall!
The elaborate iron box, disguised as a bomb by the bomber, must have been planted then!
The cleaners had interacted with this extra person.
According to them, he wore their company’s work cap, lounged casually in the front passenger seat, and seemed chummy with the driver, chatting warmly and cracking jokes like a big brother throughout the ride.
When asked about his identity, he claimed to be a new “deputy operations manager,” joining the job to understand their needs and work environment.
Upon arrival, he took the team leader’s roster, checking names and faces one by one.
Then, donning the same cleaning backpack and cap as the others, he geared up and strode openly into the hall.
It turned out the cleaning company had no such affable “deputy operations manager.”
The driver didn’t know him either.
He had just brazenly hopped into the van, acting as if he belonged there.
“White Shield” treated this as a goldmine.
The bomber had shown his face to these people!
Moreover, the “Columbus” concert hall’s security tech could detect traces of biometric face-swapping.
In other words, this could be the bomber’s true appearance!
And it wasn’t just one person who’d seen this “deputy operations manager”!
“White Shield,” brimming with ambition, rounded up the cleaners and hired top-tier criminal sketch artists to describe his appearance.
To their shock, despite meeting him just days ago, all the cleaners showed uniform confusion and hesitation when recalling him.
The only consistent trait: he was a man with no distinctive features.
If pressed, they noted he wore black-framed glasses, though it was unclear if they had lenses.
Beyond that, his eyes were neither large nor small, his nose neither high nor low, and he looked somewhat refined.
Some said he appeared in his early 30s, others guessed nearly 40. Some estimated he was around 1.7 meters tall, others thought shorter.
Such vague descriptions left the sketch artist at a loss, and the resulting portrait was a generic, unremarkable face.
When shown the sketch, the cleaners couldn’t even say if it resembled him.
Clinging to their last shred of hope, “White Shield” showed the portrait to others who’d interacted with the bomber, like the Ruiteng mining platform guards or Webway’s security.
But they, too, were unsure, staring at the screen with hesitant murmurs: “It’s… probably him?”
The officer organizing the identification snapped, head pounding, “What do you mean ‘probably’?!”
The response was even more infuriating: “Well… then it’s not.”
Amid “White Shield”’s chaos, a tidal wave of public opinion surged.
Of course, online discussions weren’t just about the bomber’s revelations regarding the “Columbus.”
Many noticed that in this bombing spree, the only company spared a real bomb was Interest Company.
Was Interest behind it, hyping old news or covering up some truth?
Interest, which had hoped to cash in on the chaos, found itself thrust into the spotlight overnight, unable to stay neutral or unscathed.
…
The current and future turmoil outside had nothing to do with Ning Zhuo, who had just returned to “Haina” from the banquet.
After parking, he used the handcuffs to yank Shan Feibai from the passenger seat.
Shan Feibai, wincing in pain, hissed repeatedly.
Ning Zhuo’s expression remained unchanged.
He never cared about his own body.
The handcuffs chafing his wrist’s skin and bones, sharing the pain with Shan Feibai, felt fair to him.
Min Min, jolted by the “explosive” news in the middle of the night, couldn’t sleep.
Realizing Ning Zhuo wasn’t at “Haina,” her unease grew.
Since then, she’d waited in the parking lot for hours. Seeing him, she approached with rare seriousness: “Ning Zhuo, I need to talk—”
Ning Zhuo brushed past her without a glance: “No time.”
Min Min: “…”
Her words choked in her throat.
As she tried to speak again, Shan Feibai, dragged behind Ning Zhuo and feigning a stumble, turned and shot her a flirty wink.
Min Min: “…”
She understood everything.
Watching their backs, a thin sheen of tears unwittingly welled in her eyes.
Muttering to herself with a teary laugh, she cursed: “…Deadbeat.”
…
Back in the room, Ning Zhuo, harboring a burning resolve, sat in a wide chair.
Shan Feibai, somehow producing a delicate round table, placed it beside the armchair, setting a bottle of blood-red wine on it.
He claimed wine helped with sleep, having coaxed, teased, and cajoled Ning Zhuo into drinking a glass before bed for two nights straight.
Shan Feibai didn’t sit, instead fussing over his wrist while sneaking glances at the red marks on Ning Zhuo’s.
Ning Zhuo’s pale skin made even faint redness starkly vivid.
Like a drop of red ink on fine paper, it begged to be smudged, staining the whole sheet.
While Shan Feibai’s mind swirled with unsavory thoughts, Ning Zhuo, now calm, fixed his gaze on this untamed young wolf.
Ning Zhuo couldn’t recall ever allowing Shan Feibai to drag uninvolved people into this.
Was this his revenge against him?
Risking so much to drag all of “Haina” down with him?
What would it take to tame him?
Humiliation?
With that thought, Ning Zhuo reached out his free hand, grabbing the wine bottle.
Single-handedly, he pulled the cork and tipped the bottle upside down, pouring the costly wine over his abdomen.
The once pristine white suit now shimmered with fiery, flowing crimson, delivering a striking visual jolt.
Shan Feibai, his fleeting fantasies unexpectedly fulfilled, looked at Ning Zhuo in surprise.
Ning Zhuo’s gaze was icy, yet it carried a faint spark. The moment their eyes met, Shan Feibai’s heart twitched and trembled, an uncontrollable thrill swelling from deep within, hot and fervent.
“…Lick it clean.”
Ning Zhuo tossed the empty bottle to the floor, leaning back, and said coldly: “Lick it clean, and then we’ll talk.”
