PBS Ch3: Hidden Guard

The old man’s fingers hovered over the console, weathered skin stretched thin over knotted joints. The flickering screen cast dancing shadows across his face.

“What do you think it is?” the old man inquired, his voice carrying the weight of decades spent in this dimly lit room.

“I don’t think it is anything significant at the moment,” Qiu Shi replied, tapping the display screen with a lazy index finger. “Delete this section from Li Datou’s file, and also remove the part where I am recorded.”

The old man’s eyebrows knitted together. “Didn’t you say not to delete your part?” His hand hovered over the deletion command, awaiting confirmation.

“That girl is quite perceptive,” Qiu Shi remarked, turning away from the screen to study the cracked ceiling above. “She might remember the duration of the footage. If only a small section is removed, she will immediately suspect something.”

The old man shook his head slowly, a gesture that seemed more habit than genuine disagreement. “People generally cannot be that meticulous without prior preparation.”

“I intend to use this as leverage with the Security Bureau,” Qiu Shi leaned back in his chair, the old wood groaning beneath his weight. He rocked gently, the motion hypnotic and deliberate. “We must ensure that before this is handed over, no one but myself is aware of its contents.”

The old man paused his actions and turned to look at him, rheumy eyes suddenly sharp with understanding.

“Just don’t consider yourself human,” Qiu Shi gestured dismissively, waving a hand through the stale air.

“Not being human is fine; being human is meaningless anyway,” the old man replied, a bitter smile curling his lips. “But I want a share of the benefits.”

Qiu Shi frowned, the first crack in his composure.

“Then you might as well kill me,” the old man said, the words landing like stones in still water.

“What do you want?” Qiu Shi asked, his voice dropping an octave.

“A map,” the old man replied.

“Get out,” Qiu Shi stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the concrete floor. “Li Feng wants a map, so now you want one too? Why get involved in this?”

“My needs are different from his,” the old man explained, reaching into his worn coat pocket. “Just get me a railway map, any kind will do.”

“A railway map?” Qiu Shi’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Exactly.” The old man took out a fragment of a plastic map from a nearby iron box—a battered container that had witnessed more secrets than most graves—and handed it to him. “See? It’s different from what Li Feng is after.”

Qiu Shi examined the fragment. Faded lines traced routes that no longer existed, stations that had crumbled to dust. Many were collecting pre-catastrophe maps for various reasons, mostly for their value as collectibles, and some in hopes of finding new shelters. To Qiu Shi, this seemed enigmatic, as even some refugees had used maps to locate Yun City.

The maps Li Feng wanted were different, detailing the locations and structures of various special underground facilities. However, Li Feng had corrected him, stating that these should not be called maps, but Qiu Shi was uninterested in their proper nomenclature.

Since his earliest memories, he has lived here; the sky, the wind, the mountains, the world, and the rules have always been the same. As for other things…

“Who cares?” Qiu Shi remarked, tossing the map fragment back. “They’re all relics of a bygone era.”

He turned and descended the stairs, the metal steps groaning beneath his boots. As he reached the bottom, he looked up and met Li Datou’s eager gaze. Qiu Shi tossed the storage device he was holding through the air.

Li Datou, truly an inept inner-city inhabitant, failed to catch it with both hands. The storage device struck his face with a dull thud before arcing into the girl’s waiting palms.

The girl turned around and extended her hand to him, her grin wide and unbothered. “Deng Yeye, you can call me Lao Deng.” She seemed to want to give him a high-five.

Qiu Shi generally avoided engaging too much with people who seemed likely to cause trouble. He merely glanced at her hand and turned towards the bar, leaving her hanging in the dusty air.

---

The bar was a dim cave of noise and desperation, the kind of place where secrets were traded for drinks and memories drowned in cheap alcohol. After consuming several glasses of questionable spirits, they rose to leave.

As they were exiting, the proprietor—a gaunt man with haunted eyes—pressed two bottles into Zhao Lü’s hands, claiming they were quality goods from the inner city.

“The good stuff,” the proprietor said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been saving them.”

When the proprietor died, he wished to be cremated rather than discarded into the endless pit outside the city like garbage. This request could only be entrusted to them, the corpse collectors.

“Cremate me too,” Hu Xiaoling said, her voice flat and matter-of-fact.

“Alright,” Zhao Lü nodded, tucking the bottles under his arm. Then he turned and asked, “What about you, Brother Shi? Do you want to be cremated?”

Qiu Shi paused at the threshold, the night wind stirring his hair. “Turn me into a specimen and place me by your bedside for worship,” he replied, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “That way, you’ll always have something to pray to.”

---

When they returned to the corpse collectors’ shelter outside the city, the horizon was already starting to lighten—that precarious hour between darkness and dawn when the world held its breath.

Everyone else was still asleep, but Captain Xiao Lei was standing on their path like a sentinel, accompanied by two men whose postures screamed enforcer.

“Do you often stay out all night like this?” Xiao Lei asked before Qiu Shi could speak. His voice carried the practiced authority of someone used to being obeyed.

Qiu Shi’s lips curved. “Are you infatuated with me?” he responded, the question hanging in the cool morning air.

Xiao Lei was taken aback, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

“How long have you been waiting for me?” Qiu Shi continued, walking inside without breaking stride. “Come on, let’s go to my room.”

“Qiu Shi!” Xiao Lei’s frustration was evident, his voice rising to a near-shout. “Can you and your people cooperate with my work? Do you really think you’re in charge here?”

Zhao Lü sighed—a long, weary exhalation that seemed to carry the weight of every corpse he’d ever collected.

Before Xiao Lei could interpret the meaning of Zhao Lü’s sigh, Qiu Shi had already kicked him in the chest, sending him flying backwards through the air. Hu Xiaoling tried to catch him but missed, her hands grasping at empty space.

Before Xiao Lei could catch his breath, Qiu Shi yanked him up from the ground by his collar and slammed him against a nearby rock, the impact echoing across the clearing.

The combination of kicks and throws left Xiao Lei struggling to stand, his legs trembling beneath him.

“Here, I am the leader,” Qiu Shi said calmly, standing over him, his breathing unaffected. “But I am reasonable. Don’t bother me, and I won’t hit you.”

Xiao Lei remained silent, a thin trickle of blood seeping from his split lip.

Qiu Shi turned and entered the shelter. Only then did Xiao Lei’s two companions dare to help him up.

---

The shelter’s interior was sparse—cots arranged in rows, equipment hanging from hooks, the ever-present smell of formaldehyde and dust.

“What’s wrong with that guy?” Zhao Lü wondered aloud, settling onto his cot. “Why send such an incompetent person to such a complex place outside the city?”

“He’s probably an enemy of Li Feng,” Hu Xiaoling speculated, pulling off her boots. “Sent here to get beaten up.”

“Is he really here to investigate something?” Zhao Lü frowned, his brow creasing with genuine concern. “What could he possibly discover?”

“Maybe he’s investigating us,” Qiu Shi said, his voice carrying from the corner where he was removing his outer layer.

“Why?” Zhao Lü suddenly became anxious, sitting upright. “We’ve been doing the dirtiest jobs, living the hardest lives for years. We can’t even comfortably go to the outer city, let alone the inner city, and they haven’t managed us at all…”

“Precisely because we’re not under their control,” Hu Xiaoling said, her eyes distant.

“Is that so?” Zhao Lü looked at Qiu Shi, seeking confirmation.

“Hmm?” Qiu Shi looked back at him, his expression unreadable.

“Are you pretending to be ignorant?” Zhao Lü pressed.

Qiu Shi’s smile was enigmatic, carrying secrets he had no intention of sharing. “Sometimes I’m genuinely ignorant,” he said, and the words hung in the air between them like smoke.

---

Qiu Shi changed his clothes and stood at the inner city gate, waiting for the guards to verify his pass. The morning sun cast long shadows across the stone archway.

For many refugees, the gate of this Yun city was the Dahei Mountain, a barrier against all disasters and dangers, also blocking everyone out. However, the real gate of Yun City was in the inner city, at the rear side of Dahei Mountain. It could be seen from afar through the tunnel but disappeared upon close approach due to the three statues marking the gate standing on the cliff.

The initial area of Yun City was just the inner city. As more refugees arrived, the outer city gradually expanded—a sprawling, desperate settlement clinging to the walls of safety.

Qiu Shi looked up at the three statues.

These were the founders of Yun City: the first head of Yun City Mining on the left, the first general in the middle, and a hidden guard on the right, whose statue had its head chopped off—a permanent reminder of betrayal.

Yun City, which did not allow the presence or entry of bioroids, had one of its founders as a hidden guard.

Qiu Shi had attended school for a few days, where the main focus was on various skills with brief historical introductions. He had taken his studies quite seriously, memorizing what he could.

According to the official books, bioroids were assigned important tasks due to their abilities and resistance, which far exceeded those of humans. Some of them were betrayed during the disaster. After destroying most of the rebels, a few were kept as guards, known as hidden guards.

However, the uncontrollability of bioroids could never be solved. Their almost-human yet non-human nature led to their ultimate eradication, as they posed a threat to human survival. Yun City no longer allowed any bioroids.

But the true nature of the conflict between humans and hidden guards differed between official and unofficial accounts.

For Qiu Shi, the unofficial account was the old man’s version.

The old man firmly supported the hidden guards and distrusted the company.

“Because we’ve been through it,” the old man had said, his voice heavy with remembered trauma.

Qiu Shi believed a bit of both sides, but not entirely, as he lived only for the present. The company was inherently untrustworthy, and none of the old man’s peers could verify his stories.

To enter the inner city, Qiu Shi needed an official “summons” from the Security Bureau, and his movements were restricted. Typically, he was allowed only to travel from the inner city gate to the Security Bureau warehouse to collect miscellaneous items like car repair tools, non-lethal weapons, and basic protective gear.

Essentially, he was a certified beggar.

The guard quickly checked his pass. This guard, surnamed Lu, was familiar with Qiu Shi, so the inspection was fast. The delivery truck from the warehouse was already waiting, its engine rumbling.

As Qiu Shi was about to proceed, another guard glanced at the scanning machine and remarked disdainfully, “A corpse collector, huh?”

Qiu Shi turned to look at him, his gaze flat and unhurried.

“What are you looking at?” the guard returned his gaze, puffing out his chest.

“Are you new here?” Qiu Shi asked, a question that carried more weight than it seemed.

“You can go.” Guard Lu gestured for him to proceed, his voice tight.

“What are you looking at? Does it matter if I’m new?” the new guard demanded, his hand drifting toward his holster.

“Just trying to remember a face,” Qiu Shi smiled—a predator’s smile. “I’ll collect your corpse tonight.”

The new guard’s eyes widened as he prepared to confront Qiu Shi, but Guard Lu stopped him with a firm hand on his chest. “He’s Qiu Shi.”

Then he turned to Qiu Shi and repeated loudly, “You can go in!”

Qiu Shi turned and entered the gate, boarding the delivery truck without a backward glance.

Today, he wasn’t just going to beg Li Feng for some supplies; he didn’t want to waste time. Normally, his routine would involve assaulting the new, foolish guard and then spending three days in the dungeon. He was well-versed in this routine, having done it countless times.

---

The Security Bureau’s warehouse was in the center of the inner city, inside a single-peaked mountain with several levels extending underground, originally a mining company’s mine—the same mine that had built Yun City from nothing.

Though the warehouse was centrally located, the delivery truck didn’t take the main roads but went through the Tansha district at the edge of the inner city. As the truck drove along the narrow path, the distant roar of waterfalls could be heard—the sound of water cascading from the mountains, a constant reminder of the world beyond the walls.

The truck drove into the warehouse, then into the transport bay, all the way down to the bottom level. The air grew cooler, damper, carrying the metallic scent of machinery and secrets.

Li Feng was already waiting, his posture rigid and impatient.

Seeing Qiu Shi get off the truck, Li Feng turned and walked inside, his footsteps echoing in the vast space. “What do you need?”

“A gun,” Qiu Shi said.

Li Feng glanced back at him, his expression sour. “Corpse collectors aren’t allowed to carry guns.”

“Why not?” Qiu Shi asked, the question genuine.

“In the outer city, even company personnel don’t have guns; only the military does. It’s the rule,” Li Feng explained, his tone brooking no argument.

Qiu Shi didn’t respond, letting the silence speak for itself.

Li Feng stopped, turned around, and said, “Use the ones you have for now. If I ignore it, you should know better than to push your luck.”

Qiu Shi smiled and leaned against a nearby shelf, his body language relaxed despite the tension crackling between them.

“What do you need?” Li Feng asked again, his patience visibly thinning.

“Bullets,” Qiu Shi replied.

Li Feng almost lost control of his expression, his eyebrows twitching in barely restrained anger. “People say corpse collectors should be incorporated. I think they’re right.”

“So Captain Xiao Lei’s job is to do just that?” Qiu Shi asked, tilting his head. “Claiming to be inspecting, but he stayed in the shelter all day, just watching my people.”

“Where’s what I asked for?” Li Feng didn’t answer his question directly, pivoting back to business.

“I didn’t bring it,” Qiu Shi said, the words landing like a grenade.

Li Feng’s face darkened, the previously mild look in his eyes turning sharp—a blade revealed from its sheath. “Qiu Shi, you need to understand why you’re able to stand here and talk to me…”

“Take a look at this,” Qiu Shi interrupted, taking out a storage device and tossing it onto a nearby cargo box. The clatter echoed in the cavernous space.

Li Feng stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment before picking up the storage device and inserting it into his portable reader.

The projected video on the cargo box was blurry, but the clip Qiu Shi provided had been zoomed in and extracted by the old man. Though fuzzy, Li Feng’s reaction showed he could immediately recognize what it was.

“It’s a hidden guard, right?” Qiu Shi asked, though it wasn’t really a question.

“Where did this come from?” Li Feng demanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous register.

“From the later part of the video,” Qiu Shi replied, watching Li Feng’s face for any tells.

Li Feng watched the next part of the video, his jaw tightening.

“Hello everyone, I’m Li Datou; I’m fine…”

As Li Datou’s face appeared in the video, Qiu Shi saw Li Feng freeze, then furrow his brows. The recognition was unmistakable.

“You know him?” Qiu Shi smiled, savoring the moment.

“This Li… Datou,” Li Feng turned off the video and pocketed the storage device, his movements measured and controlled. “What’s in his hands…”

“I’ve already cleared what’s in his hands,” Qiu Shi said, the admission casual. “Now there are only two copies, one for each of us.”

“You want a gun, right?” Li Feng asked, his voice flat.

“At first, I only wanted a gun,” Qiu Shi said, taking out a piece of paper from his pocket. “But I suddenly realized that this Li Datou must be somewhat significant. You could do a lot with this, so…”

He handed over the paper. “Now I’ve changed my mind. I want these too.”

“Changed your mind?” Li Feng glared at him, his anger barely contained. “Wasn’t this prepared long ago?”

“Well, yes,” Qiu Shi admitted. “But I didn’t think I’d actually get to use it.”

Li Feng took the paper and looked at it, his eyes scanning the list. “A mobile phone? What kind?”

“The old kind,” Qiu Shi gestured with his hands. “A rectangular one.”

“What do you need that for?” Li Feng asked, his tone incredulous. “It’s useless now.”

“For fun,” Qiu Shi said. “It can still take photos and videos.”

“And this counts as corpse collecting equipment?” Li Feng asked, the question dripping with sarcasm.

“What I gave you can only be exchanged for corpse collection equipment.” Qiu Shi asked, “Have I ever called you greedy to your face?”

“Yes,” Li Feng said flatly, putting the paper in his pocket. “There’s a lot on the list. I’ll have someone deliver it tonight. Have your people meet at the tunnel entrance.”

“Alright.” Qiu Shi nodded, preparing to leave.

“Qiu Shi,” Li Feng called out to him.

Qiu Shi stopped, his back still turned.

“You’re not as strong as you think you are,” Li Feng said, tossing him a pack of cigarettes through the air.

Qiu Shi caught them without looking. “Oh,” he responded, and walked away.

---

The meeting room was sterile and cold, the kind of space designed to intimidate rather than comfort. In the center of the table, the playback device showed a clear image of the fleeting hidden guard and the repeated “Hello everyone, I’m Li Datou” on the screen, looping endlessly.

Three people in the room silently watched the footage, each lost in their own calculations.

When Li Datou said “Hello everyone” for the twenty-seventh time, Director Zhang of the City Defense Bureau turned off the video with a grim expression, ending the repetitive cycle that seemed almost brainwashing.

“If Sihai were to release this video directly,” Li Feng said, frowning with concern, “it would cause significant trouble…”

“Did you cut off the video source?” Director Zhang interrupted abruptly, his voice sharp.

“Which source?” Li Feng asked calmly, his eyes betraying nothing.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Director Zhang lowered his voice, leaning across the table. “I mean Zhang Sihai!”

“There’s no need to silence Qiu Shi; he won’t speak.” Li Feng glanced at the person who had been silently sitting in the corner of the conference room and said, “He still has a lot of uses.”

This person was named Wu, the Curator of the Historical Exhibition Hall.

The exhibition hall preserved various objects and documents related to the history of Yun City for public viewing and education. Of course, that was its surface function; if it were only for these purposes, Curator Wu would not be sitting here.

“Lao Wu, any thoughts?” Director Zhang turned to look at him, his expression expectant.

“I still hold my original opinion,” Curator Wu began, his voice measured and deliberate. “The situation cannot be resolved by a lower-level hidden guard. The longer it drags on, the more unexpected incidents will occur. This time Li Feng stopped it; otherwise, you might not be able to keep your position.”

“The problem in the woodland area is severe,” Li Feng said, steering the conversation. “Currently, we are bringing people in under the pretext of repairing the ‘Jungle’ damage. Once those from the outer city realize that none of the newcomers have returned, it will be difficult to manage.”

Director Zhang glanced at Li Feng without speaking, his expression unreadable.

“Replace him,” Curator Wu suggested.

“Xing Bi?” Li Feng asked.

When the name was spoken, both Director Zhang and Curator Wu looked at him simultaneously. Even though all three knew they were referring to Xing Bi, saying it out loud made even Li Feng hesitant.

“We can’t guarantee he’s completely controllable; the General won’t approve,” Director Zhang said, shaking his head.

“He must be completely controllable,” Li Feng insisted.

Curator Wu bowed his head and remained silent for a long time, seemingly contemplating the weight of the decision. Finally, he raised his head and said, “At least another 24 hours are needed.”

“Can we visit?” Director Zhang glanced at Li Feng and said, “I need to be sure.”

Li Feng understood his meaning and added, “I second that.”

“I need to get permission,” Curator Wu said, rising from his chair.

Perhaps due to the urgency of the situation, the company and the General approved their request three hours later.

This was Li Feng’s second visit here since joining the Security Bureau, the first time being as an assistant to the Director. That first visit had haunted him ever since.

---

The Historical Exhibition Hall, heavy weapons storage area.

The transport pod descended continuously, making creaking noises and swaying slightly—a disconcerting sensation in the absolute darkness of the shaft.

If it weren’t necessary, he wouldn’t want to come here; this place gave him an extremely uncomfortable, suffocating feeling. Spending a few hours here blurred the distinction between morning and evening, time becoming meaningless in the depths.

Leaning against the wall of the pod, Li Feng said, “Curator Wu, repairs for the transport pod can be requested through the Security Bureau and approved within two hours.”

“Hm?” Curator Wu looked at him, distracted.

“This thing should be repaired,” Li Feng said, his voice tight. “It’s not worth it to have three important personnel die from a fall.”

“It involves security issues,” Curator Wu said, his tone dismissive. “Repairs can’t be done arbitrarily.”

Security issues.

Probably there were other confidential spaces outside the walls of the descending pod—secrets carved into the rock that no one was meant to see.

“I’ll write a will,” Li Feng said, a dark joke. He took out a piece of paper from his pocket, opened it, and realized it was the list Qiu Shi had given him. Clicking his tongue in annoyance, he put it back in his pocket.

“We’ve arrived. Write it before the return trip,” Curator Wu said, and the pod shuddered to a halt.

---

Exiting the transport pod, they entered a tunnel. Unlike the common transit tunnels in Yun City, this one had not been smoothed out but was reinforced with special materials, giving the entire space a metallic sheen that reflected the harsh overhead lights. Three thick protective doors required on-site authorization to open, each one sliding back with a hydraulic hiss that spoke of immense weight and security. Whatever was locked inside seemed to be held in a fortress.

Beyond the protective doors, the space was spacious and laboratory-like—clean lines, humming machinery, the sterile scent of antiseptic. A corridor on the side had two rows of rooms housing those controllable hidden guards, as seen in Zhang Sihai’s video.

“Hello everyone, I’m Li Datou…”

Li Feng quickly shook his head to clear it, but the words echoed in his mind like a curse.

In the center of the laboratory, under a glass dome resembling an exhibition platform, was the hidden guard that needed to be made completely controllable within 24 hours.

There were no physical restraints; the man simply sat in the central chair, relaxed yet upright, head bowed as if asleep. His posture was almost peaceful, but there was something deeply unsettling about his stillness—the stillness of a predator waiting.

“He can’t see us; the glass is one-way,” Curator Wu said, approaching the control panel and tapping the microphone to greet the person inside. “Xing Bi.”

Xing Bi didn’t respond.

For a long moment, nothing happened. The silence stretched, thick and oppressive.

Then, as Curator Wu leaned in to speak again, Xing Bi suddenly stirred, slowly raising his head.

Though the glass was one-way, his gaze was accurately fixed on the three of them as he looked up—as if he could see through the barrier as easily as through water.

This “eye contact” made Li Feng instantly uncomfortable, feeling a strong sense of oppression pressing down on him. He moved aside, stepping behind Director Zhang as if seeking shelter.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Xing Bi said.

His slightly hoarse voice carried no hint of menace, yet it seemed to fill the entire space. It was the voice of something ancient, something that had seen empires rise and fall, something that was not quite human.

And in that moment, Li Feng understood why they needed him.

And why they feared him.

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