Chapter 143: Extra 5: Silver Hammer Chronicles
(Part 1)
Resources in Silver Hammer City were once tightly controlled.
In transportation, big corporations focused solely on “public welfare” projects: ground-level rail systems, civilian airships in the sky, and nearshore fishing boats at sea. These locked everyone’s ambitions within the island’s 2,000-square-kilometer radius.
Ordinary people lacked the wealth or will to think beyond those boundaries.
But there were always exceptions.
Every few months, some “lunatic” would build a homemade airship or skiff, dreaming of crossing the ocean to explore new worlds.
Without fail, they met disaster.
Most airships exploded or caught fire within sight of the island, plummeting from the sky.
Those who took to the sea never returned—whether they found paradise or perished, no one knew.
The day Silver Hammer City was struck by two “earthquakes,” someone saw Ning Zhuo and his crew depart on the “Bridge.”
That ship, its destination unknown, had sent no word back.
But from that day, the island’s people found a purpose.
They began crafting long-range communication devices, trying to send signals to Safe Point 184 in a world where all original base stations had failed.
Others had tried before, with no response.
A young man from Silver Hammer had watched his mechanic father toil at this seemingly futile task since childhood, using scavenged scraps to broadcast signals worldwide.
When he grew up, he joined the effort.
Two days ago, his father suffered a sudden brain hemorrhage. Unable to afford Union Health, he tried a black-market hospital, but “White Shield” was cracking down on illegal practices, delaying treatment.
His father passed.
The young man brought his father’s ashes home, tears streaming as he smoked cheap cigarettes and tapped out a message on the communicator:
“My father’s gone too. I’m alone now.”
For years, he and his father had sent casual messages to points like 184—about picking up a stray dog, landing a job, or eating a lavish meal they’d saved for, only to find it disappointing.
Over time, the communicator became a one-way diary, spilling their mundane family stories to an unknown audience.
After sending the message, he stepped onto the cramped balcony, finishing his cigarette and tossing the butt into the trash, wiping his tears.
When he returned, the latest message wasn’t his.
Someone had replied—in German.
Stunned, he grabbed a text translator, decoding it line by line:
“Hello. I’m sorry. I feel deep regret.”
“My father passed away recently too.”
“We were told not to privately respond to messages from your island. But you’re an exception. I hope you don’t feel alone. I want to hug you, sir.”
The young man stood frozen before the machine. After a long pause, he slapped himself hard.
Confirming it wasn’t a hallucination, he shouted instinctively, “Dad! Dad!”
The words escaped before he remembered—his father was gone.
No one would answer.
He collapsed to his knees, arms wide, hugging the communicator, forehead pressed against the screen, laughing and sobbing.
He was desperately returning the “hug” from his unseen friend.
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(Part 2)
Zhang Xingshu stepped out of Interest Corporation’s gates, weary to the bone.
After being abandoned by his father, his docile nature quickly accepted the reality.
His mother, however, couldn’t.
Coddled her whole life in a gilded cage, she couldn’t fathom it, falling ill and still grappling with the betrayal.
This heartless woman, who’d basked in “love” her entire life, faced physical and mental torment in her old age.
As her only child, Zhang Xingshu couldn’t judge her actions—he only knew he had to care for her.
At the entrance, he spotted a homeless man being chased off by Interest’s security.
Zhang Rong’en, once strikingly handsome, was now a disheveled old crane, so thin his neck bones jutted out.
Zhang Xingshu had heard he’d invested in a liquid gold mine and lost everything.
His lifelong fortune was gone in a spectacular crash.
With even his home confiscated, he now pinned his hopes on the son he’d discarded.
Interest Corporation had its downsides, but it had perks too.
First, the pay was decent, enough for Zhang Xingshu to admit his mother to Union Health’s psychiatric ward, where she could recover without reconnecting with this old opportunist.
Second, he didn’t have to worry about harassment.
As Zhang Rong’en was zapped by a security baton, convulsing on the ground, Zhang Xingshu didn’t spare him a glance. His face calm, he glided past the chaos.
When a heart’s been broken, there’s no energy left to look back.
__
(Part 3)
After the dust settled, “White Shield” finally realized how troublesome Lin Qin could be.
He was a fine weapon, but one with thorns on the grip.
Anyone trying to control him had to think twice.
After he cracked several “untouchable” cases, the “White Shield” chief could no longer sit still. With a single decision, he banished their “star officer” to the chaotic Yunmeng District, appointing him head of its “White Shield” branch.
Despite Deputy Chief Eller’s fierce arguments and appreciation for Lin Qin, even his three or four heated disputes with superiors and two written reports couldn’t keep Lin Qin from being sent away.
Before Lin Qin left for Yunmeng, Eller invited him for drinks, sighing heavily throughout.
Patting Lin Qin’s shoulder, he said, “I tried my best… I fought with the higher-ups three or four times, wrote two reports. It just wasn’t enough…”
Lin Qin replied gently, “Thank you, sir. I know. You’ve always looked out for me. I won’t forget your kindness.”
His words were so heartfelt that Eller’s eyes welled up. Then Lin Qin made a seemingly casual request: “If possible, I’d like to take a few people with me.”
His task force was a given—especially Xiao Xu, who’d resigning his job to follow Lin Qin.
But Lin Qin also specifically named Li Guanglan.
Eller rubbed his chin. “Li Guanglan? I know him. But…”
Li was a notorious loose cannon, a criminal judge in a mid-tier district’s court, infamous for his harsh sentences and stone-cold demeanor.
If not for the anti-death-penalty district chief refusing to sign off, he’d likely have lined up every murderer for a firing squad.
Li Guanglan wasn’t just volatile—he was decisive and acted, a combination that made him seem like a latent psychopath.
Every time “White Shield” conducted psych evaluations, he was flagged for close monitoring.
Eller asked, “Why pick someone so hard to handle?”
“Last time, he was supposed to join me on a live broadcast,” Lin Qin recalled. “Before it started, he called, saying he’d been attacked by two drug dealers. He killed one on the spot and was chasing the other, so he couldn’t make it.”
Lin Qin smiled mildly. “…Quite an interesting guy, don’t you think?”
Eller: “…”
Interesting? It gave him chills just hearing it.
But if Lin Qin wanted him, fine.
The mid-tier district chief had been trying to transfer the “mentally unstable” Li Guanglan for ages.
If Lin Qin was willing to take this hot potato, let him.
A week later, Lin Qin met his hot potato.
Li Guanglan lived up to his name—sharp and cold, with sword-like brows and starry eyes. His handsome wasn’t the warm kind; it carried a sinister, menacing edge.
He got straight to the point: “You specifically asked for me?”
Lin Qin closed his pen, countering, “No hard feelings about being transferred from the middle district to the lower one, right?”
Li Guanglan’s expression didn’t shift. “Depends on what kind of person you are.”
“We’ve got time. You’ll see,” Lin Qin said, rising from his desk and approaching, offering a hand. “Pleased to work with you, Judge Li.”
Li Guanglan raised his hand but, instead of shaking, yanked off the one-way bandage covering Lin Qin’s eyes.
The startled, beautiful eyes beneath made Li Guanglan pause briefly.
He blinked, quickly regaining his cool. “You always wear this thing on TV. Been wanting to see what’s under it.”
Lin Qin: “I’ve taken it off before.”
Li Guanglan: “Have you? I’m busy, don’t watch much TV.”
A real troublemaker.
But Lin Qin, used to dealing with Ning Zhuo and blessed with a naturally good temper, wasn’t fazed. “Give it back.”
As Li Guanglan extended the bandage, Lin Qin grabbed his hand, the bandage tangling around their wrists.
With his beautiful, scarred face, Lin Qin smiled openly. “I’m Lin Qin. Nice to meet you.”
(Part 4)
Besides tackling old cases, Lin Qin occasionally attended public events.
He needed visibility to build connections, ensure his safety, and position himself as a scrutinized public figure, not a lone hero in the shadows.
This day, he was invited to Longya Corporation to tour their new fully automated fire suppression system.
If it proved effective, he’d endorse it, on the condition it be widely implemented in Yunmeng District’s homes to minimize fire losses.
In Longya’s office display case, Lin Qin spotted an unexpected “exhibit.”
An android, housed in a transparent dust-proof glass case, sat cross-legged, one purple eye half-open, gazing downward, docile.
Half its face was shattered, but the remaining half bore a striking resemblance to someone Lin Qin knew.
…The second-in-command of “Panqiao”?
But it wasn’t him.
A small bronze plaque beside the case gave the android its own name and dates of operation.
It had ceased functioning over a decade ago.
As Lin Qin lingered, an elderly engineer approached.
Lin Qin read the plaque: “Fang…”
“Fang Jiankai,” the engineer said, completing the name.
Looking at the android, the engineer adjusted his glasses, recalling a desperate, heartbroken killer who’d once held a gun to his head, demanding he fix this being.
Lin Qin asked, “What’s the significance of this android?”
The engineer replied, “He was an android who developed self-awareness. I created him.”
Lin Qin paused. “His face…”
“He suffered irreparable damage,” the engineer said. “A client entrusted us to preserve him.”
Lin Qin mused, “An important client, I assume?”
“Mm,” the engineer chuckled. “We owed him some money back then. Keeping him was only fair.”
Lin Qin leaned closer, noticing a frayed red cord around Fang Jiankai’s neck, weathered by time.
“What’s hanging from his neck?” Lin Qin asked.
The engineer bent down, peering through the glass at Fang Jiankai’s chest. “A bullet fragment.”
The fragment was rusted, stained with faint blood marks—a remnant of someone’s past.
Tied with a thin red cord, it rested against where Fang Jiankai’s heartbeat would have been, enduring as the world decayed.
Fang Jiankai remained forever young, forever gentle, sitting there as if waiting for someone to take him away.
–Extras End–
