As Lin Qin gave the order, several eager young members of the task force were ready to start the search.
The warden, named Dorn, had a serene, Buddha-like smile.
He spoke calmly, “Now, now, young officer, no need for jokes.”
Looking at Lin Qin, he asked frankly, “Your name, sir?”
Lin Qin’s tone was gentle but evasive. “Mr. Dorn, I’m a small fry. No need to remember my name.”
Dorn, unfazed by the soft rebuff, maintained his dignified, Buddha-like composure, his hefty two-hundred-pound frame steady as a mountain in his chair. “Please come back tomorrow. We’ll arrange for Mr. Motobu Takeshi to meet with you then.”
Lin Qin quietly regarded Warden Dorn.
Behind him, a wall was embedded with a large aquarium.
The tank emitted a faint yellow glow, its overweight fish swimming sluggishly, their dull eyes staring blankly at the tense standoff forming between the two groups.
Lin Qin didn’t back down. “My task is to interrogate Motobu Takeshi.”
Dorn’s attitude carried a casual, deflecting ease. “One day later…”
He glanced at his watch. “No, just a few hours. Will that delay you?”
Dorn leaned back, his chair creaking under the strain. “The 930 case has been dragging on for so long. You weren’t in a rush before, so what’s the point of getting urgent now?”
This was a veiled jab at their inefficiency.
Dorn’s comment was fine until it wasn’t—Xiao Xu’s pent-up anger flared.
They’d found a key witness and submitted video evidence nearly a week ago.
Yet the higher-ups kept stalling, refusing to issue even a simple interrogation order despite solid testimony.
If not for such sluggishness, they could’ve come much sooner!
Unlike the fuming Xiao Xu, Lin Qin remained unruffled. “I’m just curious—how many hours does it take to walk from here to Mr. Motobu’s infirmary?”
“Young man, don’t be so impatient,” Dorn said lazily, leaning further back, his face as emotionless as the fish in his lavish aquarium. “Rest your feet, try some of my tea. It’s quite good.”
“It’s not about impatience,” Lin Qin said softly. “I can wait, but some friends here might not.”
Dorn’s gaze shifted behind Lin Qin, his chubby face twitching sharply. His massive frame rose abruptly, almost gracefully, like a heavy mountain coming to life.
Lin Qin had brought several people, some in plain clothes, whom Dorn had assumed were undercover officers.
But upon closer inspection, he was horrified to recognize one of them.
His name was Kenan, a veteran reporter from Silver Hammer Daily who’d once been close to Inspector Charlemagne.
Kenan was the one who’d conducted the interview that made Charlemagne famous overnight.
Lin Qin said mildly, “Mr. Kenan has always been interested in Yatebo District’s First Prison. Though he did a segment before, the material’s a bit outdated.”
Kenan nodded smoothly, his words polished. “Indeed. So recently, I reached out to ‘White Shield’ for fresh, valuable material on the 930 case. I happened to catch the 930 task force in action, and with Deputy Director Cai’s approval, I invited myself along. Sorry for the intrusion.”
The reality was that after Inspector Charlemagne, “White Shield’s” golden boy, fell, their image took a serious hit.
They desperately needed to maintain their partnership with Interest Inc. to keep up their public image as guardians of justice.
The long-running hit show Justice Show thrived on the collaboration between the two.
Of course, when push came to shove, Interest Inc. prioritized its own profits.
For instance, after an accident on Justice Show, Interest Inc., to protect the show’s ratings, leaked footage of Charlemagne smashing Raskin’s head, backstabbing him ruthlessly.
This led to a brief cold war between “White Shield” and Interest Inc.
But the cold treatment was just for better cooperation down the line.
After all, capital never sleeps.
Nearly two months after the 930 incident, Interest Inc. reached out to “White Shield” multiple times, seeking more details on the case.
…As if nothing had ever happened.
Yatebo District’s First Prison, under “White Shield’s” jurisdiction, was a cesspool of corruption, a fact many insiders knew well.
Normally, “White Shield” would never let reporters dig into the prison and expose its flaws.
Luckily, while waiting for the interrogation approval, Lin Qin learned of Kenan’s ambitions.
He directed Kenan to Deputy Director Cai, who had a longstanding grudge against Dorn.
Cai, without hesitation, signed off on the request without consulting anyone else.
To him, any chance to make Dorn squirm was a win.
But Cai knew that unless Dorn had early-onset dementia, he’d never let media into the high-security prison area.
The inmates there had backers too powerful for even a deputy director to cross.
Lin Qin’s previous visit had been stonewalled, so he leveraged Kenan’s media status to open a backdoor for his interrogation.
Lin Qin was confident that, with cameras present, neither Dorn nor Captain Pu would dare obstruct the investigation as blatantly as before.
But neither Deputy Director Cai, Dorn, Kenan, nor Lin Qin had anticipated that tonight would be entirely different.
If Motobu Takeshi were still in prison, they could’ve dragged him from bed, begging him to cooperate.
Though it was unclear why the 930 case involved Motobu Takeshi, as long as he insisted the First Prison was Silver Hammer City’s safest place, even Lin Qin would have no grounds to press further.
The problem was, Motobu Takeshi wasn’t in prison!
With media present, this was a fatal misstep for Dorn.
Dorn’s face stiffened.
He extended a chubby hand, shaking Kenan’s.
Kenan’s face twitched slightly.
Dorn’s palm was clammy, making him uncomfortable.
In contrast, he preferred Lin Qin.
Quiet, refined, with devilishly striking looks, Lin Qin was surprisingly assertive, sharp-minded, and adaptable—not some naive idealist spouting justice.
This compelling contrast made him far more suitable as “White Shield’s” new poster boy than Charlemagne, who had only his handsome face and performative compassion.
While Kenan calculated business prospects, Dorn’s mind raced for a response.
As he sweated through his options, Lin Qin was observing him closely.
His keen eyes picked up something off.
It can’t be that coincidental, can it?
Lin Qin had a hunch, his tone deliberately slow as he cut to the core. “Is Motobu Takeshi still here?”
Dorn reflexively answered, “Yes!”
Lin Qin pressed, “In the infirmary?”
Dorn didn’t dare respond again.
His heart pounded faster, making him dizzy, as if he needed a trip to the infirmary himself.
Lin Qin gave him no time to scheme further.
Glancing at the prison map on the wall, he stated his demand sharply, “Take us to see him.”
Warden Dorn’s mind was in chaos, reaching to tug at Lin Qin’s shoulder. “Team Leader Lin, come with me, let’s talk…”
Lin Qin stood firm, smiling. “Mr. Dorn remembers my name now?”
Dorn’s limbs felt weak, while Captain Pu, who’d carried out the deed, was drenched in sweat, swaying as if on the verge of collapse.
Dorn swallowed hard, contemplating whether forceful detention was feasible.
If it were just Lin Qin’s group, it would be.
But with Kenan present, things were different.
After weighing his options, Dorn’s gaze grew cold.
He noticed Lin Qin carried no gun, only a black bronze baton.
As Lin Qin had said, he was indeed a small fry.
If they could restrain him, there might still be room to negotiate!
He shot a glance at the stunned Pu.
Keep both Kenan and Lin Qin here—don’t let them go in!
No matter the apologies, time, or money spent afterward, they absolutely couldn’t let them in tonight!
Pushed to the brink, Pu had no other choice. With malice born of desperation, he reached for his holster.
Still trembling from the drinks he’d chugged, he raised the gun’s dark muzzle at Lin Qin!
The 930 task force erupted in commotion, and Kenan’s pale face blanched further.
Lin Qin’s group had followed proper procedure for the interrogation, flawless so far.
Pu drawing a gun changed the situation entirely!
Pu steadied himself, shouting, “Get someone—argh!”
His cry morphed into a scream of agony.
No one saw when Lin Qin unhooked his black bronze baton.
With a flick of his wrist, the baton extended, its ends shooting out to form a 1.6-meter double-bladed naginata!
With a clean swing, Lin Qin severed Pu’s wrist!
Caught off guard, Pu’s gun, hand still attached, flew into Dorn’s face!
As Pu collapsed, clutching his wrist and howling, Lin Qin redirected the blade toward Dorn.
“He’s drunk,” Lin Qin said, his tone still mild. “Are you drunk too, Mr. Dorn?”
The thin blue blade gleamed, its point nearly crossing Dorn’s eyes.
His tongue stiffened, managing only the briefest compliance. “Fine, let’s go.”
Dorn hurried out, his bulky frame rolling like a ball.
The guards Pu had summoned only served to drag the unconscious captain aside.
This was the first shocking event the 930 task force witnessed that night.
Lin Qin had always been soft-spoken. Some mocked him behind his back, calling him effeminate, a pretty but useless “face apple,” true to his name.
After tonight, they’d shut up.
Xiao Xu was the first to react, rushing to Lin Qin’s side, unable to hide his admiration. “Captain Lin, that was badass!”
Lin Qin’s naginata had already retracted to its normal size.
He was tucking the baton back at his waist, chuckling thoughtfully. “A friend helped make it.”
Dorn took a detour, leading them first to the medical wing.
Head down, his mind a mess, he pinned his hopes on one thing.
He knew Motobu Takeshi had left recently.
If he could stall them until Motobu Takeshi returned, there was still a chance to salvage the situation!
The group entered the medical wing.
The opulent, gilded decor left several inexperienced officers, unaware of the prison’s inner workings, gaping in shock.
Kenan silently directed Silver Hammer Daily’s crew to keep filming.
Lin Qin walked, commenting, “Nice medical facilities, Warden Dorn.”
Dorn forced a smile, mumbling, “Just prison benefits. Every sick inmate gets this. We’re very humane… Please wait here. I’ll check with the doctor to see which room Mr. Motobu Takeshi is in.”
He fled, hoping to summon Motobu Takeshi back to minimize the damage.
Lin Qin considered following but stopped after a few steps.
He wasn’t impulsive.
Initially, he’d only come to interrogate Motobu Takeshi.
But Dorn and Pu’s extreme reactions suggested Motobu Takeshi wasn’t in the prison.
This was beyond Lin Qin’s expectations.
He was in too deep now, with too many unknowns.
Don’t corner a desperate foe—this was Dorn’s turf, a sealed prison, his domain.
If Lin Qin kept pressuring Dorn, he and his team might end up dead in a “prisoner riot” tonight.
Lin Qin thought, I just need Motobu Takeshi.
The rest could be dealt with later.
He waved, signaling the group to spread out and search for the nonexistent “Motobu Takeshi” in the medical wing.
Lin Qin noticed most rooms were empty.
But one had light seeping under the door, unlocked.
He stepped inside, finding the bed unmade, clearly used.
The occupant was gone.
He touched the sheets—still warm.
Turning, Lin Qin spotted a half-eaten plate of rabbit-shaped apple slices on the bedside table.
Left out too long, the fruit had oxidized.
His gaze softened subtly as he secretly picked up a piece.
He remembered, as a teenager, bedridden from injuries, Ning Zhuo had peeled apples like this for him.
Holding the rabbit apple, Lin Qin felt a bit childish and gave a self-deprecating smile.
As he turned to leave, a pleasant music broadcast began.
Then, a nervous guard’s shaky voice came over the speaker: “Attention, high-security prison inmates: an inspection is underway. Cease all activities and return to your rooms immediately.”
“Repeat, cease ‘activities’ and return to your rooms.”
Lin Qin didn’t catch the broadcast’s content.
The music hit him like a red-hot nail, rooting him to the spot, unable to move.
…He’d heard this music before.
When he last spoke with Ning Zhuo, discussing the 930 case, just before hanging up, he’d heard this same tune—
Before he could dwell on it, the clear sound of a flushing toilet came from the room’s bathroom.
The next moment, Ning Zhuo, supporting a staggering, disheveled Shan Feibai, emerged from the bathroom, bathed in soft light, and appeared before Lin Qin.
Seeing Lin Qin’s face, Ning Zhuo’s expression shifted.
Lin Qin held a half-eaten rabbit apple, its pointed ears peeking between his fingers. “…”
Noticing a piece of his apple missing, Shan Feibai’s brows furrowed, his face falling.
Before Lin Qin could speak, Ning Zhuo asked first, “What are you doing here?”
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