Ning Zhuo stared coldly ahead, lost in thought.
If he didn’t feel something was off, why would he risk entering a burning building?
There was never a shortage of people quietly dying in some dark alley in Silver Hammer City.
In the mercenary business, enemies were everywhere.
With a bit of luck, one might find a severed limb in a garbage can.
In worse cases, bodies would be processed in some underground factory, turned into nutrient-rich canned goods, and placed on the damp, dimly lit shelves of some cheap store, serving their final purpose.
Ning Zhuo had plenty of enemies too.
But as Min Min said, they didn’t want him dead; they all hoped he would fall into such despair that he would end up on the streets.
Then, for just a few credits, they could humiliate him at will.
Just the thought of this petty and vile scenario was enough to make them feel satisfied.
Ning Zhuo had no comment on this; no one dared to bark like a dog in front of him anyway.
But the person who harmed Shan Feibai this time acted very strangely.
The fire was set hastily. Rather than destroying evidence, it seemed like an announcement to the world: the leader of “Panqiao,” Shan Feibai, had met trouble in “Haina’s” territory.
Min Min also deduced the mastermind’s intention: “The fire wasn’t meant to burn him to death. Someone wanted him to die dramatically, to let everyone know he died here.”
But there was something she couldn’t figure out: “Then just kill him and dispose of the body. Why leave him alive?”
Ning Zhuo had a terrible headache and forced himself to think quickly.
He rested his elbows on his knees, fighting the dizziness: “They didn’t intend to let Shan Feibai live, but they didn’t want him to die easily either.”
Min Min: “Why?”
Ning Zhuo: “I don’t know… Also, as you saw, the fire was so big, yet not a spark touched his face.”
Min Min laughed: “It’d be a shame to burn that face.”
Despite his fever and exhaustion, Ning Zhuo’s face remained cold and unreadable:
“Keeping his face intact was so that the ‘White Shield’ people could recognize him immediately. If his face were burned, no one would know who he was, and he’d be treated like some unfortunate vagrant who spent the night in the factory, then dumped into a public water cemetery.”
Ning Zhuo paused: “…Oh, except for a few. Some outliers would investigate thoroughly.”
A public water cemetery was where unidentifiable bodies were thrown into pools of corrosive acid or perpetually boiling steel furnaces.
Silver Hammer City had a population of 60 million; not everyone could be buried properly.
With Ning Zhuo’s explanation, Min Min suddenly understood.
To attract attention, setting a fire was the best way.
But to normally destroy evidence, one would just pour a bucket of fuel over Shan Feibai and toss a lighter to finish the job.
How can there be a situation where fires are set in the east and west, attracting the fire brigade, but the person who should be burned isn’t harmed at all?
If they really wanted to burn Shan Feibai to death and the body couldn’t be identified, the case would be quickly closed.
If they couldn’t frame him, the situation wouldn’t escalate.
So, the mastermind’s plan was this:
They threw the severely injured Shan Feibai into the Chang’an District, controlled by “Haina,” had a bioroid set the fire at the scene, and took Shan Feibai’s sniper rifle, lying in wait.
As soon as they heard the police cars approaching, the bioroid could pull the trigger, cleanly shooting through Shan Feibai’s head through the flames, and then escape in an unlicensed pickup truck.
In that case, when the police arrived, they would see the scene as a fire caused by a fight between Shan Feibai and someone else.
On the way the police arrived, Shan Feibai would have his spine broken, his head shot through, his face unscathed, and his body still warm.
In this way, the police and “Panqiao” would surely wonder:
Who hated Shan Feibai so much?
Whose territory is Chang’an District?
No matter what the police think, this dirty water would surely be poured onto “Haina” and Ning Zhuo.
Realizing this, Min Min murmured, “Damn. That’s toxic.”
Ning Zhuo endured the dizziness caused by the swarm of flying mosquitoes and straightened up.
There was one more thing he hadn’t told Min Min.
When Mr. Rosen had a deal with him, he mentioned that transporting the “goods” would pass through Shan Feibai’s territory, and there might be trouble.
What did Rosen say then?
“…Oh, him.”
“Never mind, you don’t have to worry about him.”
Where did his confidence come from? Or did he possess some secret information?
How did Rosen, a B-grade citizen, a pet dog who didn’t even understand the rules of the underground world, come into possession of information that even he himself didn’t know?
Unfortunately, he had only limited clues and could only speculate to this extent.
For example, he couldn’t figure out why Shan Feibai offended someone or what deep enmity he had incurred that made them want him to suffer in the fire and severe injuries, refusing to grant him a quick death.
Finishing his thoughts, Ning Zhuo stood up, steady without a sway: “Contact ‘Panqiao,’ call their public line, and tell them that the one with the surname Shan is here with me. Let them come to ‘Haina’ after their lockdown ends. Clearly tell them, no more than three people; if they bring weapons, let Tang Kai deal with them without any courtesy, and directly shoot them dead at the security checkpoint.”
Seeing him stand up, Min Min was pleased: “Get some rest soon. I’ll put the arm outside your room tomorrow. Do you want the A9 agile type or the A3 combat type?”
The A-16 type prosthetic arm Ning Zhuo was wearing today was a regular model with highly sensitive bio-sensing functions. Although it wasn’t as rich in nerves as a normal arm, the pain from the arm being blown off was at least half of the normal level.
Sometimes, Min Min felt that he was like a monster who had lost his sense of pain.
Ning Zhuo said, “Oh, I’m not planning to rest. I’ll first check the car I drove back.”
Min Min was furious: “——You haven’t slept for hours?! Are you hoping for an early death? Fine, if you’re sick in the future, see a vet, don’t come looking for me——”
Amidst Min Min’s increasingly disjointed scolding, Ning Zhuo said nothing, turned around, and faced a heavily scarred face that was brought right up to him.
He was standing right in front of Ning Zhuo, with a bloody axe wound still dripping.
Ning Zhuo knew this was a hallucination.
In his hallucinations, his father was always like this, never cursing him, just looking at him with a face covered in blood and eyes full of condemnation and sadness.
Ning Zhuo avoided this bloody hallucination and instinctively apologized, “Sorry, Dad.”
Min Min thought he was speaking to her: “…Not treating is not treating! Calling me ‘Mom’ doesn’t help!”
Once the words were out, Min Min realized something was wrong.
She opened her mouth but didn’t know what to say, only watching as Ning Zhuo disappeared down the corridor.
The words stuck in her throat for too long, turning into a faint sigh.
…
Ning Zhuo arrived at the parking lot.
But someone had arrived before him.
The man who had been cleaning the hallway earlier, looking very much like a janitor, was half under the pickup truck, only his legs sticking out.
Ning Zhuo stood outside the truck, hands in pockets, watching him busily maneuver.
After he finished checking, he used his back to slide out from under the truck, and Ning Zhuo slightly nodded and called his name: “Boss Fu.”
The man, holding a light stick in his mouth, did a sit-up from the ground, took the light stick out of his mouth, and casually nodded: “Oh.”
Boss Fu’s full name was not known to outsiders.
The real leader of “Haina,” the legendary underground king of the mercenary world, and Ning Zhuo’s rumored godfather, benefactor, and sugar daddy, was such an unremarkable person at first glance.
Only his eyes, in the poorly lit parking lot, had a clear, faint glimmer.
Until he put on the black-framed glasses he had casually placed on the ground, this remaining distinctive feature was also erased.
Boss Fu leaned against the engine hood, wiping a bit of oil off his face with his shoulder and holding a recently removed signal jammer.
Ning Zhuo had installed a signal jammer he carried with him as soon as he got into the car and avoided using any smart features inside the car, cutting off the possibility of being tracked by the mastermind.
Unfortunately, the opponent was also very clean in their actions.
“The factory code of the car has been physically damaged, and the source and purchase records can’t be traced. The driving records will automatically clear after the engine is turned off.”
Boss Fu moved the light stick away from the car’s body code, pointing inside the car: “No other traceable evidence.”
He then picked up the bionic person’s head from the passenger seat, weighing it like a piece of fruit: “This is the only clue left. Do you want to investigate it?”
Ning Zhuo reached for the bionic person’s head: “Investigate.”
Boss Fu, however, played a bit like he was dribbling a basketball, holding the head with both hands and faking a move to get around Ning Zhuo’s side.
He seemed rather lively, his eyes crinkling as he smiled: “Hey, have you watched ‘The Justice Show’?”
Ning Zhuo withdrew his hand from mid-air: “Boring.”
Boss Fu hopped around with the bionic head, bouncing and jumping: “I don’t find it boring. Want to check out the replay? That Charlemagne gentleman who pressed the injection button had quite an expressive face.”
He rested his chin on the bionic head: “I remember the name Charlemagne; he was your father’s direct—”
Ning Zhuo slapped his hand away.
The bionic head bounced on the ground like a real basketball, then was caught by Ning Zhuo and tucked under his armpit.
Boss Fu was momentarily stunned and then scolded: “Foul play.”
Ning Zhuo, holding the bionic head, raised his left eyebrow at him coldly.
I won. It’s mine.
At that moment, the communicator clipped to Ning Zhuo’s collar started flashing on and off.
Someone was trying to reach him on the internal communication channel.
As soon as he answered, Xiao Wen’s excited voice came through: “Ning-ge, the bastard with the surname Shan has shown some response!”
Ning Zhuo suddenly turned and hurried back, walking even faster than before: “Keep him awake! Wait for me to return!”
Boss Fu watched his retreating figure, picked up the rag he had casually tossed on the front engine hood, twirled it into a nice handkerchief flower on his fingertips, and walked over to his motorcycle, which he had just returned home and distributed snacks to: “Hello, Abu.”
Abu’s radio began auto-playing: “My dearest—how have you been—without me—hope you’re doing well—”
Boss Fu hummed along cheerfully and started wiping his car.
…
Mrs. Charlemagne woke up to the pleasant sounds of birds.
She had taken a sleeping pill last night, had a dreamless sleep, and rested well.
She got up from bed with hope, barefoot, and went out to greet the day.
Her son’s room was empty.
Mrs. Charlemagne, who wasn’t disheartened by the empty room, came downstairs, just in time to see her husband and the butler talking at the bottom of the stairs.
She spread a bright smile and fluttered over like a bird: “Dear, where is Xiao Jin?”
Taking a few more steps, she stopped.
When the two of them heard her voice and looked at her, their expressions showed not joy but an unsettling fear.
In one night, her dear husband seemed to have aged several years.
Now, Mr. Charlemagne had many troubles to deal with.
After cutting off the live broadcast, Mr. Charlemagne immediately drew his gun, turned the frequency to maximum, and shot through the face that was about to transform into his son’s.
In such high power and close-range shooting, the rapist’s face, along with the metal injection table, was melted through.
Mr. Charlemagne’s explanation was that, in the face of such an unexpected change, and seeing the face of “Basil” whom he had personally signed for execution in the past, he became confused and chose to shoot.
It sounded quite far-fetched.
After all, both “Basil” and “Raskin” were sent to the execution platform by Mr. Charlemagne himself.
The face of “Raskin” layered over “Basil’s” face was something the entire city’s “The Justice Show” audience saw with their own eyes.
He had to provide an explanation for this.
Before returning to “White Shield” for questioning, Mr. Charlemagne requested to go home.
The current situation was chaotic, and Mr. Charlemagne was not being questioned as a suspect; he was still the police commissioner of “White Shield,” the third highest-ranking figure in Silver Hammer City’s police. Going home to change clothes was not a big deal.
The reason he insisted on going home was twofold: he needed to handle some necessary matters and, more importantly, he had to do something to control his wife as quickly as possible.
If his wife saw the news at home, panicked and started yelling, and was discovered, it could cause trouble.
Seeing his wife’s puzzled face, Mr. Charlemagne forced a smile even more awkward than a cry, approached her, and made a swallowing gesture: “Dear, calm down and listen to me…”
_____
Author’s Note:
[Silver Hammer Daily]
Today is another peaceful and brand-new day!
The citizens live and work in peace, neighbors are friendly and harmonious, mothers walk hand-in-hand with their children in the sunlight.
No one has died.
This is the immortal happy land.
—From the promotional slogan of Eden Games’ holographic simulation game “Happy Silver Hammer Island” by Interest Co.
