The warehouse backed onto a corner of the playground.
Separated by a single railing was the faculty and staff residential building of Lentzburg University.
This time, the “White Shield” police, upon a brief inquiry, immediately uncovered clues.
Multiple witnesses reported that two days ago, in broad daylight, a man drove a truck to the railing area, openly unloading a chainsaw and 3D printing equipment. Sparks flew as he worked noisily at the railing.
Under the bright sun, he showed no hint of guilt or caution.
The residents, mindful of their status, wouldn’t stoop to chat with a repairman, likely a C-class citizen at best.
Amid the flying sparks, everyone assumed he was fixing the railing and, to avoid singed clothes or eye injuries, naturally steered clear.
The man worked efficiently, finishing in an hour and a half.
Passersby saw the railing looking brand new and assumed property management had sent someone to reinforce it, giving it no further thought.
The “White Shield” police, thrilled with the lead, asked, “What did he look like?”
The witnesses faltered, offering vague responses: “Just… a tall, sturdy guy…”
At first, the police couldn’t understand why no one saw his face.
Then they saw footage from a surveillance camera and understood, fuming with frustration.
The man, in the driver’s seat, was indeed tall and broad—though whether it was his real build or padded was unclear.
He wore a full-body cold-weather work suit, welding goggles covering most of his face, and a helmet and mask concealing the rest.
Not a single inch of skin revealed his features; he was wrapped up like an airtight dumpling.
The residential building had cameras, but this spot was a blind zone. The police couldn’t even confirm his true height or build, left to sigh in frustration.
Under the cover of sparks and his truck, he cut the railing in broad daylight, entered the warehouse, and used a 3D printer to craft a sliding door on-site. After finishing, he hoisted the chainsaw, rewelded the removed railing, and left cleanly.
Infuriatingly, his craftsmanship was meticulous, rivaling a master’s.
This allowed the bomber’s movements to be traced.
Two days ago, he began.
First, he secured his entry and exit, crafting a door from nothing in the warehouse.
The night before, he could’ve used the northwest gate with broken cameras or a lesser-known student path, dodging Lentzburg University’s sparse surveillance, winding his way to the warehouse. There, he set up the bomb, number signs, and other tricks, then moved a stone, hiding it among the warehouse’s clutter, taking its place under the table, letting logistics staff move him.
Hidden from surveillance, he used light and blind spots to perform a brilliant visual trick.
Before the morning celebration ended, to prevent attendees from bumping into empty tables, logistics workers moved the table with the bomber out again.
He curled up, hugging his legs under the table. Once the warehouse was locked, he could boldly emerge, erase all traces, and exit through his prearranged door. With minimal caution for cameras, he blended into the celebration crowd.
After discovering the door, Bell and Hardy felt utterly humiliated.
The method was so simple it made them look like fools.
Fueled by rage, they and technicians swept the warehouse like a raid, collecting countless DNA traces for analysis.
But the more Lin Qin analyzed, the more he saw the culprit as a reckless genius.
Boldness rarely paired with such meticulousness.
Judging by the polished stones, Lin Qin had a hunch the officers would return empty-handed.
While Bell and Hardy chased leads, Lin Qin decided to go out and investigate.
…
Ning Zhuo was also about to leave.
Before going, he asked Shan Feibai, “Didn’t you ever think, what if something went wrong?”
What if a security guard questioned his identity while he cut the railing?
What if someone moving the table noticed its weight, looked under the cloth, and checked?
What if the weather forecast was wrong, and it was sunny?
What if someone, unfazed by the old, grimy cloth, smoothed it out, ruining his setup?
What if the two students were naive and spilled everything to the police?
What if someone from the residential building passed by as he exited the warehouse?
…
Shan Feibai, at an age of carefree indulgence, popped a milk candy into his mouth.
Hearing Ning Zhuo’s question, he blinked and said casually, “Then I’d play dumb, find a chance to retrieve the bomb, and come up with a new plan.”
He paused, then, in a teasing tone, dropped a startling fact: “Ning-ge, this was my third murder attempt in the past half-month.”
“One was when Hardan went shopping for supplies, another when Litton delivered family passes to a manager under United Health. I couldn’t find an opening either time.”
Shan Feibai looked at Ning Zhuo earnestly: “…I didn’t tell you about those failures because I was afraid you’d be mad.”
Ning Zhuo, calm as ever, only felt like laughing: “Why would I be mad?”
“Dunno.”
Shan Feibai’s head was slightly bowed, his fluffy, curly hair a fine mane, only tamed by a playful little wolf-tail tied at the back. “…I just wanted to pull it off, to make Ning-ge happy.”
Ning Zhuo rarely smiled, and having already done so today, he held back.
Instead, he strode back and gave Shan Feibai’s head a rewarding pat.
—Looking at him, Ning Zhuo couldn’t shake the thought that beneath that dense hair might be a pair of fuzzy wolf ears.
Of course, Shan Feibai had no such ears.
But as Ning Zhuo’s cold, snow-like fingers grazed his scalp, his shoulders quivered, his hand gripped the table’s edge, and he stopped chewing.
He leaned forward, savoring the touch.
Ning Zhuo, however, quickly withdrew his hand, striding out with the same brisk pace he’d come in.
Ning Zhuo thought, I have business to attend to.
But he also thought, Go quickly, return quickly.
As for why “go quickly, return quickly”…
Ning Zhuo had an inexplicable, sharp intuition.
It told him, Don’t think too deeply. You shouldn’t dwell on this.
So he took a deep breath, reined himself in, and stopped thinking about it.
Shan Feibai soon found himself alone again.
He quietly stood, tossed the dishes into the dishwasher, and shuffled back to Ning Zhuo’s room.
The room was filled with Ning Zhuo’s scent—mint oil, cool and faintly bitter.
Shan Feibai wrapped himself in the blanket, rolling around silently, joyfully.
…
As Ning Zhuo walked out, he crossed paths in the corridor with Kuang Hexuan, who was fetching nutrient supplements, and another “Panqiao” mercenary.
Kuang Hexuan, hands in his pockets while chatting with the younger man, spotted Ning Zhuo and quickly pulled them out, giving a stiff nod. A greeting circled his mouth twice but didn’t come out.
Ning Zhuo spared him a glance, then swept past like a gust of wind.
The young mercenary sensed Kuang Hexuan’s muscles tense beside him.
He whispered, “Brother Kuang, you scared of him?”
Turning to watch Ning Zhuo’s figure recede, Kuang Hexuan muttered, “…Bullshit.”
In his life, Kuang Hexuan feared few people, but Shan Feibai was one.
The boss was rich, playful, full of wild ideas, and a ruthless killer who didn’t blink.
After years together, no one could predict him, so there was fear mixed with respect.
For Ning Zhuo, Kuang Hexuan didn’t feel fear, but respect.
When Shan Feibai was gravely injured, brought to “Haina” on the brink of death, Kuang Hexuan knew confronting Ning Zhuo could be fatal, yet he’d dared to question and attack him.
The longer he knew Ning Zhuo, the more Kuang Hexuan found him easier to deal with than Shan Feibai.
Beneath Ning Zhuo’s cold, unfeeling exterior was a unique charisma that could inspire unwavering loyalty.
But in front of his own crew, Kuang Hexuan couldn’t admit he was charmed by a man.
So, he pretended to talk to the mercenary, stealing glances at Ning Zhuo until he vanished, only then looking away.
…
At seven that evening, Ning Zhuo stepped into the “Tuner’s” new base.
It was an old fortress in the lower city, its architecture peculiar, pierced by a light rail that seemed to shoot through the chaotic, multi-tiered building’s heart.
The “Tuner” greeting him was still Third Brother.
Third Brother propped his chin, feigning sorrow: “Which little brother’s been tripping you up lately? Ignoring me like this.”
Ning Zhuo, used to their banter, shot back, “You’re not even human, so stop pretending.”
“Get lost! I’m dashing and debonair, one nose, two eyes—how am I not human? What gives you the right to say that?!”
“My mouth’s on my face.”
Before the “Tuner” could retort, Ning Zhuo, unusually, called a truce.
He was still thinking about “go quickly, return quickly.”
He placed a small suitcase of cash on the counter, stating concisely, “I want the internal structure plans for the ‘Columbus’ Concert Hall. The most detailed ones.”
The “Tuner,” surprisingly, didn’t take the money.
Ning Zhuo noticed his odd mood and let out a soft, questioning, “…Hm?”
The “Tuner” looked up.
At that moment, he wasn’t the “Tuner”—he was Third Brother.
Third Brother asked an odd question: “How’s Shan Feibai doing lately?”
Ning Zhuo knew there was a reason for the question and countered, “Is something off about him?”
Third Brother said softly, “…Be careful of him.”
Ning Zhuo lowered his lashes.
Third Brother’s vague warning sparked a thought.
—The “Tuner,” with his vast network, likely detected Shan Feibai’s recent bombing through data analysis.
The explosion was entirely Shan Feibai’s doing; Ning Zhuo wasn’t involved.
So, to the “Tuner,” it might seem like Shan Feibai was acting on his own, secretly stirring trouble for “Haina.”
But Ning Zhuo had no intention of revealing their plans, so he replied curtly, “Got it.”
Third Brother studied him.
As a child, Third Brother disliked Ning Zhuo, always itching to pluck out his eyelashes.
Even now, seeing those long, dense lashes, his fingers twitched.
But he restrained himself.
Dropping the topic of Shan Feibai, Third Brother grabbed the suitcase handle, weighed it, and flashed his infuriating grin: “Much obliged for your patronage.”
As Ning Zhuo turned to leave, Third Brother’s legs gave out, and he slumped into a chair.
He looked at the ceiling, giving a helpless smile.
…He’d done his best.
The “Tuner” had strict rules, the foremost being never to betray a client’s secrets.
The last personality, too quick to talk, had shot itself in front of Ning Zhuo.
Third Brother, as a primary personality, had skirted the line with this hint and couldn’t be spared.
He wouldn’t die on the spot, but confinement was inevitable.
The next moment, his world flickered, darkening.
His body was swallowing him, pulling him to an unknown place.
“This time, it’ll be a long goodbye,” Third Brother said with that half-smirking, infuriating face, drawling, “…Life or death, I’ll leave it to fate.”
