Act 1: Memory Corridor · Bloodstains in the Morning Light
The third explosion of light tore through Jiang Mian, jerking her upright in excruciating pain.
It wasn’t the wound hurting—it was a torrent of memories bursting through, splintering like shards of glass across her mind!
Fragment One: Under the blinding lights of the interrogation room, golden text streaked across: “Let’s start! Bet on how many minutes she survives?”
Fragment Two: The Guanyin statue shattered in her palm; Pei Yuyan’s voice was like icy spring water: “Left turn, third room, now!”
Fragment Three: The bank’s ventilation duct, the musty smell mixing with his calm guidance: “Fifteen meters ahead, turn right, ladder, quick!”
Then—
The final image exploded: The observation station, the chains piercing his body, golden light flowing like blood tears. She trembled, pressing the transparent γ-7 crystal into the glowing mass in his chest.
“Ah—!”
Jiang Mian clutched her head, cold sweat soaking her off-white pajamas. The gauze on her left shoulder seeped red, spreading bright in the morning light.
[SYSTEM WARNING: DEEP CONSCIOUSNESS ALERT!]
[Memory Reconstruction Anomaly! Key fragments forcibly loading!]
[Loading content: Observation Station · γ-7 Sample Ultimate Choice]
—Pei Yuyan’s energy form dissipated into the void, voice faint: “γ-7 sample… can act as a high-dimensional anchor… stabilize the link…”
—Jiang Mian stared at the iridescent transparent crystal in her hand, pressing it into the center of the light mass without hesitation.
—The crystal melted, golden light surged, the chains shattered!
[Memory Load Complete!]
[Score Stage Settlement: Observation Station Rescue Operation Contribution S-Rank! +15,000 points!]
[Points Store Unlocked New Item: “Memory Restoration Elixir (Fragment)” -20,000 points]
[Current Points: 60,800!]
Jiang Mian gasped, fingers pressed deep into her palm, leaving vivid bloodstains.
She remembered.
Everything.
The γ-7 sample—pursued by the Shen family for half a century, protected by her parents at the cost of their lives—had been fused into Pei Yuyan’s body that very morning at the observation station.
To save him.
The observer who had guided her again and again through despair.
And now, that secret was hers alone.
[Golden text scrolling wildly]
[Night Owl Champion]: “Damn, memory recovery critical hit! Streamer looks pale as paper…”
[Still want milk tea today]: “Ahhh, what a divine love story!”
[Trashboy, Move Aside]: “Points over 60k! Store unlocked new item!”
[System Maintenance Worker]: “Memory Restoration Elixir… the streamer needs this now, right?”
Morning light cut through the blinds, casting sharp golden lines on the floor. The unfamiliar room smelled of cedar; the desk was piled with astronomy notes—
Pei Yuyan’s anchor point.
“Awake?” a voice called from the doorway.
Jiang Mian looked up.
Pei Yuyan leaned against the doorframe, wearing simple dark gray loungewear, hair slightly disheveled, faint bruising under his eyes. Steam rose from the cup he held; his deep gray eyes were like a star-settled lake in the morning light.
Under his shirt, on his chest—
The faint golden scar glowed softly.
The mark left by the γ-7 sample fusion.
Jiang Mian’s heart skipped; like a drifting ship finally sighting its lighthouse.
“I remember,” she croaked. “Everything.”
Pei Yuyan stepped in and handed her the cup: “Painful?”
The water was perfect. Jiang Mian drank it in one gulp; it slid down her throat with a faint sting—not her wound, but the aftershock of memory reconstruction.
“You didn’t sleep last night,” she stated.
Pei Yuyan sat at the bedside, morning light highlighting the lines of his face: “Just organized a few things.”
“What needs an entire night to organize?”
He stood and walked toward the study.
Returning, he dragged a half-man-high black metal briefcase.
It hit the floor with a dull, heart-thudding thunk.
Act 2: The Nuclear Case Evidence
Pei Yuyan squatted, entering the code—not numbers, but a complex set of star chart coordinates. The locks clicked open; the lid flipped upward—
Left side: neatly stacked paper files, thick as bricks, labels screaming:
Right side: arrays of USB drives, encrypted SSDs, microfilms, red pen labels: “Unreleased,” “Top Secret,” “Complete Evidence Chain.”
On top: a silver micro-EMP gun, next to three fingernail-sized transparent crystals.
Jiang Mian’s breath froze.
“These,” Pei Yuyan said calmly, as if introducing breakfast, “are the Shen family’s complete physical evidence of past crimes. From the ‘Eye-Opening Project’ first human experiments causing three volunteers permanent brain damage, to Shen Yanxin bribing three ‘experts’ at Corning Hospital to forge your psychiatric report—every single bit is ironclad.”
He picked up the top file, flipping it open.
First page: HD photo of three young volunteers on psychiatric hospital beds, hooked up to tubes, eyes hollow as dead fish. Bottom-right corner handwritten: “Volunteers #3, #7, #12, permanent brain damage. Responsible person: Shen Xinzong.”
“They’re still alive,” Pei Yuyan said, “in the third psychiatric hospital in Binhai City, intensive care. The Shen family pays each family 100k monthly via overseas accounts—transfer records on page 47.”
Second page: Original photos of Song Yun’s 2006 traffic accident—clear close-up of a severed brake line, perfectly cut, no accident. Nearby repair shop record signed by a Shen-owned mechanic; that mechanic “accidentally” fell into the sea a week later.
Third page: 2011 Jiang Mingyuan lab fire report, original version, red circles highlighting: “Gasoline residue detected at ignition point, 0.3%, recommend criminal investigation.” This report never appeared in official archives—official versions said “wiring aging, accidental fire.”
Pages four through seventeen: more evidence, each hit like a hammer to Jiang Mian’s heart.
Bloody, horrifying truths.
On page eighteen, he stopped.
A high-definition surveillance photo: Shen Yanxin in a hotel penthouse, wearing a bathrobe, pouring red wine for a middle-aged man. Side profile clear—Gu Changfeng, new board member of the Gu Group, cousin of Gu Xingye.
Timestamp bottom-right: last night 23:47.
“Gu Changfeng met Shen Yanxin last night,” Pei Yuyan said coldly, like a Siberian wind. “Transaction: Shen Yanxin handed over all Shen family overseas account permissions and passwords. Gu Changfeng used his connections in the judicial system to delay the Shen Huaishan case by at least three months, ensuring Shen Yanxin ‘safely withdraws.’”
He paused:
“‘Safe withdrawal’ means, if things leak, Gu Changfeng will arrange Shen Yanxin’s ‘accidental death,’ disguised as suicide or mental breakdown—just like they did to your mother.”
Jiang Mian’s fingers clenched, nails digging into her palm. Pain was clear.
She didn’t speak. She just stared at the evidence, page by page, as if reading a criminal family history written in blood.
And the protagonist of that history? The killers of her parents.
“Can this evidence,” she finally spoke, voice eerily calm, “destroy the Shen family in one blow?”
“Yes,” Pei Yuyan closed the file, gaze sharp as a scalpel. “But timing matters.”
“When?”
“The seventh of next month, Shen Huaishan’s first court hearing.” He paused. “But Shen Yanxin won’t wait. She’ll act today—her specialty.”
As if to confirm his words—
Her phone began vibrating wildly.
Not calls—news push notifications, exploding simultaneously!
[BREAKING! Shen Family Heiress Shen Yanxin Holds Emergency Press Conference: Shows Jiang Mian’s Psychiatric Report, Claims She Has Severe Violent Tendencies & Persecution Delusions!]
[Live! Shen Yanxin cries: Witnesses saw Jiang Mian self-harm at Forest Park Observation Station last night!]
[Bombshell! Three Corning Hospital Experts Jointly Recommend Protective Compulsory Treatment for Jiang Mian!]
Notification after notification, increasingly shocking. Latest included blurred video screenshots—broken observation station window, dark stains on the ground, caption: “Blood everywhere.”
Jiang Mian clicked the hottest video.
Shen Yanxin stood before reporters, wearing a white dress, eyes red, mascara smeared by tears:
“Jiang Mian is an important witness in my father’s case. I’m very worried… Last night, caring citizens saw her self-harm at the Forest Park Observation Station, smashing glass, bleeding everywhere…”
She held up a document, trembling:
“This is the joint report of three authoritative Corning Hospital experts. It states Jiang Mian, due to the trauma of losing her parents, suffers severe persecution delusions and violent tendencies. All her accusations against my father are fabricated—a sign of mental breakdown.”
Flashes of cameras erupted.
Shen Yanxin wiped her tears, choking:
“I earnestly request the judicial authorities to provide protective compulsory treatment for Jiang Mian. This isn’t punishment, it’s help. Until recovery, none of her ‘testimony’ should be considered valid…”
The video then inserted a “witness” recording—
A male voice, altered, trembling:
“I… I was running at Forest Park last night… saw a young girl rush into the observation station… screaming… banging her head on walls, smashing glass… blood everywhere, terrifying…”
Recording ended.
Shen Yanxin stared into the camera, tears streaming:
“Jiang Mian, if you’re watching, please accept treatment. We will help you… wait for your recovery… stop hurting yourself, okay?”
Perfect performance.
Meticulous script.
Killer intent laid bare—using the label “mentally ill” to completely nullify her as a witness.
[Golden comments explode]
[Sunny Weather Ah]: “Shen Yanxin’s acting! Oscar owes her a little gold man!”
[I’m the Handsome One]: “Witness recording obviously voice-altered! Full of holes!”
[Keep Going Today]: “Streamer, fight back! This slander is disgusting!”
Jiang Mian turned off the video.
The room was silent.
Morning light slid across the floor, fading from gold to pale white.
Then she smiled.
A light smile, but ice in her eyes.
“Well acted,” she said. “Even the ‘witness’s’ trembling fear is recorded so realistically.”
Pei Yuyan looked at her: “How do you plan to turn the tables?”
Jiang Mian stood, walking to the window. A black sedan waited at the street corner—there since she woke, like a dormant predator.
Shen family’s spy.
“She wants a media war, right?” Jiang Mian turned, eyes shining like tempered steel. “Then let’s fight—using the thing they fear most.”
She returned to the bed, picking up the new phone Pei Yuyan gave her, fingers flying over the screen.
Three minutes later—
All mainstream media, influential bloggers, and trending platforms in Binhai City simultaneously received an anonymous encrypted email.
Subject: “Shen Family 20-Year Crime Record: Full Evidence Chain (Includes: Shen Yanxin Academic Fraud, Hiring Hitmen, DUI Cover-Up, Secret Meeting with Gu Changfeng Verified)”
The email body contained one line:
“All original evidence has been sent to the Supreme Court, Supreme People’s Procuratorate, Ministry of Public Security, and National Supervision Commission. Miss Shen, how many copies of your ‘psychiatric report’ did you prepare? Enough to go around?”
Attachments:
Click send.
【Points Settled: Launched a counter-publicity strike, precisely targeting the enemy’s core figures! +5,000 points!】
【Current Points: 65,800!】
【Golden Barrage Going Wild】
【Night Owl Champion Here】: “Nuclear counterattack! This evidence is rock solid!”
【Loser, Step Aside】: “Shen Yanxin is finished! Completely finished!”
【System Maintenance Worker】: “This move just shredded the Shen family’s last shred of dignity!”
Jiang Mian put down her phone and looked at Pei Yuyan:
“Now, it’s our turn.”
Pei Yuyan looked at her, his deep gray eyes flickering with a complex emotion—admiration? concern? or… pride?
He nodded:
“Alright.”
“But Jiang Mian, remember one thing.”
“What?”
“The γ-7 sample no longer exists,” he said softly. “But the Shen family doesn’t know. They’ll do everything they can to force you to hand it over—because that’s their only chance to turn the tables.”
Jiang Mian smiled, icy:
“Then let them come.”
“I’ll make sure they know—”
She paused, enunciating each word:
“The thing they’ve been hunting for half a century has long since become a shield protecting me.”
Act Three: Apartment Blood Battle · Nationwide Live Trial
10 a.m., Jiang Mian arrived at the apartment building.
The scene had completely spiraled out of control.
Dozens of media reporters, self-media bloggers, and onlookers blocked the apartment entrance completely. Long lenses, smartphones on selfie sticks, cameras—all standing like a jungle. Security shouted at the top of their lungs, but the crowd surged forward like a tide.
As Jiang Mian stepped out of the taxi—
All cameras immediately turned to her!
Flashes formed a blinding wall of white light, almost blinding.
“Miss Jiang! Is it true what Shen Yanxin said about your mental instability?!”
“Did you really harm yourself at the observatory last night?!”
“Were those pieces of evidence forged by you?!”
“Are you trying to seize the Shen family fortune?!”
The questions rained down like poisoned arrows.
Jiang Mian said nothing.
She calmly walked through the crowd, approaching the apartment entrance—her steps steady, eyes cold, the blood-stained gauze on her left shoulder shining in the sunlight like a medal.
Just as she reached the door—
“Jiang Mian Sister!”
Shen Yanxin’s voice came from behind, trembling with tears, her acting at its peak.
Jiang Mian turned.
Shen Yanxin stepped out of a white nanny van, still in her white dress, eyes swollen and red, holding a large bouquet of white lilies—funeral-style. Behind her were two “doctors” in white coats and four burly, fierce-looking “bodyguards.”
The full performance.
The audience was ready.
The live broadcast began—at least twenty phones simultaneously streaming this “duel” across multiple platforms.
Shen Yanxin walked up to Jiang Mian, handing over the lilies, fingers trembling:
“Jiang Mian Sister… come with me to the hospital… we’ll treat you, really… please don’t hurt yourself anymore…”
Jiang Mian didn’t take the flowers.
She stared at Shen Yanxin for three seconds, then suddenly smiled.
Cold, sharp—the kind of smile that could cut.
“Shen Yanxin,” she said, voice low but chillingly clear in the suddenly silent scene, “did you finish your graduation thesis?”
Shen Yanxin froze.
“I mean,” Jiang Mian stepped closer, close enough to see the contraction of her pupils, “the thesis you plagiarized, the original author Li Weiwei just flew back from Manchester this morning and is now filing a real-name complaint with the city education bureau—want me to connect you? She’s very eager to ‘thank’ you in person for your ‘contribution’ to academia.”
Shen Yanxin’s face turned pale as paper.
But Jiang Mian didn’t stop:
“Also, the time you bribed Zhao Qi to take the IELTS for you in your junior year—the transfer records are still on her phone. She’s across the street in that black car—oh, she just sent me a message saying that if you defame me again, she’ll turn herself in and expose the matter of you having her hire someone to break Zheng Xiaoyu’s leg in the dance department.”
The cameras flashed wildly! Reporters were in a frenzy!
Shen Yanxin’s lips trembled, her voice unstable: “You… you’re lying… I didn’t…”
“I lying?” Jiang Mian raised her hand, pointing precisely at the two “doctors” behind her, “Dr. Wang Jianguo, whose medical license was revoked three years ago for taking a 200,000 yuan bribe, now working at Kangning Hospital as an ‘external expert’? Dr. Li Shoucai, caught last year falsifying 30 medical records for insurance fraud, given a suspended sentence, now back to practice? Really?”
She paused, raising her voice:
“Miss Shen, your judgment in choosing experts is as rotten as your moral baseline.”
The two “doctors” went pale and instinctively stepped back, trying to hide in the crowd.
But it was too late.
Someone had already uploaded their photos and records online.
Real-time trending topics instantly updated:
#ShenYanxinHiringFakeDoctors#
#KangningHospitalExposed#
#JiangMianCounterAttackLive#
Shen Yanxin panicked completely. She screamed, acting breaking down: “Jiang Mian! You’re mentally unstable! Restrain her! Send her for treatment! Hurry!”
The four “bodyguards” rushed forward to grab Jiang Mian.
But then—
All the windows of the apartment building suddenly opened simultaneously!
Dozens of smartphones, tablets, even professional cameras appeared from the windows, all pointing downstairs!
From above came a coordinated, deafening shout:
“Shen Yanxin! Have some shame!”
“You hired thugs to attack! You plagiarized! You drove drunk and framed someone!”
“How dare you slander Jiang Mian?!”
Shen Yanxin was stunned. She looked up—the people holding cameras were young, old, housewives, even a few children in parents’ arms—all shouting.
Every eye filled with anger.
This was Pei Yuyan’s arrangement from last night.
He rented all street-facing rooms in the building, prepaid three months’ rent, with one request:
“At 10 a.m. tomorrow, open the windows, film, shout.”
Now, those feeds were streaming live on Douyin, Kuaishou, Weibo, and Bilibili simultaneously!
Viewership surged by 100,000 per second!
【Golden Barrage Erupting】
【Today I Want Milk Tea Too】: “The whole building live streaming! This move is insane!”
【Night Owl Champion Here】: “Shen Yanxin’s face is green! Social death!”
【Handsome Guy Is Me】: “The counterattack’s layers are brilliant! So satisfying!”
Jiang Mian looked at Shen Yanxin’s pale face and continued:
“As for your secret meeting with Gu Changfeng last night—want me to pull the suite’s surveillance? From you in a bathrobe pouring him wine, to him promising to ‘deal with’ me, the whole process, HD, uncensored, with sound.”
She paused, voice like an ice pick:
“By the way, Gu Changfeng probably didn’t tell you—the suite’s long-term surveillance was taken over by Gu Xingye three months ago. He wanted evidence of embezzlement—didn’t expect to catch you as a ‘bonus’.”
Shen Yanxin’s legs went weak, she collapsed to the ground.
The bouquet of lilies fell, trampled by the panicked crowd.
The “bodyguards” behind her hesitated—they were just paid mercenaries, not wanting to become “kidnappers” in front of millions of live viewers.
Jiang Mian finally said:
“Shen Yanxin, your father killed my parents, and you helped cover it up. Now the truth’s out, and you want to label me ‘mentally ill’?”
She crouched, looking Shen Yanxin in the eyes. Her voice was a whisper, but through the microphone in her collar, it was clearly broadcast to every live stream:
“I’m telling you, these cameras, these streams, this evidence—it will nail you, your father, and the entire Shen family to the pillar of shame.”
“Your family is finished.”
“And you’ll be the first to go down with them.”
Having said that, Jiang Mian stood and walked into the apartment.
No looking back.
Behind her, Shen Yanxin’s screams of collapse rang out, mixed with cries:
“Stop her! Stop her—! The γ-7 sample! She stole the γ-7 sample! That’s our Shen family’s property! Catch her—!”
The four “bodyguards” finally moved.
But—
“Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!”
Four dull gunshots sounded almost simultaneously!
Not real bullets—they were tranquilizer darts.
Striking the necks of the four bodyguards precisely, their bodies stiffened, then fell flat.
Across the street, Zhou Jian lowered the sniper rifle, speaking into his earpiece:
“Cleared.”
Jiang Mian walked into the apartment, closing the door.
Outside, Shen Yanxin’s screams, reporters’ questions, upstairs neighbors’ shouts, and the live chat all blended into deafening noise.
And the term “γ-7 sample,” shouted by a collapsing Shen Yanxin, was publicly exposed for the first time.
【Points Settled: Successful public counterattack, turned public opinion! +8,000 points!】
【Current Points: 73,800!】
【Golden Barrage Collective Ecstasy】
【Loser, Step Aside】: “Yes! That slapdown gets full marks!”
【System Maintenance Worker】: “The γ-7 sample has been publicly mentioned… the Shen family will go completely insane.”
【Today I’ll Keep Fighting】: “Streamer, retreat! The real battle is coming next!”
Act Four: Safe House · Bloody Warning & Piano Whispers
1 p.m., Fu Chenyi escorted Jiang Mian into the safe house.
A top-floor duplex apartment, bulletproof glass, infrared surveillance, electromagnetic shielding, 24-hour armed security—Fu Chenyi had deployed every resource.
But as soon as Jiang Mian entered, she saw something on the living room coffee table.
A black plastic bag, still oozing blood.
Bulging, damp, exuding a strong metallic smell.
Fu Chenyi’s face turned ashen: “Delivered by the property half an hour ago. Specifically for ‘Miss Jiang,’ labeled as a ‘courier.’”
Jiang Mian put on disposable gloves and walked over.
The plastic bag was tied with twine, the knot a professional sailor’s knot—only someone trained would tie it that way.
She untied the rope and opened the bag.
Inside was a dead black cat.
Its eyes had been gouged out, leaving two bloody holes. Its neck was twisted at a grotesque angle. Around its neck hung a small wooden tag, blood-written:
“Hand over the γ-7 sample within three days.”
“Otherwise, next time it will be you.”
On the back of the wooden tag, there was a line of tiny letters, seemingly scratched with a fingernail:
“We know you have it.”
Jiang Mian stared at the words and suddenly smiled.
Not an angry smile, not a fearful one, but a… mocking smile.
Extremely cold. Extremely sarcastic.
“Jiang Mian?” Fu Chenyi frowned. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Jiang Mian tossed the tag back into the bag and removed her gloves. “I just find it… laughable.”
“Laughable?”
“Yes.” She walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and gazed at the gray sky outside. “They’ve hunted for half a century, killed my parents, destroyed my life—for something that no longer exists.”
Fu Chenyi froze. “No longer exists?”
Jiang Mian turned, her gaze calm:
“The γ-7 sample was consumed that day at the observatory.”
She paused, then added:
“To save Pei Yuyan.”
Fu Chenyi was silent for a long moment.
Then he asked, “The Shen family’s second branch doesn’t know?”
“Of course they don’t,” Jiang Mian said with a smile. “If they knew γ-7 was gone, they wouldn’t send a dead cat—they’d send a bomb. Without the sample, they can’t turn the tables—they can only go all out.”
She walked to the liquor cabinet and poured a glass of ice water:
“So, they’ll keep pressuring me. In even harsher ways.”
As if to prove her point—
Zhou Jian emerged from the basement, holding a tablet, his face serious:
“The ‘Red Scorpion’ team has arrived. Six squads, twelve people, all Southeast Asian mercenaries. They entered the country in batches this morning and are now dispersed across six districts in Bin Hai City. The ‘dead cat’ was a ten-year-old, paid 500 yuan, knowing nothing.”
On the tablet were photos and dossiers of the twelve people.
Each of them had no fewer than ten confirmed kills.
Jiang Mian looked at the photos and suddenly asked:
“How’s Pei Yuyan over there?”
Zhou Jian pulled up another surveillance feed—real-time from the old residential area.
Outside Pei Yuyan’s building, two unfamiliar cars were parked. People inside were taking shifts monitoring—very professional.
“Three squads are taking turns,” Zhou Jian said. “But he’s calm, acting like an ordinary person. He even went downstairs to buy groceries, showing no caution at all.”
Jiang Mian’s heart tightened slightly.
She knew what Pei Yuyan was doing—he was acting as bait.
Using the hope that Jiang Mian might hand over the γ-7 sample, he was drawing the fire of the Shen family’s second branch and the Red Scorpion team, buying her time.
“Contact Rong Xubai,” Jiang Mian suddenly said. “Tell him I agree to the psychological evaluation—but the location must be the safe house, and the time tonight at eight.”
Fu Chenyi frowned. “Why Rong Xubai? And why here?”
“Because Rong Xubai isn’t ordinary,” Jiang Mian said. “He mentioned ‘Morning Mist and Anchor Point’ on the phone yesterday—these are the same two terms Pei Yuyan has used.”
She paused, her eyes sharp:
“Rong Xubai might know something. He might even… be ‘one of them.’”
The room went silent for a few seconds.
Then Zhou Jian spoke: “Should I investigate him?”
“Yes,” Jiang Mian nodded. “But carefully. If he really is ‘one of them,’ your investigation could be discovered.”
Zhou Jian nodded and left.
Fu Chenyi looked at Jiang Mian, silent for a long time, then said:
“Jiang Mian, you’ve changed.”
“Have I?”
“You… you wouldn’t have been this sharp before. And you wouldn’t calculate so coldly.”
Jiang Mian smiled faintly:
“Fu Chenyi, now there’s someone I need to protect.”
“Someone risked their life for me. Someone gave up everything for me—I can no longer be the Jiang Mian who only hides.”
Fu Chenyi knew who she meant.
Pei Yuyan.
That mysterious astronomy teaching assistant.
The man who, for her, spent the night organizing evidence, arranged the live broadcast of the entire building, and was now outside acting as bait.
“Is he worth it?” Fu Chenyi asked.
Jiang Mian lifted her head, eyes as steady as steel:
“Yes.”
“He is the only person in this world I can be sure won’t hurt me.”
“And he is the only person I am willing to risk everything for.”
Act Five: Whispers by the Piano · 72-Hour Countdown
8 p.m., Rong Xubai arrived punctually.
He came alone, carrying only a guitar. Deep gray trench coat, gold-rimmed glasses, exuding the clean aura of a university lecturer. But Jiang Mian noticed—his steps were incredibly light, cat-like, almost silent.
Only someone professionally trained would move like that.
“Miss Jiang,” Rong Xubai nodded, scanning the safe house and pausing slightly at the hidden surveillance points, “the environment is good.”
“Doctor Rong,” Jiang Mian sat on the sofa. “Thank you for coming.”
“It’s my duty.” Rong Xubai sat opposite her, opening the guitar case. “A psychological assessment requires absolute quiet and security—this place is perfect.”
He began tuning the guitar.
Slow, deliberate movements. His fingers traced the strings with an almost rhythmic precision—not just tuning, but inputting some sort of code.
Jiang Mian watched quietly.
Three minutes later, Rong Xubai looked up:
“Miss Jiang, shall we begin?”
The assessment was standard: cognitive tests, logic, emotional response, memory continuity… Rong Xubai’s questions were professional, but Jiang Mian’s answers were even more so—she could reverse-engineer the purpose behind each question.
Forty minutes later, Rong Xubai put down his clipboard.
“Your cognitive function is completely normal, logic is clear, emotions stable. Memory has some gaps, but this is selective forgetting due to trauma, not affecting legal capacity.” He paused. “That ‘psychiatric evaluation’—invalid according to me.”
He issued an official report, signed and stamped.
Then he didn’t leave immediately.
Instead, he picked up the guitar again.
“Miss Jiang,” he said, “the new song we discussed on the phone, ‘Morning Mist and Anchor Point’—do you want to hear it now?”
Jiang Mian looked at him. “Why must you play it for me?”
Rong Xubai smiled faintly:
“Because the inspiration for this song… truly comes from you.”
“And also… from someone else searching for the anchor point in the morning mist.”
He plucked the strings.
The intro sounded—not ordinary chords, but a complex, almost formulaic sequence of notes.
Then he began to sing:
“Walking through the ruins of lies, Seeing butterflies flutter, Breaking the glass cage, Light falls in…”
His voice was clear, but Jiang Mian sensed something off.
This wasn’t an emotional performance.
It was a calm, almost mechanical “broadcast.”
At the chorus, Rong Xubai looked directly at Jiang Mian through his glasses:
“You are the anchor point in the morning mist, The whole in the shattered mirror, The observer, before billions of light screens, Glimpsing eternity…”
The word “observer” was emphasized, pronounced clearly.
Jiang Mian’s fingers clenched sharply.
She stared at Rong Xubai, searching for a flaw. But he sang with complete focus, utterly immersed—so perfect it almost seemed unnatural.
The song ended.
The final note faded into the air.
Rong Xubai set down the guitar and stood.
“My work here is done. Miss Jiang, I wish you well.”
He walked to the door.
But as he grasped the handle, he paused, didn’t turn back, and spoke softly:
“One more thing—someone asked me to pass on a message.”
Jiang Mian’s heart skipped a beat. “Who?”
“Someone… who cares about you,” Rong Xubai’s voice was quiet. “They said: ‘The dimensional monitoring program has activated its second scan. Anchor point stability is decreasing. If the external crisis isn’t resolved within seventy-two hours, the anchor point may collapse.’”
Dimensional monitoring program.
Anchor point stability.
Seventy-two hours.
The words stabbed into Jiang Mian’s heart like ice.
“What else did they say?” her voice trembled slightly.
Rong Xubai finally turned to her, eyes complex:
“They said: ‘Tell Jiang Mian not to try to find me. Complete what she must do. I never regret the path I choose.’”
He opened the door and left.
The door closed quietly.
The safe house was deathly silent.
Jiang Mian stood frozen, cold all over.
Seventy-two hours.
Three days.
Pei Yuyan’s “anchor point” could only hold for three more days.
She suddenly rushed to her bedroom and opened the encrypted communication channel only she and Pei Yuyan knew about—
No new messages.
The last one was from Pei Yuyan at 7 a.m. that morning: “Went to buy groceries, all normal.”
But Rong Xubai’s words…
Second round of dimensional monitoring?
Anchor point stability decreasing?
Seventy-two-hour countdown?
Jiang Mian’s fingers trembled over the keyboard as she typed:
“Pei Yuyan, how are things over there?”
Sent.
No reply.
Five minutes passed, still nothing.
She opened the two-way location tracker—Pei Yuyan’s new phone had this function.
On the screen, the red dot representing Pei Yuyan remained stationary in the old residential area.
Motionless.
It hadn’t moved for over eight hours.
Jiang Mian’s heart sank little by little, plunging into a cold abyss.
【Golden Bullet Comments, Tension Rising】
【Night Owl Champion Here】: “Rong Xubai is one of the Observers?! He’s sending a warning!”
【System Technician】: “Seventy-two hours… anchor point collapse… Pei Yuyan is in danger!”
【Keep Going Today Too】: “Streamer, go find him! This is definitely a trap, but he might really be in trouble!”
By 11 p.m., Jiang Mian could no longer stay still.
She changed into black sportswear, hiding a miniature camera and tranquilizer needle in her sleeves, and told Fu Chenyi:
“I’m going out.”
Fu Chenyi blocked her. “Are you crazy?! The Red Scorpion team is right outside—”
“Then let them follow.” Jiang Mian pushed him aside, her eyes resolute. “Pei Yuyan might be in danger.”
“How do you know?”
“Instinct.” Jiang Mian paused, “and Rong Xubai’s warning.”
Fu Chenyi stared at her reddened eyes, silent for three seconds, then stepped aside:
“I’ll drive you.”
“No.” Jiang Mian shook her head. “You stay here, stabilize the situation. I’ll go alone.”
She paused:
“Besides, if this really is a trap… we can’t all fall into it.”
Fu Chenyi opened his mouth to say something, but Jiang Mian had already opened the door and rushed into the night.
Act Six: Night Rush · Explosion and Reunion Under the Blood Moon
The safe house had a private elevator to the underground garage.
But Jiang Mian didn’t take it.
She ran down the fire escape, floor by floor, her steps light as a cat’s, her breathing low.
Her earpiece transmitted Zhou Jian’s voice:
“There are four squads downstairs. Suggest taking the ventilation shaft—the west side of the garage connects to the adjacent office building’s underground parking via a vent.”
“Got it.”
Jiang Mian slipped into the shadows on the west side of the garage, found the vent blocked by wire mesh, used the micro-cutter in her sleeve to cut through, and crawled inside.
The passage was narrow, dusty, filled with cobwebs and a heavy moldy smell.
She switched on her phone flashlight and moved forward, holding her breath.
Seven minutes later, she emerged in the cleaning storage room on the second basement level of the office building.
Outside was a wide, dimly lit parking area.
Jiang Mian lowered her hat brim and briskly headed toward the exit.
Just as she was about to leave the garage—
A harsh electric static crackled in her earpiece!
Then Zhou Jian’s urgent voice came through, background filled with gunfire:
“Jiang Mian! Pei Yuyan’s area is in trouble! Explosion in the old residential complex! Specifically, the building he lives in! Repeat, explosion occurred!”
Jiang Mian’s heart clenched violently, nearly stopping.
“What happened?!”
“Not clear! But surveillance shows four vehicles entered the complex fifteen minutes ago, then the explosion! The entire building is on fire! Fire trucks just arrived!”
Explosion.
Fire.
Pei Yuyan was still inside…
“Give me the live feed!” she shouted hoarsely.
Zhou Jian immediately shared the surveillance feed—
On screen, the six-story old residential building had all windows on the third floor shattered, flames and thick smoke spewing out. The whole building was a burning torch, grotesque and terrifying in the night.
Firefighters sprayed water, but it was futile against the blaze.
Police blocked the crowd at the cordon line, pointing and gesturing.
Pei Yuyan’s red location dot remained inside the building, unmoving.
Jiang Mian’s legs went weak; she nearly fell.
She pressed against the wall, nails digging in, leaving deep scratches.
Pei Yuyan…
You promised you’d be careful…
You promised you’d always be here…
You promised me—
Tears flooded her, but she wiped them fiercely.
No crying.
Not now.
“Give me the fastest route!” she rasped.
Zhou Jian immediately sent the navigation route.
Jiang Mian glanced at it, then bolted toward the shared electric bikes on the street—no taxis, all could be monitored.
She unlocked one, twisted the throttle to full, and sped into the night.
The streets at 11:30 p.m. were sparse.
Jiang Mian pushed the bike to the limit, running red lights, riding against traffic, weaving frantically through the sparse vehicles.
Wind shrieked in her ears; her heart pounded like it might explode.
Only one thought thundered in her mind:
Pei Yuyan, you cannot die.
You promised to tell me stories about the Observers and the stars.
You promised to always watch over me.
You promised—
Tears fell again, scattered by the wind, but she didn’t stop.
Couldn’t stop.
Twenty minutes later, she rushed into the old residential complex.
The scene stopped her breath—
The building Pei Yuyan lived in, floors three and above, were completely engulfed in flames. Fire leapt from the windows, licking the night sky, turning the area blood-red.
Thick smoke rolled out, heat waves hit her face.
Firefighters sprayed desperately, but the fire was too fierce. The water was like a drop in the ocean.
Police set up a third-layer cordon, holding back residents and onlookers.
“Let me in!” Jiang Mian shouted, charging the line. “My friend is inside!”
“Ma’am! You can’t enter! It’s dangerous!” two officers held her firmly.
“He’s still inside! Let me save him—”
“Firefighters are already searching! You’ll only get in the way! Step back!”
Jiang Mian struggled but was held tight.
She stared at the burning building, at the window on the third floor—now a black hole—that was Pei Yuyan’s study.
Tears blurred her vision.
Her heart felt like it was gripped by an icy hand, squeezing tighter and tighter.
Pei Yuyan…
You promised to wait for me…
You said we’d finish this together…
You cannot—
At that moment—
A hand, smeared with ash and blood, gently tapped her shoulder.
Jiang Mian spun around.
Pei Yuyan stood behind her.
Deep gray loungewear riddled with burn holes, face scratched and smoked, a deep cut on his left arm bleeding—but he was alive. His gray eyes, lit by firelight, shone like quenched stars.
He looked at her and forced a faint, weary smile:
“I’m fine.”
Jiang Mian’s tears broke free.
She threw herself at him, hugging him so tight it nearly crushed his ribs, voice shattering:
“You… you scared me… I thought you—”
Pei Yuyan gently patted her back, voice light and hoarse from the smoke:
“It was a trap. They wanted to force me out… or you out. But I set smoke bombs and heat disruptors inside the building in advance; I detonated the explosion myself—from the ventilation shaft.”
He paused, breathing slightly heavy:
“Only… the anchor point really is unstable.”
Jiang Mian looked up at his bloodied face:
“Rong Xubai said the dimensional monitoring program started its second scan, seventy-two hours—”
“I know.” Pei Yuyan nodded, tired but clear-eyed. “Time is short.”
He looked at the burning building, fire dancing in his pupils:
“We have three days to end this.”
Jiang Mian gripped his hand tightly, nodding through tears:
“Okay.”
“Together.”
Night deepened.
The fire stretched their shadows long, intertwining on the water-stained ground.
Behind them, shadows held a few people in black tactical gear, silently raising silenced pistols—
But the next moment, four sniper bullets shot from three different directions simultaneously!
Piercing their wrists and knees with precision!
Screams drowned in the echo of explosions and fire trucks’ sirens.
Zhou Jian’s voice reported calmly over the earpiece:
“Team D cleared. But at least two squads remain nearby. Recommend immediate retreat.”
Pei Yuyan nodded, grabbing Jiang Mian and sprinting to the street corner—where a nondescript gray car waited.
Before getting in, Jiang Mian asked suddenly:
“Pei Yuyan.”
“Hmm?”
“The γ-7 sample…” she whispered, “it really cost you a lot, didn’t it?”
Pei Yuyan paused, then smiled faintly:
“It kept me here.”
“With you.”
“That’s all the meaning it has.”
The car started, driving into the night.
Behind them, the building still burned.
Ahead, more killers gathered in the darkness.
Seventy-two-hour countdown: started.