Shen Huaishan laughed, a crazed finality in his expression:
“So, you have two choices now. First, follow the official process, try to apply for documents that will never be approved, and watch your little boyfriend die before your eyes. Second—”
His finger slammed hard on the table.
“Take the eye. Right now. Use half a century of the Shen family’s crimes to trade for everything you want.”
Jiang Mian remained silent, staring at him.
“But you have to promise me one thing,” Shen Huaishan’s voice dropped low. “After you get the records, you must go to the Third Mental Hospital. The first three survivors of the Eye-Opening Project still live there. They… are no longer human. But they have families, children. Every year, those children come to visit, see their parents behind glass, then cry and leave.”
He lifted his head, his eyes red.
“Give them the money. Not as compensation… but a chance to start over. Tell them the people who hurt their fathers have received their retribution.”
Jiang Mian was silent for a long time.
Then she said, “Fine.”
Shen Huaishan smiled. He closed his eyes, leaned back in the chair, exposing his neck.
But just as Jiang Mian thought he was waiting for something—
Shen Huaishan suddenly moved.
His right hand was lightning-fast. His middle and index fingers pressed together, and in a moment no one could react, he jabbed fiercely into his left eye!
“Pffft!”
A sound faint yet horrifically grotesque.
[Golden bullet-text exploded across consciousness!]
[Today I want milk tea]: “!!!!!! He did it himself?!”
[Night Owl Champion]: “My god—completely unprepared!”
[Trash Ex, Move Aside]: “This madman… didn’t even give time to react!”
Blood gushed from the left eye socket, streaming down his face in a wild flow. Shen Huaishan’s body convulsed violently, letting out suppressed, beast-like moans—but his right hand didn’t stop. Using every ounce of strength, he dug inward—
A whole, bloody eyeball was wrenched out of his skull!
The eyeball landed in his right palm, the nerves and blood vessels twitching like fine white threads in the air. It still trembled slightly, the pupil staring directly at Jiang Mian, as if completing one final gaze.
Shen Huaishan’s entire body shook, cold sweat and blood mixing and running down onto the orange prison uniform, staining it dark red. His left hand clutched the table edge, knuckles white from force, holding himself upright.
“Take… it…”
His voice shattered, incoherent, but every word carried weight:
“Use this… to open… the vault…”
“Exchange for Yanxin… alive…”
With that, his body went limp, collapsing to the floor, writhing violently.
A piercing alarm immediately blared throughout the prison! The visit room’s steel door was battered open, guards and medical personnel rushed in, the room erupting into chaos.
Jiang Mian stood in place, staring at the eyeball in Shen Huaishan’s palm. Blood still gushed from the socket, pooling in a shocking red puddle on the floor.
Medical staff were performing emergency hemostasis and bandaging, guards shouting commands to maintain order—but all of it felt distant, muted, like it was happening through a fog in her perception.
She slowly squatted down, took a sterile bio-bag from her evidence kit, and carefully picked up the eyeball with tweezers, placing it inside and sealing the bag.
The bag walls quickly stained with blood. The eyeball floated in saline; the pupil had already dilated, but the iris pattern remained perfectly visible—that was the password to open the vault.
The warden stood at the doorway, face pale, saying nothing, merely gesturing for the scene to be cleared.
Jiang Mian gripped the cold bag, fingertips brushing against the residual warmth inside. She turned and walked out of the visit room.
The corridor was long, lights cold and harsh. Her footsteps echoed in the emptiness—one, one—like a heavy heartbeat.
At the far end, in a corner out of sight, she stopped, leaning against the cold wall, sliding down to sit.
She lowered her head, burying her face in her knees, her shoulders trembling slightly.
No sound came.
She just needed a moment to process the blood-soaked, heavy “key.”
A few seconds later, she lifted her head. Her expression was calm, only a deep fatigue flickering in her eyes. She stood, dusted off her nonexistent dirt, and picked up her comm device:
“Zhou Jian, Fu Chenyu, prepare to withdraw. Target: Binhai City Old Archives, Underground Level 3, Vault No. 7.”
Scene Two: The Archive Vault
10:47 a.m., Binhai City Old Archives.
This Soviet-style building from the 1960s was now swarming with Zhou Jian’s team. Every entrance blocked, signal jammed within a 500-meter radius.
Jiang Mian met Fu Chenyu at the entrance to the underground third level.
“The lock specialist is here,” Fu Chenyu said grimly, “but it’s more complicated than expected. That mechanical lock… it’s impossible to open by conventional means.”
“What do you mean?”
“We tried everything—hydraulic breaking, laser cutting, even micro-directed charges.” Fu Chenyu shook his head. “The lock core is made of special alloy. Inside, there’s a self-destruct mechanism. Force it open, it triggers acid reservoirs inside, dissolving all the documents.”
Jiang Mian looked at the eyeball in the incubator. “Shen Huaishan said it needs his eye and this key fragment.”
“That’s exactly the problem.” Fu Chenyu led her to Vault No. 7. “The expert says the lock has a two-step verification. Step one: the key fragment opens the outer mechanical barrier. Step two: the eye—”
They were now standing before the vault door.
It was astonishingly thick, cast entirely in dark gray metal. No handles, only a fist-sized circular viewing port, with an almost invisible slit beside it.
The lock specialist was an elderly man with graying hair, peering through a magnifying glass at the keyhole. Seeing Jiang Mian approach, he straightened up:
“Miss Jiang, this lock is from the Cold War era. Its design principle is simple—unless the correct method is used, it would rather destroy everything inside than allow outsiders access.”
Jiang Mian placed the incubator on the workbench and took out the black metal key fragment.
“Start with this.”
The specialist carefully took the fragment and inserted it into the narrow slit beside the vault door.
“Click.”
A crisp mechanical sound. The key fragment fit perfectly into the lock’s grooves. Inside, the first lock bolt disengaged.
[Golden bullet-text floating]
[Tech Geek Saving the World]: “Step one done! Old-school mechanical locks really do sound satisfying.”
[Night Owl Champion]: “Step two is the eyeball… hurry, hurry!”
Jiang Mian opened the incubator and took out the eyeball floating in saline. The specialist immediately placed it in a custom fixture, adjusting the angle to face the viewing port.
“If it’s truly static iris recognition,” the specialist muttered while operating, “this should be fast—”
Before he could finish, less than three seconds after the eyeball aligned with the viewing port—
“Beep!”
A crisp electronic sound rang out!
Then, inside the thick alloy door, a series of complex mechanical unlocking sounds echoed, deep and powerful. The door slowly slid open, just enough to create a narrow gap.
It was open.
Just like that.
[Golden bullet-text froze for a moment, then erupted]
[Today I Want Milk Tea]: “It’s open already?!”
[Trash Ex, Move Aside]: “Whoa, Shen Huaishan wasn’t lying! It really is static recognition!”
[System Repair Engineer]: “Test design validated: the critical challenge was obtaining the key, not the technical unlocking itself.”
[Sunny Weather]: “Makes sense—the shock factor was Shen Huaishan gouging out his eye anyway…”
Jiang Mian was momentarily stunned, then quickly regained composure. She strode into the vault.
The room was small, about twenty square meters, climate-controlled. In the center, twelve dark brown leather archive boxes were neatly stacked on a stone table.
She opened the first box.
Inside were thick experiment records. Yellowed pages, neatly written in fountain pen, one after another, box after box.
Dozens of lives, hundreds of falsified death certificates, millions in financial flows…
Jiang Mian flipped through quickly, her fingers trembling slightly on the yellowed pages. Each page marked the end of a life; each line hid a buried tragedy.
She reached the last box. It contained the secrets of three generations of the Shen family—from Shen Xinzhi’s father’s rise during the war, to all parties involved in the Eye-Opening Project, and a complete chain of evidence detailing Shen Huaishan’s years of money laundering, bribery, and silencing witnesses…
Countdown: 00:37:33.
“Take everything.” She told Fu Chenyu. “Scan and backup, seal the originals. Inform Old Li, we can initiate the final phase of ‘Operation Dawn.’”
Fu Chenyu nodded and began directing the team to move the archive boxes.
At that moment, Zhou Jian’s voice crackled over the comms, with faint sounds of gunfire in the background:
“Armed intruders at the archive perimeter! Trying to break the line! Our people are engaging! Jiang Mian, evacuate via the backup route—hurry!”
Almost simultaneously, the archive lights flickered violently a few times, then went out completely! Emergency lights flickered on, casting the underground space in a ghastly green.
“Move!” Fu Chenyu shielded Jiang Mian. Zhou Jian carried the most important boxes. The team dashed toward a pre-scouted backup exit—a maintenance tunnel connecting to a nearby municipal facility.
Gunfire echoed in the distance, growing closer. Dust and the smell of rust filled the air; they relied solely on tactical flashlights.
Jiang Mian ran, clutching the metal box containing Shen Xinzhi’s notebook, her other hand instinctively pressed against her pocket—the signal from Pei Yuyan’s locator was fading.
At the edge of her vision, the countdown entered the last half hour: 00:29:58.
Her heart pounded—not from pursuers, but from the light at the end of the tunnel that might soon go out.
Faster, faster!
Through the long dark tunnel, they pushed open a heavy iron door. Blinding sunlight surged in. They emerged onto a secluded alley. The vehicle for extraction was already in position.
“Get in!” Fu Chenyu opened the door.
Jiang Mian climbed in, the boxes at her feet. The vehicle roared off, putting the archive far behind.
She leaned against the seat, breathing hard, first scanning the edge of her vision.
Countdown: 00:23:17.
She picked up the comm, trying to contact the tunnel side, but only heard static. Rong Xubai did not respond either.
00:21:59.
00:19:48.
Her fingers were icy, clutching her coat tightly. Pei Yuyan…
00:17:31.
00:15:15.
The vehicle drove into the old industrial zone where the tunnel was located. Familiar sights flashed past the window.
00:12:05.
00:09:03.
[Golden bullet-text holding its breath, knowing the ending yet still gripped by anxiety]
[Trash Ex, Move Aside]: “Even though it’s a test, Big Boss Pei is definitely fine… but this tension is unbearable!”
[Today I Want Milk Tea]: “Sob sob sob, hurry up and reunite already!”
[System Repair Engineer]: “Anchor point stability simulation wave ended… test is about to complete.”
00:05:59.
00:03:17.
The car sped deeper into the old industrial zone. Abandoned factories, rusted pipes, overgrown train tracks… familiar yet strange.
“East exit, third fire hydrant!” Jiang Mian shouted.
Zhou Jian slammed the steering wheel. The car made a sharp turn, tires screeching on the gravel.
There it was.
The fire hydrant—red, rust-streaked, standing among the weeds by the roadside.
No one was there.
Jiang Mian’s heart froze.
She pushed open the car door and ran.
“Pei Yuyan?!”
No response.
Only the sound of wind through the overgrown grass and, faintly, a distant train whistle.
She reached the fire hydrant and crouched. The ground was marked with dried puddles, cigarette butts, broken glass—but no sign of him.
Countdown: 00:01:31.
“Pei Yuyan! Where are you?!”
Her voice echoed across the empty factory grounds, stirring a faint, hollow reverberation.
00:01:15.
00:01:00.
00:00:45.
At the edge of her vision, the red numbers began to flash violently, like a dying heartbeat.
00:00:30.
00:00:15.
00:00:05.
00:00:03.
00:00:02.
00:00:01.
00:00:00.
The numbers hit zero.
And then… they vanished.
As if they had never existed.
Jiang Mian froze in place.
The wind lifted her hair, brushing her cheeks, carrying the briny scent of the distant sea.
The world continued to turn. Sunlight still poured down. Weeds swayed in the breeze.
But the person who would whisper to her, “Watch your step,” who would tell her in her darkest moments, “I’m here,” who had risked everything because she consumed the γ‑7 samples…
Was gone.
She slowly crouched down, fingers touching the cold ground.
Something was stuck in her throat; she could not make a sound. Her eyes were dry—no tears could fall.
She just felt cold. Cold seeping from the bones themselves.
“Jiang Mian.”
A voice sounded behind her.
Soft. Hoarse. Exhausted to the very edge.
But she recognized it.
Every syllable, every inflection, every pause in the breathing.
She did not dare turn around.
Afraid that if she did, it would be an illusion. Afraid that if she turned, there would be nothing.
“Jiang Mian.” The voice came again, closer this time. “I’m here.”
She slowly turned around.
Pei Yuyan stood three steps away from her.
He wore the deep gray loungewear, dust and dark stains clinging to the fabric. His hair was messy, small scrapes marked his cheeks, his lips cracked and dry.
But his eyes—
Those deep gray eyes, like stars settled in still water—
Were looking at her.
Truly, clearly, carrying the exhaustion and tenderness of someone who had survived a catastrophe.
Jiang Mian opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
Pei Yuyan walked toward her. His steps were unsteady, but he reached her, stopped, and extended a hand, lightly touching her cheek.
His fingers were cold, yet in that instant of contact, they ignited every trace of warmth beneath her skin.
“I…” Jiang Mian finally found her voice, hoarse and unfamiliar even to herself. “I thought…”
“I know,” Pei Yuyan whispered. “When the countdown hit zero, I…”
He didn’t finish. He just looked at her, his eyes carrying the weight of an entire hidden world.
“What about Rong Xubai?” Jiang Mian asked. “The monitoring program—”
“Over,” Pei Yuyan interrupted. “It was a test, and the test is over. All violations… wiped clean.”
He paused, then added:
“The cost is that from now on, I’m just an ordinary person. Vulnerable, sick, aging, mortal—just an ordinary human.”
Tears finally spilled from Jiang Mian’s eyes.
Not tears of sadness. Not tears of joy. Something more complex, heavier—like a river long frozen suddenly thawing, releasing all the suppressed, frozen emotions she had dared not acknowledge.
She reached out, grasped his collar, and buried her face in his chest.
His heartbeat pressed through the fabric—real, strong, warm.
“Was it worth it?” she choked out. “To stay here… to give up everything…”
Pei Yuyan lowered his head, his chin gently resting on the crown of her hair.
“Jiang Mian,” his voice whispered into her ear, soft yet piercingly clear, “I didn’t stay here for the sake of staying.”
He paused.
“I stayed to stay by your side.”
The wind passed between them, stirring the dust on the ground, drawing golden streaks in the afternoon sunlight.
In the distance, Zhou Jian and Fu Chenyu stood by the car, not approaching.
Farther off, the city’s outline shimmered in the heat, like a watercolor painting still drying.
Jiang Mian lifted her head, tears blurring her vision as she looked at him.
“The evidence against the Shen family… I have it,” she said. “Everything. Every name, every blood debt, from 1967 until now.”
Pei Yuyan nodded. “I knew you would.”
“Shen Huaishan… he…” Jiang Mian’s voice trembled. “He dug out his own eye.”
“I know,” Pei Yuyan said softly. “Rong Xubai showed me the live feed. That was his final… atonement.”
Jiang Mian closed her eyes, drew a deep breath.
When she opened them again, the fog in her eyes had lifted, leaving only clarity and steadfast light.
“Let’s go home,” she said.
“Okay,” Pei Yuyan nodded. “Home.”
He took her hand.
The instant their palms touched, Jiang Mian felt something transfer from his hand to hers.
A small, cold metal object.
She opened her palm.
Resting there was a silver ring, plain, unadorned, with only a tiny inscription inside:
“Observation complete. Life begins.”
She lifted her gaze.
Pei Yuyan looked at her and smiled. For the first time, she saw such a genuine, unreserved smile on his face.
“A gift,” he said. “To celebrate… officially becoming a resident of this world.”
Jiang Mian smiled too.
She slid the ring onto the little finger of her left hand. A perfect fit.
Sunlight gleamed off the silver surface, scattering tiny sparks of light.
Like the first star finally shining at the end of a long, dark tunnel.