Scene One: The Silent Eye of the Bank
At 7:40 a.m., the dark gray marble facade of “Ruifeng Trust” Bank reflected the morning light with a cold, hard gleam.
Jiang Mian stood in the shadow of a plane tree, staring at the heavy brass door. She had changed into a cream-colored linen suit, her long hair loosely pinned up. Behind her straight-rim glasses, her gaze was calm and steady. Her handbag was a niche designer piece—perfectly matching the identity of “Chen Qian,” an art consultant for the curatorial company.
Inside the bag were only two items: her mother’s hardbound diary, and the pure black business card.
She took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
[Golden Bullet Comments Scroll Across Screen]
[Gossip Panda]: “7:40 a.m., non-business hours at the bank. The streamer pre-booked a special service.”
[Fire-Eye Crystal]: “Streamer’s heart rate 72, breathing steady. Fingers gripping the bag are slightly pale—she’s nervous.”
Inside was a five-meter-high lobby, its lighting carefully designed to produce no contrast in any surveillance footage. The air carried an expensive scent of sandalwood, and the thick carpet swallowed every step.
“Good morning,” a female manager in her forties greeted with a precise smile. “How may I assist you?”
“I have a reservation for a safe deposit box in Area B,” Jiang Mian said softly, showing her ID. “Surname Chen, Chen Qian. Reservation number B-07.”
The manager took the ID, tapping her tablet. Her gaze shifted twice between the screen and Jiang Mian’s face—each pause lasting exactly 0.8 seconds. A standard high-risk client verification protocol, perfected through internal training.
[Side-Profile Specialist Eye] Activated
Faint gold annotations appeared at the edges of Jiang Mian’s vision:
“Southeast corner, man in gray suit holding a newspaper three days old, flipping pages every 2.5 minutes, gaze drifting toward reception every 40 seconds.”
“Left-side front desk employee, phone three centimeters from ear while on call—listening for lobby movements.”
“Two guards near security door, fingers hovering over waist—non-standard baton shapes, likely compact firearms.”
The air was taut with invisible tension.
Three minutes later, the manager returned, smiling but with a layer of inscrutable depth in her eyes. “Miss Chen, please follow me. Area B is on Basement Level 3 and requires three verifications.”
Behind the brass door was a mirrored elevator. The descent produced a noticeable sense of weightlessness, and countless reflections of Jiang Mian and the manager multiplied in the mirror like a warped kaleidoscope.
Basement Level 3.
Cold white lights illuminated an endless corridor lined with countless silver lockers. B-07 was at the far end.
The manager stopped three steps before the locker. “You may operate alone. I’ll wait at the elevator. Fifteen-minute limit—exceeding triggers a lock and alarm.”
The sound of heels receded, swallowed by the security door.
Jiang Mian approached the locker. Its screen glowed blue: “Enter Password.”
—The password was her birthday in reverse, plus her mother’s initials.
Her mother’s words echoed in her mind. Jiang Mian calculated quickly: original birthday, August 19, 2001, reversed: 91082001. Mother Song Yun, initial S.
Input: 91082001S
The screen flickered and prompted a second step: “Place the specified item on the scanning area.”
A palm-sized transparent tray slid out from the side.
Specified item?
Jiang Mian’s fingers touched the silver chain she had never removed—the snowflake pendant she had worn since childhood. Under the cold light, the pendant’s center showed fine seams.
She carefully pried it open.
Click.
The snowflake split in two, revealing a tiny silver metal piece, smaller than a grain of rice, nearly transparent.
She placed it on the tray.
The tray retracted, the scanner glowed red. Three seconds later, the screen displayed: “Item verified. Iris scan activated.”
Jiang Mian looked up at the scanner.
Red light swept over her eyes.
“Verification complete. Welcome, Jiang Mian.”
The mechanical voice rang sharply in the silent corridor.
The locker opened.
Inside lay a palm-sized black metal box. Light as a feather. She opened it. On black velvet sat a transparent micro-crystal, rainbow-flecked. Beside it was a tiny folded note.
Unfolding it, her mother’s hurried handwriting read:
“The micro-crystal contains the core data backup of the ‘Iris Project’ and related evidence. Go to the ‘Guanhai Pavilion’ guesthouse in Binhai City to meet Boss Wu. Tell him you’re picking up the ‘July Deposited Painting.’ Password: the first line of your favorite nursery rhyme, in numeric notation. Beware of the Shen family. Trust no one. —Mom”
The writing ended crisply.
Jiang Mian folded the note, placed it and the crystal in her inner pocket. She closed the box, returned it to the locker, and locked it.
She turned toward the elevator.
Three steps in, she froze.
From the far end of the corridor, near the elevator, came faint footsteps, almost swallowed by the carpet.
Not just one person. Their pace trained, disciplined.
Jiang Mian instantly sidestepped into the narrow gap between lockers, pressing her back to the cold metal, holding her breath.
The footsteps drew closer.
Through the gap, she saw two men in black tactical gear appear at the corridor entrance. No badges, weapons bulging at their waists. They scanned the corridor quickly; one spoke into a comms device.
They were waiting for someone.
Jiang Mian’s fingers brushed the modified stun pen in her bag. Her eyes calculated distance, angle, escape routes.
Just as one of them stepped toward her—
[System Notice: Message from “Observer-01”]
“Southeast ventilation grate, third screw loosened. Passage leads to Basement Level 2 parking. Now.”
Golden text appeared at the edge of her vision, sharp as engraving.
Jiang Mian’s pupils contracted.
No hesitation.
She lunged toward the southeast wall, fingers slipping precisely into the vent grate. She pulled hard—
Click!
The grate fell away, revealing a dark duct.
Shouts and hurried footsteps erupted behind her!
Jiang Mian crawled into the duct, yanking the grate back into place. The passage was narrow, dusty, and reeked of machine oil. She moved forward on her stomach. Behind her, metal thuds echoed—the grate was temporarily jammed.
[Golden Bullet Comments]
[Where’s My Camera]: “Definitely Shen family! There’s an insider in the bank!”
[Bap Bap Little Mouth]: “Streamer’s skills! Clearly trained!”
[Logic Cat]: “Observer-01 knew this too? What dimension is he in?”
[Dopamine OK?]: “Keep crawling! I heard the grate being tampered with!”
Scene Two: Probing and Temperature at the Airport
The duct had several sharp right-angle turns. Jiang Mian relied on her instincts and the flow of air to judge directions. Her elbows and knees scraped against the rough metal, stinging painfully. After three minutes, a faint light appeared ahead.
Another grate.
She pushed it aside, and fresh air rushed in. Below was the basement level 2 parking lot, armored cash transport vehicles parked neatly. She flipped down and rolled smoothly onto the ground.
No sooner had she regained her footing than the door of a black business van slid open.
Zhou Jian was in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, the other idly flicking a lighter. He raised an eyebrow upon seeing her. “Looks like my timing was just right.”
Jiang Mian hurried to the van. “How are you here?”
“The bank wasn’t peaceful this morning,” Zhou Jian said, starting the engine and pulling out of the lot. “I heard the Shen family’s second branch was keeping an eye on a few ‘special clients’ in the safe deposit area, just to see the action. Didn’t expect it to be you.”
He glanced at her, eyes playful yet probing. “Did you get what you came for?”
“Yes.” Jiang Mian checked the rearview mirror—no one was tailing them.
The car merged into the morning traffic. Zhou Jian drove steadily, taking several turns to shake off any potential followers.
“Flight to Binhai City booked?”
“The morning after tomorrow.”
“Want me to have someone meet you there?”
Jiang Mian paused for two seconds. She thought of Fu Chenyi’s steady gaze, and of Zhou Jian’s faintly amused expression. These two men—one like a mountain, one like a dark river.
“Not for now,” she said. “Fu Chenyi said he’ll arrange it.”
Zhou Jian chuckled low in the car. “Fu Chenyi… he does care about you.”
There was a subtle undertone in that sentence.
Jiang Mian didn’t respond, simply watching the city pass by. Sunlight reflected off glass buildings, scattering like countless prying eyes.
“Do you know why the Shen family’s second branch is so eager to get that ‘eye-like thing’?” Zhou Jian suddenly asked.
Jiang Mian turned her head.
“Next month, Shen Huaishan is making a major deal with a longstanding European consortium,” Zhou Jian tapped the steering wheel idly. “The consortium’s head is a collector obsessed with all things ‘eye,’ ‘surveillance,’ and ‘omniscience.’ The Shen family wants to use that object as their entry ticket.”
He paused, a faintly cold smile tugging at his lips.
“Shen Yanxin is embroiled in a foundation scandal, which displeases Shen Huaishan. The second branch wants to seize the opportunity to completely replace Shen Yanxin and her father in the group. So… you’re not only a thorn in Shen Yanxin’s side, but also an obstacle the second branch must remove.”
Jiang Mian listened quietly, expression unchanged. “So Binhai City isn’t just about investigating my parents.”
“Smart.” Zhou Jian pressed the gas, speeding past an intersection. “It’s the trap the second branch set… and also the stage where you show your value.”
He glanced at her, eyes revealing an almost appreciative light.
“Jiang Mian, I’m curious—how will you break this game?”
She said nothing.
She simply looked out the window, watching the city wake under the morning sun. The chessboard was set, and the pieces in position.
The car stopped below the safe house.
Jiang Mian opened the door. Zhou Jian suddenly called after her, “Jiang Mian.”
She turned.
For once, his gaze was serious. “Don’t die there. If you die, the show isn’t worth watching.”
“I won’t die,” she replied.
Zhou Jian smiled and fell silent. The car slowly drove away.
Jiang Mian stayed where she was, watching the taillights vanish around the corner. Then she turned and went upstairs.
The room was quiet. She went to the desk, placed the micro-crystal and note into a waterproof seal bag, and hid it in the bottom of a heavy art history tome on the shelf.
Afterward, she sat on the sofa and closed her eyes.
Images of the bank flashed through her mind—the two men in black, the vent, Zhou Jian’s perfectly timed appearance.
Too convenient.
Convenient enough that it felt prearranged.
She thought of the golden words at the edge of her vision, and the ever-present “Observer-01” who appeared at critical moments.
Who was he?
Jiang Mian opened her eyes and looked into the empty room.
“You there?” she asked softly. Her voice sounded unusually clear in the quiet.
No reply.
Yet she felt strangely supported—perhaps he was listening.
Being watched from afar had once made her uneasy, but now it became a kind of anchor. In a world full of schemes and malice, someone, unseen, had quietly lit a light for her.
She stood and walked to the window. Streets below teemed with traffic.
And in two days, she would go to Binhai City.
To that trap, and to that stage.
Two days later, early morning, the international departures hall of the airport.
Jiang Mian wheeled her suitcase, wearing a white shirt and jeans, long hair loose under a beige fisher hat. She looked like an ordinary girl traveling on business.
“Chen Qian’s” passport cleared security and customs smoothly.
She chose a sparsely populated seat, flipped through an art magazine, but kept her peripheral vision alert.
[Side-Profile Specialist Eye] silently running
Faint gold notes appeared:
“Couple to the left-front: woman’s engagement ring is new, man’s finger shows long-term ring imprint—relationship questionable.”
“Businessman to the right-rear: watch strap shows minor scratches, suit sleeves pristine—likely recently changed.”
“Girl diagonal across wearing headphones: tapping rhythm on knee is Mozart K.545 I movement—professionally trained.”
All details, all worth noting.
Boarding announcement sounded.
She rose and walked toward the gate. Just as she passed the jet bridge, rapid footsteps followed.
“Miss! Wait!”
A man in airport uniform caught up, panting. “Are you Ms. Chen Qian?”
Jiang Mian stopped and turned. “I am. Yes? What is it?”
“There’s an issue with your luggage at security,” he handed her a slip, sweat beading his temple. “We need you to reconfirm at the counter. It won’t take long—we arranged a fast track for you.”
He smiled politely, but his shoulder stripes were crooked, and the photo on his badge didn’t match his face.
Jiang Mian lightly traced the edge of her boarding pass.
“Luggage issue?” she asked with just the right amount of doubt. “I only have this suitcase, and it passed security.”
“It’s a random system check,” the man said urgently. “Please come with me briefly. Otherwise it may delay your flight.”
She froze the instant the door opened.
The room smelled faintly of damp wood and old paper, a mix of the sea-salt air that had seeped in through the windows and the lingering scent of the previous occupant’s perfume. The curtains fluttered lightly in the soft breeze coming from the open balcony, revealing a gray sky and rain streaking down the glass.
Nothing seemed out of place at first glance. The furniture was orderly; the desk had only a laptop and a notepad. Yet, Jiang Mian felt it immediately—the subtle dissonance in the air, the way the shadows in the corners didn’t quite line up with the light.
She stepped in, letting the door click shut behind her, and her senses flared. Her eyes swept the room in precise arcs, hands lightly brushing the seams of her jacket where weapons or tools might be concealed.
Then she noticed it: a small envelope tucked under the leg of the desk chair. Its corner was slightly bent, as if it had been hastily pushed there.
Instinctively, she crouched, reaching for it.
Before touching it, she paused and listened. Rain pattered on the balcony above, mingling with the distant hum of city traffic, masking any faint sounds of movement. Still, she sensed a presence—someone had been in the room recently, and had left this intentionally.
Opening the envelope, she found a single sheet of paper. The handwriting was unfamiliar, neat but with an almost mechanical precision. It read:
Her heart skipped.
“Observer-01…” she whispered, the name escaping involuntarily.
The sound of rain, the quiet hum of the air conditioner, even the muted click of her own breathing—it all seemed amplified. For a moment, she allowed herself to lean against the desk, closing her eyes and letting her mind trace the familiar patterns of protective observation that had guided her from the bank to the airport.
Outside, the city continued in its indifferent rhythm. Inside, in the corner of a shadowed hotel room on the twenty-eighth floor, a young woman folded the note carefully, slipping it into the inner pocket of her jacket, next to the crystal microchip her mother had left her.
Her gaze lifted to the window, where the rain blurred the edges of the skyline.
Binhai City.
The trap was already laid. The stage was set. And she—Jiang Mian—was now firmly in the center.
But for the first time since the bank, she didn’t feel completely alone. Somewhere unseen, someone was still watching, still guiding, still… protecting.
She took a slow, steadying breath.
“Let’s see what you’ve got for me,” she murmured to the empty room, almost smiling at the thought.
Outside, the rain fell harder, washing the city streets in a muted silver light. Inside, a chess game of shadow, trust, and danger had officially begun.
There was someone in the room.
The curtains were drawn tight, leaving only a single floor lamp lit. In the dim yellow light, a man stood by the window, back to her, scrolling on his phone.
At the sound of the door opening, he turned.
It was Gu Xingye.
He wore a dark gray casual suit, no tie, shirt collar loose. His face was slightly pale, with faint shadows under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept well. Seeing her, he opened his mouth as if to speak, but in the end only croaked two words:
“Jiang Mian.”
There was a fragility in his voice, a weariness she had never heard before.
She stayed at the doorway, hand still on the doorknob, not stepping inside.
“How are you here?” she asked calmly.
Gu Xingye took a step forward, the floor lamp’s light illuminating the complex emotions on his face—struggle, guilt, and a resolute desperation.
“I came to tell you something,” he said, each word seeming to roll through his throat, “about fourteen years ago… the fire in your father’s laboratory. The truth.”
He paused, staring into her eyes, voice almost inaudible:
“That fire… it wasn’t an accident.”
“It was my mother who had someone set it.”
Silence fell in the room.
Only the faint hum of the air conditioning and the muffled thump of the sea wind against the window could be heard.
Jiang Mian stood at the door, fingers still gripping the cold knob.
She looked at Gu Xingye, at the pain and near self-destructive honesty in his eyes, expressionless.
Then, softly, almost like a sigh, she asked:
“Why tell me now?”
Gu Xingye tugged at the corner of his mouth, a smile more awkward than crying:
“Because if I don’t… by the time you return from Binhai City, I may never get the chance.”
He looked at her, hoarse:
“Jiang Mian, Binhai City is a trap. The Second Branch of the Shen family, my mother—they’ve set everything up there. You alone… you can’t get out.”
“So,” Jiang Mian released her grip on the door and slowly walked into the room, voice still calm, “you’re here to convince me to give up?”
“No.” Gu Xingye shook his head, something in his eyes breaking and reforming, “I’m here… to make a deal with you.”
He took a deep breath, as if summoning all his courage:
“I’ll give you all the information on the Shen Second Branch’s layout in Binhai City, the secret agreement between my mother and Shen Huaishan, and… all the evidence from that fire.”
“The condition,” he said, locking eyes with her, word by word, “is that I stay by your side. Let me… protect you this time.”
The room sank into silence again.
The sea wind outside seemed stronger, rattling the window panes.
Jiang Mian walked to the sofa and sat, not looking at Gu Xingye, only at the warm yellow glow cast by the floor lamp on the carpet.
After a long pause, she finally spoke, voice light like a sigh:
“Gu Xingye, do you know why I never had expectations of you?”
Gu Xingye didn’t respond, just watched her.
“Because for fourteen years, every choice you made stood against me.” Jiang Mian lifted her gaze, calm and steady. “And now you say you want to protect me… how am I supposed to trust you?”
Gu Xingye’s Adam’s apple moved; his face grew paler.
He sat on the single sofa across from her, hands clasped on his knees, knuckles white from tension.
“I know,” he said, voice low. “So this time, I don’t ask you to trust me.”
He lifted his head, a near-obsessive light in his eyes:
“You just need to use me. Use the information I give you, use my mother’s trust in me, use my status as the Gu family heir—just so you can survive in this city, find what you’re looking for, and leave safely.”
“Then,” he tugged the corner of his mouth, “when you go back, however you want to take revenge… I’ll accept it.”
Jiang Mian watched him.
At that moment—
The system shivered in her consciousness.
[System Message: User “Observer-01”]
“What Gu Xingye said about the fire is true. His mother, Chen Manli, made a deal with Shen Huaishan: the Shen family would help the Gu family acquire the East City land, and the Gu family would deal with Jiang Mingyuan, the ‘problem.’ What Gu Xingye doesn’t know is—his mother’s real target wasn’t the lab itself, but the evidence in the lab proving Shen Huaishan’s involvement in smuggling restricted research materials. Your father was silenced because of that.”
The golden text lingered before her eyes for ten seconds.
Her heart thudded hard, but her expression remained calm. She simply looked at Gu Xingye for a long moment.
Then, she spoke softly:
“Okay.”
Gu Xingye froze. “…What?”
“I agree to this deal.” Jiang Mian stood, walked to the window, and pulled aside a corner of the curtain. Below stretched the bustling streets of Binhai City, weaving traffic, the distant sea iron-gray and unyielding.
She turned her back to him, voice steady:
“Tell me everything you know. The Second Branch’s layout, your mother’s agreement with Shen Huaishan, and… every detail of that fire—what you remember, what you heard, what you suspect. Everything.”
She turned to face him:
“And when I need you, do exactly as I say.”
Gu Xingye’s eyes lit up briefly, then dimmed again. He nodded, voice hoarse: “Okay.”
“Now,” Jiang Mian returned to the sofa and sat, “start from the beginning.”
Gu Xingye took a deep breath and began to speak.
Outside, the sky grew darker, the sea wind howled.
And in a dimension they could not see, Pei Yuyan quietly watched the screen, observing Jiang Mian listening calmly to Gu Xingye’s confession, catching the fleeting fatigue in her eyes that even he had not noticed.
He pulled up the map of Binhai City, marking the location of the “Guanhaige” guesthouse, and the three Shen Second Branch surveillance points around it.
Then, he opened the observation log, recording:
“Sample D-7392—Jiang Mian, on the first day in Binhai City, came into contact with key information source ‘Gu Xingye.’ Sample displayed high rationality and strategic thinking; emotional fluctuations remained within threshold. Observer intervention level: medium (providing key background information).”
“Note: Sample’s reliance on observer messages has increased; emotional connection continues to deepen.”
After recording, he closed the log, staring at Jiang Mian’s profile on the screen.
She was asking Gu Xingye a question, calm and focused.
Pei Yuyan watched for a long while.
Then, he extended his hand, fingertips lightly brushing the screen over her cheek across an entire dimension.
Silently, he said:
“Be careful.”
“I’m here.”