Jiang Cheng floored the accelerator, and the police car roared forward, leaving the pursuit and shouting behind in its wake.

The investigation unit quickly reported the situation up the chain. Upon hearing the news, Tan Shiming’s expression darkened instantly, and he cursed: “Outrageous! Outrageous!!”

He grabbed the radio handset and had Bai Yang switch to the police frequency, then bellowed through the vehicle radio: “Jiang Cheng, I am ordering you to stop the car immediately! Are you trying to get yourself killed?!”

He had noticed early on how stubbornly Jiang Cheng had insisted on participating in the operation, and had feared exactly this kind of trouble—which was why he had assigned Zhou Jin to stay by his side as personal protection. He never imagined that Jiang Cheng would abandon even Zhou Jin without a second thought, acting so recklessly in his drive to avenge Yao Weihai and Meng Junfeng.

Tan Shiming suppressed the anxiety and fury in his chest and attempted to reason with him: “Jiang Cheng, I understand the grievances in your heart. Once the operation is over, I will write a report and formally request that your status as a police officer be reinstated.”

“Thank you, Captain Tan.”

Jiang Cheng smiled, revealing the sharp point of one canine tooth. But the smile never reached his eyes—it dissolved instead into a deep, brooding ferocity.

“I won’t be needing that anymore.”

Jiang Cheng switched off the vehicle radio and drove straight in the direction of the factory.

By now, the special police unit had already deployed, silently and swiftly neutralizing the four sentries on watch.

From the bodies, they recovered four homemade handguns.

The moment this news reached the command center, the atmosphere tightened like a bowstring. Every person present revised their assessment of this criminal outfit’s firepower.

Tan Shiming once again reminded the other commanders at the center: five years ago, this group had engineered the notorious “8·17” gun heist that had shaken the entire law enforcement world—killing two of their special police officers in the process. Then, during the Jingang operation, they had struck back, murdering task force leader Yao Weihai and undercover officer Meng Junfeng. They had even used money to corrupt police officers, embedding informants deep within the public security system…

They were nothing like an ordinary criminal organization. Their savagery had reached depths that defied description.

After eliminating the sentries, the special police unit followed orders and launched a lightning assault on the factory.

At that moment, Tan Shiming’s phone began to buzz.

He would normally have dismissed it immediately, but he glanced down at the screen—and the caller was Jiang Hansheng.

Tan Shiming stepped quickly out of the command room and into the corridor, then pressed answer: “Professor Jiang?”

Jiang Hansheng was driving, speeding down the highway with his speedometer pushed to its limit. The roadside lampposts blurred together in an almost continuous line of light, flashing across the car window in rapid streaks.

His handsome face flickered in and out of shadow beneath the passing lights.

“Zhou Jin is participating in the Kuang Mountain operation to close the net?” Jiang Hansheng asked, wearing a black earpiece.

Tan Shiming frowned and shot back: “How did you know?”

Jiang Hansheng glanced at the red location marker on his phone and chose not to press further on why Tan Shiming had sent Zhou Jin out into the field. He said simply: “I’ll be there soon. Captain Tan, I have faced Qi Yan in person—no one knows him better than I do. I’ll do everything I can to help.”

Tan Shiming grew anxious: “Then you should come to the command center! What are you going to Kuang Mountain for?!”

“Qi Yan knows Zhou Jin,” Jiang Hansheng said. “I’m not at ease leaving her there.”

Tan Shiming was momentarily taken aback. He steadied himself and explained: “You don’t need to worry. Zhou Jin is only with the investigation unit this time—she isn’t directly involved in the action. She’s completely safe right now.”

A cold, prickling numbness crept gradually up Jiang Hansheng’s right arm. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his brows and eyes both darkening, and said with quiet stubbornness: “I want to see with my own eyes that Zhou Jin is safe. Captain Tan—consider it a personal favor.”

Tan Shiming’s brow knitted. After a brief pause, he asked: “Where are you now?”

In the rearview mirror, the familiar warmth had drained entirely from Jiang Hansheng’s expression. He narrowed his eyes slightly, the corners of his gaze both elegant and sharp as a blade.

“Almost into the mountain,” he said. “License plate Hai E·5D088. Tell the checkpoint officers to let me through.”

……

The sky had deepened to a dusky half-darkness. Inside Kuang Mountain, the light was dim and dim, and night mist drifted in thick veils.

In the first workshop, four enormous furnaces roared with blazing fire. The building had no powerful cooling equipment, and even though the mountain air grew cooler at night, the temperature inside the workshop was at the very least forty degrees Celsius.

Billowing white steam soaked everyone to the skin with sweat, and the air was thick with a faintly acrid, bitter smell.

Dozens of people were busy here, toiling over the simmering of raw opium.

One team of special police first subdued two workers near the entrance who were smoking and mopping their brows, then the rest of the unit swept in swiftly, bringing every person within visible range under the threat of their weapons.

The squad leader fired a single shot into the air as a warning, and shouted: “Police! Nobody move! Hands up!”

The crack of the gunshot struck like a thunderbolt, sending workers cowering and ducking with their heads in their hands—and then, following the command, they raised their hands.

After a few quick questions, it became clear that all of these people were villagers from Yaitou Village. With nothing to do in their spare time, they had been hired to work at the factory.

Their role was only to carry out the first step of the simmering process; they were not involved in any subsequent production, and therefore had no idea they were handling raw opium. In private, some had speculated that this might be a small factory illegally producing traditional Chinese medicine.

The wages, however, were extraordinarily generous—three months of pay here equaled three years of wages earned working elsewhere. So everyone kept their mouths shut and pocketed the money, keeping watch over one another to make sure no one reported anything.

The squad leader continued to question them about the factory’s supervisor. Then, without warning, the police dog erupted into furious barking. Before anyone could make sense of what was happening, a sharp metallic clang rang out from the silence—something small and solid struck the ground and rolled forward, round as an iron ball, tumbling toward them with a rattling spin.

The squad leader’s heart lurched. He shouted: “Get down!”

Even as the order left his lips, he had already spotted it—the grenade had rolled to a stop at the feet of a young team member.

As squad leader, his instinct drove him forward to shield his subordinate.

In that split second of flickering light and shadow, a dark figure suddenly burst into motion—agile as a black leopard—and kicked the grenade away with one foot, then grabbed the young special police officer and pulled him flat to the ground.

“BOOM——!”

The grenade exploded with a thunderous blast.

It was a crude, homemade device—the smoke was considerable, but its destructive power was limited; it was not enough to maim anyone. Nevertheless, the shockwave overturned one of the furnaces, and scalding liquid surged out and splashed across the several villagers standing closest to it.

The workshop erupted into screaming chaos, the cries of the burned villagers piercing and wretched. The squad leader immediately called for the medical team to stand by. Before him, black smoke billowed and rolled—everything was mayhem.

The figure who had thrown himself forward to save the young officer was Jiang Cheng.

In the swirling dust, Jiang Cheng braced himself up slightly and looked at the special police officer lying beside him.

“Are you all right?” Jiang Cheng asked.

The man was fine—just briefly disoriented—and said: “That was close. Thank you.”

For some reason, looking at him, Jiang Cheng was suddenly reminded of Zhou Chuan from their days together in the special police unit.

There had been a time, years ago, when Jiang Cheng had gone to the high school division to play basketball with Zhou Chuan’s team.

During the game, an opponent, trying to stop Zhou Chuan, had deliberately sent a player to foul him.

Zhou Chuan stumbled and fell, and lay on the ground clutching his knees for a long time, unable to get up.

Jiang Cheng had never seen Zhou Chuan in that much pain. Furious, he slammed the basketball to the ground and lunged at that player, fists flying.

The moment he swung, both sides surged to their feet and piled in, and a full-blown brawl broke out.

Jiang Cheng was still in middle school at the time. He hadn’t lost the upper hand exactly—but he’d taken a severe beating himself, setting off a catastrophic uproar that ended with Zhou Chuan being disciplined alongside him.

That evening, back home, Jiang Cheng lay face-down on the bed, too sore to move. Zhou Chuan rubbed medicated wine into the bruises across his back.

Zhou Chuan had not scolded him for his hot-headedness or for causing trouble. Instead, he had simply sighed and said: “You little troublemaker—thank you.”

“Thank you.”

Jiang Cheng smiled to himself at the memory, then hauled himself up from the ground, covered in ash and grime.

Taking advantage of the chaos following the explosion, a tall figure slipped out through a small door at the back of the workshop.

Jiang Cheng was closest to the rear exit at that moment. Through the billowing black smoke, he caught a glimpse of a figure darting through the back door and fleeing into the night.

Something about the silhouette struck him as familiar—a slight limp to the gait. It looked like one of He Wu’s bodyguards. The sixth one in the hierarchy. The one they called Ghost Six.

The squad leader was issuing orders, restoring control over the villagers inside the workshop, while at the same time hurrying to check on the young officer—who flashed an “OK” sign to signal that he was conscious and unhurt.

The squad leader exhaled with relief, then turned toward Jiang Cheng. He was about to ask whether he was the officer the command center had flagged for acting without authorization—but before the question left his mouth, gunfire erupted outside the workshop.

It must have been one of the other assault teams, closing in on a different building and finding the criminals—bang! bang! bang!

It was impossible to tell which side was shooting!

But from the sound, all three shots seemed to have struck elsewhere, hitting nothing.

Jiang Cheng’s brow tightened. He bolted after the fleeing figure without hesitation. The squad leader left four officers to keep watch over the villagers, then led the rest of his team in pursuit.

……

Through the forest, the distant baying of police dogs echoed back and forth.

Far away, a rapid series of sharp cracks rang out—like firecrackers, but Zhou Jin knew better. It was gunfire, coming from inside the factory. The special police had engaged the criminals.

Zhou Jin was still handcuffed, her heart burning with urgency, her wrists chafed red and swollen from her struggles.

She forced herself to calm down and waited with patient desperation for a colleague from the investigation unit to bring the universal key.

It wasn’t long before her colleague pressed the key into her hands. She gripped it tightly, fingers trembling as she searched for the keyhole—she missed it several times in a row.

Zhou Jin’s eyes filled with tears from the frustration. She bit down and cursed through her teeth: “Bastard…! Self-righteous bastard!”

Click—— The handcuff snapped open.

Without a moment’s thought, Zhou Jin yanked the car door shut, dove into the driver’s seat of the off-road vehicle, started the engine, jammed down the accelerator and wrenched the steering wheel hard. The off-road vehicle let out a low roar and tore off in the direction Jiang Cheng had gone.

The tires churned through the mud and launched it spraying in all directions, carving two deep gouges into the earth as the vehicle sped away.

Up ahead, the crack of the first gunshot had immediately put those at the rear on high alert.

Ghost Six—the one who had detonated the grenade and slipped away in the chaos—had taken a bullet to the left leg during the exchange of fire.

He hobbled and limped at a frantic run until he found He Wu, who had taken shelter inside one of the workshops, and breathlessly reported: “Boss He, it’s bad! The police have broken in!”

He Wu’s round eyes went wide, and sweat immediately poured down his face. The fat on both cheeks trembled. His features normally carried the amiable look of a businessman, but now that warmth had entirely curdled—his expression had become dark and unsettling.

“Get your guns!” He Wu pointed at someone at random. “Go tell Seventh Uncle and the others—get out while there’s still cover.”

Acting on He Wu’s orders, about a dozen men emerged from the workshop, armed and ready, and prepared to meet the coming battle head-on.

These men were all hardened criminals, utterly unafraid of killing or being killed. Using the darkness and whatever cover they could find, they opened fire on the closing special police unit.

Bullets from both sides wove together into a ferocious storm.

The gunfire was dense and relentless, one volley answering the next, the sound tearing through the night sky and rolling in long echoes through the quiet of the mountain forest.

Jiang Cheng’s gaze swept through the dark, and under the crossfire, he moved swiftly from the flank, slipping around to the workshop at the rear.

Each workshop was modest in height but built on two floors.

The walls of the upper level were lined with windows. Through the glass, Jiang Cheng spotted one window with an orange light bulb hanging behind it.

Still lit.

He suspected someone was still inside. He crouched behind a stack of iron drums piled against the outer wall and checked the remaining rounds in his handgun.

Without warning, a scramble of footsteps broke the silence. Jiang Cheng went on high alert and pressed himself further into the shadows.

He Wu’s voice drifted through the night, taut with panic: “I’ve already sent Seventh Uncle on ahead. We’ll drive and smash through, but the police must have checkpoints set up all along the way. What are we supposed to do?”

He seemed to be on a phone call.

He Wu kept walking, kept talking, his voice fraying with desperation: “I’ll take care of the goods! I’m asking you—how do we get out of here?!”

“……”

The phone signal was forcibly blocked. No reply came through. He Wu’s expression twisted with fury.

He ground his back molars together and, in a fit of rage, hurled his phone to the ground and smashed it.

Ghost Six, slightly cooler-headed, asked: “Boss He, what do we do now?”

He Wu narrowed his eyes and drew the gun from inside his coat. “What’s there to be afraid of? At worst, we all go down together!”

He didn’t linger. He led three of his men at a rapid pace toward the rearmost workshop, where timber was stored.

With only two bullets left in his gun and the special police temporarily pinned down by the criminals’ firepower, Jiang Cheng weighed his options and decided to follow quietly, waiting for the right moment to subdue He Wu.

He trailed them to the last workshop and peered inside.

He Wu and his three men were dousing the heroin-refining equipment and semi-finished product in gasoline, intending either to burn the place to the ground—or to make their last stand here against the incoming special police and take as many with them as they could.

Neither outcome was acceptable to Jiang Cheng.

He raised his eyes and did a quick sweep of the workshop, rapidly mapping out its layout.

Then he turned away, pressed his back flat against the cold wall, closed his eyes, and took three slow, deep breaths.

He pressed his lips to the knuckle of his left hand—the finger where a ring had once been—and without further hesitation, spun around and fired two shots at He Wu and his three men.

The fastest to react among them was Ghost Six. Hearing the footsteps, he immediately moved to shield He Wu and ducked behind a pile of timber, returning fire with three shots.

Jiang Cheng had taken down two of them—but he hadn’t managed to reach cover in time, and one of Ghost Six’s bullets grazed his arm, narrowly missing the bone.

He threw himself into a roll, tumbling behind the nearest cargo crate.

Searing pain blazed through his arm and radiated through his entire body. Jiang Cheng gasped for breath, dropped the now-empty police pistol, and pressed his hand over the wound.

Blood poured steadily through his fingers. The pain was so intense that cold sweat ran down his face—tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, trickling into the hollow of his neck.

“He Wu!” Jiang Cheng shouted. “You have nowhere left to run!”

He Wu recognized the voice—Jiang Cheng. Rage flooded through him, and he ground out: “Jiang Cheng—after all the trust I placed in you, you betrayed your own brothers!”

“I was never your brother. We were always enemies.” Jiang Cheng said. “Boss He, don’t walk yourself into a dead end. Surrender now, and you’ll still have a chance to atone.”

“Atone?”

He Wu blasted two shots at the cargo crates Jiang Cheng was sheltering behind. Jiang Cheng pulled himself deeper into the shadows.

“I ran a business—what exactly do I have to atone for?” He Wu shouted. “It’s you who should be answering for yourself! Down in the ground, alongside A’Wen! He treated you like a real brother, and even on his deathbed, he asked me to look after you!”

The thought that his own biological brother had placed his trust so completely in someone like this only fed He Wu’s rage further.

“Jiang Cheng, who have you ever been loyal to?! You’ve killed so many police officers—it was you who killed Yao Weihai, wasn’t it? And what about A’Feng? He’s dead—so why are you still alive?!”

He Wu’s blood was surging violently through him. He hated Jiang Cheng with a hatred he couldn’t seem to exhaust no matter how viciously he lashed out.

“You killed police officers, and the police will kill you. Ha—hahaha—isn’t it funny, being an undercover agent? Throwing your life away for nothing! Fine! You’re undercover, are you? I’ll make sure you stay undercover for good!”

Bang! Bang——!

Two more shots, fired like a purge of fury.

The cargo crates behind Jiang Cheng were packed with beer bottles. As wood splinters flew, glass shattered and dark liquid surged out like a flood, spilling in every direction.

Jiang Cheng seized the moment to shift positions and move to a new piece of cover. He had just gotten to his feet when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a dark shape lunging at him from the side.

He spun around. A violent kick came screaming at his face. Jiang Cheng crossed his arms to block, but even so, Ghost Six’s blow drove him staggering backward, and he pitched to the ground.

Ghost Six pressed his advantage and bore down on him, stomping savagely down onto Jiang Cheng’s right ankle.

There was no time to dodge. The impact was like a boulder crushing his ankle—pain detonated through the bone.

He grunted and bit back the worst of it, kicked Ghost Six away with his left foot, and scrambled to his feet, half-crawling to put another crate between them, staying alert for He Wu’s gun.

Ghost Six’s left leg was still wounded; he moved with a slight drag, one side of his body dipping lower. He walked slowly toward Jiang Cheng.

“Jiang Cheng—we treated you well. Aren’t you afraid of karmic retribution?”

Jiang Cheng laughed bitterly: “Because of you lot—every last one of you—I have nothing left. What is there left to fear? The only thing I’m afraid of is not living to see you all go down.”

“Then let’s see who dies first!” Ghost Six’s face turned savage.

Jiang Cheng decided to gamble, and threw himself directly at Ghost Six’s injured left leg.

Ghost Six cried out in pain, his center of gravity lurching sideways, and he crashed hard to the ground. The instant his head struck the floor, a violent wave of dizziness overwhelmed him, and Ghost Six lost consciousness momentarily.

Jiang Cheng drove his knee down onto Ghost Six’s chest, clamped his left hand around the man’s throat, and drove his right fist squarely into his face.

The blow was merciless. Ghost Six’s nose snapped, and blood erupted from it at once. A second punch followed immediately, shattering whatever remnants of consciousness Ghost Six had managed to cling to.

Seeing Ghost Six losing ground, He Wu fired one more shot at Jiang Cheng—the bullet went wide, but the muzzle flash in an environment saturated with gasoline fumes and spilled alcohol ignited a sudden roaring blaze.

In what felt like the blink of an eye, the fire engulfed the gasoline and erupted skyward. The flames rose higher and higher. Nearby, an oil drum ruptured—a blast of scorching heat rolled out in a billowing wave.

With the way forward blocked and fire closing in on all sides, He Wu had no path left. He gripped his gun and ran for the stairs. Jiang Cheng didn’t hesitate—he lurched to his feet and gave chase.

He Wu fired several more shots in rapid succession, but even emptying his gun couldn’t slow Jiang Cheng’s pursuit.

He Wu reached the upper landing and turned to face Jiang Cheng as he closed in.

He Wu had his back to the railing. Beyond the railing was the churning, roaring inferno. The waves of heat blistered him, sweat rolling down in streams. He was cornered with no room to retreat, and his mind was racing desperately for any way out.

Jiang Cheng was nearly spent. He pressed his hand over the wound in his bleeding arm, his steps heavy and slow—yet he was relentless, advancing one stride at a time, herding He Wu to the edge of the abyss.

“Stop fighting,” he said quietly. “Give it up, Boss He…”

He Wu laughed—a laugh that made the fat on his cheeks tremble—an ugly, terrifying thing. He said: “Jiang Cheng, you’re like a rabid dog.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Jiang Cheng managed a weak, exhausted smile. “Your gun is empty. Throw it down. Put your hands up. You might escape a beating.”

He Wu was no fighter. Without a weapon, he was no match for Jiang Cheng.

“All right—all right. I give up.”

He Wu tossed his gun into the inferno below and raised both hands in surrender.

Lengths of rope were coiled along the railing. Jiang Cheng unwound one and began binding He Wu’s wrists. As he worked, he asked: “Where is Old Scorpion?”

He Wu: “You haven’t noticed? He was never here.”

Jiang Cheng: “Then where is he?”

He Wu: “I don’t know.”

Jiang Cheng let out a cold laugh. “Once you’re in the interrogation room, you’ll find out.”

With He Wu bound, Jiang Cheng looked down. The floor below was a churning sea of fire—dancing tongues of flame and rolling black smoke. Any longer here, and they would either burn to death or choke to death.

The acrid fumes tore at his throat and sent him gasping. He covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve and swept the room with rapid eyes, landing on the glass windows along the second floor of the workshop. That was their only way out.

Afraid He Wu would bolt, Jiang Cheng tied the other end of the rope to his own wrist. He pulled a wooden plank free from a nearby crate, directed He Wu to climb up, and had him smash through the window.

He Wu didn’t move. He seemed to be calculating something.

At that moment, Jiang Cheng heard a voice rising from below—a familiar voice: “Jiang Cheng!”

Zhou Jin?

His heart lurched into a violent, rapid thudding. He ran to the railing and looked down—and there was Zhou Jin, her head covered with her police jacket, charging through the fire without flinching.

The burning jacket was flung away quickly. Inside the workshop, the surging flames and smoke stung her eyes with sharp pain.

Zhou Jin raised an arm to shield herself, then called again: “Jiang Cheng—where are you?!”

Ash and smoke poured into her throat, and the double torment of suffocation and scorching heat left Zhou Jin coughing and gasping desperately.

“Xiao Wu!” Jiang Cheng called out in alarm.

Zhou Jin looked up—their eyes met across the distance, but through the rolling curtains of black smoke obscuring everything between them, Jiang Cheng quickly lost sight of her.

He turned to get back down to her. In that instant, He Wu’s eyes went bloodshot, and he suddenly hurled himself forward with a wild cry: “We’ll die together!”

Jiang Cheng twisted aside just in time to avoid the collision. He Wu didn’t pause for a single moment—he flung himself straight over the railing and dropped.

Their wrists were bound together by the rope. The enormous force of the plummeting weight yanked Jiang Cheng violently. His body crashed into the railing, and by pure reflex, his free hand seized the rope and held on.

He Wu dangled below, face tilted upward, laughing at him with a cold, vicious glee. Jiang Cheng summoned every last scrap of strength left in his body—veins rising sharply across his forehead, face flushed crimson—and held on to the rope with everything he had.

Creak.

The old, rusted railing groaned and shifted, threatening to give way. Both men swayed precariously in the air.

Jiang Cheng knew he couldn’t hold this standoff much longer. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a folding knife, flicked it open, and began to saw at the rope.

Snap——!

The instant the rope was cut, the force restraining Jiang Cheng also collapsed entirely. The railing went down with He Wu, and Jiang Cheng, his footing gone, went with them.

In the moment that his body became completely weightless, Jiang Cheng felt a wave of scorching air rush up to meet him—burning, fierce enough to reduce a person to nothing but ash and cinders.

In all his years, it was the first time he had felt fear this deep. Only then did he realize: he still wanted to live. At the very least, not like this.

Thud.

The dull, heavy impact of a body meeting the ground—and then the crashing clatter of a rusted iron railing falling in its wake. The metal bars struck the charred, burned-out remains of cargo crates and sent them collapsing in a roar of noise, burying He Wu completely.

Jiang Cheng lay with his eyes closed. The fall he had braced himself for never came. He looked up in bewilderment—beneath his feet, the fire was still raging in wild, furious swirls—and above him, he saw Zhou Jin’s face, streaked with tears.

Zhou Jin didn’t dare release even a fraction of her strength. In this moment, she dared not let herself think about anything at all. She poured every last ounce of herself into holding on, driven by one thought alone—

This time, she had caught him.