A shadow lurched violently in the darkness!

Jiang Cheng’s body moved before his mind could catch up — he broke into a sprint straight toward the figure. The person ran at full speed; Jiang Cheng gave chase without relenting, the two of them separated by no more than a few dozen meters.

Salt-heavy wind poured into his mouth and scraped raw against his throat. Jiang Cheng moved like a lithe predator, scaling a shipping container to cut across a shortcut, then launching himself down from above onto the dark figure like a hunter dropping on its prey.

His force was ferocious. He locked his forearm across the person’s shoulder and neck, then shone the flashlight directly into their face — and found, to his surprise, a face he recognized: one of He Wu’s men.

The man’s face contorted with rage as he erupted, “Jiang Cheng! You sold us out!”

Jiang Cheng’s pupils contracted sharply. His heart slammed against his ribs as though it might burst — and with each beat, a wave of numbness shot through his arms, nearly costing him his grip.

“You son of a bitch, Jiang Cheng! I treated you like a brother — and you’re working for the cops?! When Boss He finds out, he’ll have your whole family killed!”

The moment those words landed, the alarm in Jiang Cheng’s eyes vanished — replaced by a cold light that sent a chill through the air.

He pressed the man’s head down and asked in a low, even voice, “Who sent you?”

The man said nothing.

“He Wu?” Jiang Cheng pressed.

The man’s breathing hitched. He clenched his jaw and stayed silent, letting his rage spill out instead in a furious torrent. “Jiang Cheng — falling into your hands, I can accept that. You’re ruthless enough. Out here on these streets, your hands are blacker than any of ours — and you’ve got the nerve to call yourself a cop?! Ha! Hahaha—!”

He laughed with savage bitterness, then caught his breath and kept going. “That woman detective — you know her, don’t you? I could see it that day — the way you looked at her wasn’t ordinary.”

“Shut your mouth.” The veins at Jiang Cheng’s temple stood out starkly.

“You’d better pray every single day that you’re never exposed. You know better than anyone how Boss He deals with traitors. He won’t just kill you — he’ll do it right in front of your eyes, after he’s completely destroyed your woman first.”

Jiang Cheng hauled him upright and locked his forearm across the man’s throat from behind.

In the darkness, the long-suppressed emotions had twisted Jiang Cheng’s face into something unrecognizable. The steel in his arms surged with force as the grip tightened, and tightened further.

The man’s legs kicked frantically. His fingers clawed at Jiang Cheng’s forearm, leaving bloody furrows in the skin. When nothing worked, his face swelled to a deep purplish red, and his eyes began to bulge.

“You — you… kh—”

His breath had all but stopped. He could no longer form a complete sound. Then, at the very last moment before unconsciousness — the desperate thrashing and struggle fell suddenly, completely still.

He was dead.

A long time passed. Only when Yao Weihai arrived and called out to Jiang Cheng did he slowly release his hold.

Yao Weihai looked at the motionless figure on the ground. The skin around his face twitched several times. “You killed him?”

Jiang Cheng rose from the ground. His black t-shirt traced the taut lines of his shoulders and back, the silhouette hard and cold.

“He Wu’s man,” Jiang Cheng said. “He’s suspicious of me now.”

Yao Weihai drew a long breath to steady himself. “What are you going to do?”

“What else is there to do?” Jiang Cheng raised his hand and swept the stray hair from his brow — the gesture carrying its own kind of defiance. “Wish me luck.”

“Jiang Cheng!”

Jiang Cheng smiled. Submerged in the darkness, he looked almost dangerously handsome.

After all of that, the rage had been spent. In its place came a strange calm.

The mission wasn’t over. The danger lurking beneath the surface never lost its capacity to swallow him whole — one wrong step and everything would be reduced to dust. He had no choice but to keep going forward. There was no turning back.

But no matter what, Jiang Cheng wanted to make it out alive — to see Zhou Jin again, as a police officer, on his own terms.

“Don’t contact me again until I reach out first.” Jiang Cheng exhaled slowly and turned to Yao Weihai. “The Major Crimes Unit has a specially appointed professor — Jiang Hansheng. He doesn’t know my real identity yet, but he’s figured out that I was behind what happened to Lai San’er.”

Yao Weihai’s brow lifted. “Jiang Hansheng?”

“He’s Zhou Jin’s…” Jiang Cheng pressed his back teeth together, biting down on whatever word had been about to follow. He held the fury in and redirected. “Either way — keep an eye on him. Don’t let him interfere with what I’m doing.”

Yao Weihai nodded. After a moment, he said with quiet weight, “Take care of yourself.”

Jiang Cheng gave a short, sardonic laugh. “Whether I make it through this or not is entirely a matter of luck. If I don’t — you owe me a burial.”

“Don’t say things like that.”

“I’m not joking.” Jiang Cheng’s lips pressed into a thin line, and his expression went serious. “One more thing. Don’t tell Zhou Jin I’m working undercover.”

Visual memory fades quickly — but the senses of taste and smell take root like something permanent.

He caught that smell again: blood mingled with rot, filthy and fetid, pressing down on him with a suffocating weight he could barely stand.

The black barrel of a gun pressed against his forehead. The man’s finger curled around the trigger as his mouth made two mocking clicks — click, click.

But he didn’t fire.

The man’s voice was ice-cold. “Death would be too easy. I want to see how long you can hold out before you drop to your knees and beg me for mercy.”

The man seemed to catch sight of something. His mouth twisted into a grin. He traced the gun barrel down toward the center of Jiang Cheng’s chest, then lifted — hooking the silver chain that hung there.

A pocket watch dropped heavily to the ground.

His pupils contracted at once. The face that had been entirely blank of expression finally changed.

The watch lay there in front of him, just within reach — but his hands and feet were bound by something invisible, some formless darkness. He strained with everything he had to get it back. He was so close, almost close enough.

In the end, the man bent down and picked it up with effortless ease, turning it over idly in his fingers.

A soft click — the watch case snapping open. A small sound, barely anything — and yet to him it struck harder than any gunshot.

“Give it back!” He couldn’t hold it in — the shout tore out of him. Then there was no more sound.

The watch hung open. Inside the tiny photograph was a girl’s face — it seemed almost alive, as though she were crying, crying out to him.

“Jiang Hansheng!”

He gasped and wrenched his eyes open. From one darkness he tumbled straight into another, and for a moment he could not tell the dream from what was real.

Jiang Hansheng’s breathing came in short, shallow pulls. The back of his neck felt as though cold air was rushing across it.

“What’s wrong?”

A warm, dry palm settled against the back of his neck. Above him, Zhou Jin’s eyes were very bright. She leaned close and asked in a soft voice, “Nightmare?”

The fog hadn’t yet cleared from Jiang Hansheng’s eyes. He hadn’t fully recovered the steadiness he’d lost — his throat moved with difficulty as he swallowed.

He gave a small nod.

Zhou Jin paused. Then, all at once, she smiled — her eyes brightening further, curving like a crescent moon.

“So you have these too.”

“What?” Jiang Hansheng hadn’t caught it clearly.

“Nothing.” Zhou Jin gathered the blanket around her and shifted closer to him, her fingers gently brushing the sweat-damp hair at his temple. “Go back to sleep.”

Jiang Hansheng found her hand and held it. He turned slightly, and his breath fell across Zhou Jin’s lips.