Jiang Cheng followed someone inside the wharf warehouse.

The moment he stepped through the door, a gun barrel pressed silently against his temple.

“Brother Cheng!”

Jiang Cheng’s subordinates drew their weapons instantly.

A wave of cold dread spread across his scalp in an instant. His skin prickled — yet his expression didn’t shift in the slightest.

“Put the guns down,” Jiang Cheng said quietly.

There were roughly seventeen or eighteen people inside the warehouse — all unfamiliar faces, dressed in light, practical clothing, each holding a dark firearm.

Some were seated, some standing.

The moment Jiang Cheng walked in, those who were seated glanced up briefly, then looked away without interest, lowering their heads to continue cleaning their weapons. Those who were standing fixed him with sharp, hawk-like stares.

A faint tension settled over the air. Beneath the surface calm, something felt like a storm gathering.

Jiang Cheng’s instinct for danger was razor-sharp. One sweep of his gaze across their physiques and bearing told him what they were — a unit of professionally trained, fully armed killers.

“What’s your name?” A voice came from behind him, carrying a trace of arrogance.

“Jiang Cheng.”

“Boss He mentioned you used to be a cop?”

“That’s right,” he answered.

“Before Boss He sent you here, did he happen to mention that I can’t stand police officers?”

The words were barely out before the gun barrel rose — and without any warning, two muffled shots rang out.

With the suppressor attached, the gunfire was low and compressed, thin wisps of pale smoke curling upward.

In that split second, Jiang Cheng didn’t flinch. He simply closed his eyes and tilted his head slightly to one side — as though, more than the bullets themselves, it was the noise that irritated him.

When Jiang Cheng opened his eyes again, his gaze was fierce and steady. He said coldly, “Then we’re going to get along just fine.”

The man let out a short laugh. The gun spun in his hand like a toy before he slid it back into the holster at his waist.

“Seventh Uncle, Boss He’s finally produced someone with a spine.” He said. “Remember that cousin of his — Lai San’er? I hadn’t even fired yet and he’d already pissed his pants on the spot. I still can’t forget the stench of it, ha——”

A low wave of laughter rippled through the group.

The man they addressed respectfully as “Seventh Uncle” wore a gray undershirt and dark trousers, a straw hat on his head, and was seated at a small square table playing Chinese chess.

He didn’t look at Jiang Cheng. He raised a hand and moved another piece, delivering the final blow.

The young man playing against him conceded. “Seventh Uncle, I’m no match for you. I give up.”

“A’Feng, you’re still too young.” Seventh Uncle smiled easily, dismissed A’Feng, and lifted his heavy eyelids to regard Jiang Cheng with a calm, unhurried gaze.

“Do you play chess?” he asked.

“I do,” Jiang Cheng said.

He had spent time in Gardenia Lane, often playing Chinese chess with Zhou Songyue.

“Let him come over,” Seventh Uncle ordered.

The board was arranged. Seventh Uncle gave Jiang Cheng the red side and the first move.

Jiang Cheng was fearless by nature. His style of play carried the same edge — bold, aggressive, with a reckless streak to it.

Seventh Uncle kept his expression mild, as though asking in passing, “Why did you leave the force?”

“Got in the way of someone’s promotion. They set me up.”

“Oh?”

He seemed about to press further. Jiang Cheng offered the explanation on his own. “They started by framing me for soliciting prostitution. When the investigation was underway, they planted a packet of white powder in the evidence bag. That didn’t just get me kicked out of the police force — it put me behind bars for two years I hadn’t earned.”

Seventh Uncle gave a dry, sardonic smile. “So you’re saying you were forced into a life of crime?”

“I just want to live well. Nothing more.”

“And… whoever set you up — did you ever find out who it was?” Seventh Uncle asked.

“I knew from the very beginning. After I got out of prison, Boss He had the man bound and brought before me. I cut off two of his fingers with my own hands and let him keep his life.”

“You should have killed him.”

“Sometimes a living person is far more useful than a dead one,” Jiang Cheng said. “Working for Boss He means working with connections — every relationship is another way to earn. If you want to have a voice on both sides of the law, you can’t rely on a gun alone. You also need the capacity to tolerate people——”

Jiang Cheng pushed a soldier across the river, then asked, “What do you think, Seventh Uncle?”

Hearing it, Seventh Uncle found it sounded rather like a defense Jiang Cheng was making for his former life as a police officer.

Seventh Uncle smiled warmly and gave a measured nod of agreement.

“Men like us, who’ve waded through gunfire all our lives, have short tempers. My people are short of someone like you.” Seventh Uncle raised his hand. A’Feng, standing to one side, handed him a pistol. He pressed it face-down onto the chessboard. “But if we haven’t seen any blood, how are we supposed to know whether you’re a wolf that can fight — or a dog that only knows how to bark?”

“What would you have me do, Seventh Uncle?” Jiang Cheng asked.

Seventh Uncle gave a small wave of his fingers. The man who had pointed his gun at Jiang Cheng earlier walked over, produced a photograph from his pocket, and set it down on top of the gun.

Jiang Cheng picked it up and looked. His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly.

The man in the photograph wore a proper uniform. His eyes behind the lenses looked somewhat sunken and dim.

It was Yao Weihai.

……

“It’s a trap.”

Jiang Hansheng stood with both hands braced against the table, his face pale and sharp-featured.

Tan Shiming was thoroughly bewildered. “You mean the operation to close in at Jingang Wharf? We received reliable intelligence——”

The situation had reached a critical juncture. Jiang Hansheng kept his tone as measured as he could and explained to Tan Shiming: “The person who died five years ago was not Qi Yan.”

After coming to suspect the existence of a fifth person at the scene, Jiang Hansheng had immediately contacted the forensic examiner who had conducted Qi Yan’s autopsy at the time.

He asked whether there had been any blunt-force trauma wounds on Qi Yan’s skull.

Because the “8·17” case had been so significant, nearly everyone involved retained a vivid impression of it — so even without consulting the autopsy records, the forensic examiner gave a definitive answer: no.

Apart from the gunshot wound at the center of the forehead, there had been no injuries whatsoever on “Qi Yan’s” head.

Yet Jiang Hansheng remembered clearly that in a moment of fury, he had struck Qi Yan and drawn blood.

Beyond that, there was another piece of corroborating evidence — his pocket watch.

After Qi Yan had seen the pocket watch, he had found the method to torment Jiang Hansheng to the point of madness, and had indulged in it without restraint.

In front of Jiang Hansheng, Qi Yan had dangled the watch’s fine chain from between his teeth, pressing obsessive kisses onto the photograph inside it, and “discussed” with Jiang Hansheng the most artistically exquisite way to kill the girl within.

The pocket watch had been Qi Yan’s greatest prize from this entire operation — his sole outlet after a month of being hunted by police. He had kept it on his person at all times.

Yet after Jiang Hansheng shot and killed Qi Yan with his own hand, Yao Weihai had directed the action team to sweep the scene, searching every inch of it — and the pocket watch was never found.

It had not been on Qi Yan.

More precisely — it had not been on the man Jiang Hansheng had killed.

Five food containers. A missing wound. A vanished pocket watch. Three inconsistencies, all pointing to the same conclusion——

The man Jiang Hansheng had killed that day was not Qi Yan. In all likelihood, it had been someone Jiang Hansheng had never seen — a fifth person…

A twin brother? A body double?

But whatever the answer, one thing was certain: classifying the string of killings across Ningyuan, Jingang, and Haizhou as copycat crimes had been a catastrophic error.

“Qi Yan held considerable authority within the ‘8·17’ criminal organization,” Jiang Hansheng said. “If he isn’t dead, then today’s transaction almost certainly involves him.”

If they were dealing only with a drug lord, a gunfight during the operation was something they had anticipated and prepared for. But if the person on the other side was Qi Yan — a man who had masterminded the “8·17” firearm robbery and deliberately killed two special operations officers as a show of defiance against the police — then the calculation changed entirely.

Was this a genuine transaction? Or was it bait, deliberately set out by Qi Yan to lure the police in — a scheme of revenge for the shot that had been fired at him five years ago?

Even Tan Shiming found himself uncertain.

The time was 7:10 in the evening. Twenty minutes remained before the transaction was set to take place.

Tan Shiming’s expression darkened. He had to make a judgment call in a matter of seconds.

He contacted the officer running surveillance first. “Has He Wu set out yet?”

The answer came back: “No. He’s still dining at the Ruixiang Grand Hotel.”

The more Tan Shiming turned it over, the worse it looked. He tightened his grip on his phone, stood up, and pushed open the door.

Zhou Jin was waiting just outside. She fell into step beside him and called out, “Mentor, is this operation connected to ‘8·17’——”

Tan Shiming turned and held out a hand, stopping her where she stood. He said nothing, and turned back toward the temporary command center.

Zhou Jin stood rooted to the spot, as though a bucket of cold water had been poured over her head.

It was just like five years ago. Everyone else had the standing to enter the task force. Only she was shut out — left to watch helplessly, unable to do anything at all.

For the entirety of the operation, the task force had kept every detail sealed — not a breath of information had leaked beyond those directly involved.

After confirming the existence of the fifth person, Jiang Hansheng had gone immediately to find Yao Weihai to report the situation. When he couldn’t locate him, it was Tan Shiming who told him about the operation.

By then, Yao Weihai had already led his team personally to Jingang Wharf.

Inside the temporary command center, Tan Shiming ordered the technician to switch to the right frequency and quickly established contact with Yao Weihai.

Yao Weihai managed a single line in response — before his voice was swallowed up by a burst of jarring, chaotic static.

Tan Shiming’s face went white. “What’s happening?”

The technician ran an urgent diagnostic, visibly shaken. “The signal’s been cut!”