The technicians worked without pause, frantically tracing the source of the communications failure.

Tan Shiming steadied his nerves and made a swift decision — he put in a request for additional police units in the vicinity of Jingang Wharf to move in as reinforcements and get to the scene immediately.

The atmosphere in the command center drew taut. Tan Shiming was briefing the incoming reinforcement teams on the situation at Jingang Wharf.

“At seven-thirty tonight, a cargo vessel carrying a full load of narcotics will dock at Jingang Wharf. The buyers coming to make this transaction are a criminal organization that has operated covertly within Haizhou City for many years. Their leader is the major drug lord known to police as ‘Old Scorpion,’ whom we have been pursuing for years.”

Old Scorpion — real name, age, and identity all unknown. There wasn’t even a single clear photograph of him. In the minds of both law enforcement and those involved in the drug trade, he was nothing more than a codename — a synonym for narcotics itself.

The information Tan Shiming could provide was limited. All he could do was proceed with the utmost caution.

“We have just received intelligence indicating that among the individuals participating in this transaction is a criminal named Qi Yan — the same man who led the ‘8·17’ firearm robbery five years ago. Qi Yan harbors deep hostility toward the police. We cannot rule out the possibility that he has prepared a retaliatory plan targeting our officers as part of this operation at Jingang Wharf. We must be fully prepared for every contingency.”

Tan Shiming lowered his voice and said, “The traffickers are armed. I repeat — the traffickers are armed.”

……

The order came down. The field officers of the Major Crimes Unit, Zhao Ping among them, were armed and ready to move out.

Given the urgency of the situation, the scene was more than a little chaotic.

Zhao Ping had put on his bulletproof vest and was checking his service weapon when Zhou Jin slipped in, seemingly out of nowhere.

She pulled open a locker, lifted the hem of her shirt with one hand, and in the blink of an eye had stripped it off and changed into a closer-fitting black top that would allow more freedom of movement.

Zhao Ping’s eyes went wide. “Zhou Jin!”

He pushed the locker door shut. Without the usual quip or his habitual address of “senior,” he asked her directly, “What are you doing here?”

Zhou Jin clipped her holster to her waist. “Same as you.”

Zhao Ping. “……”

Her eyes were rimmed with red. Beneath her iron-hard exterior, the emotion she was holding inside was pure, aggrieved indignation — distilled into a single feeling: I refuse to accept this.

Zhao Ping had been about to try talking her out of it. One look at those eyes, and every word he’d prepared vanished.

Heading out the door, Zhou Jin walked straight into Jiang Hansheng.

The instant their eyes met — before Jiang Hansheng could say a word — Zhou Jin stepped forward and pulled him into an embrace.

“Don’t stop me. Alright?”

Jiang Hansheng’s lips parted slightly. Her hold wasn’t strong, yet it seemed to anchor him to the spot. He closed his eyes. His arms tensed and trembled — then pulled her tight against him.

After a moment, he let out a long, slow breath. Something in him seemed to settle, as though he had quietly made his peace with it. His arms gradually loosened.

“Stay safe,” he said quietly.

With Jiang Hansheng’s answer, Zhou Jin felt the tension fall away from her. A strange, inexplicable steadiness rose in its place.

Zhou Jin tapped a finger against her bulletproof vest, signaling him not to worry.

She walked past him. Two steps away, she turned back, grabbed him by the tie, and pressed a very hurried kiss to his lips.

The soft, fleeting warmth left behind on his mouth stunned Jiang Hansheng into stillness.

Zhou Jin reached up and gently pinched his earlobe. “Thank you,” she said.

All along, she had needed someone like this — someone who, when everyone else was telling her no, would still stand beside her, willing to understand her, willing to support her.

Jiang Hansheng was that person.

Even though, for him, a decision like this was especially cruel.

……

She joined the team gathering downstairs, got into a police vehicle, and following instructions relayed through her earpiece, began synchronizing her timepiece.

Once the synchronization was done, she pressed her radio and reported to Tan Shiming, “Major Crimes Unit, Zhou Jin, requesting to join the reinforcement operation.”

The moment Tan Shiming heard Zhou Jin’s voice, his brow snapped together. His voice came out nearly as a roar. “Who authorized you to go?!”

“Let her go, Mentor.”

Jiang Hansheng had entered the command center and was standing a short distance behind Tan Shiming. He said, “She has been preparing for this day for a long time.”

His voice carried an unnatural stillness in the command center.

Tan Shiming couldn’t help but let out a quiet sigh. What kind of mentor would he be if he didn’t know what Zhou Jin had put into this?

He pressed the communications button and said to Zhou Jin, “Follow orders. Stay safe.”

Zhou Jin. “Understood.”

In the dark of night, red and blue lights strobed and crossed over each other. Sirens screamed toward the sky. Police vehicles tore down the road.

About ten minutes later, wireless communications were restored, and Tan Shiming finally reestablished contact with Yao Weihai.

Tan Shiming kept it concise. “Professor Jiang has made a new discovery. Qi Yan is very likely still alive and may have personally involved himself in the Jingang Wharf transaction.”

“What?”

Yao Weihai had his back against a shipping container, concealed in shadow, directing his team to stay hidden as they waited for the order to move.

“There’s no time to explain everything,” Tan Shiming said. “He Wu still hasn’t gone to the wharf, and something feels off to me.”

Since Yao Weihai had asked Tan Shiming to serve as the off-site commander, he extended unconditional trust to whatever situational updates Tan Shiming reported.

Two or three seconds of silence. Then Yao Weihai quickly absorbed the reality that Qi Yan might also be at the wharf, and pressed his voice low. “Qi Yan — that man is more interested in police officers than in any transaction.”

There was no fear in Yao Weihai’s voice. If anything, there was a faint edge of excitement.

“I have the picture now,” he said. “Please dispatch two additional police teams to provide support at Jingang.”

Yao Weihai had already mapped the positions of the group. The area around the warehouse was dense with shipping containers. Using the cover of darkness, he had been steadily tightening the perimeter, and had already moved his team close to the warehouse.

Now they were waiting on the informant’s signal. The moment the transaction was completed, police would move in to make the arrests.

Inside the command center, Jiang Hansheng’s pupils contracted slightly. He raised his eyes and fixed them on the image on the display screen.

Jiang Hansheng rarely showed much emotion. In ordinary circumstances, his face was composed and unreadable — no sharp edges visible. But at critical moments, the edge in him became impossible to conceal. Now was one of those moments, his dark brows and eyes striking with an intensity that was almost too sharp to look at directly.

Two minutes passed. He said, “Something’s wrong.”

Tan Shiming went alert. “What’s wrong?”

“The feed is on a loop.”

Jiang Hansheng pointed to one of the screens. In a corner of the image, a tiny point of light was darting erratically — easy to miss.

A moth.

It flew into frame, traced a chaotic path through the air, and flew back out. Jiang Hansheng counted the seconds silently. Three seconds later, it entered the frame again.

Look closely enough, and it became clear — the path it traced each time was identical.

Tan Shiming went rigid with shock, his voice dropping to a murmur. “How is that possible?”

The surveillance feed covering Jingang Wharf had never moved at all?!

……

Inside the wharf warehouse.

Seventh Uncle’s eyes gleamed with a cold and penetrating light, tracking every subtle shift in Jiang Cheng’s expression.

The moment Jiang Cheng saw Yao Weihai’s photograph, countless thoughts raced through his mind. In the end, he steadied himself — and suddenly broke into a smile.

“Seventh Uncle, I’m not quite sure I understand what you’re suggesting,” Jiang Cheng said. “I work for Boss He. I handle business. I’m not here to help you kill police officers.”

“There’s no business to be done tonight.” Seventh Uncle’s smile carried a cold, unsettling edge. “Tonight, one ton of narcotics arrives at Jingang — that’s information known only to the people in this room. But it’s false. The only thing coming to Jingang is the cargo vessel itself. There’s no cargo.”

Jiang Cheng’s brow furrowed.

Seventh Uncle had someone bring over a laptop. Its screen was divided into four surveillance feeds.

The footage was in black and white. Visibility wasn’t as good as daytime, but it was still possible to make out the faint shapes of figures moving within.

Seventh Uncle smiled slightly, his gaze sweeping the room. “Tell me — it’s just a timber cargo vessel. How does something like that justify the police turning out in such force?”

One of the men exclaimed in shock. “Seventh Uncle — are you saying there’s a mole among us? Who is it?!”

Jiang Cheng’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly.

“Unknown,” Seventh Uncle said, entirely unhurried. “But we’ll find out soon enough.”

He pressed a black chess piece down onto Yao Weihai’s photograph and said in a low, measured voice, “Old Scorpion’s orders — this man is to be taken alive. If he ends up dead, someone pays for it with their life. Anyone who brings him back alive walks away with three million.”