After Zhou Jin arrived at Jingang Wharf with the support team, she received orders from Tan Shiming — stand by in place.

The opposing side had clearly come prepared, having blocked the police’s eyes and ears from the very start, throwing the situation into an extremely passive state.

Tan Shiming had spent many years in criminal investigation and had encountered his share of difficult situations, but being led around by the nose by a group of criminals like this — that was truly a first.

With field command lost in such a short span of time, the responsibility of on-site command naturally fell onto Yao Weihai’s shoulders.

The minutes ticked by one after another. Yao Weihai waited and waited for Jiang Cheng’s signal, but it never came. Under extreme vigilance, wave after wave of suspicions and doubts surged through his mind.

Qi Yan — who had “returned from the dead.” The Old Scorpion — lurking behind the scenes for years. A large-scale drug transaction. Field command, obstructed again and again…

Drawing on years of criminal investigation instincts, Yao Weihai sensed vaguely that this transaction was far from simple — yet that flicker of intuition vanished before he could dwell on it.

He didn’t want to dwell on it either. Five long years of preparation, and now they were just one step away.

Hardships? Ruthless enemies?

Ever since he had taken on the role of lead investigator for the “8·17” task force, every step of the investigation had harbored unfamiliar and enormous dangers. If he had truly wanted to back down, he wouldn’t have waited until today.

In the darkness, the sea wind let out a low, mournful wail.

The cargo ship had already docked at the harbor. About a dozen or so people disembarked — not to unload cargo, but to climb directly into two vans, which then departed from Jingang Wharf one after the other.

The action team reported the situation to the command room.

Tan Shiming said, “Keep your eyes on them. Once they’re out of the port, find a place to cut them off, get them under control, and bring them back for an intensive interrogation.”

“Understood.”

Jiang Hansheng stood before the screen, his expression as calm and deep as still water.

Apprehending and closing the net was the frontline officers’ strong suit. As a criminal investigation consultant, there wasn’t much he could offer on that front.

All he could do was strain to recall every detail of that abandoned warehouse from years ago, to provide whatever additional information he could about this criminal organization.

If Qi Yan was also there — what would his first instinct be upon encountering the police? Run?

No. Shoot.

A gun?

Jiang Hansheng asked, “Has this operation been assigned a sniper?”

Tan Shiming replied, “One.”

Just as Jiang Hansheng was about to say something more, a gunshot suddenly shattered the silence!

At Jingang Wharf, the howling wind and the sound of crashing waves seemed to fall completely quiet in that sudden instant — and in the night sky, only that single gunshot echoed on and on without end.

Zhou Jin’s heart clenched. She tightened her grip on her gun handle, the palm of her hand faintly cold.

Yao Weihai heard the shot ringing out from within the warehouse and knew at once that something had gone wrong.

In that moment, Yao Weihai thought back to the days he had led the team through a sweeping, blanket search — nearly six days and six nights without sleep. He thought of Wang Pengzhe’s most prized student, fallen at his own hands. He thought of Jiang Cheng. He thought of Zhou Chuan and Wang Jingbo, who had died in “8·17″…

And still — still —

Years of grievances and frustration were ignited by that single gunshot. A fierce fire roared to life in his chest. Yao Weihai gave the order in one commanding voice: “Move in!”

In the command room, the technical surveillance team wrested back control of the monitors.

The image on the screen enlarged. Figures moved in clusters — dozens of special police officers crept through the darkness behind their cover, rapidly tightening the encirclement and closing in on the warehouse.

Suddenly, a thunderous rumble of an engine erupted from within the warehouse. A small passenger vehicle slammed through the doors with a resounding crash and barreled straight toward the special police!

The blazing white headlights swept forward, blinding in their intensity. Yao Weihai instinctively raised his hand to shield his eyes.

Caught momentarily blind, with a vehicle charging at them from dead ahead, one of the special police officers registered the danger — and fired with a sharp crack.

The bullet struck the vehicle’s body, producing a violent metallic impact, sending sparks flying in all directions.

Inside the car, the steering wheel was wrenched hard. The massive vehicle skidded instantly into a drift, its tail swinging wide, tires screeching against the pavement with an ear-splitting shriek — and in the blink of an eye, the other side had brought the car to a clean, sideways stop.

For a split second, both sides fell into a tense, silent standoff. The atmosphere was like a string drawn tighter and tighter — until, mid-standoff, it suddenly snapped!

Acting almost on pure instinct, Yao Weihai roared, “Take cover!”

Everyone pulled back rapidly. From behind the passenger vehicle, the dark hollow of a gun muzzle emerged — and in an instant, a torrent of bullets poured out.

A full-blown gunfight erupted!

The relentless thunder of gunfire sent numbing shockwaves through the limbs. The moment Zhou Jin’s support team heard the exchange, they rushed toward it at full speed.

Visibility was poor in the night, and Zhou Jin could only make out the silhouettes of the special police gradually retreating behind cover. Then came another terrifying shot.

This shot came from behind — just one shot, instantly fired, instantly arrived.

Beneath the pitch-black night, a figure crumpled to the ground.

Zhou Jin’s pupils contracted. Her first instinct: “There’s a sniper!”

Immediately after, someone among the special police shouted, “Director Yao——!”

The person who had fallen was Yao Weihai. The bullet had not struck a vital point — it had caught him in the leg.

Violent pain exploded from the wound and tore through his entire body in an instant. The agony made his body seize up. He temporarily lost the ability to think, and bit down hard as a low growl pushed through his teeth.

Zhao Ping was the first to see Yao Weihai go down.

Wave after wave of gunfire rained down relentlessly. Several bullets struck the ground not far from Yao Weihai, sending shards of stone and sparks scattering.

Without time to think it through, Zhao Ping broke through the storm of bullets and sprinted toward Yao Weihai.

Zhou Jin was right behind Zhao Ping. She saw him step out from the cover zone, and caught a glint of red light dancing across his body. She shouted urgently, “Zhao Ping, don’t go!”

She surged forward and seized the back of Zhao Ping’s jacket, yanking him back with all her strength!

Time seemed to freeze. A bullet erupted from the muzzle, tore through the air, and came spinning forward at a ferocious speed — aimed to pierce straight through Zhao Ping’s body — and instead grazed his shoulder by the narrowest margin, a streak of blood spraying through the air.

Zhao Ping went blank at first. His mind was empty; he had no idea what had just happened. Only when he registered the pain did he feel the prickling chill rise from every pore along his spine, and cold sweat flooded his body.

With Yao Weihai confirmed shot, Tan Shiming immediately issued an order: no one else was to approach recklessly.

The police sniper was rapidly working to pinpoint the exact position of the enemy sniper.

In the darkness, Zhao Ping pressed his hand against his bleeding shoulder. His lips trembled with lingering dread. “S-senior sister…”

Tension and fear enveloped Zhou Jin too — she was afraid, of course she was afraid. But she was different from Zhao Ping. She also had hatred.

The “8·17” gun robbery case — her brother Zhou Chuan had gone down exactly like this. First struck by a single bullet in the leg, stripped of any ability to fight back — and even then, those people had refused to let him go. They had finished him off with one final shot to the chest.

That overwhelming hatred was enough to tear through her fear.

Zhou Jin forced herself to calm down. She picked up the gun Zhao Ping had dropped, placed it back in his hands, and said quietly, “Stay right here.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to flush him out.”

“Senior sister, senior sister…” He scrambled to grab her, caught nothing but air, and cried out in alarm, “Zhou Jin!”

Zhou Jin moved along the shipping containers, feeling her way toward the rear. She closed her eyes. Those two gunshots seemed to still be reverberating in her ears.

Zhou Chuan’s steady, bright face rose before her.

Time rolled backward. Dust drifted through the air, old and weightless. In the warm amber glow of a setting sun, Zhou Chuan appeared — sitting on the living room sofa, reading a newspaper.

He treasured his eyesight and had little interest in electronics of any kind, preferring to follow the news through print. The new smartphones appearing on the market meant little to Zhou Chuan; he could barely use one, and still needed Zhou Jin to teach him.

Zhou Jin taught him how to send messages. He studied very earnestly — after saving a phone number, he typed slowly and deliberately, and after roughly five or six minutes, he sent the other person a text.

Zhou Jin leaned in to look, and read:

“Today — can we still meet?”

The other person clearly wasn’t sure who it was: “Zhou Chuan?”

Zhou Jin burst out laughing and asked, “A girlfriend?”

Zhou Chuan hid the phone behind his back. “Stop peeking.”

Zhou Jin quickly covered her eyes. “Fine, fine. But if you won’t let me look, then when your future sister-in-law flies off, don’t come crying to me to help you chase her back.”

Zhou Chuan’s face was steady and bright with quiet confidence. “She won’t.”

Zhou Jin shuddered at the sheer mushiness of it, and decided not to press further. She spread her fingers and let her gaze slip through the gaps, pivoting immediately to collect her debt: “I taught you to send a message — you should teach me something in return, shouldn’t you?”

Zhou Chuan raised an eyebrow. “What do you want to learn?”

Zhou Jin: “Shooting! Aren’t you the ‘Divine Sniper’ of your entire class? Let’s go to the park and shoot at balloons — show me what you’ve got!”

Zhou Chuan: “You won’t be any good. You don’t have the patience.”

Zhou Jin snapped irritably, “What do you mean I don’t have patience?”

After a brief pause, Zhou Chuan conceded, “Fair enough. You’ve been quite patient with Jiang Cheng.”

Zhou Jin: “…Are you teaching me or not?”

Zhou Chuan, in an even tone: “No.”

He said he wouldn’t, but he couldn’t hold out against Zhou Jin’s persistent wheedling.

Zhou Jin was playful by nature — she wanted to learn mostly to satisfy her curiosity, and since Zhou Chuan was home for a visit, she jumped at the chance to keep him busy.

But Zhou Chuan taught her in earnest.

“One shot, one target — that’s all a sniper needs to fulfill the designated elimination task. Anti-sniper detection technology is advancing too fast these days. The moment you fire, your position can be pinpointed almost instantly. Usually, there’s no opportunity for a second shot.”

…

“That said, in my view, detection equipment cannot yet fully replace the human ear in the short term. Situations on the field shift constantly. When the enemy has a sniper, your ears are the best anti-sniper system you’ve got.”

…

Another earth-shaking gunshot rang out — especially jarring in the stillness of the night — piercing through the memory and dragging Zhou Jin back to reality.

He still hadn’t changed position.