After the Major Crimes Unit obtained the USB drive, they immediately confirmed its contents with Jiang Cheng. Some of the videos were connected to several notorious human trafficking, smuggling, and drug cases in Jingzhou — cases the Haizhou police had also heard of — all of which had, to varying degrees, passed through Yao Weihai’s hands.

This served to further corroborate Jiang Cheng’s identity as an undercover officer.

After Tan Shiming reported the situation up the chain, the city bureau decided to launch an immediate and thorough investigation into Hengyun Logistics, while also arranging a hearing for Jiang Cheng to determine whether his status as a police officer could be reinstated as soon as possible.

Director Liu, who presided over the hearing, had extended a special invitation to Jiang Hansheng to attend as an observer. Since the hearing was not open to the public, Jiang Hansheng watched the entire proceedings from the monitoring room.

The value of the USB drive in Jiang Cheng’s possession was beyond question.

He stated that Yao Weihai had, five years prior, launched an undercover operation codenamed “Concealed Blade” — beginning with the “8·17” gun heist case and, in the course of investigating those involved, uncovering a trafficking network engaged in illegal activities operating covertly within Haizhou.

In order to bring every last fish in that network to justice in a single sweep, Jiang Cheng had spent five years embedded alongside He Wu, and had only then managed to map out the entire structure of the criminal organization and identify its key members.

This network did not exist in Haizhou alone — it extended all the way into Jingzhou.

The Haizhou branch was managed by He Wu, while the organization’s leader — known as “Old Scorpion” — was the true controller of the Jingzhou trafficking network.

Over his years undercover, Jiang Cheng had furnished the police with a considerable amount of intelligence. After he delivered his account, the relevant parties appeared in turn to testify, confirming the existence of that intelligence one by one.

At the same time, Tan Shiming produced a critically important piece of evidence: prior to Operation Jingang, Yao Weihai had handed him a slip of paper bearing the following words —

“October 3rd. Jingang Wharf. Close the net.”

“After Yao Weihai’s death,” Tan Shiming said, “his office was sealed. Yesterday, I recalled the existence of this slip of paper and immediately sent someone to search his office. It was found, as expected, tucked between the pages of one of his books. Before Operation Jingang, he had told me in person that this piece of intelligence came from the undercover operative Concealed Blade. Handwriting analysis has since confirmed it to be Jiang Cheng’s.”

He presented the court with a certified forensic handwriting analysis report.

With that, any remaining ambiguity about whether Jiang Cheng was innocent or guilty dissolved of its own accord.

The final focus of the hearing fell on the fingerprints found on the weapon used to kill Yao Weihai and Meng Junfeng — fingerprints which analysis had confirmed belonged to Jiang Cheng. The court required him to give an honest and complete account of everything that had occurred following Operation Jingang.

Jiang Cheng cast his mind back to that day inside the warehouse at Jingang Wharf.

At the time, Seventh Uncle had been playing chess with Meng Junfeng. When Jiang Cheng arrived, Seventh Uncle invited him to sit down and take on the next game.

At the end of the match, Seventh Uncle showed him a photograph. The person in it was Yao Weihai.

“It was only at that moment that I understood — the supposed drug deal at Jingang Wharf had never been real. They suspected there was a police undercover within the organization, so they had leaked word of the transaction to several new members they didn’t fully trust — myself included, as well as Meng Junfeng, who is now dead.”

The moment he saw Yao Weihai’s photograph, Jiang Cheng’s expression remained composed — but his heart lurched.

A thousand different responses flickered through his mind in rapid succession, yet because it had happened so suddenly, he couldn’t land on any course of action.

He was thinking: why Yao Weihai, of all people? Had he already been exposed?

Seventh Uncle pressed a black chess piece down onto Yao Weihai’s photograph and stated plainly that tonight’s task was to capture Yao Weihai alive.

Jiang Cheng steadied himself, let out a derisive laugh, and pushed aside the pieces he had already captured. “I’m out,” he said.

Seventh Uncle narrowed his eyes with a smile. “Scared?”

Jiang Cheng pointed at Yao Weihai’s photograph. “You’d dare go after a police officer? Seventh Uncle, I’ve been clear from the start — I joined up with you all to make money. I have no interest in going back to prison. Getting tangled up with the police is nothing but trouble.”

“What trouble?” Seventh Uncle said. “Have you heard of the ‘8·17’ case? That was us too. If we dared to kill back then, five years ago, what’s there to be afraid of now?”

Jiang Cheng clenched his fist. “…”

“Five years ago,” Seventh Uncle continued, “Yao Weihai killed someone he should never have touched. We have a blood feud with him that cannot be resolved. At Jingang Wharf, Old Scorpion intends to make him wish he had never been born.”

He stood up, straightened Jiang Cheng’s slightly rumpled collar, and said: “Do this well for us, and Old Scorpion will finally be willing to trust you completely. Otherwise, how are we supposed to believe in you, Officer Jiang?”

“It all happened so fast. I had no time — and no means — to report any of this to Yao Weihai. There was no way to call off the operation in time. What followed was the firefight at Jingang Wharf.

“They had stationed a sniper at an elevated position. After Yao Weihai was shot and wounded, they used the chaos to drag him onto a truck and made a swift escape. Seventh Uncle sent me to the central control tower to provide support for the sniper. I only learned afterward that the sniper was ‘Old Scorpion’ — Qi Yan himself…

“At the time, however, I was not the only one in the control tower. Major Crimes Unit investigator Zhou Jin was also there. She is my fiancée. Given the circumstances, I had no way to reveal my identity to her. I was aware that with Yao Weihai captured, my own cover was at risk of being blown — so I took her communication device from her…”

It was without question the riskiest move he had ever made. But given how things had unfolded, what other choice had there been?

After parting ways with Zhou Jin, he left the control tower and didn’t dare linger for even a moment — he ran in the direction Qi Yan had gone.

The truck sent to provide support had already started moving, picking up speed as it traveled along the road.

Not far behind him came the piercing cry of police sirens. The red and blue lights seemed to weave together like ice and fire, casting an eerie, dreamlike glow across that stretch of night sky — so unreal it felt like something that couldn’t possibly be happening.

For Jiang Cheng, the false dream of all he had left behind was at his back. The real possibility of death lay ahead.

He had no chance to turn back. He could only keep running forward.

Jiang Cheng chased the truck, running like a man possessed, and finally drew close to its rear end. The green canvas flap was thrown open from within; two arms reached out, seized his hands, and with a powerful heave, pulled him up and aboard.

He collapsed headfirst into the cargo hold, gasping in sharp, desperate breaths. His throat was thick with the taste of blood, and his back was drenched cold with sweat.

He pulled himself upright almost immediately.

Someone twisted open the small lamp in the cargo hold.

A group of men were arrayed on either side, with Qi Yan seated alone at the center — like the moon ringed by attending stars. He was bent over, carefully cleaning his sniper rifle. Then he raised it and aimed it at Jiang Cheng where he sat, closed one eye, and with a soft click, dry-fired at him.

Jiang Cheng didn’t so much as flinch.

“So,” Qi Yan said, “do you still find this game enjoyable?”

Jiang Cheng replied without any attempt at pleasantry: “Honestly? I find it rather dull. Other people want money. You people play with your lives.”

“Too base,” Qi Yan said, amused. “Jiang Cheng, you live at far too base a level. Sometimes the satisfaction of the spirit far outweighs the acquisition of material wealth.”

“Your spiritual satisfaction is killing police officers?” Jiang Cheng said.

“That’s right,” Qi Yan said. “The sight of a police uniform irritates me. I don’t particularly want to kill anyone — but what can you do? If they don’t die, I feel deeply unhappy.”

Jiang Cheng’s expression went cold. “You’re a lunatic,” he said.

The moment the others heard Jiang Cheng speak so insolently to Qi Yan, one of them drove a rifle butt hard into his abdomen. Jiang Cheng sucked in a sharp breath of pain and instinctively curled in on himself, the agony overwhelming.

“Don’t hit him, don’t hit him.” Qi Yan laughed. “That line reminds me of someone rather interesting — he cursed me out exactly the same way.”

Qi Yan stepped onto Jiang Cheng’s ankle and ground down hard. “Would you like to know how I tormented that person?” he asked.

Jiang Cheng was breaking out in cold sweat from the pain, but said nothing further. Qi Yan stared at him for a moment, then withdrew his foot. “Dull,” he said.

Jiang Cheng had no interest in whoever Qi Yan was referring to. At the time, he still didn’t know that Qi Yan was Old Scorpion, so he hadn’t given the remark any further thought.

Exhausted to his core, he couldn’t keep himself awake and drifted off to sleep. By the time he came to again, the sky had already begun to turn a pale grey. The vehicle had pulled to a stop at the temporary hideout in Kuangshan West Lane.

He entered the warehouse and found Yao Weihai lying on the floor, bound tightly.

His body was convulsing intermittently. He had vomited a great deal of blood. Two of his fingernails had been ripped out.

One of the men grabbed Yao Weihai by the hair and forced his head up.

Qi Yan sat across from him in a chair, impeccably dressed. “I’m running out of patience, Deputy Director Yao,” he said. “You’ve been tracking us for so long, sending undercover officers one after another — and every one of them has died for it. Doesn’t that grieve you? Not that it matters. I won’t hold it against you for sending them. You’re a police officer — it’s your duty.”

He seemed, on the surface, entirely reasonable. His gaze was measured, and because his features carried a soft, androgynous quality, he came across as all the more refined.

But then his eyes slowly narrowed, and the warmth drained out of them entirely. “There is only one thing I care about,” he said. “The person who pulled the trigger and killed my brother five years ago — was it you, or was it Professor Jiang?”

“…”

“All you have to do is tell me it wasn’t you, and I’ll let you walk out of here. What do you say?”