TTB C1

Chapter 1

“Welcome to the Missing Persons Investigation Division.” …

Northern M Country, Lily Industrial Park.

The setting sun melted into molten gold, the dying light crimson as blood. At last, the final strand of sunlight slowly sank beneath the horizon.

As daylight waned and stars began to return, yet another long night was about to arrive.

Suddenly, with a loud bang, a firework shot into the sky, blooming in the silence of the dark night.

Brilliant sparks scattered like shattered starlight, streaking across the sky, illuminating the rows of grey office towers that filled Lily Industrial Park. There were no fewer than nineteen buildings here, capable of housing several thousand people—like a miniature city.

Soon after, a second rocket, a third rocketed up, bursting in dazzling bright explosions, their booming echo unbroken.

On the open square within the park, those human dregs—mockingly called *“pigs,” “dog-pushers,” and “red clubs”*¹—had gone wild with madness. They roared with laughter, liquor splashing, celebrating tonight’s “great harvest.”

This was the park’s unique custom: every time they closed a massive deal, they set off fireworks.

Each 500,000 earned meant one firework in the sky.

Tonight, thirty fireworks would bloom one after another.

All that blood‑stained, ill‑gotten fortune had fallen into the hands of these swindlers—and behind this glow of prosperity lay countless families ruined, bankrupted, and broken.

At the edge of the throng, two owners of the park were in conversation.

They were the infamous Zhao brothers of Northern M. The elder was Zhao Zhanping, the younger Zhao Zhanqi. They had been in this trade for more than ten years.

Amid the noise, Zhao Zhanqi wore a trace of worry:

“Brother, I’m still uneasy about those few who escaped the other day…”

“What’s there to be afraid of?” Zhao Zhanping cut him off, tilting his head to look at the fireworks littering the sky. His tone was utterly dismissive. “Is this the first group who’s ever run off?”

“But they took away Engineer Yuan… and we also caught that one…” Zhao Zhanqi glanced around cautiously, lowering his voice: “Those people don’t seem like ordinary undercover infiltrators. Couldn’t they be…”

“Don’t forget whose territory this is.” Zhao Zhanping’s confidence brimmed. “Even if they wanted to act, their reach can’t touch us here. The system development is already complete—Engineer Yuan doesn’t serve much use anymore.”

He downed a gulp of liquor and continued with smug delight: “That White Burial really is a little prodigy. Finally completed the system! With it, every other park will come begging for our services, even the local military will have to step lightly around us. Our comfortable days are just beginning… A few pesky ants like before can’t shake us.”

Hearing this, Zhao Zhanqi clutched his chest, exhaling relief. “That’s good. These past two nights, my heart hasn’t been settled.”

“Don’t worry—White Burial will deal with it.” Zhao Zhanping muttered, scanning the crowd. “But speaking of which… why have they been gone so long? Shouldn’t they be back by now?”

At that moment, the last firework ascended, dissolving into the black canopy of night. Darkness reclaimed silence.

The celebration came to a close. Just as the crowd began to disperse, all the lights of the park abruptly went dead. Darkness swallowed every building whole.

In the confused shouts, a helicopter approached from afar, its blades whipping up tempests of wind. Amid the roar, several black‑clad silhouettes rappelled from the machine, descending like divine soldiers.

“Police! Run!” someone screamed in terror.

The crowd scattered like startled birds and beasts—yet where was there to run?

The police had long since obtained detailed internal maps of the compound, already familiar with all passages and personnel placement. Every exit was sealed.

These criminals were turtles in a jar—no escape possible.

The camouflage‑clad “red clubs” were the first to react, raising weapons with a feral cry:

“Fuck it, fight them!”

Gunfire erupted, deafening in bursts.

Bullets whistled through the air. A few men who resisted were swiftly shot down, some falling under SWAT fire instantly. Blood bloomed in grotesque sprays; others dropped to the ground, clutching their heads and quivering with fear.

The fortress‑like park, before absolute force, crumbled into fragility.

Zhao Zhanping’s composure shattered, his legs quaking: “It’s over. All over…”

With their leader absent—Summer Yan nowhere around—the “red clubs” routed in chaos, reduced to a headless mob.

Stumbling to the rear, Zhao Zhanping muttered: “Even if I die, I won’t let myself be taken by them.”

Panting heavily, he drew a gun and pressed it to his temple, eyes squeezed shut.

Before he could pull the trigger, a powerful force slammed into him. The pistol vanished from his grip, handcuffs clamped tight around his wrists, and he was pressed firmly to the ground under armed hands.

Amidst the panic, Zhao Zhanqi flung handfuls of banknotes into the air, hoping to stir confusion. But before the bills even drifted down, a shot rang out—searing his shoulder.

More law enforcement units poured in, subduing and hauling away the myriad scamsters.

Wails and gunshots filled the night. The earth was littered with paper scraps, money, rivers of blood and spilled liquor.

In mere minutes, the place had transformed from carnival to purgatory. Former glory gone—only carnage remained.

“Police! Stay where you are! Don’t move!”

“Hands on your head! Squat down!”

The square was filled with detained criminals. Bundles of cash were dragged out, computers and phones confiscated en masse.

Tonight’s raid marked the end of Northern M’s largest fraud park.

At the same time, in a nearby cemetery dark and ghastly, strewn with severed limbs and bones, SWAT officers from China frantically combed the ground.

“Found him!”

At the call, Rong Qing sprinted over, vaulting into a freshly dug shallow pit.

With trembling hands, he carefully brushed away clumps of earth—revealing a pale face beneath.

He had found him.

Half‑buried under soil lay a young man, his entire body battered and bloodied. Eyes shut, torn flesh criss‑crossing, fresh blood still oozing. Most terrifying of all, a head wound where red blood trickled forth mixed with brain matter, forming a winding river of crimson.

Looking upon the scene, indescribable grief threatened to drown Rong Qing. Yet he forced himself steady, checking the man’s injuries.

“He Lin… He Lin…” Rong Qing bent over his body, calling his name again and again.

A teammate tugged his arm: “Captain Rong, calm down. He’s already…”

With such torture, such a headshot—no one could survive.

But Rong Qing tore free, stubborn: “No! The blood hasn’t clotted yet—he’s still alive!”

In the chaos, the shot had not pierced He Lin’s forehead directly, but a fraction aside into the temple.

With one hand, Rong Qing gently covered the horrifying wound; with the other, he carefully tested under the man’s nose.

A faint, fragile breath brushed his fingertips. The abyss in Rong Qing’s heart flickered with faint light. He cried out urgently:

“He’s alive! Quickly! Get the ambulance here!”

Even as arrangements were made, Rong Qing whispered desperately: “He Lin! Wake up…”

The voice that was once steady now trembled, shattered. His heart tore apart while his outer shell performed duties as though on autopilot, a broken machine running its last program. Within, collapse consumed him.

At last, under his call, the man slowly opened his narrow eyes, hazed and fragile, looking back at him.

He Lin’s gaze lingered upon Rong Qing’s face. His lips moved slightly, meaning to speak a name. But as someone walked past, the wind they stirred shattered the fragile strings of memory. A voice was blown into He Lin’s ear—but the name, the memory, seeped with his blood into the soil of this hell, locked away forever.

The trembling: “I am Rong Qing”—was cut off from the last fragment of He Lin’s consciousness.

With his strength ebbing, He Lin’s final words came as a whisper, more sigh than sound:

“Rong Qing… who is that? Rong Qing, you came too late…”

The words faded like wind, yet cut like a blade plunged into the chest. Pain not of flesh but the soul, splitting Rong Qing in two. He felt his spirit bleeding, shattered—while his body could only remain frozen, destroyed.

From that instant, his soul and body severed—no spark of life left.

Official Broadcast:

“Recently, under deployment of the Ministry of Public Security, joint operations between Chinese police and M‑country authorities have successfully dismantled Northern M’s major Lily Industrial Park. More than 2,000 cross‑border telecom fraud suspects were apprehended.”

“Of the four principal ringleaders, the Zhao brothers have been captured; two remain at large. All others have been taken into custody. Relevant suspects and materials have been handed over through official crossings. International wanted notices have been issued for those still on the run.”

“This success demonstrates the firm resolve and efficiency of our police in combating cross‑border fraud targeting our citizens.”

“To date, a cumulative total of over 50,000 telecom scammers have been handed over, showing substantial progress in the fight against crimes emanating from M country.”

“No matter what shore the storm casts me upon, I will step ashore as a master.”

—Horace²

Two Years Later — Morning. Yun City, Police Bureau, Building 7

Though office hours had not yet begun, the Missing Persons Investigation Division was already stirring.

The phone rang, breaking the calm.

After a single tone, the man by the desk picked it up without hesitation, his motions brisk.

“Hello, Captain He? The DNA test results you sent last time are back—completely consistent with the missing child.”

Hearing this, the man’s furrowed brow relaxed; relief filled his tone: “Thank you.”

Another missing person’s identity confirmed.

Under the sunlight, the man hung up, opened the dossier before him, and signed his name on the closing page. The writing was forceful, elegant—clearly identifiable: “He Lin.”

Afterwards, He Lin printed the full file, preparing to proofread again.

The yellowed pages bore handwritten notes from years ago. He Lin stared at the uneven script for ten minutes, until the words began to blur and dance. Rubbing at his temple, he had to reread a sentence thrice before scraping together its sense.

He knew it then—the aftereffects of his injury were acting up.

Abandoning quarrel with the documents, he rose to make instant coffee.

The warm aroma filled the office air.

This was Yun City Police’s Missing Persons Investigation Division. He Lin was its captain.

Once, he had served in an elite SWAT unit; only a year and a half ago did he transfer into criminal investigation.

Two years earlier, he had been grievously injured on a mission—his head pierced by a bullet. Though he survived, he was left with sequelae: amnesia, vertigo, migraines, tinnitus, insomnia—and dyslexia.

His amnesia was intermittent—like a string snapped into fragments. Some memories sharp, others irretrievable.

Most absent were his special operations years, shrouded under confidentiality.

During his recovery, he sought treatment widely—special medicines, traditional remedies, fish oil, DHA—all with little effect.

Six months later, he grudgingly returned. Passing civil exams, he transferred into city police, inheriting this neglected department.

The Missing Persons Division chiefly archived cases and handled difficult ones assigned by leadership.

The work was intricate, fragmented, often spanning years. Hence, it was long mocked as the “cold palace” of city police.

But since He Lin arrived, case resolution soared—two per month on average, even four in one month. Efficiency shocked the whole bureau.

That winter, the director awarded him honors and invited him to higher posts. He Lin declined—preferring this quiet, marginal unit to balance his impediments.

He admitted candidly his reading struggles, telling the director: “Lengthy handwritten reports exhaust me—I need others to read aloud sometimes.”

Luckily, typed text posed no problem—nor did images, audio, or video. Daily life was normal, but work with piles of case files remained tough.

He then raised the real issue: manpower. The division was too small.

The director promised: one quota to be added. Yet half a year turned, fall arriving, no new recruit had come.

As He Lin sipped his coffee, young officer Fang Jue burst in breathless:

“I just saw Deputy Bai… bringing in a newcomer!”

Deputy Director Bai Yurong managed personnel.

“Where?” He Lin set down his cup.

“His office—talking to him now.” Fang gasped.

He Lin phoned Bai immediately, repeating his request for reinforcement.

Bai chuckled evasively: “Ah, Captain He, no new blood’s joined. Don’t worry—your need is well remembered.”

Unfooled, He Lin went in person.

Meanwhile, Bai Yurong sat across from a thin young man, features refined, aura cold.

Though merely thirty, his status was unusual: transferred from Tianning Base³, with no file forwarded, under explicit directive needing special care.

This was no ordinary recruit. Bai was cautious, deferential.

Explaining his recent phone call, he assured: “People mistook you for a graduate, begging me for staff.”

The youth asked casually: “Which division is so short-handed?”

“Missing Persons,” Bai replied. “Once interns arrive, I’ll assign one there.”

The youth made no response, merely turned pages of the bureau roster. His pale finger lingered at “He Lin.”

After long silence, Bai prompted: “Have you decided? Finance? Legal? Personnel? All with vacancies.” Easy posts.

The young man finally closed the roster. Calm words:

“Missing Persons.”

Bai blinked: “…Management position or…?”

“Didn’t you just say they lack an investigator? That one.”

Bai broke into sweat: “You’re making it tough for me—demoting yourself to grassroots? Too busy, too exhausting! A waste of your talents…”

Yet the youth’s gaze left no room for refusal. He signed without hesitation.

When He Lin arrived moments later, he saw him—strangely familiar though memory failed.

The youth too averted his gaze swiftly.

As pain pricked his head, He Lin steadied himself, while Bai whispered:

“He’s chosen your division. Everything’s signed. Take him with you.”

Though doubtful, He Lin accepted, scanning the slim form’s personnel sheet—age thirty, his own peer.

The name: Li Shang.

He Lin entered the room, introducing warmly:

“Hello, I’m He Lin, chief of the Missing Persons Division. From now on we are colleagues—welcome aboard.”

Now seeing him clearly, He Lin thought: clean‑cut, quietly striking, pallid and thin, veins faint behind cold‑white skin.

“I am Li Shang.” The man’s voice polite, his gaze bright and composed. “Captain He, I’ll rely on your guidance from here on.”

Footnotes

1. “Pigs, Dog‑Pushers, Red Clubs”: Slang from Chinese criminal underworld.
   • Pigs (猪仔): Used for trafficked or low‑level scam “fodder.”

   • Dog‑Pushers (狗推): Scam call operators.

   • Red Clubs (红棍): Armed thugs, often carrying clubs or guns.

2. Horace: Roman poet whose works often emphasize resilience and strength before fate.

3. Tianning Base (天寧基地): Fictional special security / elite training base in this story, with authority above regular local police chains. It denotes high status background.