Desperate people, accept the seed of my soul!

He lowered his finger and turned off the video.

The basement was dark again.

"Teacher, I remember all the lessons you taught me. But I'm sorry, I can't listen to you this time."

"What they owe me is something the law can't repay."

"The law can only sentence them to a few years in prison, detain them for a few years, fine them a little money, and they'll still live a life of luxury after they get out. What I've lost is my life, my back, my fertility, my daughter whom I raised for three years, and the last bit of trust I had in this world."

"What will they use to repay this?"

He stood up.

The dried blood crust on his body fell to the ground in fragments.

"There are still four enemies."

He spoke in a low voice, his tone flat, as if he were saying that the weather was nice today.

"Two security guards, a director of the petition office, and a liaison from Blackstone International. You're hiding in the safe house, waiting for me to come find you."

"You'll get yours."

He picked up his phone, opened the map, and began to search for the location of the Zhaoming City Emergency Command Center.

Han Qiming at the Zhaoming City Emergency Command Center.

He just held a meeting in the command center's conference room and filmed a video urging people to surrender.

He's still in that building.

Song Chao memorized the address of the command center.

"You want me to surrender."

He put his phone in his pocket, pushed open the iron door to the basement, and walked into the night.

"Then I'll go to your territory first. Let's see if you're qualified to persuade me to surrender."

Night fell over Zhaoming City.

The city is ablaze with lights, and traffic flows like a river.

No one noticed that a migrant worker covered in blood was silently walking toward the center of power in the city.

------

The safe house is located in the western suburbs of Zhaoming City.

It was a three-story building that looked no different from an ordinary house, with beige tiles on the exterior walls and two half-dead pomegranate trees in the yard.

However, every house within 500 meters of the courtyard was emptied.

The residents were temporarily relocated to hotels in the city, and the compensation was very generous, enough for a family to go on a trip.

Three shifts of Sharp Blade team members, fully armed, were stationed in the emptied houses, working in shifts around the clock.

Infrared sensors were installed on the courtyard wall, two vital signs monitoring devices were mounted on the roof, and an encrypted fiber optic cable was dug from the basement directly to the city's emergency command center.

This small building was transformed into a fortress.

Four people lived in the fortress.

To be precise, they were four names written in red marker on the death list by the Song Dynasty.

Two security guards.

A director of a petition office.

A contact person for Blackstone International.

------

In the room on the second floor, Zhao Yong sat on the edge of the bed, clutching a can of ice-cold beer in his hand. He had been holding it for almost ten minutes, and the water droplets condensing on the can dripped onto his pants, leaving a large dark stain, but he was completely unaware of it.

"Do you think the Song Dynasty saw that video?"

He spoke, his voice dry and hoarse, like sandpaper scraping against a cement floor.

"have no idea."

Sun Jianjun, sitting on the opposite sofa, shook his head, a cigarette between his fingers, a long ash piled up and unflicked.

"What difference does it make whether you see it or not? He's killed nearly two hundred people. Two more of us won't make a difference, and two fewer of us won't make a difference either."

"What do you mean by 'two more of us doesn't matter'?"

Zhao Yong raised his voice, and the beer can creaked as he squeezed it.

"We're security guards! We're wearing police uniforms! How dare he kill security guards?"

"He's already killed him."

Sun Jianjun flicked away the cigarette ash, and a spark landed on his pants, burning a small hole, but he didn't look down at it.

"Of the thirty-seven people from the Public Security Bureau, half were wearing police uniforms. The eight men at Zhao Dehai's door were fully armed. The seventeen people from Shikan Village who tried to stop him were slaughtered like leeks. Do you think he cares about the uniforms we're wearing?"

Zhao Yong opened his mouth, wanting to refute, but it felt like a stone was stuck in his throat.

He knew Sun Jianjun was right.

When Song Chao stormed the police station, everyone in the office was watching the surveillance footage. Some people vomited, some cried, and some slammed their fists on the table, saying they wanted to bring in heavy weapons to bombard them.

But no one dared to say that the thirty-seven people died unjustly.

Because they all knew what those people had done in the interrogation room.

They've done it themselves.

"I just can't figure it out."

Zhao Yong tilted his head back and gulped down a large mouthful of beer. The icy liquid slid down his throat, but he couldn't suppress the nausea churning in his stomach.

"Countless people in Zhaoming City have done this kind of thing, why are we the only ones who are unlucky? When Tang Ming's side handed over the information, we weren't the only ones who accepted it. How many cases did the criminal investigation department handle? How much bribery did the court take? How many petitions did the petition office hold back? Why are only the two of us being targeted?"

He became more and more agitated as he spoke, and the beer can completely flattened in his hand, spraying beer out of the crack and splashing all over his hand.

"That Director Sun from the petition office has over a hundred petitions piled up, but the Song Dynasty case didn't even get a chance to go through with him. He just forgot about it after he finished, and he still got promoted and made a fortune. Now he's living comfortably in the room next door. Why should we sit here and wait to die with him?"

"Whom do you blame?"

Sun Jianjun stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and lit another one.

"Blame Tang Ming? Blame Zhang Jinshan? Blame Song Chao? You can't blame anyone. When they handed you 30,000 yuan, why didn't you ask why? They made you give false testimony, made you write in the record that Song Chao was privately reselling steel bars, made you hold Song Chao's hand and put your fingerprint on the confession, why didn't you ask why?"

"Back then you said that a migrant worker would be released after a few years in jail, it wasn't a big deal."

Zhao Yong's face turned red.

"What's wrong with what I said? Didn't you say the same thing? Who said that someone like him, from the bottom rungs of society, would never amount to anything anyway, and that helping Boss Tang would open up more avenues for him? You said it! And now you're shifting all the blame onto me?"

"I told you."

Sun Jianjun exhaled a puff of smoke, his expression calm.

"I did say it. I admit it. I fucking admit I'm unlucky. Who would have thought that a migrant worker carrying steel bars on a construction site could awaken some kind of extraordinary ability? If he had this ability, he should have said so earlier! If he had said he had this talent earlier, who would dare to touch him? I would kowtow to him, I would treat him like an ancestor!"

His voice cracked on the last word.

The cigarette slipped from his fingertips, landed on his knee, burned through his pants, and burned his skin.

He looked down at the small hole in his knee that was smoking and suddenly found it a little ridiculous.

He was driven to this point by a migrant worker.

Hidden inside the fortress, guarded by three hundred fully armed elite guards, with satellites overhead and vital signs monitors scanning the ground beneath their feet.

He was still afraid.

How scared are they?

Last night he had a dream in which Song Chao stood by his bedside, looking down at him. His blood-red eyes were devoid of any emotion, only a cold emptiness.