Film and Television: My Cheat Code is AI

late at night.

Zhang Yang parked his car in the underground garage of Zhao Fei's detached villa. After waiting for the lights in the upstairs bedroom to come on, he sat quietly in the car for fifteen minutes to make sure there was nothing unusual before starting the car again and driving away from that wealthy area without making a sound.

Instead of driving back to his place, he drove around three blocks and parked the car deep in an alley without streetlights. He turned off the engine, got out, and locked the door. Then he found his bicycle, which he had left there beforehand, in a corner of the alley, hopped on, and slowly rode off along the dimly lit lane.

The chain lock hanging on the handlebars occasionally tapped against the frame, making a soft, clattering sound that carried far in the quiet night.

Zhang Yang rode for about twenty minutes, passing through most of the old city, and finally turned into a narrow alley without even streetlights. At the end of the alley, a dim yellow light bulb shone, under which stood a simple stall—a few folding tables, a few plastic stools, and a large, steaming pot on a honeycomb briquette stove, bubbling and emitting white steam.

The signboard for "Lao Ma Beef Noodles" hangs crookedly on the wall, with words written in red paint that have been there for years and the paint is cracked.

Zhang Yang locked his bicycle against the wall and went into the noodle shop. It was 1:30 a.m., and there was only one customer left in the shop, sitting at the back against the wall, eating noodles with his head down. Zhang Yang didn't greet him, but went straight to the table behind him and sat down. The two sat back to back, with a gap of less than ten centimeters between them.

"One bowl of beef noodles," Zhang Yang called out to the owner.

"Alright, coming right away!" Old Ma pulled off the towel draped over his shoulder, wiped his hands, and deftly grabbed a handful of noodles and threw them into the pot.

Zhang Yang pulled a pair of disposable chopsticks from the chopstick holder, broke them apart, and scraped off the splinters back and forth, as if he were doing something very focused. The person behind him never looked up, slowly picking up noodles from the bowl with his chopsticks, making soft slurping sounds.

Before the noodles even arrived, Zhang Yang spoke as if to himself, his voice so low that only two people could hear: "Wu Jun and Huang Si'er's rendezvous failed."

The person behind him paused, his chopsticks still moving, but he didn't reply.

Zhang Yang continued, "In his younger days, Huang Si'er dragged a policeman into his mess."

The man behind him swallowed the noodles in his mouth before speaking, his voice muffled, as if squeezed from his throat: "The people from the Third Brigade of the Municipal Public Security Bureau have already gotten close to Wu Jun."

Zhang Yang's brows furrowed almost imperceptibly.

The three battalions have already moved in. This means that Wu Jun's supply line could be taken away at any time, or it could be cut off at any time. And either way, it's not good news for Zhang Yang—if Wu Jun is captured, Zhao Fei will definitely shrink his lines, making it even harder for Zhang Yang, his "confidant," to get in touch with the core information.

"There's danger." Zhang Yang lowered his voice even further. "Close the net as soon as possible, or make him retreat as soon as possible."

The person behind him was silent for two seconds, as if weighing something, before saying, "Help me find out who that policeman is."

Zhang Yang nodded, a very slight nod, so subtle that only the person behind him could feel it.

Just then, Old Ma walked over with a steaming bowl of beef noodles, placed it in front of Zhang Yang, and the soup nearly spilled. "Enjoy your meal!" Old Ma called out, then casually asked, "Would you like a small bottle of Erguotou?"

Zhang Yang smiled and waved his hand: "I'm not drinking anymore, I still have to ride my bike."

Old Ma didn't try to persuade him further, nodded, and went back to squat by his stove.

Zhang Yang picked up his chopsticks, lowered his head, and pretended to be focused on eating his noodles. The person behind him had already finished the last bite of noodles, pushed the bowl aside, took out a few crumpled coins from his pocket and placed them under the bowl, wiped his mouth, and got up to leave.

His footsteps faded into the empty alley, eventually swallowed by the night. From beginning to end, the two never exchanged a single glance.

Zhang Yang ate his beef noodles at a leisurely pace. The noodles were hand-pulled, not perfectly uniform in thickness, but chewy. The broth was made from beef bones, simmered until it turned whitish, with a thin layer of oil and bright green cilantro floating on top. He ate slowly, as if savoring the food, or perhaps using the act of eating to calm the chaotic thoughts in his mind.

Halfway through his meal, he asked Old Ma for four more grilled kidneys and twelve more grilled meats. Old Ma happily took out the skewered kidneys and meats from the freezer, placed them on the charcoal fire to grill, and the smoke sizzled up, mixed with the aroma of cumin and chili powder, giving the whole alley a touch of everyday life.

Zhang Yang watched as the flickering light of the charcoal fire reflected on Old Ma's oily face, smeared with soot, and suddenly felt a little dazed. A year ago, when he graduated from police academy, he never imagined he would be sitting here, at 1:30 in the morning, in an alley whose name had almost been forgotten, eating a bowl of beef noodles, grilling four kidneys, and waiting for an ending where he didn't know if he would even survive to the end.

a year ago.

Zhang Yang graduated from the police academy with excellent grades, though not outstanding. Following the normal assignment process, he should have gone to a police station or criminal investigation team, starting from the bottom, accumulating seniority and years of service, and slowly working his way up.

But someone found him.

The person who contacted him didn't waste time with pleasantries and went straight to the point: Haida Trading Co., Ltd., whose legal representative is Zhao Fei, ostensibly engages in import and export trade, but in reality, it's involved in organized crime, drugs, and firearms. He employs a gang of ruthless thugs who have been entrenched in the city for years. The city police have been monitoring him for a long time, but each time they've tried to apprehend him, they're always missing the final piece—they can't get conclusive evidence against him unless they take down his core leadership.

We need an undercover agent.

Zhang Yang asked, "Why me?"

The man said, "Because you're a new face, because your file hasn't been entered into the system yet, and because your grades aren't number one, it won't attract much attention. And—the man paused—the organization knows about your mother's situation. If you're willing to go, the organization will find a way to cover your mother's medical expenses."

Zhang Yang remained silent for a long time.

Then he said, "I'll go."

But being an undercover agent isn't easy. Zhao Fei has managed to survive in this area for so many years not only because of his ruthlessness, but also because of his caution. He has an ironclad rule when it comes to hiring: don't hire strangers. Zhang Yang spent nearly three months at Haida Trading Company and barely even saw Zhao Fei a few times. He did odd jobs and errands every day and didn't get any valuable information.

This can't go on.

Zhang Yang began paving his own way.

He first approached Liu Yida. Liu Yida was the accountant at Haida Trading Company, having worked for Zhao Fei for seven or eight years, managing all the company's accounts, both overt and covert, and was one of Zhao Fei's most trusted people. Zhang Yang approached him, saying his mother had terminal cancer and needed money to save her life. He didn't plead poverty or try to evoke emotions; he simply placed the hospital's diagnosis and payment receipts on the table and quietly waited for Liu Yida to finish reviewing them.

Liu Yida sent people to investigate, and the situation was found to be true.

The money was approved; it wasn't much, but it was enough for Zhang Yang at that time.

At the company gathering that month, Zhang Yang "coincidentally" appeared at the same restaurant. Holding a glass of wine, he walked up to Liu Yida, said nothing, and downed three glasses of baijiu in a row. Then he walked up to Zhao Fei and downed three more glasses.

That night, Zhang Yang vomited so badly that he was completely disoriented. In the end, he could only dry heave, and the acid in his stomach was churning up, but he still managed to stay upright and not collapse.

Zhao Fei sat in the main seat, observing everything without uttering a word. But the next day, Zhang Yang's transfer order came down—he was transferred from a menial job to work as Zhao Fei's driver.

Officially a driver, Zhang Yang was Zhao Fei's personal attendant, taking him everywhere. But despite this, Zhao Fei never allowed him to handle any actual business. When discussing business, Zhang Yang waited outside; when meeting guests, he waited in the car; he knew nothing about accounts, goods transfers, or personnel scheduling.

Zhao Fei was genuinely good to him, giving him money, a car, and a house to live in, and never forgetting to bring him a meal when they went out to eat. But there was a hidden thread in this "goodness"—trust is fine, but not too much. Zhao Fei treated him like a brother, but not a brother he could entrust with business.

Zhang Yang knew that if things continued like this, his network would be ruined. The longer he stayed by Zhao Fei's side, the more he resembled a real driver, a real henchman, without obtaining any evidence that could definitively prove Zhao Fei's innocence.

He needs a breakthrough.

That breakthrough point was Qin Feng.

Qin Feng worked for the city's criminal investigation team and had been keeping an eye on Zhao Fei for a long time. He was impatient and hot-tempered, and when he got down to business, he was reckless and almost clashed with Zhao Fei's men several times. In the eyes of Zhao Fei's gang, Qin Feng was like a fly that couldn't be shaken off, buzzing around them annoyingly, but they couldn't really touch him.

Zhang Yang saw this clearly.

He privately approached Qin Feng and explained his plan in detail. Qin Feng's first reaction was to swear, then he asked, "Are you crazy?"

Zhang Yang said, "I'm not crazy. As long as you're alive, Zhao Fei will never truly believe me."

Qin Feng remained silent for a long time before finally saying, "I have to report this."

Zhang Yang said, "Okay."

The plan sparked considerable controversy within the municipal bureau after it was submitted. Some said it was too risky, others said it was gambling with two comrades' lives. But it was ultimately approved because there was no better solution.

That night, Qin Feng was "drunk." He blocked Zhao Fei's Mercedes, reeking of alcohol, and pointed at Zhao Fei inside the car, cursing, "You bunch of bastards, don't think I don't know what you're doing. I, Qin Feng, am keeping an eye on you. I'll follow you wherever you go, and one day I'll personally send you to jail."

Zhao Fei sat in the back seat, his face ashen, but he said nothing. He couldn't touch Qin Feng, at least not in the street, in front of so many people, to lay a hand on a criminal police officer.

But Zhang Yang made a move.

He jumped out of the driver's seat, grabbed Qin Feng by the collar, and dragged him into a nearby alley. Qin Feng struggled, and the two men wrestled, their shouts and the sounds of punches and kicks filling the air. Zhao Fei's other two men tried to help, but Zhao Fei stopped them with a look.

Then, a gunshot rang out.

Everyone froze.

Zhang Yang emerged from the alley, clutching Qin Feng's sidearm, the muzzle still emitting a faint smoke. His hands were stained with blood, and a few drops splattered his face, starkly visible under the streetlights. He walked to Zhao Fei's car window, bent down, his voice trembling, but his words were clear: "Brother Fei, let's go."

Zhao Fei glanced at him, a look Zhang Yang still remembered vividly. It wasn't one of emotion or gratitude, but a complex, calculating gaze. It was as if he was seeing this person for the first time.

Then Zhao Fei only said one word: "Go."

That night, Zhao Fei arranged for Zhang Yang to leave the city. He would first go to Guangzhou, and then transfer in Hong Kong to fly to the United States. Zhao Fei had businesses and connections in the United States, so he arranged for Zhang Yang to join a gun club, ostensibly for "training," but in reality, to let him lay low.

Qin Feng was "dead." The city police issued an arrest warrant, and the suspect's portrait didn't resemble Zhang Yang's, but the case remained unsolved—a criminal police officer shot and killed on the street; this was a major case, yet the killer and the body couldn't be found. The city police's internal explanation was that Qin Feng died in the line of duty, was posthumously recognized as a martyr, and his family received a pension. The real Qin Feng, however, was secretly sent to police academy for further training, given a different name and a new file, starting from scratch.

There is no longer a Qin Feng in this world. At least not until the Zhao Fei case is completely resolved.

Two months later, Zhang Yang returned.

Zhao Fei personally picked him up from the airport. Upon meeting, Zhao Fei didn't say anything, but simply patted him on the shoulder forcefully, then pulled out a Type 54 pistol from his pocket, along with its holster, and shoved it into Zhang Yang's hand.

"I'll take it with me," Zhao Fei said. "From now on, you're my brother."

That evening, Zhao Fei hosted a dinner party at the company, inviting everyone he knew. After a few rounds of drinks, Zhao Fei stood up, pointed at Zhang Yang, and said to everyone, "Listen up, everyone. Yangzi is my brother, closer than blood brothers. From now on, his word is my word. Anyone who crosses him is crossing me, Zhao Fei."

Zhang Yang sat to the side, holding a wine glass, his face displaying just the right amount of gratitude and apprehension. Everyone was watching him; some were envious, some jealous, some indifferent, and some genuinely admiring.

He remembered them all.

From then on, Zhao Fei began to truly entrust some things to him. Although Zhao Fei still personally controlled the core business, Zhang Yang had access to more and more things and could delve deeper into the details.

He had reached the closest point to Zhao Fei. But he wasn't close enough. He needed to penetrate the most hidden corner of Zhao Fei's heart, to obtain the thing that could completely bring down the entire Haida Trading Company.

Tonight, Wu Jun and Huang Si'er's rendezvous failed. The city's Third Brigade had already placed their forces close to Wu Jun. The policeman Huang Si'er had dragged into the scheme was still lurking in the shadows, like a ticking time bomb.

Zhang Yang finished the last grilled kidney, wiped his mouth and hands with a tissue, and gathered the bamboo skewers on the table to one side.

Old Ma came over to collect the bowls, and then asked with a smile, "Really not going to have a bottle? Nobody checks for drunk driving on bicycles."

Zhang Yang smiled, but still shook his head: "No, I can't drink."

It's not that I can't drink it, it's that I'm afraid to drink it.

Since the day he stepped into Haida Trading Company a year ago, he has never been truly drunk. Every time he raises his glass, every time he tilts his head back, he has to precisely calculate the amount of wine he drinks—enough to make Zhao Fei feel that he is generous, enough to make the people around him feel that he is good-natured, but absolutely not so much that it slows down his mind.

If you're even a fraction of a second slower, you'll lose your life.

Zhang Yang took out a ten-yuan bill from his pocket, put it under the bowl, greeted Old Ma, and pushed his bicycle out of the alley.