Film and Television: My Cheat Code is AI

Yang Zhen returned to Wu Jun'er's place from the abandoned farmhouse. Wu Jun'er was sitting on the sofa smoking. When he saw Yang Zhen enter, he threw the cigarette butt on the ground, stood up and said, "Come on, let's get going, let's find somewhere else."

Yang Zhen was still unaware of what had happened; he simply nodded and picked up the car keys from the table. The two went out, and Yang Zhen got into the driver's seat and started the car.

The car had barely left the village when Wu Jun'er's phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, his face twitched, and he answered, his voice low: "Hey. Huang Si'er, you still have the nerve to call me?"

The voice on the other end of the phone was loud, and Yang Zhen vaguely heard Huang Si'er shouting, "Brother Jun, why did you run away last night?"

Wu Jun'er snorted coldly. The streetlights outside the car window flashed by one by one, casting flickering light on his face. "Can I not run? There's a thug in the disco."

"A lowly policeman, checking the security." Huang Si'er's voice was clearly urgent.

"What a coincidence! Who would believe that?" Wu Jun'er's voice turned cold, like a knife drawn from its sheath. "You doubt me, and I doubt you too."

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone, then the call ended. Wu Jun'er slammed her phone onto the seat, closed her eyes, and leaned back for a while.

Yang Zhen glanced at him in the rearview mirror and asked, "Brother, where are we going?"

Wu Jun'er opened her eyes, thought for a moment, and said, "Let's go to the villa. It's secluded there."

"Okay." Yang Zhen replied, turned the steering wheel half a turn, and the car turned onto a narrower road, disappearing into the night.

……

After getting off work, Zhang Yang first took Zhao Fei back to his residence, then rode his bicycle home. The autumn night wind blew on his face, carrying a chill, and he zipped up his jacket.

As he rode to an intersection, his phone vibrated. It wasn't a call, but a text message. He slowed down, took out his phone with one hand, and glanced at it—the screen displayed only one line: "Location 3, tonight." The sender was a string of numbers, without a name, but he knew who it was.

Today wasn't the agreed-upon day to contact him. Zhang Yang put his phone back in his pocket, his heart sinking. He turned his bike around and rode in another direction.

Safe House No. 3 was located on the top floor of a six-story brick-and-concrete building in an old residential area in the east of the city. Zhang Yang locked his bicycle to a utility pole downstairs, glanced up—the light in the third-floor room was on. He stood there for two seconds, then walked into the stairwell.

The staircase was narrow, and most of the motion-activated lights were broken, with only one still lit at the corner on the second floor, emitting a dim yellow glow. Zhang Yang's footsteps echoed in the empty stairwell, one after another, unhurriedly. Reaching the third floor, he took out his key, inserted it into the lock, turned it twice, and the door opened.

There was only one person in the room. Qin Liguo, the head of the Criminal Investigation Division, and Zhang Yang's father's old partner. He stood by the window with his back to the door, only turning around when he heard the door open.

"Here it comes," he said.

Zhang Yang closed and locked the door, then walked to the sofa and sat down. "Uncle Qin, what happened?"

Qin Liguo sat down opposite him, hands on his knees, leaning forward, his gaze fixed on him. "I've already checked this place; there's no eavesdropping. I urgently summoned you here because I need your help with something."

Zhang Yang nodded: "Please go ahead."

"Do you have any leads on that police officer who was rated '85'?"

Zhang Yang took out a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, took a drag, and smoke rose between the two men. "Yes. Even if you hadn't contacted me, I would have passed on the clue to you. That person is Gu Yang, a graduate of the police academy in 1985."

Qin Liguo's eyes flickered, but his expression remained unchanged. "This person was already removed from the team, yet he still managed to cause trouble." He paused, then added, "Is there anything else I need you to do?"

Zhang Yang flicked his cigarette ash and said, "No need. Just take care of the net outside. Leave the one inside to me."

Qin Liguo was silent for a few seconds, then said, "Come back after this is over. Go to the Sixth Major Crimes Unit of the branch office for some training. I've already wronged your father once; I can't wrong you again."

Zhang Yang's finger hovered above the ashtray, a bit of ash falling from it. He looked up at Qin Liguo. "And my badge number..."

"That's your father's badge number," Qin Liguo continued, his voice low but each word clear. "It's your choice whether to inherit it or not."

Zhang Yang stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and said, "Thank you."

Qin Liguo waved his hand, a hint of weariness in his voice. "No need to be polite. Haida has someone behind him, but we've already got that person under surveillance, so you don't need to worry." He stood up, walked to the window, and drew the curtains tightly before turning back. "Right now, the main force investigating the case is the Major Crimes Unit Six, along with investigators from the Municipal Public Security Bureau's Third Brigade. They're working together, and you'll be behind the scenes. Once the operation begins, you'll be required to cooperate and be arrested. You can take the initiative at crucial moments, but you must protect your own safety."

Zhang Yang stood up, stood at attention, and said in a low but firm voice, "Yes, sir, I guarantee I will complete the mission."

Qin Liguo looked at him and nodded. He took an envelope from his inner pocket, placed it on the coffee table, and pushed it in front of Zhang Yang. "This is a letter from Qin Feng to you. Keep it and read it yourself."

Zhang Yang stared at the envelope, not reaching for it. He recognized the handwriting—Qin Feng's—every stroke etched with urgency. Qin Feng was anxious to go home, back to his family, back to his police force. A year had passed, and his heart was growing restless.

Zhang Yang didn't open the letter, but looked up at Qin Liguo. "Uncle, please tell Qin Feng for me that I guarantee I'll take down Haida within the next few months."

Qin Liguo looked at him, remained silent for two seconds, and then nodded. "Okay. The Economic Investigation Department has already started investigating the Haida Company's ledgers you sent last time. I believe they will soon have some clues."

Zhang Yang took a USB drive from his inner coat pocket and placed it next to the envelope. "This contains information on Haida's strategist, Liu Yida, and the addresses of his three lovers. You can start setting up these locations now." He paused, "The Four Heavenly Kings have been following Zhao Fei all along; I'll handle these people."

Qin Liguo picked up the USB drive and held it tightly in his hand. "Okay, I'll contact you in advance."

"it is good."

Qin Liguo put the USB drive away, stood up, and straightened his collar. "I'll be going now. This place is probably no longer needed. I'll have someone clean it up tomorrow. You can take your weapons."

Zhang Yang shook his head. "No need. It might take a while longer here."

Qin Liguo glanced at him, didn't ask any further questions, and simply nodded. "Okay, I'll listen to you."

He walked to the door, opened it, glanced back at Zhang Yang as if to say something, but ultimately just waved and walked into the corridor. The footsteps faded away, one motion-activated light turned on, then off, until finally, complete silence fell.

Zhang Yang sat on the sofa, looking at the envelope on the coffee table. He didn't open it, but put it in his inner pocket, next to the empty pistol magazine. Then he stood up, walked to the window, and pulled the curtains open a crack. The black sedan downstairs had already driven away, the streetlights illuminating the empty street in a white glow, a fallen leaf swirling in the wind, turning a few times on the sidewalk before settling down.

He turned and went into the bedroom, pulled a canvas bag from under the bed, unzipped it—three pistols, gleaming clean, with several magazines neatly stacked beside them. He picked up the top pistol, removed the magazine to check it, then pushed it back, put the gun back in the bag, zipped it up, and stuffed it back under the bed.

Then he went back to the living room, wiped the cigarette ash he had left on the coffee table, turned off the light, opened the door, and went out. The motion-activated light in the hallway flickered on and off. His footsteps faded into the darkness until finally, there was no sound at all.