Film and Television: My Cheat Code is AI

(Currently, the initial phase will consist of urban dramas, and after the conclusion of "Serious Crime Squad 6," it will be replaced by the medical drama "Xin Shu," which will be combined with other medical dramas.)

(The contract has been signed. Please vote with your monthly tickets when it's released. I'll be updating rapidly after it's published. I'm posting this four times.)

(Please vote with monthly tickets and add to your favorites. Two chapters today, one more tonight, and two more tomorrow.)

The three teams of Major Crimes Units 6, 5, and 4, totaling more than a dozen people, arrived at a residential house in the evening in four vehicles.

It was already dusk when the car came to a stop. The clouds in the west hung low, swallowing the last rays of sunlight, leaving only a hazy gray. Yang Zhen was the first to get out of the car, patted the door, and said in a low but clear voice, "Everyone, grab your things, don't forget anything."

The group unloaded equipment from the car—file cases, laptops, printers, several cases of bottled water, and bundles of folding beds. There was a lot of stuff, but no one spoke; the only sounds were the movement of moving things.

Chang Baole was the last to get off the bus. He stood beside the bus, his hands in his pockets, looking up at the building in front of him—four stories high, with gray brick walls, and most of the green paint on the window frames had peeled off, revealing the rusty red iron underneath. A sign hung at the entrance, white with black lettering that read "Machinery Factory Guesthouse," the edges of which were curled up.

Chang Baole looked at the sign and curled his lip: "The level is pretty low."

Ding Jian walked past him carrying two cases of bottled water without turning his head: "Alright, I'm being kind by not making you live on the streets."

Chang Baole didn't reply, glanced at the building again, picked up his bag, and followed.

This is the old guesthouse of the machinery factory. After the factory closed down, it was left idle and temporarily requisitioned by the Municipal Bureau as the base for a special task force. There was a smell of long-term neglect in the building—dampness mixed with dust, and the indescribable old odor of the old-fashioned corridors. The corridor lights were motion-activated, turning on only when someone walked by. The light was dim and yellowish, shining on the peeling paint in the corridor, making everything seem even older.

Rooms were assigned quickly. Two people shared a room, with bunk beds, metal frame beds, and uniformly issued military green bedding. Ding Jian and Chang Baole shared a room, while Yang Zhen had a room alone—his room also served as a communications room. Old Zheng lived in the room at the end of the corridor, next to the conference room.

After everyone was settled, everyone gathered in the conference room.

The meeting room was on the second floor, formerly the guesthouse's restaurant. The tables and chairs had been removed and replaced with a long conference table and a dozen or so folding chairs. A whiteboard hung on the wall, next to which was an enlarged map covered with circles and arrows drawn in red and blue markers. There were two fluorescent light tubes; one was broken, and the other emitted a buzzing electrical sound, casting a stark white light into the room.

Old Zheng was the last to come in. He was carrying an enamel mug filled with tea, tea leaves floating on the surface. He placed the mug on the table, took out a cigarette case from his pocket, lit it, and took a drag. The smoke slowly dissipated under the fluorescent light.

He didn't sit down; he stood, one hand supporting himself on the edge of the table, his gaze sweeping across everyone's face.

"Comrades," he began, his voice not loud, but everyone in the conference room could hear him clearly, "I heard some people complaining as soon as they moved in."

No one spoke.

Old Zheng flicked his cigarette ash, which landed on the table, but he ignored it. "It's alright. If anyone can't handle this hardship, I'll allow you to return to your respective teams. I won't force you, and I won't hold it against you later."

He paused, his gaze sweeping around the conference room.

"Raise your hand if you want to go back."

The meeting room was very quiet, with the overhead fan humming. No one raised their hand.

Old Zheng waited five or six seconds, then nodded. "No, right?" He turned to Yang Zhen, "Yang Zhen, announce the rules."

Yang Zhen stood up from his chair. He had changed into dark casual clothes, his shirt tucked into his trousers, making him look neat and tidy. He didn't take any notes, nor did he look at anyone; his tone was as if he were talking about something very ordinary.

"During the investigation, contact with relatives and friends is strictly prohibited."

His voice wasn't loud, but every word he spoke was clear and forceful.

"Except for my, Lao Zheng's, and Ding Jian's phones, everyone else's phones must be turned off and handed over for processing. Anyone who wants to contact the outside world must get Lao Zheng's approval."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the conference room before finally settling on a corner.

"Did you hear that?"

No one answered.

"Baole, did you hear me?"

Chang Baole sat against the wall, his back not very straight. He looked up at Yang Zhen and said, "I heard you."

Yang Zhen withdrew his gaze and sat down again. The chair leg scraped against the ground with a short thud.

The task force's affairs have been settled.

When Zhang Yang arrived at the company, he sensed that something was wrong.

Haida Trading Company's office area is usually bustling with activity—the receptionist, the accountant, and the sales staff are constantly coming and going, and the phone rings incessantly in the corridor. But today, when he pushed open the glass door, there was no one at the reception desk. On the table sat a half-finished cup of tea, long since cold.

He walked inside. The finance office door was open, and there was only one person inside organizing documents. When he saw him come in, the person nodded and then lowered their head to continue working. Most of the workstations in the sales department were empty, and a few chairs were placed crookedly in the aisle, as if people had left in a hurry.

Zhang Yang stood in the corridor for two seconds, then continued walking towards Zhao Fei's office.

The door was ajar. He knocked twice and then pushed the door open to go inside.

Zhao Fei sat behind his desk, neither on the phone nor looking at any documents. He just sat there, one hand resting on the armrest of his chair, the other on the desk, his fingers tapping unconsciously. The light streaming in from the window illuminated half of his face, while the other half remained in shadow.

Zhang Yang walked to the desk and said, "Brother Fei, the company—"

Zhao Fei waved his hand, not letting him finish speaking.

"Never mind." His voice was flat, revealing no emotion. "Let them all go."

Zhang Yang stood there, silent for two seconds, then said, "It's already that serious?"

Zhao Fei let out a cold laugh. The laugh was short, coming from his nose, and carried a hint of ruthlessness. "Hmph. These guys can't bring me down."

He picked up a folded piece of paper from the table and pushed it in front of Zhang Yang. Zhang Yang took it and unfolded it. It was an address, written in Zhao Fei's own handwriting, messy but legible.

"This is the pickup location," Zhao Fei said. "Let's go together."

Zhang Yang glanced at the paper, memorized the address, folded it back, and put it in his pocket. He looked up at Zhao Fei and said, "Okay, Brother Fei."

He turned and walked towards the door.

"Yangtze River".

Zhang Yang stopped and turned around.

Zhao Fei was still sitting in that chair, his posture unchanged. But the expression on his face had changed—not the fierce look from before, nor his usual laziness, but something new and unseen on his face. It was hard to pinpoint what it was. Tired, perhaps. Or something else entirely.

"Let's go see Xiaolong."

Zhang Yang's brow twitched slightly: "Zhou Long?"

"In the end, I'm the one who wronged him." Zhao Fei shifted his gaze from Zhang Yang to the window. "Go and check on him for me."

Zhang Yang said, "Okay."

"Bring 100,000 yuan with you." Zhao Fei paused, "The clean kind."

Zhang Yang nodded: "Okay, Brother Fei."

He didn't ask any more questions. Seeing that Zhao Fei didn't intend to speak further, he turned and walked out, closing the door behind him. The door made a slight clicking sound as the latch engaged the door frame.

The corridor was quiet. Zhang Yang stood at the door, paused for two seconds, then walked through the mostly empty office area towards the elevator. His pace was neither fast nor slow, just like usual.

Zhao Fei was the only one left in the office.

He remained in that position, one hand on the armrest, the other on the table. The light from outside the window gradually dimmed, his silhouette became increasingly blurred, until finally only a black silhouette remained, along with the flickering cigarette butt between his fingers.

Task force, meeting room.

The ashtray on the table was half full of cigarette butts, and the air was thick with the acrid smell of smoke. Several new markings appeared on the map: red circles and blue arrows, resembling some kind of chess game that only they could decipher.

Old Zheng spread a stack of photos on the table. The photos showed an open handbag containing several neatly stacked stacks of cash and a dark blue passport.

"This cash and fake passport were all found in Gu Yang's car." Old Zheng pointed to the photo with his finger. "I think this kid is trying to run away abroad."

He looked up at Yang Zhen, who was sitting opposite him: "Yang Zhen, should we interrogate this Gu Yang?"

Yang Zhen leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped over his stomach. He didn't answer immediately. The fluorescent light cast a cold, white glow on his face, clearly illuminating his expression—not hesitation, but thoughtful consideration.

After thinking for about ten seconds, he spoke, his voice not loud.

What might someone who resorts to suicide to escape their suffering be thinking at this moment?

Old Zheng looked at him and said, "He will definitely reflect on his life."

He removed his hands from his abdomen, leaned forward slightly, and rested his arms on his knees.

"Then let's let him reflect on it." His gaze met Old Zheng's. "He'll tell us what he knows."

Old Zheng nodded and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray.

"Haidah has already begun a full-scale deployment." Old Zheng changed the subject, his tone becoming more pragmatic. "Our most important task now is to search for the victims and secretly collect evidence."

Yang Zhen thought for a moment and said, "There is a man named Zhou Long."

Old Zheng looked at him.

"This person used to work at Haida, but he offended Haida's boss, Zhao Fei, and was kicked out of Haida." Yang Zhen spoke slowly, as if recalling something as he spoke. "It seems he also broke a leg."

He paused, then added, "He should know about Haida's extensive evidence."

Yang Zhen raised his head and looked at Lao Zheng.

"I think I need to find a reliable person to check it out."

Old Zheng didn't hesitate or ask any further questions. He simply nodded, his tone as crisp and efficient as when assigning any task.

"Okay. I'll handle it."