A real killer playing a villain; the guy surnamed Zhen in Detective, run!

Lin Yue: "What do you mean by 'temporary borrowing'?"

The receptionist looked troubled: "Mr. Zhao said that his two makeup artists and four assistants are all crammed into the standard room next to his, and there's no room for their luggage. So he... wants to clear out the executive suite to put their luggage and..." The receptionist's voice trailed off, "Unleash the dogs."

Several stagehands passing by in the lobby stopped, glanced in their direction, then looked away, their lips curling into a silent grimace.

Zhao Xiujie himself lived in the top-floor presidential suite, and requisitioned the second male lead's executive suite to make room for his dog.

Lin Yue's expression changed, and he immediately took out his phone. Just as his finger tapped the contact number, his portly assistant's voice boomed from the elevator entrance: "Director Lin, what's wrong? Is there a problem?"

He limped, his knees clearly still hurting, but the fat on his face twitched with a self-righteous air.

"Brother Zhao said that if he's feeling stifled on set and isn't in good shape for tomorrow's opening ceremony, he can't guarantee he'll be there." He weighed his phone in his hand, the meaning clear: "Director Su, you'll have to figure out how to explain things to the investors."

Lin Yue clenched his back teeth tightly.

There were indeed several makeup artists nearby who had stopped, looking down at their phones, their ears perked up.

This kind of thing happens every year; top celebrities tripping up newcomers is an open secret. This time, the one being manipulated was a nobody who suddenly appeared on the scene. He did get a bit of attention on social media, but he has no connections in this industry.

The general consensus among the crowd was that they were likely to suffer a loss.

Lu Yuan stood next to Lin Yue, carrying a snakeskin bag in one hand and patting Lao Liu's head with the other.

He turned to the front desk, "So, my room is unavailable? What rooms are left at the hotel?"

The receptionist scrolled through the screen, her expression growing increasingly awkward: "All the floors booked by the film crew are full... Currently, there's only one standard room at the very end of the corridor on the sixth floor. It's next to the electrical room, next to the elevator shaft, and has no windows..."

Her voice grew softer and softer as she spoke, and it was clear she couldn't continue.

Lu Yuan nodded, but didn't respond. He turned to look at Lin Yue.

With sincere eyes and a hint of expectation, he asked, "Director Lin, what's the difference in price per day between the suite and the windowless standard room? Can I get cash for it?"

Lin Yue's mouth moved twice, and he stammered, "About... 1200?"

Upon hearing this, Lu Yuan's face lit up. He screwed the thermos lid back on and picked up the snakeskin bag.

"Deal. I'll stay there tonight. No windows are great, I won't have to worry about the light while I sleep."

The lobby fell silent for a moment.

The chubby assistant stood at the elevator entrance, his mouth agape, unsure of where to direct his effort.

Some of the stagehands lowered their heads even further, and their shoulders began to tremble.

Lin Yue stood there, his lips moved, but in the end he didn't say anything, and went to complete the formalities while holding his forehead.

Jiang Yan stood to the side of the reception desk and looked at it from beginning to end.

He ran his right thumb back and forth across the back of his work ID.

When faced with such class humiliation, anger is the standard reaction for a normal person. Even if they suppress it, their emotions will always find an outlet: they will speak faster, tighten their jaw muscles, or grip their bag opening with greater force.

Lu Yuan had nothing.

There was zero emotional fluctuation. They abandoned the executive suite with its expansive view and clear access, opting instead for a windowless, single-entrance, enclosed space next to the elevator shaft.

She had seen this set of behavioral logic in the counter-terrorism training materials for high-risk missions overseas.

The principles for selecting a safe house for counter-sniping are: enclosed, with no points of visual exposure, and where external sounds can serve as early warnings.

---

At the end of the sixth-floor corridor, room 630.

The room was indeed small. Upon entering, there was a single bed with the headboard against the wall. Opposite the bed was a narrow wardrobe with doors that could only be opened at an angle. Further inside was an en-suite bathroom without a shower enclosure.

It's true that there are no windows; there's only a tiny ventilation louver, facing the elevator shaft.

Lu Yuan placed the snakeskin bag on the bed, opened it, and fished Lao Liu out of it, placing him on the bed sheet.

The sixth dog dragged the splint on its hind legs, patted the mattress with its front paws, and expressed its satisfaction with the elasticity of this new territory, curling up into an orange pancake.

Lu Yuan went to the bathroom, filled a yogurt lid with water, and pushed it to the corner of the bed.

The single bed in the room was almost twice as wide as the straw mat in his urban village. The water heater worked. At 1,200 yuan a day, after three months—he counted it in his mind—it wasn't a small sum.

He took the utility knife and gauze out of the snakeskin bag, placed them on top of the narrow cabinet, lay down on the bed, and closed his eyes.

I fell asleep two minutes later.

---

Next door, Jiang Yan moved in two large suitcases. One contained a change of clothes, and the other contained equipment. The wall-mounted radio, high-frequency monitoring unit, and signal amplifier had their wiring neatly routed along the baseboard and secured with tape.

She pasted three A4 sheets of paper on the wall.

First slide: Summary of known information.

Second image: Behavioral profile.

The third one is blank, with three words written on it: "Pending Confirmation".

Jiang Yan leaned against the headboard, her earphones pressed against her ears, a notebook beside her, and a pen cap in her mouth.

12:40 a.m.

The background noise at the monitoring end is the low-frequency vibration of the elevator shaft and the hum of current from the distribution box.

Then, click.

She took the pen cap out of her mouth.

Another sound. Click.

The sound of metal striking metal is evenly spaced, light yet crisp, and extremely penetrating.

Jiang Yan straightened up and wrote in her notebook: At 0:41 a.m., a metallic clanging sound was heard next door. The rhythm was stable and consistent with the characteristics of precision mechanical components engaging.

She began comparing her voiceprint data with the database in her mind.

M4 Carbine bolt return: click, rebound, interval approximately 1.2 seconds.

Timed detonator closure: mainly due to metal friction, with occasional short pulses and uneven operation.

It was done manually, with restraint, and the force applied each time was almost perfectly consistent.

Jiang Yan placed her right hand on her waist.

The safety on the sidearm is locked in place by the thumb.

She controlled herself and waited for fifteen seconds.

Click. Click.

She released the safety, chambered the round, walked to the door next door, gripped the handle with her left hand, aligned her right shoulder with the door panel, and silently counted to three—

"Sixth Brother."

Lu Yuan's voice came through the headphones.

Feeling lazy and a little sleepy.

"Stop playing with that nail clipper. Do you still want the splint on your hind leg removed?"

Meow.

A crisp, listless reply followed by the final click of the nail clipper cap snapping back into place, and then silence.

Jiang Yan removed her hand from the doorknob.

She took a step back, leaning against the wall of the corridor, and slowly lowered the arm that had been holding the gun.

After about ten seconds, she put the gun back in its sheath, went back to her room, sat on the bed, and began to rub her temples vigorously.

She crossed out the line about "precision mechanical component meshing" on her notebook.

The sign next to it read: Nail Clippers.

It's crossed out again.