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

Special offer booth.

Red labels covered the edges of the shelves. Imported cat food cans were stacked in a pyramid shape, and a third of them had already been snapped up.

Six hands reached out onto the display stand simultaneously. Lu Yuan was among them, his right hand cutting in at a very tricky angle.

With his index and middle fingers joined together, the fingertips slipped between the arms of the two middle-aged women, precisely gripping the bottom rim of a can. With a twist of his wrist, the can flew off the shelf and into his left palm.

The entire sequence of movements should not exceed 0.3 seconds.

One can. Two cans. Three cans.

His hand speed increased rapidly. The finger techniques used to control the cards in the game were completely transplanted into the buying frenzy scenario, and each reach out resulted in a millisecond-level precision strike through the gaps in the opponent's defenses.

A middle-aged woman in a floral jacket was halfway through grabbing the can when she suddenly realized that the one she had aimed for had vanished into thin air. She looked down at her empty palm, then looked up at the excessively handsome young man beside her.

The young man smiled at her gently and harmlessly, then turned and left.

The woman opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Eight cans. A full eight cans. It took four minutes and twelve seconds from entering the supermarket to leaving the checkout counter.

---

Across from the supermarket. Behind the newsstand.

Jiang Yan put down her binoculars.

Her mouth was open, unable to close.

After about ten seconds, she looked down and started writing on the surveying book.

"The goal is to demonstrate complete CQB (Close Quarters Battle) penetration tactics in civilian and commercial settings, including but not limited to: sidestepping through narrow openings, zero-contact penetration of dense enemy formations in dynamic environments, and tactical crossings using environmental pivots."

The pen tip paused for a moment.

"At the same time, it employs a high-speed object control technique, similar to that used in the Qianmen system, to perform precise target extraction in chaotic scenes."

She bit the pen cap and wrote again:

"The targets of the above-mentioned actions are: middle-aged and elderly women who rush to buy discounted cat food."

The pen cap had teeth marks on it.

"Preliminary assessment: The target exhibits an extremely abnormal stress-relieving behavior pattern, which cannot be ruled out as a pre-adaptive warm-up exercise before a high-intensity combat mission. Maintain the highest level of surveillance."

After she finished writing, she stared at the last line for five seconds.

He closed the notebook.

---

Lu Yuan came out of the supermarket carrying a plastic bag containing eight cans that rattled and clattered against each other.

He walked into an old alley.

On both sides were brick walls covered with little GG stickers, and overhead wires crisscrossed. The alley turned a corner, and the view was blocked by a half-collapsed wall.

Jiang Yan followed him to the corner.

Probe.

empty.

At the end of the alley was a complete wall, with no side streets and no doors.

The person is gone.

Jiang Yan's back was drenched in sweat. Her right hand had already reached her lower back, her fingertips resting on the gun handle.

She took three steps forward, hugging the wall.

"Advisor Jiang"

The sound came from the left rear.

Jiang Yan turned around abruptly.

Lu Yuan sat in front of a roadside stall at the entrance of the alley, where steam was rising from the ground.

Plastic shed, iron pot, bubbling red soup.

Behind the stall was a side alley, hidden by clotheslines, which she hadn't noticed when she arrived. He had circled back from there.

Lu Yuan, holding a thermos, waved to her.

"We've been following you for two blocks, are you hungry?" He pulled open a plastic stool across the street. "I saved a few dozen yuan today, so it's on me. Get the high-end version—extra wide rice noodles."

Old Six was squatting on the table, licking the lid of an empty can.

Jiang Yan sat down.

If you turn around and walk away, it's tantamount to admitting that you're stalking me. Sitting down is much more natural.

She told herself that.

The stall owner was a man in his forties, shirtless and wearing an apron, his arms shiny with oil.

"Two bowls of mala tang, one non-spicy and one medium-spicy. Two extra servings of wide rice noodles." Lu Yuan handed over the menu.

How did you know I don't eat spicy food?

"There is no color difference in the area between your right thumb and forefinger caused by capsaicin deposits. People who frequently eat spicy food will experience slight pigmentation changes in the skin between their thumb and forefinger when cutting chili peppers."

Jiang Yan took the menu and pretended to study it for two seconds.

"Does Mr. Lu often eat out?"

"Because we're poor. Cooking wastes gas."

"You live alone?"

"One person and one cat."

"Don't you have... regular friends?"

Lu Yuan looked up at her.

"Consultant Jiang, are you checking my household registration or setting me up on a blind date?"

The owner brought over two steaming bowls of spicy hot pot and placed them on the table. The steam made one's forehead sweat.

Jiang Yan picked up her chopsticks, ready to start eating.

Lu Yuan extended his bamboo chopsticks first.

He dipped the tip of his chopsticks into her soup, then lifted it up and brought it to his nose.

I sniffed it.

"The sodium glutamate and disodium inosinate are overdone, making it cloyingly umami. The color of the chili oil is also off; normal capsaicin red is darker, but this is too bright and unnatural, almost like it's been adulterated with Sudan IV."

"Furthermore, the bone broth base has a low pH, and the pot used for simmering the broth is not made of food-grade stainless steel. The leaching levels of zinc and lead are at least two hundred times higher than the standard."

The vendor next to him, slicing lotus root, slipped, his knife tip hitting the cutting board and bouncing back, nearly slicing off his own fingernail. He turned to look at Lu Yuan, the color draining from his face.

Is it the Food and Drug Administration? An undercover investigation?

Jiang Yan stopped holding her chopsticks. She stared at Lu Yuan's profile.

Her mind was racing. The complex flavor-enhancing mechanism of monosodium glutamate, the industrial-grade classification of Sudan Red, the quantitative assessment of heavy metal leaching rates—this wasn't the kind of knowledge a day laborer who unloaded seafood should possess.

This ability to accurately identify chemical agents, and the means to perform rapid qualitative analysis through the sense of smell.

There are similar cases in economic crime investigation training materials. After a Southeast Asian transnational drug lord was arrested, he demonstrated his ability to identify the various components of VX nerve agent by smell during interrogation, with an error margin of no more than three parts per million.

This person possesses in-depth knowledge of toxicology and sensory training in the identification of biochemical agents.

Her chopsticks froze in place.

Lu Yuan had already scooped a piece of starch sausage out of the pot, taken a big bite, and chewed it with relish.

"But it's nothing," he mumbled. "Eating it once in a while won't kill you. Talking about toxicity without considering dosage is just being irresponsible."

He scooped up another piece, dipped it in minced garlic, and stuffed it into his mouth.

"To be honest, the technological sophistication here is really captivating."

The boss had put down his cleaver and was rubbing his hands back and forth on his apron, unsure whether to run away or continue operating.

Lao Liu lifted his head from the empty can lid, used his hind leg—the brand new hind leg that was no longer covered by the splint—to push off the edge of the table, jumped onto Lu Yuan's knee, and nudged towards the hot pot.

"Stop messing around, you can't eat spicy food."

Jiang Yan put down her chopsticks.

She stared at the person in front of her. Just a minute ago, he had accurately recited the industrial classification number of Sudan Red; thirty seconds later, he was chewing on a starch sausage of unknown origin with the same mouth, his expression one of pure, heartfelt satisfaction.

She didn't drink that bowl of soup.