Mastering the Sword Manual, sweeping across the globe

Zhao Guodong's mouth was agape, unable to close.

"Next..."

"Hey! Wait a minute!" Zhao Guodong suddenly remembered something and pulled out a crumpled boarding pass from his pocket. It was the one he had casually stuffed into his pocket when he came from China last time. It was raining heavily then, and Zhao Guodong accidentally got mud all over his legs. He hadn't worn it since, but he grabbed a pair of pants to change into when he fled last night. He didn't expect it to be this one.

Zhao Guodong carefully unfolded his boarding pass, which was already quite blurry. Fortunately, all the key information was still there.

The police officer took the document, glanced at it, completed the registration, and continued to ask, "When was the first time you participated in telecom fraud?"

I... I'll fuck your mother!

Zhao Guodong was finally dumbfounded.

"Next..."

"No!" Zhao Guodong suddenly had an idea: "Could I check the records?"

"Please go ahead."

Zhao Guodong took out his phone, swiped the screen, and started scrolling through WeChat.

A few minutes later, the group behind them began to stir restlessly.

"Haven't you flipped it over yet?" someone shouted from behind, craning their neck.

"What's the rush!" Zhao Guodong didn't even turn his head.

Several more minutes passed before Zhao Guodong finally looked up: "March 27, 922."

"In minutes and seconds?"

I'll fuck your great-grandmother!

"13:22:15 PM," Zhao Guodong gritted his teeth and read aloud while staring at his phone.

"The victim's phone number?"

"138..."

"After learning that they had been scammed, did the victim contact you again? How many times did you call them, and how long were each call?"

Zhao Guodong... finally realized that he had no chance of filling out the form correctly.

This wasn't just because of the bizarre question he heard at that moment, but because Zhao Guodong finally noticed the police officer's registration book across from him.

Through the crack in the register, Zhao Guodong saw this page, and the following questions:

"First overseas employment date"

"The menu of the cafeteria on my first day at the company park"

"ICCID code of the overseas SIM card held"

This is only the first page. Judging from the thickness of the register, there are at least 30 more pages like this!

Zhao Guodong was pushed aside by the people behind him.

Clutching his passport, Zhao Guodong stood by the tent and checked his phone; it was almost out of battery.

Looking back at the ever-growing queue behind him, and then at the thick registration book on the table, Zhao Guodong's lips twitched a few times. Suddenly, he shouted at a stranger on the street corner, who was still looking around and looked just as disheveled as him: "What are you standing there for! Come and join the queue!"

--------

Across the ocean, in Oklahoma, USA.

A black Cadillac is parked in the visitor parking lot outside the private prison.

The car door opened, and a middle-aged man wearing a gray linen shirt stepped out.

His shirt was custom-made, with his initials embroidered on the cuffs; his leather shoes were polished to a shine; his hair had just been cut, and his sideburns were neatly trimmed.

Standing in front of the car door, the middle-aged man looked up at the prison sign: it displayed the operating company's logo, next to which was a gold-plated slogan: "Safe, Professional, Trustworthy".

He took a deep breath, picked up his briefcase from the passenger seat, and walked towards the door.

The reception hall is decorated in a standard business style, with beige walls, gray carpet, and a potted green plant and an Apple all-in-one computer on the front desk.

As soon as I pushed open the door, the receptionist behind the front desk stood up.

This was a Caucasian woman in her forties, wearing a dark blue company polo shirt with a smiley face badge on her chest, and her smile was just the right amount of warm.

"Hello sir! Welcome to..."

"My name is Michael Chen." The middle-aged man placed his passport on the front desk.

The receptionist glanced at his passport, then looked up at his face. "Mr. Chen, did you have an appointment?"

"No, I'd like to learn about your...stay experience program."

"Of course! Please wait a moment." The receptionist typed a few words on the computer.

Soon, a middle-aged man wearing a light blue shirt and khaki trousers walked out of the corridor next door. His name tag read "Customer Service Manager, Dennis".

Dennis extended his hand from several steps away, his palm dry and warm, the pressure just right when they shook hands.

"Mr. Chen, welcome, welcome! Please follow me."

Dennis led the middle-aged man into a meeting room.

The meeting room wasn't large, but it was thoughtfully decorated: a round table, two comfortable leather chairs, and a water dispenser and a capsule coffee machine in the corner.

Several framed photos hang on the wall, showing the prison's facilities: a library, a basketball court, a medical room, and a psychological counseling room.

Dennis poured him a glass of water first, then asked him if he wanted coffee, but he waved his hand.

Dennis then sat down, crossed his hands on the table, and leaned forward slightly.

"Mr. Chen, thank you for choosing us. The core design concept of our long-stay projects is 'regaining control of life in tranquility.' Many clients initially just need a place to stay, but once they truly settle down, they often find that this time of solitude is more valuable than they expected."

Mr. Chen didn't look at him. His gaze swept around the meeting room, landing on the capsule coffee machine in the corner, then moved away. He picked up the water glass on the table, didn't drink it, and put it back.

“Our project has several unique features. First, it is far from the hustle and bustle, with no cell phones, no internet, and no 24-hour news bombardment. Many clients feel anxious during the first week of their stay, but by the second week, they find themselves noticing things they usually overlook: the angle at which the morning sunlight shines through the high windows, the tactile feel of the brittle pages of an old book, or even the process of a complete, uninterrupted thought rising and dissipating in their minds.”

Dennis pulled a beautifully printed booklet from the folder. The cover featured a half-open window, and outside the window was a meadow whose exact location was unclear.

Mr. Chen anxiously closed the booklet.

"Secondly, there is a sense of order. The daily routine is carefully arranged: get up at 6:30 in the morning, have breakfast at 7:00, spend the morning reading and free time, have group discussions and psychological counseling in the afternoon, and turn off the lights at 10:00 at night. This rhythm, on the surface, is a kind of constraint, but in fact it is precisely a redefinition of freedom. When a person no longer needs to be anxious about 'what to do next', he is truly freed from the quagmire of choices."

Mr. Chen took a deep breath.

"Many clients tell us after the project is completed that this place has taught them to be quiet again, a kind of peace that allows them to finally start anew about their entire lives..."

Mr. Chen finally couldn't hold back any longer: "Just get to the project."

“Of course…” Dennis readily complied, his smile remaining unchanged: “So, Mr. Chen, which type of service would you like to inquire about this time? We offer short-term trials, long-term stays, and customized solutions, depending on your needs.”

"Long-term stay. Roughly... three to six months."

Dennis nodded slightly: "Understood. Then we need to go through a simple registration process first, which mainly involves collecting your basic information, health status, social status, emergency contact, etc. These are all standard procedures."

As he spoke, Dennis pulled a form from his briefcase, pushed it over, and handed him a pen.

The table is beautifully designed.

The cover is made of coated paper, with the words "Check-in Information Registration Form" printed in gold lettering, and it's as thick as a deluxe menu.

The first page contains basic identity information.

Turning to the next page, there is a health declaration, asking whether there is a history of allergies, surgery, or long-term medication. Each item is followed by a note box with the message, "If so, please specify the brand and dosage, and we will assist with procurement."

Turning to the next page, you'll find the food preferences section, with options ranging from vegetarian to gluten-free to halal certification. At the very bottom, there's even a handwritten section that says, "Please fill in any special dietary needs here, and we will try our best to accommodate them."

Mr. Chen filled it out very quickly.

He filled in some columns very carefully, while he just skimmed over others, and his handwriting was quite neat.

Halfway through filling out the form, Dennis pushed two more documents over.

"Mr. Chen, this is a disclaimer, and this is a personal insurance confirmation. Both of these documents require your signature."

Mr. Chen opened the disclaimer, which was filled with a dense list of terms, covering everything from "facility failures caused by extreme weather" to "the right to visit voluntarily waived by the individual".

He read through each item one by one, and after finishing, he looked up and asked, "What does this 'force majeure' include...?"

"Including all personal injury or property damage not caused by our operational negligence, industry standard terms."

Mr. Chen hesitated for a moment, then simply nodded and signed his name in the signature column.

Dennis handed over another form: "Emergency contacts, please fill in two people."

Mr. Chen filled it out.

"Exit password. This is your personal security key. If there is any need to terminate your stay in the future, only with this password can we release your personal belongings and files."

Mr. Chen wrote a word in the blank column.

Dennis collected the forms and checked each document one by one to ensure that no signatures were missing. He then stood up and shook hands with Mr. Chen again: "Thank you for your patience and cooperation. Please wait here for a moment while I submit the materials to the review department. The review process usually takes one to two hours, and I will be back as soon as possible."

As Dennis reached the door, he turned around, his smile still the standard customer service smile. "There are cookies next to the coffee machine, please help yourself."

Dennis returned more than an hour later.

When the door opened, he still had a smile on his face.

But this time, he did not sit down.

"Mr. Chen, I'm sorry, your stay experience application was not approved."

Mr. Chen looked up: "Why?"

“You concealed important information in the registration form.”

The man withdrew his hand from the table. "What information?"

Dennis pulled a sheet of paper from the folder; it was a printed background investigation report with several lines of entries densely packed on it.

Dennis pointed to a line in the middle, his tone still polite and calm: "Our risk control partners have reported that you have three offshore companies that have been involved in multiple suspicious cross-border fund transfers over the past five years. At least two of these have been flagged by the Financial Action Task Force (FATF) as 'potentially linked to Southeast Asian telecom fraud money laundering networks.' This is inconsistent with your statement that you have 'no criminal record' in your social circles."

Mr. Chen looked at the paper and said, "The court has already declared me innocent of these charges."

“Yes, Mr. Chen,” Dennis nodded, “we certainly respect the court’s decision.”

As he spoke, Dennis gently placed the document on the round table and pushed it half an inch to the opposite side: "However, the risk control company believes that, based on your background characteristics, admitting you to the facility may have an adverse impact on our reputation and rating. As the operator, we choose to respect the professional judgment of our risk control partner."

Mr. Chen was silent for a moment, his gaze shifting from Dennis's face to the background check report on the table, then back again: "You know, this is discrimination. I can sue you."

Dennis turned to the side, extending his palm towards the door, his voice filled with sincere apology: "Mr. Chen, this is your legal right. If you decide to take legal action, our legal department is ready to respond. Now, please allow me to see you to the door."

Mr. Chen looked down at the water he hadn't finished drinking on the table, then glanced at the capsule coffee machine next to him.

The next moment, his hand suddenly reached behind his waist, and the next moment, a baton sprang out.

Dennis didn't even have time to back away.

The baton came crashing down on him, the first blow landing between his left shoulder and neck, the second sweeping across his forehead, tearing his skin open, blood trickling down his eyebrows and dripping onto the name tag on his chest.

Dennis staggered back a step, his back hitting the wall, and instinctively covered his head with his hands.

The sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Two security guards rushed in almost simultaneously.

One person grabbed Mr. Chen's arm from behind, while the other snatched the baton from his hand and slammed him face down onto the round table.

Mr. Chen offered no resistance whatsoever.

His face was pressed against the cold tabletop, a smile playing on his lips: "Yes, yes, that's it. Armed assault, at least two years in prison, right?"

Two security guards worked together to pull him off the table and tied his hands behind his back.

"Let him go," Dennis said, clutching his forehead.

The security captain turned around and looked at Dennis uncertainly.

Blood seeped from between Dennis's fingers, trickling down his wrist and into his sleeve. He lowered his hand, half his face stained red with blood.

“I’m fine,” Dennis said. “I just bumped my head on the table.”

Mr. Chen's smile froze.

“Please ask this gentleman to leave,” Dennis said.

"No...no!" Mr. Chen struggled violently, and the two security guards almost couldn't hold him down. He turned his head, his voice rising to a point where it almost cracked, "I hit him! You all saw it! You both saw it! It was the fuck me who hit him!"

The security captain continued to look at Dennis: "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure..."