The 2006 Toyota Prado 2700 Middle East edition, known for its rugged reliability, had never let Yin Bingsong down. It was his pride and joy. Yet today, it had almost bee his final resting pe slight misstep earlier, and it would have turned into an iron coffin.

  Yin Bingsong was familiar with such plots. This was a car bomb: ighe engine, and it detonates. Just a few dozen grams of explosive could easily blow the vehicle apart. Thankfully, his usual caution had saved his life this time.

  Yin Bingsong had too many enemies. In a brief moment of refle, he could think of seven ht people with motives to kill him.

  Although anger surged within him, his first instinct was to call the police—after all, his background in the security department had trained him to leverage publistitutions to solve private matters. But this time, it seemed unwise. Explosives were a serious crime. If someone exploited this io escate the situation and attract higher-level attention, it might uh some of his past misdeeds—a risk he couldn’t afford.

  In the end, he decided to hahe matter privately. He called one of his trusted men, a specialist niamed “Electrinon King”, a former miner experienced in handling explosives. Ten mier, the Electrinon King arrived, carrying a leather bag full of tools.

  After a series of professional maneuvers, he held up the extracted explosive—a k of grayish-yellow material—with wires already cut.

  “False arm, Brother Song,” the Electrinon King said, weighing the explosive in his hand. “It’s pretty heavy—about half a kilo, I’d say.”

  “What type is it?” Yin Bingsong asked.

  “Not quite the same as what I used to handle in the mines—looks like C4, military-grade stuff. Way more powerful. This one k alone could…”

  “Enough,” Yin Bingsong cut him off before he could finish the sentence. He reached into his crocodile leather bag, pulled out two packs of Soft Zhonghua cigarettes, and hahem over. “on, this stays between us. Don’t mention it to anyone.”

  “I get it. I didn’t see or hear anything,” the Electrinon King replied, taking the cigarettes and handing over the explosives. He then excused himself, g he had other matters to attend to.

  After dismissing him, Yin Bingsong pced the explosives, wires, aonators into a bag and tinued iing the car. He was genuinely shaken. Even after cheg the vehicle inside and out eight times, he still didn’t feel at ease. Finally, he called another subordinate, handed him the keys, and instructed him to take the car to a repair shop for a thh iion.

  Finding the culprit was the priority. Yin Bingsong headed to the security offibsp;of the Binhai Business Building to retrieve surveilnce footage. He requested all recs from the time he parked his car st night until this m when he discovered the bomb. The security captain burhe footage onto a USB drive for him to review at home.

  Fortunately, Yin Bingsong had an old white Jetta to fall ba. Without inf anyone, he drove out to a familiar rural farmhouse inn to y low. He was vinced someone was targeting him, and he o stay off the radar for a while.

  In the farmhouse’s guest room, Yin Bingsong opened his ptop and carefully reviewed the surveilnce footage. Nine hours of video footage took its toll on him, leaving his head spinning. Despite his meticulous scrutiny, he saw no one approach his Prado, let alone lift the hood to pnt a bomb.

  This didn’t make sehe only expnation was that the surveilnce system had been hacked, a plot straight out of a spy movie. But this level of sophistication wasn’t something an average criminal could achieve—it was Mission Impossible-level expertise. The sheer effort involved in targeting him left Yin Bingsong feeling both terrified and oddly fttered.

  Who could be behind this? Was it Er Long from the port district? Or Brother Caustic Soda from the city ter? Both men hated him to the core, their flicts simmering for years. He o find a way to diffuse these tensions.

  In any case, Yin Bingsong decided to keep a low profile for the wo weeks.

  His ph—it was his wife. She said their daughter was insisting on being discharged from the hospital, and she couldn’t persuade her otherwise. “Where are you?”

  “I’m out of town on business. Don’t call me unless it’s urgent,” Yin Bingsong replied curtly before hanging up.

  The ph again, this time from one of his men. “The guy to deal with Mr. Huang has been arranged. Just one person, though.”

  “One person is enough,” Yin Bingsong said. “Stab him and leave. No one will find him. How much is it? Get him a phone or something.”

  Meanwhile, at the Shipyard Hospital, Yin Weiran y in bed with her leg in a cast, suspended in tra. Fet about going to school—she couldn’t eve out of bed. The doctor had warhat she least a week of rest before attempting to walk with crutches. Disobedience could result in a shortened leg, leaving her permaly disabled. Terrified, Yin Weiran no longer dared to ask about being discharged.

  In a different ward, the doctors discovered a patient missing during rounds. The boy, Zhang g, an 18-year-old admitted after a fire, had vanished. His family hadn’t paid the hospital fees, meaning he had likely skipped out.

  Zhang g had bee person rescued by Yi Leng during the Juyou I Cafe fire, nearly suffog from smoke inhation. Thanks to his youth and good health, he recovered quickly after just two days. Without moo pay the bill, he slipped away in the middle of the night. Now, he was in another i cafe, pying League of Legends, with cigarettes and co at his side.

  A man approached Zhang g, pressed a hand on his shoulder, and led him to a deserted hallway. After a whispered versation, Zhang g he man handed him a rolled-up neer taining something before leaving.

  Ba the kit of the restaurant, Yi Leng reparing a nutritious lunch for his daughter. Behind him, an old et held items like car putty, undry soap, wires, pliers, and screwdrivers. With limited time and resources, making a real bomb was too difficult, but crafting a fake bomb was simple enough.

  Yi Leng iionally left a clue for Yin Bingsong to discover as a warning. Hopefully, this would keep things quiet for a while.

  He prepared two meals: one for his daughter and one for his boss, Ali. His daughter’s meal included beef, shrimp, chi thighs, king oyster mushrooms, rice, yogurt, and an apple. Ali’s meal was a low-fat diet sisting of avocado, kernels, soft-boiled eggs, broccoli, and chi breast—all in small portions.

  Ali wouldn’t arrive at the restaurant until the afternoon after finishing her csses, but she insisted on paying for her meals. Each lunch cost fifty yuan.

  Yi Leng delivered the meals to the school’s gatekeeper, asking him to pass them along to the respective s. Such arras would iably expose his identity, but Yi Leng didn’t mind. He hadn’t been actively hiding; he knew father and daughter would have to reunite eventually.

  Returning to the restaurant, Rou Mingrui sat inside, smoking a cigarette and looking every bit like a prote racketeer. The ret csh with Yin Bingsong had brought Rou Mingrui and Old Huang clether. Today, Rou Mingrui had brought a signifit gift for Master Huang.

  “I know you fancy cssy things, so I thought you’d appreciate this,” Rou Mingrui said, presenting a string of beads like a prized treasure.

  The beads weren’t the typical round variety but shaped like lotus flowers, with alternating red and white hues. Nine beads were strung together, ated by a terpiece of red agate, giving the string an air of sophistication.

  Everyone has their blind spots. Yi Leng, for one, couldn’t dis the value of the item. After examining it briefly, he humbly asked, “What’s so special about this treasure?”

  Rou Mingrui beamed with pride. “These are Blood Lotus Beads, made from golden-thread oxblood red lotus bodhi seeds. They’re incredibly rare—you couldn’t buy them even if you had the money. What do you think?”

  “Impressive,” Yi Leng responded with a thumbs-up.

  “Take it. It’s yours,” Rou Mingrui said.

  “A gentlema take what others value highly. I couldn’t possibly accept,” Yi Leng said politely.

  “Don’t be modest. You dislocated Yin Bingsong’s arm for me, giving me a mueeded release of frustration. This is the least I do. I don’t have much else to offer, and I know you’ll appreciate this.”

  At that moment, Xiao Hong, overhearing their versation, approached and gave the beads a gnce. Her lips curled into a smirk, clearly preparing to make a snide remark.

  Yi Leng saw this and immediately ged the subject, saying, “Xiao Hong, go check if the stewed iines are ready.”

  "I’ve got something to take care of around noon, so I won’t be staying to eat. See you ter." With that, Rou Mingrui picked up his bag a.

  Shortly after, Xiao Hong emerged from the kit and ented, "This thing here is just the seed of a wild pineapple. Ba my hometown, we use it to feed pigs."

  "Xiao Hong, if you don’t speak, no one will mistake you for a mute," retorted Wu Yumei with a sharp tone.

  Yi Leng slipped the Blood Lotus Bracelet onto his wrist, lit a cigarette, and stretched zily as he walked out the store’s door. Just theiced a seductive woman wearing knee-high boots stepping out of the shop two doors down. She greeted him with a pyful wave: "Brother, you’re done for the day? Why not e over and have a seat?"

  The shop she emerged from was a beauty and hair salon. It didn’t have a proper name; instead, the gss door stered with services like beauty treatments, haircuts, back massages, and styling. At night, its pink neon lights cast a suggestive glow.

  Yi Leng had never spoken to this woman before, but given they were neighbors in the same district, it didn’t seem appropriate to pletely ignore her. A little small talk wouldn’t hurt.

  "No, I’ve got things to do," Yi Leng replied.

  "e by when you’re free," the woman teased, spshing a basin of water onto the sidewalk as she swayed her hips bato the shop. Her exaggerated movements nearly caused an elderly man riding aric bike to crash into someone.

  That afternoon, Yi Leng was busy preparing ingredients when he heard a otion nearby. Wiping his hands, he stepped outside to see what was going on.

  Out in front of the hair salon, the woman was locked in a struggle with a drunk man. She was desperately pushing him away, while he stubbornly tried to force his way inside, yelling, "I’ve got money! Let me ‘rex’ in there!"

  "Go home a your wife give you a massage!" she shouted back, resolute in her refusal.

  A small crowd of idle onlookers had quickly gathered on the sidewalk, smoking cigarettes and watg the spectacle unfold, but none of them stepped forward to help.

  Yi Leng couldn’t stand it any longer. He walked up and intervened with a stern shout, anding the drunk to back off.

  Despite his drunken appearahe man was just putting on an act. His mind was sharp enough, and seeing another man step in, he relutly backed down a. With that, the crowd dispersed as well.

  "Thank you, Brother," the woman said gratefully.

  "It’s nothing. We’re neighbors after all," Yi Leng replied.

  "Brother, e in and sit for a while. I’d feel bad otherwise," she insisted, grabbing his hand and refusing to let go. Afraid of drawing more attention, Yi Leantly agreed to her request.

  Ihe salon, Yi Leng gnced around. Unlike what he had assumed, this pce actually had legitimate hair styling tools, including scissors and even perm maes. He realized he might’ve misjudged the shop.

  "Brother, have a cigarette," the woman said, pulling out a pack. Yi Leng reached to take one, but she lit the cigarette herself and ha to him, the gesture oddly theatrical.

  "Brother, my name’s Yan Aihua. My QQ niame is ‘Fiery Blossom’—you know, the one from ‘The Fiery Blossom Grows Cold.’ You call me Hua Hua, Yan Yan, or Little Yan," she introduced herself with a sly smile.

  "Well, fate’s a funny thing. My name’s Huang Pitiger," Yi Leng replied.

  Yan Aihua leaned in, taking the cigarette from his lips and taking two slow puffs herself—a bold and teasing move. Yi Leng chuckled and walked over to the door, pretending to pull down the shutter.

  "What are you doing, Brother Huang?" she excimed, stomping her foot and pouting.

  Sitting ba the chair, Yi Leng said, "Sister, why don’t you design a hairstyle for me?"

  Yan Aihua’s eyes lit up. "Brother Huang, you’d look great with a yered ‘Fiery Blossom Perm.’ With your mature and steady aura, a perm would make you look more fun, rebellious, and younger."

  "Well, say no more. Let’s do it," Yi Leng said decisively.

  Thus begaransformation. Shampooing, trimming, and then ing his head with many tiny wires padded with purple and red cotton—Yan Aihua went to work.

  Perms took time, and fortunately, the salon didn’t have other ers that afternoon. Halfway through, Wu Yumei sent Xiao Hong over to find him. Seeing Yi Leng mid-perm, Xiao Hong gleefully ran back to report.

  Soon, Wu Yumei’s voice echoed loudly from the restaurant: "Old Huang! Old Huang, where did you disappear to?"

  But Yi Leng remained unfazed, pretending not to hear.

  When the perm was finally plete, Yi Leng admired his newly voluminous, wavy hair in the mirror, turning his head side to side. His greasy aura had intensified tenfold.

  "How much do I owe you?" Yi Leng asked.

  "Talking money is so impersonal. Just take me out for a meal," Yan Aihua said with a pyful ugh, clearly hinting at ulterior motives.

  Back at the restaurant, Yi Leng endured a series of sharp gres from Wu Yumei but handed her a package, saying: "Your delivery arrived. It’s the pants I bought for you. Try them on."

  Opening the package, Wu Yumei found a pair of bck leather pants. Upon toug them, they didn’t seem to be genuiher.

  "Do you really think I’d ants this fshy? They don’t suit me," Yi Leng said skeptically.

  "Why not? They go perfectly with your new hairstyle," Wu Yumei replied.

  Relutly, Yi Leng took the pants to the back kit to try them on.

  Just as he finished putting them on, he heard a side the back door. Walking over, he spotted someone lurking behind a vaorious Wuling Zhiguang.

  Before Yi Leng could react, the person punctured the van’s tire with a knife.

  "Don’t you dare run!" Yi Leng shouted.

  But instead of running, the culprit turo face him, brandishing the kh a menag gre. It was a cheap fruit knife from the nearby grocery store, its handle ed in tape. From the way he gripped it—a direct, amateurish forward hold—it was clear he was an inexperienced fighter.

  The would-be attacker looked no older thay, sp a Fiery Blossom Perm remarkably simir to Yi Leng’s. To top it off, he was also wearing bck leather pants, making the two of them appear oddly matched.

  Just as Yi Leng opened his mouth to speak, the young man charged forward, lunging at him with the knife.

  [--------------------------------------------]

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