Chapter 358: Dual Threads: The Interweaving of Sweet Dreams and Nightmares

Xu Damao lay on the hard board bed in the Security Department's small room, staring at the yellow‑brown water stains on the ceiling that had spread from the humidity, while his mind was staging a thunderous, drum‑filled drama.

On the stage, Xu Damao was decked in red, a bowl‑sized red flower pinned to his chest, and Li personally presented him with a certificate, while thunderous applause roared from the audience.

Sha Zhu and his crew huddled in the corner, faces grimy, eyes fixed on… When he thought of the clever part, he couldn't help a snickering laugh, and the injury on his shoulder throbbed, making him grit his teeth.

Outside the door came the low murmur of security guards swapping shifts, and beyond the iron window the factory area glowed with a few lights that never went out.

This momentum, this treatment—it's the first time in Xu Damao's life! Though he got a little scared and earned a bit of glory, it's worth it! Once the case is cracked, he'll be the top contributor to the Spy Network!

Later, a deputy head of the Materials Supervision Sub‑team? That's just a starter price! He might even be transferred straight to the factory office, or perhaps the district!

He turned over, and the bed board let out an overburdened creak. He needed to think carefully about how to report later and clutch the credit firmly in his own hands.

He could recall the assassin's appearance perfectly: a gaunt, elongated face, drooping eye corners, a black‑bean‑sized mole hanging on the left ear lobe, a voice with a hint of southern accent yet not pure, and a terrifyingly strong grip that clearly showed training.

And that Iron Box—inside, besides a photo of Zhang Jianguo, there were numbers on a few torn scraps of paper… He caught a fleeting glance and saw something like "347, 218, 509," crooked and wobbly, like a child's doodle yet with a hint of pattern.

These details are now his exclusive secret technique; he must keep them tightly sealed and not spill everything until the crucial moment. He must make everyone understand that without Xu Damao, this case cannot be solved!

Outside, a sudden rapid footfall sounded, drawing nearer. Xu Damao jolted upright, pricking his ears to listen.

It was Chen Jianghe's voice, pressed low, briefing the guard with something like "…strengthen vigilance, no one may approach… Li Chief's directive…".

Xu Damao's heart tightened, then relaxed. Strengthening vigilance was good—it meant he was considered more important.

He lay back down, contentedly crossing his legs, humming a tuneless operetta. Outside, the night was so dense it wouldn't dissolve, like a splattered pool of ink.

In stark contrast to Xu Damao's smug satisfaction, Su Xiulan curled up in a corner of her own cold bed, trembling.

The note that read "Final Message" felt like a red‑hot branding iron, scorching her into restless agitation.

The dim bulb swayed overhead, casting jittery shadows that seemed like lurking specters around her.

Go, or not go?

The smile on the yellowed photo of her brother kept flashing before her eyes. Is he still alive? Where has he been all these years?

How much suffering has he endured? If she doesn't go this time, will she forever lose the chance to learn the truth?

The "old place"—is it the Listening‑to‑Rain Teahouse, or the old willow by the moat that her brother used to take her to? If it's the latter… it's secluded, almost deserted at night…

But that could clearly be a trap. Someone from the Project Team had warned her that the other side might be desperate and use any means.

If she goes herself, could she be silenced? Or taken as a hostage for blackmail?

She recalled the man in the gray Zhongshan suit at the library that afternoon, who claimed to be a Cultural Bureau researcher.

He said he was there to consult the local gazette, but while she was arranging the shelves, he whispered hurriedly as if unintentionally: "Think about how your brother 'went missing'; those people won't spare the informant." He then left as if nothing had happened.

The sentence pierced her deepest fear like a needle. Her brother's accident was a conspiracy; Geng Daye was killed because of it, and now it was her turn?

The other side was warning her: even if she doesn't go, she can't escape; if she goes, there might still be a sliver of hope, or… at least she could die with clarity.

Overwhelming pain and loneliness nearly drowned her. She had no one to discuss with; her parents died early, and her only remaining relative—her brother—was of unknown fate.

The people protecting her? She couldn't tell whether it was protection or surveillance, salvation or another cage.

Tears fell silently, soaking her pillowcase. She bit her lip hard, refusing to let a sound escape.

The moonlight outside was a grim pallor, filtering through the thin curtains onto her pale, haggard face. Tomorrow night at eight… time felt like an icy rope tightening slowly.

Just as Su Xiulan sank into desperate struggle, Li Ping'an was in the Security Department's conference room, facing the newly hung detailed floor plan of the factory area on the wall, arranging tonight's and tomorrow's operations.

Smoke curled under the lights, and several core cadres wore solemn expressions.

On Xu Damao's side, the Minggang Secret Sentry had been set up in three layers, and a cross‑fire plan had also been drafted.

Li Ping'an drew a circle with a red pen around the small‑room location, and crossed out several surrounding high points and passages. If the enemy launched a full assault, this would be a tomb.

But intuition told him the enemy wouldn't be that foolish. They were more likely to lure the tiger from the mountain, or… make a feint.

On Su Xiulan's side, the "old place" mentioned on the note covered too wide an area.

The Listening‑to‑Rain Teahouse had already been set up, and the old willow by the moat, the back alley of the library, even the old sites her brother might have taken her to, all required personnel to stake out.

But this would disperse the forces; Sun, on his side, coordinated City Bureau support, yet inside and around the factory area, it still mainly relied on the Security Department and the Project Team's existing manpower.

Li Ping'an's finger moved to a point on the factory map—the hardware store, where Xu Damao had found the Iron Box.

Could this also be a target for the other side? The Iron Box was taken, but the scene might still have left something behind; or perhaps the spot itself was a secret Contact Point or stash.

He recalled Xu Damao's description: the assassin smelled of machine oil and rust. That wasn't unusual; many in the factory had that scent.

But considering the enemy's familiarity with the factory layout and the ability to quickly Camouflage as a cleaner and slip in… this person was likely an Inside Agent in the factory, or perhaps he had been one, or now was a factory worker.

This speculation gave Li Ping'an a slight chill down his spine. If enemy spies had already infiltrated the workers, the difficulty of investigation and potential danger would multiply.

Jianghe.

Li Ping'an turned to Chen Jianghe and said, "You personally lead a team, in disguise, and from now on conduct covert searches and surveillance of the hardware store and the fifty‑meter radius around it. Be careful not to startle anything; focus on any recent abnormal traces or anyone secretly watching the spot, especially during night shifts."

"Understood!" Chen Jianghe took the order and left.

Li Ping'an then told the Team Captain in charge of Xu Damao's outer guard, "On Xu Damao's side, besides the Bright Post, add two mobile Secret Sentries to expand the vigilance circle. All approaching personnel, including food deliverers and doctors, must have their identities strictly verified and their belongings inspected. Anything he eats or uses must be thoroughly checked."

With arrangements set, everyone departed to prepare. The conference room was left only with Li Ping'an and the somewhat chaotic map on the wall, marked with various annotations.

He lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, trying to calm his rapidly racing mind.

Two lines—Xu Damao and Su Xiulan—were like two constantly flashing danger signals.

Which side will the enemy strike? Or will they act on both simultaneously? What is their ultimate goal? To eliminate Xu Damao as a witness? To use Su Xiulan to transmit or obtain something? Or is there a larger scheme?

Time ticked second by second toward the appointed "tomorrow night at eight o'clock."

Li Ping'an stubbed out the cigarette and walked to the window. The factory's night was not quiet; distant workshop overtime lights and faint machine noises showed production was still ongoing.

Beneath this clamor, the undercurrent had already rushed to the brink of bursting forth.

All he could do was weave every inch of the net, polish every gun, and wait for the craftiest, most ferocious fish to crash into his trap.

In the deepest hour of night, within the shadows of the abandoned raw‑material depot on the factory's west side, the old knife lay like a lifeless stone statue, silently coiled.

He had been observing here for most of the night. The direction of the small cell where Xu Damao was detained was brightly lit, with silhouettes moving, and vigilance clearly stronger than daytime. A full assault would be suicide.

From the tiny receiver in his ear came a faint electrical hiss, followed by a voice altered to a low tone: "'Yaozi' is on the hook, tomorrow night at eight, Willow Bank. On your side, prepare according to Plan Two. The 'cargo' is in position."

Willow Bank is the desolate sandbank beneath the old willow by the moat, indeed the place Su Xiulan and her brother often visited in childhood.

Lao Dao's eyes showed no flicker. He used Su Xiulan to divert part of the power. Then the second plan... His gaze turned to another direction: the boiler room and its accompanying coal yard of the Steel Rolling Mill.

The huge coal pile loomed like a black mountain range, standing silently in the night.

The second plan was to create chaos, large-scale chaos.

For example, a fire neither big nor small, or a so-called 'accident' that sounds serious.

In the chaos, people's attention will be drawn, defenses will have gaps, and that moment will be the best time to deal with Xu Damao or to complete other tasks.

'What does 'the goods' refer to?' Lao Dao doesn't know, nor does he care.

He only needed to carry it out. He slowly moved his somewhat stiff fingers and felt out a small bundle wrapped in oil paper from his inner pocket—only the size of a matchbox, yet heavy enough to weigh down his hand.

This was handed to him by the Shopkeeper via the Dead Letter Box, with instructions to use it at the specified time and place.

He carefully hid the oil-wrapped bundle back where it was, then continued, like a shadow, blending into the darkness of the abandoned warehouse.

It was still about twenty hours until eight p. m. the next night. He had plenty of patience.

That night, many people could not sleep.

Xu Damao tossed and turned between pleasant dreams and a vague unease, sometimes laughing out loud, sometimes startling awake to listen for sounds outside the door.

Su Xiulan stared with empty eyes at the ceiling, her tears dried, leaving only cold despair and a hint of near-self-destructive resolve.

The light in Li Ping'an's office stayed on all night, the ashtray overflowed with cigarette butts, and several more marks appeared on the map.

Chen Jianghe led his men in patrolling around the hardware store like ghosts, missing no suspicious trace.

Lao Dao lay in the darkness like a cold-blooded beast waiting for the moment to strike, his breath barely audible.

Meanwhile, the massive frame of the Steel Rolling Mill continued to breathe and rumble regularly in the night, oblivious to the impending storm.

The east gradually lightened with fish-belly white; a new day, one that would decide many people's fates, was slowly dawning.

The taut string had reached its limit, awaiting only the final finger to pluck it.