Chapter 114: Ruins Tracking – The Sample Theft Case

Zhao Jianguo stared at the log of the sync request on the Screen, his finger paused on the keyboard for half a second. He tore the tape off the power indicator light and slipped it into his trouser pocket—this thing, when stuck for long, leaves adhesive, and he'll have to wipe it later.

He unplugged the encrypted Terminal's storage card, blew off the dust, and tucked it into his inner pocket. Outside, the rain had lightened; the three-wheeled motorbike at the alley's end had long vanished, but the puddles on the ground still glistened with oil, as if someone had tipped half a bottle of soy sauce.

He locked the door, threw on his old raincoat, and as he stepped out, he happened to meet Xu Da Mao peeking from the next door.

"Hey, Jianguo, running out this late?" Xu Da Mao craned his neck, "Two days ago a disk disappeared from my warehouse. You think that's unlucky? It was just in a drawer, the lock wasn't even broken."

Zhao Jianguo halted his steps: "Which warehouse?"

"The red‑brick house at the end of East Street, I rent it to store some goods," Xu Da Mao rubbed his hands, "If you're not busy, could you take a look? Maybe your system can find something."

Zhao Jianguo gave no reply, only nodded, but his mind already shifted. A missing disk? At this very moment?

The two walked to East Street, one after the other; Xu Da Mao pulled out a key and opened the door, the Iron Gate creaked, releasing a whiff of mildew mixed with engine oil. In the corner were several boxes of bearing parts, and on the wall hung a yellowed Mechanical Lesson factory floor plan.

"It's here," Xu Da Mao said, pointing at the desk drawer, "The one that was plugged into the card reader was found removed this morning; the case was empty."

Zhao Jianguo crouched, fished a palm‑sized silver device from his tool bag, pressed the switch. The Screen lit up with a line: "Detecting residual medium signal."

A few seconds later, a prompt tone sounded.

"There's something," he said.

Xu Da Mao leaned in: "Can it be recovered?"

"It's not a matter of recovery," Zhao Jianguo squinted at the Waveform Diagram, "Someone burned the disk's data with high temperature, but fragments remain in the substrate. Who have you let into this room recently?"

"Who…?" Xu Da Mao scratched his head, "Just Sha Zhu came to borrow a Wrench, and then Xiao Li from the Steel Rolling Factory's technical department, saying he needed to check a part number."

Zhao Jianguo gave no reply, opened the attendance system's offline module, and launched "Deep Traceback". The progress bar crawled slowly, accompanied by a faint hum of current. About five minutes later, the Screen displayed a fragmentary record:

【Write Complete | IP: Hu 03-789 | Timestamp: 03:14】

"Hu 03-789?" Xu Da Mao read aloud, "Sounds like a Shanghai‑side number?"

"It's an internal node of the Research Data Center," Zhao Jianguo packed away the device, "Your disk's last operation was at 03:14 AM, source was the old network segment of the Shanghai Machinery Bureau. They stopped using this system long ago; the only ones still using it are two kinds of people—one is an administrator, the other a 'old connection account' with a backup manual."

Xu Da Mao listened, startled: "Then… could it be Yi Zhonghai? He worked there for a while back then."

Zhao Jianguo gave no answer, simply placed the disk fragments into a sealed bag and turned to leave.

"Hey! Won't you help me look for other clues?" Xu Da Mao called after him.

"The clues are already there," Zhao Jianguo didn't look back, "This place isn't safe; don't come here alone for the next two days."

Returning to the Siheyuan's west house, he had just sat down when his watch vibrated.

Chen Jianguo sent a message containing only four characters: "Sample passive."

It was followed by a photo: a metal box in the corner of an Abandoned Factory, the spot that once hid a fake sample, now completely empty.

Zhao Jianguo immediately grabbed his backpack, equipped with a magnetic powder detector and spare batteries, scaled the wall and left the courtyard. Bicycle bells rang incessantly on Chengnan Road; he cut through a shortcut via the market back alley, stepping on wet tiles as he headed north.

The Abandoned Chemical Plant's gate was crooked, an iron chain bearing a rusted lock that had long been cut. He pressed against the wall base, circled to the back window, set up a portable camera, and linked it to the handheld Terminal.

In the view, several metal shards littered the ground; the detector swept close, and the needle swung sharply.

"Sure enough, they've been here," he whispered.

The magnetic powder reaction was strong, indicating at least five people had entered with adsorption gear. But he was more concerned—why only the sample's outer shell was taken, leaving the interior untouched?

He pushed open the innermost iron door; a wooden box had toppled in the corner. He went over, picked it up, opened it, and found no sample, only a yellowed sheet of paper.

He lifted it and glanced at it in the light twice.

It was a labor camp identification plate, front printed with "Jingbei Agricultural Reclamation Zone-8762", back scribbled in pencil: "Don't trust Shanghai consultants."

The handwriting was faint, as if afraid of being seen.

Zhao Jianguo stared at that line for a full minute before stowing the plate into an evidence bag. He was about to stand when he suddenly heard Footsteps outside, light yet steady.

He quickly turned off the Terminal Screen, crouched by the window, and looked out.

Chen Jianguo stood in the courtyard, wearing a dark gray trench coat, his right hand in his pocket, shoulders slightly slumped, as if he had walked a long way.

Zhao Jianguo exited through the side door, and only upon approaching did he notice his face had turned bluish, his lips trembling slightly.

"Why did you come?" Zhao Jianguo lowered his voice, "Weren't you supposed to avoid me?"

"I had to see you," Chen Jianguo's voice was hoarse, "They let me see the layout of your hideout… more than once. Moreover, I was just forced to access a memory—a revision symbol on page three of the Level‑8 Pipefitter Manual."

Zhao Jianguo's gaze tightened.

That was the only cipher verification between them, never logged by the connection system.

"Give it a try," he said, staring into the other's eyes.

"A triangle box with double horizontal lines indicates tolerance adjustment," Chen Jianguo exhaled, "In the blank space on the right there's a Wrench, which you casually added last winter."

Zhao Jianguo was silent for two seconds, pulled a small note from his pocket, its content identical. He handed it over: "It matches."

Chen Jianguo took it, glanced, and gave a wry smile: "You also guard against me?"

"It's not about guarding you," Zhao Jianguo folded the note, "It's to stop them from using your mind to script my affairs."

The two sat against the wall, Zhao Jianguo passed the identification plate over. Chen Jianguo looked at it, his brow gradually furrowing.

"I've seen this number in the database," he said, "Yi Zhonghai indeed stayed there for two years, but the files show he was transferred out alone; no one knows to whom it was handed over."

"But now this plate appears in the sample box," Zhao Jianguo stared at the distant factory, "They left it deliberately. Either a warning or a guide."

"I think it's the latter," Chen Jianguo coughed twice, "'Don't trust Shanghai consultants'—that phrase points not to the present but to the past. In the 1953 Steel Rolling Factory accident, Jia Wu saw a 'Shanghai‑sent technical consultant' before the incident."

Zhao Jianguo remained silent, his mind rapidly revisiting earlier clues. The magnetic powder schematics stolen, files missing, Xu Da Mao's warehouse robbed… everything circled back to that year.

"So this sample swap wasn't about technical specifications at all," he said slowly, "It was to make us find this plate and trace it back to those events."

Chen Jianguo nodded: "They're setting a trap; we must set a counter‑trap."

"I've already had the system back up a false log," Zhao Jianguo said, "If anyone tries to remote in again, they'll receive a forged command—stating the real sample is hidden in the Night School boiler room vent."

"That's ruthless," Chen Jianguo smiled, "When do you plan to close the net?"

"When they start dismantling the boiler," Zhao Jianguo stood, brushed dust off his pants, "Now, we need to go to the Jingbei Agricultural Reclamation Zone."

"Are you crazy?" Chen Jianguo was stunned, "That place is now under local jurisdiction; without paperwork we can't get in."

"I don't need to go inside," Zhao Jianguo pulled an old map from his bag, spread it on the ground, "I just need to know how that 'Shanghai consultant' got in back then, and how he got out. Since Yi Zhonghai's number can appear here, it shows someone still remembers that route."

Chen Jianguo looked at a vague red line on the edge of the map, reached out and tapped it: "This path leads to the back mountain; it used to be for transporting grain, but later a landslide blocked it."

"But what if someone regularly clears the rubble?" Zhao Jianguo looked up, "Who do you think it would be?"

The two stared at each other for a moment, and neither said anything further.

In the distance the sky began to brighten, and the rain completely stopped. Zhao Jianguo folded up the map, was about to leave, when the watch on his wrist vibrated again.

The new message came from Chen Jianguo's watch Terminal, and its content was only a single sentence:

"Were the words I just said really my own thoughts?"

Zhao Jianguo looked up and saw Chen Jianguo bowing his head, staring at his own hand as if meeting it for the first time.