Chapter 133: Underground Deal – Xu Da Mao's Downfall

When Zhao Jianguo pulled his sleeve down, his finger brushed the edge of the Terminal. The little vibration still lingered on his wrist, as if someone had knocked twice through his skin. He didn't look further, turned and walked back.

Just after stepping out of the hall's main gate, he met Chen Jianguo's gaze. The other stood by the car, brow knit, clutching a walkie‑talkie, his lips moving: "Xu Da Mao got caught."

"Oh?" Zhao Jianguo halted his steps, "This guy's fate is really hard, couldn't steal a chicken and still dares to go after a dog?"

"He messed up big this time," Chen Jianguo lowered his voice, "Speculative arbitrage, plus overseas transaction records. When the interrogation just began, he trembled and said a man wearing gold‑thread glasses told him to keep an eye on the Steel Rolling Factory's technology leaking out."

Zhao Jianguo's gaze darkened, then he pulled out the Terminal, his fingertips swiping the interface a few times to retrieve a temporary surveillance Permission from the public security system. This convenience had followed the last disk case, and no one probed how he obtained it.

When the interrogation room feed popped up, Xu Da Mao was huddled on the Chair, his hair a mess as if a chicken had plucked it, muttering something. The camera zoomed in; he suddenly looked up, his voice raised: "…that man wore a gray jacket, gold‑thread‑rimmed glasses, spoke slowly and calmly, yet there was no heat in his eyes! He said if I could get the new machine tool's parameter diagrams, he'd pay five hundred per run!"

Zhao Jianguo paused his finger, enlarged the recording timestamp in the corner of the Screen—ten minutes ago.

He immediately accessed the system database, entered keywords: gold‑thread glasses, technical consultant, 1953 Shanghai Industrial Group. Seconds later, a yellowed archival photo popped up, with a brief attached: **Zhang Weizhou, former Shanghai Machinery Research Consultant Group assistant engineer, transferred in 1957 to the Steel Rolling Factory as a technical coordinator, dispatched abroad in the early 1980s and never returned. **

The man in the photo wore an old‑style Zhongshan suit, a gold‑rimmed glasses perched on his nose, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned, as if ready to smile at any moment.

"That's him," Zhao Jianguo whispered, "I saw his profile when checking files before, thought he was just an ordinary clerk at the time."

Chen Jianguo leaned over for a glance: "If this guy really infiltrated since the 1980s, he may have watched every step we take."

"Not just watching," Zhao Jianguo squinted, "He's recording."

The two said no more, summoned Jia Dongxu, equipped two modified drones, and headed straight to the outskirts. According to Xu Da Mao's disclosed meeting spot, the "glasses man" had lately been frequenting an abandoned grain depot, claiming to collect old books but actually transshipping loot.

The vehicle reached the village entrance, the sky already darkened. The grain depot stood alone by the field ridge, its wall plaster heavily peeled, a rusted lock hanging at the door, looking unattended.

Jia Dongxu opened the Tablet, linked to the drone signal: "Thermal imaging scanned once, the north house has two people, one sitting at a table, one pacing back and forth. Equipment interference is strong, video won't transmit, only silhouettes are visible."

"Then don't wait," Zhao Jianguo lifted the tool bag, "Can you still hack the access control?"

"Piece of cake," Jia Dongxu grinned, "These old‑style electronic locks have passwords no longer than six digits; I just write a script and run it once."

Ten minutes later, the rear Window glass slid open silently. The three slipped inside, moving along the wall‑adjacent corridor. Light seeped through the north house's Door Gap, and keyboard clacks echoed from within.

Zhao Jianguo gave a hand signal, Jia Dongxu crouched, pulled a small box from his backpack and attached it to the door handle. With a beep, a green light lit up.

The moment the door swung open, the man inside snapped his head back. Gray jacket, gold‑thread glasses, a blank expression, but his hand moved swiftly, slapping the black box on the table.

Zhao Jianguo lunged forward, kicked the box aside. The device slid to the corner, its screen still flashing, showing a little boy jumping rubber band in the Courtyard, his laugh crisp.

"That was when I was six," Zhao Jianguo stared at the screen, his voice chilling, "At the house entrance, my mother was still hanging laundry."

Another device on the table was linked to a printer, sheets continuously spooling out, all core parameter diagrams of CNC machine tools, each bearing a red "Top Secret" seal.

"You trespassed a private residence; the procedure is illegal," the glasses man finally spoke, his tone steady as if reading a notice.

"Then when you stole, did you ask the state for permission?" Zhao Jianguo sneered, "Xu Da Mao has already recruited you; you're online. This place is no longer an office, it's a loot den."

The glasses man said nothing further, merely removed his glasses slowly, placed them on the table, his movements meticulous.

Jia Dongxu swiftly collected the documents, while Chen Jianguo opened the black box to inspect its circuitry. Suddenly, he frowned, "This isn't a regular receiver… it's harvesting brainwave signals and homing in on a specific person."

Zhao Jianguo's heart tightened, "What about the positioning source?"

"Within a three‑hundred‑meter radius around the Siheyuan," Chen Jianguo looked up, "It has been logging your behavior patterns, emotional fluctuations, even decision rhythms."

The air suddenly grew heavy.

Zhao Jianguo stared at the device, a thought flashing through his mind—no wonder every time he makes a decision, there's an indescribable feeling of being watched. It wasn't an illusion.

"Any other locations?" he asked.

The glasses man closed his eyes, gave no answer.

Zhao Jianguo wasn't in a hurry, opened the system, activated the biological simulation function. He fixed his gaze on the opponent's iris scanner, entered a string of code, and forged data began loading.

"What are you doing?" the glasses man suddenly opened his eyes.

"Looking for where you hide things," Zhao Jianguo said without looking up.

Three minutes later, a hidden door in the basement burst open. The staircase was so narrow one could only descend sideways; at the end lay a sealed room. The walls were covered with paper sheets, neatly arranged into a timeline.

At the far left was a black‑and‑white photo: a little girl with twin‑braids crouching in mud drawing, captioned "Seven years old, first independent mechanical sketch." To the right were school enrollment forms, Photocopy of work permits, snapshots of speeches… extending all the way to a photo of him speaking at a promotion station yesterday.

Each sheet bore an Annotation: "Emotion stable, risk‑seeking", "When faced with doubt, speech rate increases by 0.3×, credibility rises", "Prefers using everyday analogies to explain technology, facilitating dissemination".

Zhao Jianguo stood before the wall, his fingers lightly brushing the script.

This is not surveillance.

This is modeling.

They're taking his past, assembling a "Zhao Jianguo" that can predict the future.

System Alarm sounded again: 【Memory mapping array confirmed; recommend immediately severing all personal items' external contact pathways】

He didn't move.

Chen Jianguo approached, whispering, "There's definitely an organization behind this man. Xu Da Mao is just a middleman; those truly after the technology are likely more than one."

"The question is," Zhao Jianguo turned slowly, "Why do they want the technology? Sell it? Or… modify it?"

Before he finished speaking, the Terminal jolted again.

A new message popped up: 【Abnormal Signal Source detected, originating from the Siheyuan direction, frequency matches memory receiver at 98%】

Zhao Jianguo's complexion changed: "Someone at home has tampered with my stuff."

The three rushed outward. Just after leaving the grain depot, the walkie‑talkie crackled; it was Su Qing's voice: "Jianguo, the iron box you left on the table just lit up by itself, now it won't open."

Zhao Jianguo's heart hammered twice.

He recognized the box—it was the metal case he brought with him on the day he crossed over, forever locked in the bottom drawer of the cabinet, never touched by him again.

But now, it had awakened.

The car sped back toward the city, tires rumbling over potholes with a muffled thud. Near the Siheyuan, streetlights flickered together, as if the voltage was unstable.

Zhao Jianguo pushed the door and rushed in, heading straight for the interior. The iron box on the table lay quietly, a faint blue halo hovering over its surface, as if something inside was rotating.

He reached out to take it.

The box suddenly vibrated, the lid's edge cracking a thin slit, a beam of light shooting out, illuminating the Terminal on his wrist.

Two systems, for the first time, issued alerts simultaneously.