Chapter 126

Strange as it may be.

When the first-generation head of the Image Office, Zhuang Wei, felt despair, something even more despairing happened.

The suspect Zhang Wanjie had vanished.

Nothing unusual—just one camera had captured Zhang Wanjie walking normally southward, but when checking the southern cameras, his figure could not be found at all.

Turning back, they searched other routes, but found no trace of him anywhere.

Zhuang Wei stared irritably at the screen; this damn job was truly unbearable.

It offered no technical challenge, yet drained immense energy and physical strength—even if some people made it seem more technical, the energy and physical toll remained identical; with such effort, one might as well become a gym coach, at least surrounded by female trainees or muscular men and women to share the exhaustion…

"This man's been a fugitive for years; counter-surveillance is second nature to him. Let's push forward a bit further," Wei Zhenguo comforted Zhuang Wei.

"Ugh, so frustrating," Zhuang Wei muttered, pulled up the camera footage from the moment Zhang Wanjie disappeared, watched for a while, then switched to the western cameras, calculated his pace, skipped ahead two segments, and finally spotted a figure in matching clothing.

He guessed that at the intersection, Zhang Wanjie pretended to go straight but actually turned right.

Wei Zhenguo sat up straight: "That's got to be him—good work, Lao Zhuang."

"Good work? Just useless experience," Zhuang Wei said, a faint sense of accomplishment creeping in.

But as the video progressed, Zhuang Wei quickly lost the target again.

He could lose a person just by watching a video.

A wave of disappointment engulfed him, making his keyboard pounding louder.

"Smoke a cigarette, smoke a cigarette," Wei Zhenguo offered a pack of Zhonghua, smiling as he handed one to Zhuang Wei.

"Can't go on," Zhuang Wei took the cigarette, expressionless.

Others got excited watching footage; he got exhausted.

"Take a break, take a break," Wei Zhenguo chuckled. Being a cop means this—when you truly want to get things done, you're worn out like a dog.

He was used to this outcome; after so long as a police officer in Ningtai County, didn't he know exactly how capable First-Generation Head Zhuang Wei was?

In the past, just seeing surveillance footage was enough to satisfy him.

Staring at someone walk for hours used to be reserved for major or critical cases—at least cases assigned by superiors.

Xiao Shuting

If you can't track someone, there are ways to cope.

Seeing Zhuang Wei staring blankly, slumped in defeat, Wei Zhenguo imagined: "I'll go to the scene, see if I can gather more data."

"Fine. We'll check again when you get back," Zhuang Wei swiftly closed the interface, refusing to even glance at the screen.

When you've done the same job too long with no upward mobility, you end up like this—repeating the same tasks; if you succeed, it's fine, but if you fail, the frustration is even greater. It's like playing a game: at first, you tolerate failure easily, but the longer you play, the less you can stand it.

Wei Zhenguo had no complaints—he'd encountered far weirder colleagues.

Now, having a reliable colleague like Jiang Yuan made Wei Zhenguo deeply satisfied. Even his injured apprentice, Mu Zhiyang, gave him a sense of security; in this era, having someone willing to take a bullet for you was incredibly rare.

On the way, Wei Zhenguo resolved silently: when he returned, he'd train Mu Zhiyang properly—his value shouldn't be limited to just taking bullets.

The scene was a T-intersection, but the road was wide, with surveillance cameras on both sidewalks; when the target wasn't lost, it didn't matter, but once he vanished, they had to check six cameras—difficulty skyrocketed.

Wei Zhenguo pulled out his phone, confirmed Zhang Wanjie's disappearance point, looked around, then entered the shop diagonally and asked the owner for surveillance footage.

The shopkeeper had a round, affable face; upon seeing Wei Zhenguo's credentials, he beamed a warm smile, readily handed over the video without resistance, and even poured him a cup of tea—never holding a grudge over the fine he'd received just days earlier.

Wei Zhenguo fast-forwarded to three days prior, checked his phone, set the time to 2: 0 PM, then sped forward.

Minutes flashed by, then the target appeared under the tree shade in the camera's view.

Zhang Wanjie was an experienced fugitive, but still just a fugitive—no professional training, impossible to evade every camera. And frankly, cameras were everywhere now; even if 007 showed up, he'd need cheat tools to escape.

Wei Zhenguo watched Zhang Wanjie; Zhang Wanjie stared at his phone.

He unconsciously practiced counter-surveillance—pure instinct—waiting two or three minutes under the tree shade, where no camera covered.

After resting, Zhang Wanjie seized the moment a large bus arrived, crossed the road, and slipped along the roadside.

Wei Zhenguo exhaled, used his phone to photograph the surveillance footage, closed the app, thanked the owner, and followed the road onward.

On the way, Wei Zhenguo forwarded the video to Zhuang Wei.

After a while, Zhuang Wei replied via WeChat: "Got it."

Wei Zhenguo waited on-site; less than ten minutes later, Zhuang Wei's call came as expected.

"Lost him again," Zhuang Wei sent the exact timestamp and a video forwarded via phone. Wei Zhenguo walked the route on foot to verify.

They coordinated like this, even discovering Zhang Wanjie changed clothes once, barely tracking him to a residential compound.

The apartments in the compound might all have been rented by Ben Guo.

Wei Zhenguo silently shook his head; incompetent criminals were always a poor investment. He wondered how much Zhang Wanjie had paid Ben Guo.

The compound had few cameras and no internal shops; finding him via surveillance now became slightly harder.

But since they'd pinned him to the compound, the difficulty dropped significantly—just needed a stakeout. For a petty thief, this would be wasteful, but for a Ministry Class-B wanted fugitive? No problem.

Of course, if Ben Guo confessed, it would save even more time.

Wei Zhenguo stood in the compound and called Huang Qiangmin.

At this moment, the team leader proved useful.

Huang Qiangmin's question was predictable: "Confirmed as a Class-B wanted fugitive?"

"Confirmed," Wei Zhenguo insisted firmly. He'd already made the call—saying "not confirmed" now would just invite trouble.

Huang Qiangmin grunted: "No problem—I'll send two squads immediately. Block off the compound first, keep your identities hidden. I'll head to the Case Center."

"Got it," Wei Zhenguo replied instantly. "Chief Huang, you're the one who gets it done."

"Cut the flattery," Huang Qiangmin laughed. "Old Wei, you're sprouting new branches lately—growing fast."

"I'm just doing fieldwork for Jiang Yuan," Wei Zhenguo said, smiling calmly—he knew his limits.

He was a veteran detective with thirty years' service, deputy team leader for twenty-five to twenty-six years—did he really expect promotion?

At his age, those who wanted to lie flat had already done so; those who didn't just wanted to get things done.

Huang Qiangmin's situation was much the same—his path upward was narrow, so he deeply understood Wei Zhenguo, feeling a pang of empathy: "Jiang Yuan's got potential. Rarely do we get someone from Ningtai County—a local who can stick around. Good. Let's catch him first, then issue a press release: 'Ningtai County Captures National Class-B Fugitive, Achieves Zero Pickpocketing.'"

The same arrest, but Huang Qiangmin's perspective had instantly elevated.

Wei Zhenguo chuckled, put down his phone, bought a Pocari Sweat, and drank it down in large gulps while waiting.

While on duty, Wei Zhenguo always bought Pocari Sweat—it replenished water and the mythical electrolytes, and after drinking, urination was easy—on stakeout, you never knew which would come first: the need to pee or the arrest. Being prepared was the mark of a veteran cop.

Soon, about thirty officers arrived at the small compound with only six buildings.

"Building 4, Unit 201. There's a fire escape ladder outside the window," the instructor leading the reinforcements said, hand on his holstered pistol. "He's staying just today; tomorrow he'll leave by bus. Arrest him directly."

The instructor of the Criminal Investigation Team had little authority, especially under a strong team leader—he was essentially a senior investigator, usually deployed to lead assaults, showing top-level attention.

Today's reinforcements came from five or six squads, even included three rare internal staff—only an instructor-level officer could manage such a mixed group.

Seeing the chaotic origins of the reinforcements, Wei Zhenguo knew the team was nearly empty, and asked: "Did Ben Guo confess?"

"He did."

Wei Zhenguo didn't ask how—he asked: "Any other cases?"

"Yes. A document-forging case—this guy's from Ningtai. These fugitives were all recalled by him."

"What's his name?"

"Nickname: Xiao Ba. Never committed crimes in Ningtai. He operated elsewhere before, recently claimed he returned to Ningtai to develop, so hired Ben Guo to run errands." The instructor sighed helplessly: "Ben Guo says big cities are too cutthroat—better to come home. What a mess."

"Did Chief Huang lead the team to arrest Xiao Ba?"

"Not yet—Jiang the forensic doctor is helping locate him."

"Then no problem. Chief Huang's in for a treat."

"He's hoping for a school of fish—if this document forger has something valuable, he went himself to see what he can net." The instructor walked calmly to Building 4, first surrounded the small building, then advanced from both front and back to the second floor.

Zhang Wanjie chose this apartment thinking he could escape via the rear fire escape—never expecting someone to break in through the same ladder.

Wei Zhenguo, older, didn't lead the charge. When the door opened, he saw three strong men pinning a naked man to the bed, while four or five others searched the room, climbing on and off the bed.