Chapter 371: New Equipment

The cold white light tubes in the armory buzzed.

Qin Zhixia shoved the last two magazines into the side pockets of the Tactical Vest, the zipper snapping shut twice between the open metal shelves. She checked the barrel wear of the Tail-Head Snake, ejected the round, loaded a fresh one, set the safety to fire position, and slipped it back into her waist holster.

The whole sequence was as clean as a calibrated machine.

She carried nothing extra: two spare battery packs, a folding tactical knife, and the charging module of the Exoskeleton on her right knee. The backpack weighed eleven kilograms, just at the limit she could sling onto her shoulder with one hand without much effort.

The elevator was at the end of the Corridor.

Qin Zhixia moved quickly, the rhythm of her combat boots against the cement steady and rapid, her ponytail swinging in regular arcs from the back of her head.

Two people stood at the elevator doors.

They wore Black Combat Suits, no insignia, but the short-barreled Submachine Gun at their waist was a custom model exclusive to Wei Gong's Guard. Qin Zhixia had been in the Investigation Bureau long enough to recognize it at a glance.

She halted.

The Guard on the left gave her a nod.

"Captain Mei, the Director asked you to come over for tea."

Qin Zhixia's gaze shifted from the Guard's gun to his face, then back again.

"My helicopter takes off in twenty minutes."

"The Director said the tea's ready; if you don't drink it, it'll get cold."

The emphasis landed on the word "cold."

Qin Zhixia's toe paused on the floor for half a second. She said nothing else, turned, and followed the Guard down the opposite passage.

On B13 of Headquarters there is a room that doesn't appear on any floor plan.

It has no number, no plaque; from the Corridor it looks like a solid wall.

The Guard pressed his palm against an unremarkable spot on the wall; the biometric lock emitted a faint click, and a door slid silently out of the wall.

The tea room was small.

It measured twelve square meters, tatami-floored, with a black walnut tea table at its center. A set of Ru kiln celadon tea ware sat on the table, the spout of the pot emitting fine white steam.

Wei Gong sat behind the tea table.

His Zhongshan suit was buttoned squarely, the cuffs rolled up to three finger‑widths above the wrist, exposing a thin yet well‑defined forearm. He was using a bamboo tongs to stir the tea leaves in the cup, moving slowly, each motion imbued with a ritualistic air.

Qin Zhixia knelt on the opposite side of the tea table.

When her knees touched the floor, the Exoskeleton on her right knee brushed the tatami, producing a faint metallic clink that stood out in the quiet tea room.

Wei Gong did not look up.

He poured away the first rinse, filled the pot for the second steep, capped it, and poured hot water over the pot body. His movements flowed like clouds, like a surgeon handling delicate instruments on an operating table.

Fifteen seconds.

He lifted the lid, sniffed, nodded, then poured the amber tea into two cups.

"Zhengshan Xiaozhong, the first harvest from Tongmu Pass last year," Wei Gong finally spoke.

"Thank you, I'm not thirsty."

"I didn't ask whether you're thirsty."

Wei Gong pushed a cup toward her; his clouded old eyes finally left the tea set and settled on Qin Zhixia.

"How many people are you planning to take to Ling Shui?"

"Aside from the Special Forces during the operation, I'm the only agent on my side."

"One person," Wei Gong repeated the three words, his tone showing neither surprise nor objection, merely a plain reiteration, as if savoring a dish.

"Xiao Zhang knows the Investigation Bureau's tactical system. The more people you bring, the more weaknesses you expose," Qin Zhixia replied quickly, clearly having considered the question. "He served under me for three years; I taught him how to dismantle squad coordination, and he knows our collaborative flaws better than anyone."

"So you intend to duel a former detective who has completed the Gospel mutation and possesses superhuman power?"

"He's a soldier I brought out."

The tea room fell silent for a few seconds. The steam from the pot's spout diffused, drawing a curved white line in the light.

Wei Gong lifted his own cup and took a sip.

"Zhixia."

He rarely called her by name. In the Investigation Bureau, everyone used code names or titles. The number of times Wei Gong called her "Zhixia" could be counted on two hands.

"Your gap with Xiao Zhang isn't experience or tactics; it's raw power."

Wei Gong set his cup down.

"He has a Seed‑modified body, domain‑level Anomalous Power, and the thing you mentioned in your operation proposal—over a hundred Mutated Believers around him. You, with this gear and the Special Forces troops, go negotiate a 'Settlement Portal' with a monster capable of taking a fortress?"

His speech was unhurried, each word enunciated clearly.

"I didn't say you'd die if you went. But the odds are less than three percent."

Qin Zhixia lifted the cup before her, did not drink, and set it down.

"Director, you stopped me not to dissuade me."

Wei Gong's mouth twitched.

It wasn't a smile. It was milder than a smile, deeper than no smile—a subtle expression of "you indeed didn't disappoint me."

He reached under the tea table, took out an object, and placed it on the surface.

A lead‑sealed case. Each side measured less than twenty centimeters, entirely dark gray, without a plaque or number; six electromagnetic locks clamped the lid from different angles. The surface bore a visible layer of condensation, as if just removed from a cryogenic storage.

Qin Zhixia stared at the case.

Her right hand instinctively rested on the waist holster—an ingrained reflex from three years of criminal investigation, where the hand reacts before the brain when faced with an unknown object of indeterminate threat level.

"When the frontline tackled the A-level Anomaly Zone 'White Mist Forest,' Squad Jiang Yuan brought it back from the Core region."

Wei Gong extended a finger onto the lid. The six electromagnetic locks released in sequence, emitting six muted clicks.

When the lid was half‑opened, Qin Zhixia sensed a smell. It was neither rot nor blood, but an indescribable, almost "void" scent—if "nothing" could have an odor, this would be it.

Her nasal cavity felt empty, yet something was still stimulating the olfactory nerves.

The lid of the box opened completely.

The interior lining consists of three layers of shock‑absorbing padding, with a circular recess in the exact center.

That lump lay in the groove.

It has no color.

Qin Zhixia couldn't find a more precise way to describe it. It isn't transparent—transparent would mean you could see what lies behind it; nor is it white, since white itself is a color.

It is simply "no color."

It's like a visual bug: your eyes focus on that spot, the retina receives light signals, yet the brain cannot render it as any color within your range of perception.

Moreover, it moves.

It writhes slowly, like a mass stripped of any physical properties… a concept.

"Code name 'No Light'. Means 'tomorrow's plunderer.'"

Wei Gong's voice came from behind the steam of the tea.

"It's also a Weird device that must fuse with its host to function, but unlike any Weird we've encountered—it doesn't backfire on the host."

Qin Zhixia's gaze shifted from the box to Wei Gong's face, then back again.

"Its fuel is the 'remaining lifespan' of whatever it attaches to," Wei Gong nudged the lid toward Qin Zhixia. "When it latches onto any object, it squeezes that object's potential, causing it to unleash power far beyond its normal capacity for a short time. Afterward, depending on circumstances, the object's service life may be severely damaged, even erased, turning to ash."

"What about the user?"

"The user is fine. It only consumes things, not people, unless the user treats themselves as something that needs to be burned."

Qin Zhixia lowered her head, watching the writhing mass.

Her breathing rate did not change. Her heart rate did not accelerate. The Exoskeleton's built‑in vital‑sign monitor showed everything normal.

But her pupils contracted slightly—a minuscule contraction that Wei Gong caught.

"Jiang Yuan suggested handing it to a B-grade Anomalous on the front lines," Wei Gong took another sip of tea. "I rejected that. The front‑line troops already have enough power; they lack weapons. It's you, a Core Captain without any extraordinary ability, relying solely on gear and manpower—"

He didn't finish. No need to finish.

Qin Zhixia extended her right hand.

Her fingers paused for a fraction of a second before touching the mass—not hesitation, but her judging the grasp angle and direction of force.

The moment her fingertip brushed "No Light," an extremely faint tingling spread from the pad of her finger to her wrist. It wasn't painful or itchy—more like something slipping in through skin pores, then crawling along the veins.

"No Light" flowed from her palm to the back of her hand, seeped through the cuff into the inner layer of her combat suit, and finally vanished from sight.

Qin Zhixia turned her hand over to look. There was no trace. Yet she could feel the mass snugly pressed against the inner side of her forearm, like a well‑behaved gecko.

"The underground test site has been cleared of personnel," Wei Gong stood, his tea cup left on the table. "Go try it."

Underground deep‑level test site.

The Investigation Bureau's sealed chamber for testing high‑risk Weird Objects features walls four meters thick of Reinforced Steel Bar‑reinforced concrete composite, lined with lead and a suppression field generator. In the center stands a solitary target plate—a half‑meter‑thick special‑armor steel, matching the front armor of a main battle tank.

Qin Zhixia stood ten meters in front of the target plate.

She casually grabbed a training alloy rod from a shelf by the wall. Standard issue, 1.2 m long, just over two kilograms, forged from a single piece of full‑carbon steel. Normally used for recruits to practice body techniques—painful on flesh, leaving at most a white mark on steel plates.

She held the rod horizontally in her right hand.

Then she called it.

Not with her mouth, but more like a mental summons—as natural as willing one's own fingers to bend.

"No Light" seeped out from the cuff.

The colorless mass streamed along her fingers onto the rod, moving so fast that in less than two seconds it enveloped the entire alloy rod.

The rod changed.

It didn't glow, didn't change color, didn't expand.

It was the sensation of steel stripped of every superfluous property, left with pure "destruction" alone.

Fine gray‑white veins appeared on the rod's surface, like cracked, dried river‑bed soil, or the raised vascular network on the back of a dying person's hand.

Qin Zhixia gripped the rod tightly. The feel changed. The two‑kilogram weight vanished, yet the feedback through her joints made her realize the rod was now consuming all of itself.

She stepped forward and swung the rod.

No flashy wind‑up, just a top‑to‑bottom slash. The speed wasn't even particularly fast—by her standards, it was only about seventy percent of her normal power.

The moment the rod's edge met the steel plate,

there was no sound.

The half‑meter‑thick special‑armor steel, from the point of contact along the rod's path, seemed to be split open by an invisible hand from the middle—silently separating to both sides.

The cut surface was smooth enough to reflect a silhouette.

No sparks. No metal fragments. No resistance.

As if the steel plate had never existed.

The third second after the plate was cut.

Qin Zhixia's alloy rod began to disintegrate from the tip. It wasn't a break but a molecular‑level disintegration—carbon steel in her palm turned into fine gray‑white powder, pouring out between her fingers and spreading a thin layer on the ground.

Three seconds earlier it had been a rod capable of injuring a person.

Three seconds later nothing remained.

Qin Zhixia released her grip. Only a few warm ashes lingered in her palm.

The test site's built‑in assessment system projected a holographic data panel into midair, displaying output peak, penetration efficiency, energy conversion rate, comprehensive threat rating—a cascade of numbers refreshed and then settled.

Comprehensive rating: B-grade Anomalous.

Note: Insufficient combat data; further evaluation pending.

Wei Gong stood behind the Observation Window, his hands clasped behind his back.

Something glimmered in those cloudy old eyes.

Qin Zhixia withdrew "No Light." The mass obediently shrank back beneath her cuff, settling quietly.

She walked out of the testing ground.

Wei Gong and others were in the Corridor.

"Not bad." The two words were so brief they were almost perfunctory. Yet coming from Wei Gong's mouth, they carried a different weight.

Qin Zhixia stopped, "Director, the consumption mechanism of 'Wu Ming' means I need to bring enough attached material."

"The armory has a batch of carbide‑tungsten alloy bayonets, forty‑seven in total. They've already been packed into boxes and will go with you onto the aircraft."

She hadn't expected Wei Gong to have even this arranged in advance.

Wei Gong was silent for two seconds.

"There's one more thing." Wei Gong fished a envelope from the inner pocket of his Zhongshan suit and handed it over. The envelope was unsealed, containing a thin slip of paper with only a string of numbers.

Qin Zhixia glanced at the string of numbers. Frequency code.

"What communication frequency is this for?"

"When you reach Lingshui, if the situation exceeds expectations—" Wei Gong's voice was steady, "tune to this frequency. Just report your coordinates, and someone will arrive quickly."

"Who?"

Wei Gong's mouth twitched slightly.

"You'll know when the time comes."

Qin Zhixia didn't press further. She folded the envelope twice, slipped it into the inner chest pocket of her Tactical Vest, and patted it. The slip rested against her heart, warmed by her body heat.

"Go then."

Wei Gong turned and walked toward the other end of the Corridor. The silhouette of his Zhongshan suit appeared thin under the cold white light, yet his back was upright, each step steady and sure.

Qin Zhixia performed a standard military salute toward his back.

Wei Gong didn't look back. After three steps, he paused, turned his torso half‑way, and whispered a sentence that only the two of them could hear.

"Come back alive."

The four words were thrown out, and he left.

Qin Zhixia's hand lingered by her brow ridge for a second before lowering.

Fifteen minutes later.

The headquarters' top‑level helipad.

The military helicopter's rotors had already begun turning, the massive airflow lifting dust and shredded paper from the ground into a swirling cloud. Qin Zhixia climbed the boarding ladder and took her seat in the cabin.

All forty‑seven carbide‑tungsten alloy bayonets were neatly arranged in a metal box at her feet. The lid fit tightly, the snap latch locked firmly.

She lowered her head to glance at her right knee.

The teal Exoskeleton glimmered with an odd sheen under the cabin's red warning light, a faint electronic hum emanating from its joints, as if responding to something.

The helicopter rose up from the ground.

Qin Zhixia closed her eyes. What rose in her mind was not the Underground Pipe Network map of Lingshui Shi, nor Xiao Zhang's personnel file photos, nor any data related to the mission.

Instead, it was the first day on the job, when Xiao Zhang burst into the office holding a stack of files, a crew‑cut head topped with a yellow leaf that seemed to have drifted from an unknown tree, shouting at her the line—

"Qin Team! I've completely organized these files! Take a look, let me know if anything needs changing......"

Qin Zhixia opened her eyes.

Outside the cabin, the city's lights were rapidly receding, vanishing from sight.