Chapter 409: The People Behind the Scenes

In the Corridor outside the conference room, Wei Gong walked slowly.

Behind him followed Lao Lu, the one from the Data Analysis Center whose hair was half gone and who always wore dark circles under his eyes. Neither of them spoke, and the sound of their shoe soles on the tiles echoed in the spacious Corridor, one after the other.

Until they turned into the tea room whose password was known only to Wei Gong and a handful of others, the lock clicked shut.

Lao Lu finally spoke.

"Do you really intend to let him in?"

Wei Gong gave no answer, but began heating water himself. The Yixing teapot was an old piece, its spout stained deep brown by tea. He tossed a pinch of Lapsang Souchong tea into the pot, moving deliberately.

"Three hundred billion," Lao Lu rubbed his hands, "That figure looks so good, it makes the back of my neck go cold."

The water boiled.

Wei Gong lifted the pot to pour, and the tea leaves flipped in the boiling water.

"Lao Lu, do you think I don't know?"

Lao Lu was momentarily stunned.

"I've understood what capital is for forty years," Wei Gong poured out the first rinse of tea water, his movements without a hint of waste. "These people rush forward at the scent of blood; the more humanity is in danger, the more excited they become—because danger means demand, demand means profit, profit means influence. Shen Wanshan may speak beautifully, but the abacus beads in his bones clatter louder than anyone's."

"Then you still—"

"Because there is no choice."

Wei Gong lifted the tea cup but did not drink. The steam blurred half of his face.

"Pull up the latest unemployment figures."

Lao Lu opened his mouth. He didn't need to fetch them; he could recite those numbers. Since the expansion of the Weird Domain, the real economy had stalled by nearly thirty percent. In the Federation alone, unemployment due to supply‑chain breaks had exceeded two hundred million. Two hundred million people without work or food, whose first act each morning was to scroll their phones to see how many more had died today.

Of those two hundred million, how many are being reached by Gospel Church pamphlets?

Lao Lu didn't dare to think further.

"When the academy opens, three cities, even just basic infrastructure can generate over a million jobs," Wei Gong's tone was no different from casual conversation. "Supporting catering, logistics, security, equipment manufacturing will swallow another few hundred thousand. With wages and hope, these people won't crouch in Air‑raid Shelters at night listening to the Prophet chant scriptures."

He sipped the tea.

"And about combat power. The number of Weird‑Defying operatives we can field on the front line, even at full strength, doesn't exceed one hundred forty. One hundred forty people guard the world. Qian Hongguo was right in the meeting; the sea selection is just burning money. But if we don't sea‑select? Do we wait for Gospel Church to train us? Wait for that madman Chen Shao to cobble together another team in the shadows?"

Lao Lu remained silent for a long while.

"So it's like drinking poison to quench thirst."

Wei Gong set the tea cup back on the table, the bottom clinking lightly.

"Poison also varies in speed. The toxin of capital is chronic, taking ten or twenty years to manifest; we have time to gradually remove its toxicity. The toxin of Gospel Church is acute—if not treated today, tomorrow there's no life."

Seven days.

It took only seven days.

The three‑year‑abandoned military‑industrial test field on the eastern outskirts of Jiang Hai City was leveled and rebuilt, operating three shifts around the clock; concrete‑pumping machines ran from dawn to dusk, and floodlights bathed the site as if it were daylight. Two other sites outside the southern second ring of the capital and in the new Huadu district broke ground simultaneously, three red dots lighting up on satellite imagery like someone had pressed a launch button.

Shen Wanshan kept his word— the first batch of construction plans was indeed submitted within three days.

But what moved faster than the plans was money.

Huan Yu Heavy Industry's cash flow opened like a floodgate; equipment, building materials, and labor poured into the three cities at a speed that left the audit department unable to react. At the same time, the production lines of seven military‑industry subsidiaries completed upgrades, and the first batch of mass‑produced Weird‑suppression projectiles went offline on the fifth day after signing.

The Federation's official news released a single bulletin:

"The Federal Weird Investigation Bureau and Huan Yu Heavy Industry Group have formally signed a strategic cooperation agreement; the two sides will jointly establish three Weird Domain Countermeasure Academies (code‑named 'Qiu Ce Yuan'), open recruitment to the entire Federation, and cultivate professional, organized new forces for humanity's fight against Weird threats."

The comment section exploded.

It topped the trending list for a full three days.

Investigation Bureau headquarters, a small conference room.

Four chairs, four people.

Qin Zhixia sat nearest the door, a matte black metal joint visible beneath the left sleeve. The connection between her mechanical arm and shoulder was mostly covered by a high‑collar combat suit, but when she flexed her fingers, a tiny servo motor emitted a faint hum.

Opposite her was Su Ming, curled into the chair, his hat brim pulled low, his presence almost nonexistent.

Liang Wen took the most spacious chair, the hem of his black windcoat piled on the floor, his fingerless gloves tapping rhythmically on his knees.

Jiang Yuan entered last, the charred tactical hand ring on his wrist glinting dimly under the fluorescent lights.

Wei Gong remained standing.

He stood at the head of the table, clutching four files with red covers.

"No more wasted words."

The four files were slapped onto each person's desk one by one.

"Qiu Ce Yuan's three branches will be officially inaugurated next month. The four of you will serve as specially appointed combat instructors."

The sounds of pages turning varied. Qin Zhixia was the fastest, scanning the first page in two seconds. Liang Wen was still fiddling with his gloves. Su Ming made no move at all.

"Teach the students?" Jiang Yuan lifted his head.

"Teach them to survive," Wei Gong corrected.

Liang Wen finally opened the file, and when he saw the words 'specially appointed,' his eyes visibly lit up.

"Wait, wait, wait— a specially appointed instructor? So that means—" He sprang up from his chair, his black windcoat flinging into a curve he found exceedingly dashing, his right hand extending forward, index and middle fingers together pointing at the ceiling. "I finally get to found a sect! The Dark‑Blooded King's direct disciple, a hundred thousand followers answering the call, a rallying of troops to sweep away everything—"

"Additionally," Wei Gong tossed out a second piece of news, "the Investigation Bureau will set up a separate salary tier for combat instructors, distinct from your agent salaries."

Liang Wen's eyes lit up again, this time even brighter.

Qin Zhixia closed the file, her mechanical arm's fingers tapping lightly twice on the desk.

"The timing is right. Front‑line personnel losses are too severe; the existing sea‑selection funnel can't fill the gap. If Qiu Ce Yuan can run pre‑screening and basic training smoothly, it can deliver the first batch of usable reserves to each branch within three to six months. That's the fastest replenishment plan right now."

"Analysis is spot on," Liang Wen gave a thumbs‑up.

"I have a question," Jiang Yuan's voice was low, but everyone in the conference room heard it.

He clenched the file, his brows knit together.

"Everyone here knows what the Weird Domain is like. It's not a textbook, not a simulated exam. One mistake and you die, a teammate covering you also dies; the rules are invisible and intangible, but breaking them means death."

He paused.

"Can this kind of thing be taught in a classroom?"

No one replied.

Because everyone knew what he was thinking: the Spider-like humanoid nest in Chicago, the Butcher at Saint John Hospital...... and Mo Shu.

Some things cannot be written in textbooks.

Wei Gong looked at him for a few seconds.

"If they can't learn, they still must be taught," the old man's voice was even, "because if you don't teach, they'll die even faster. The experience you bought with your life in the Weird Domain—let it rot in your mind, or hand it to the next batch that goes in—you choose."

Jiang Yuan said nothing further.

He lowered his head, his gaze landing on the charred Hand Ring on his wrist.

After a while, he nodded.

After the other three left one by one, Wei Gong called out the last person walking out.

"Su Ming."

Su Ming's steps halted at the doorway. The pair of extremely dark pupils under his hat brim turned toward him, expressionless.

Wei Gong fished something out of the pocket of his Zhongshan suit.

A black school badge.

It was a ring larger than a regular school badge, its material not metal, feeling icy to the touch, unlike any known alloy. The back bore an encrypted serial number, no name.

Su Ming reached out, took it, weighed it. It was absurdly light.

"What is this?"

"It's your secondary identity for entering Qiu Ce Yuan."

Su Ming's eyelid twitched.

Wei Gong crossed his arms and walked to the window. Beneath the night, the brightly lit bustling city resembled a huge glowing scar.

"Shen Wanshan is smart, capable, smooth‑talking, and generous with his terms. The more like him, the less trustworthy."

Su Ming gave no reply. He was waiting for the second half.

"His proposal promises not to touch teaching, not to touch files, not to touch classified matters. Those words are crystal clear on paper, but can paper restrain a person?"

Wei Gong turned around.

"Once the academy is up and running, it processes tens of thousands of trainees each year. Every piece of their personal data, ability assessments, psychological profiles is a gold mine. Would the hand of capital resist stuffing anything into its pocket?"

Su Ming flipped the badge over to examine the serial number on the back.

"You want me to go undercover."

"Not undercover," Wei Gong's wording was precise, "it's a sword hanging over their heads. You have independent investigative authority in the academy, reporting directly to me. Any act of probing trainee privacy, infiltrating the teaching system, or scouting talent for external forces—if caught, one hand is chopped off."

Su Ming was silent for about five seconds.

"Is the salary doubled?"

Wei Gong gave him a glance.

"Threefold."

Su Ming slipped the badge back into his pocket.

"As you know, I've always been loyal to the Investigation Bureau; I see every mission through."

The signing ceremony was set for three days later, held in the main hall of Jiang Hai City Government Center, fully staged, broadcast worldwide in sync. When Shen Wanshan shook hands with Wei Gong on camera, his smile was perfectly measured—neither flattery nor ostentatious, just the kind that makes every viewer think, "this person is reliable."

The flashbulbs went off, crackling for four minutes.

The ceremony ended.

Shen Wanshan, surrounded by his accompanying assistants, walked out the side door of the Government Center, steps light, occasionally briefing the people beside him.

A black bullet‑proof Rolls‑Royce waited at the end of the private lane, the driver already having opened the door.

Shen Wanshan bent over and slipped into the back seat.

The door closed.

All the accompanying staff were left outside.

The moment the sound‑proof glass in the carriage rose, the composed smile Shen Wanshan had cultivated for a whole week vanished as if erased with an eraser.

He loosened his tie, leaned back into the leather seat. Both hands were folded on his knees, fingertips still.

On the back of the front passenger seat, a palm‑sized encrypted display lit up silently.

The screen showed no image, only a pulsing voice‑print waveform—the other side unwilling to reveal any visual.

Shen Wanshan straightened his torso.

Then, the man who in the conference room dared to speak fluently before nine Senior Executives, slamming three hundred billion onto the table without blinking, bowed his head with utmost respect.

His waist bent so far that his suit lapel nearly touched his thigh.

"All is well."

His voice was so soft that anyone a meter outside the carriage could not hear it. Yet the cautious humility in his tone was a world apart from the confident certainty he displayed ten minutes earlier under the magnesium lights.

The voice‑print waveform on the screen pulsed a few times.

No response.

Shen Wanshan kept his bowed posture, unmoving.

The Rolls‑Royce merged onto the main road, joined the traffic, and vanished into Jiang Hai City's endless night.