Chapter 457: Did We Run Into Trouble?

Federal Weird Investigation Bureau, three underground levels down, the top conference room.

This room has no windows.

Twelve cold light tubes embedded in the ceiling bleach each person's face pale, the air‑conditioner vents hum, yet they cannot drown out the low‑frequency hum emitted by the holographic projector on the table.

Eleven people sit on both sides of the long table.

No one speaks.

Su Ming stands beside the projector, clutching a remote in his hand, his thumb repeatedly rubbing the edge of the play button. A photo is frozen on the holographic screen before him.

Huang Datong.

Or rather, that lump that used to be Huang Datong.

The photo shows no face. Literally no face. From hairline to jawbone, the entire skin has been cleanly peeled off, the wound edges as neat as if measured with a scalpel. The exposed muscle tissue has blackened, and coagulated blood has spread a large dark‑brown pattern across the white hospital sheet.

Four bodyguards' corpses are scattered around the room, each with empty eye sockets.

"This is the seventh."

Su Ming's voice is flat, like reciting a menu.

"Three days. Seven lives. All are targets with records but not legally punished. The modus operandi is highly consistent—first, using an unknown method to paralyze the minds of everyone around the target, causing self‑harm or suicide, then executing the core target with a highly ritualistic execution."

He presses the remote.

The holographic screen switches. Seven on‑site photos are arranged in order from left to right, with the level of gore increasing step by step.

The first shows a former deputy director of the Transportation Bureau, sewn onto the chandelier in his own living room, his guts emptied and filled with the bribe money he took.

The third shows a legal director of a real‑estate group, his tongue pulled out and nailed to the desk, with a forged demolition agreement he personally created placed beside it.

The fifth shows a retired judge, his hands broken backward and inserted into his own chest, the ten fingers precisely clasping his heart.

The last shows Huang Datong.

Someone in the conference room is dry‑heaving.

The deputy director of Intelligence presses his fist to his lips, his face turning green. The logistics chief sitting beside him averts his gaze, staring at the already‑cold cup of tea before him.

"Zhang Yuanqing," Su Ming bites the three words heavily, "former Jiang Hai City forensic doctor, three years ago persecuted by the system for exposing a high‑official's son's murder, his license revoked and expelled from the system. Half a month ago he gained an inexplicable superhuman power and began a retaliatory hunt against everyone in the chain of that persecution."

He pauses.

"As of now, I recommend forcibly raising its danger rating from A Ji to Zhun S Ji, no, S Ji."

When the words land, the two sides of the table finally stir.

"S?" Qian Hongguo, in charge of the East China sector, furrows his brow, "Su Ming, you know what this rating means. The Federation currently has only one S Ji threat on record, and you want to put a forensic doctor who just awakened half a month ago in the same tier as Sai Men?"

"Chief Qian," Su Ming doesn't look at him, his finger swiping the projector to pull up a data curve, "This is Zhang Yuanqing's energy fluctuation chart over the past half month. The first appearance peaked at the lower bound of A Ji. The second, Zhun S. As for now, no one knows how strong he is."

His finger stops at the end of the curve.

That line rises almost vertically.

Su Ming turns, facing the elderly man at the far end of the long table who has never spoken.

"He is getting stronger. Each time he commands his subordinates' horror murders, he grows stronger, and the pace is accelerating."

Wei Gong sits in the head seat, hands folded on the table, eyelids half‑closed. The faded Zhongshan suit's buttons are fastened to the topmost one, a small strip of withered neck exposed at the collar.

He says nothing.

Technical Department Director Fang Zhiyuan raises his hand, sweat covering his forehead, "Let me add something."

Everyone looks at him.

Fang Zhiyuan stands, pulls a tablet from his briefcase, his hand shaking badly, swiping several times before opening the File.

"While tracking Zhang Yuanqing's movements, we discovered a... a very tricky problem."

He connects the tablet to the projection system.

A surveillance clip appears on the screen. The footage shows a commercial street at night, timestamped 11:47 p. m. last night.

The image plays normally for three seconds.

Then the picture begins to distort.

Colors fade, resolution drops sharply, the whole view turns black‑and‑white. The commercial street vanishes, replaced by an Interrogation Room.

A person sits in the Interrogation Room.

Huang Datong.

The living Huang Datong. He is shackled to an iron chair, a stack of Files on the table before him. The camera slowly zooms in; the contents of the Files are clearly visible— the entire evidence chain of Huang Datong hiring a hitman seventeen years ago: bank transfer records, transcript of call recordings, eyewitness testimonies, autopsy reports.

Each bears a red stamp reading "Destroyed."

The Huang Datong in the footage screams, struggles, and the iron chair scrapes a harsh sound across the floor.

Then the screen goes black.

When it lights up again, it's a close‑up of Huang Datong's corpse, skin peeled away.

The conference room remains silent for a full five seconds.

"This isn't edited," Fang Zhiyuan's voice trembles, "It's real‑time tampering. As soon as any surveillance device captures Zhang Yuanqing's image, the footage is automatically replaced with... this. The victim's crimes in life, plus the gruesome aftermath. We tested thirty‑seven different camera models, including military‑grade encrypted devices. All failed."

He swallows.

"In other words, we can't even capture his appearance. Any electronic device that tries to record his image turns into his... trial player."

Qian Hongguo taps his fingers on the table twice, "What about thermal imaging? Voice‑print tracking?"

"Thermal imaging works, but it only captures a vague human silhouette, not usable for precise location. Voice‑print…" Fang Zhiyuan gives a wry smile, "He doesn't speak. There's no audio record of the whole operation."

"So we're blind now," Li Wei continues, his tone sharp, "A possibly S Ji madman is killing people across the Federation, and we can't even lock down his real‑time location?"

No one answers him.

Su Ming presses the remote, the screen switches to the next page.

"Regarding the positioning issue," he says, "we have indeed tried."

A new image appears.

This is an operation report, marked with the red watermark "Top Secret" and "Self‑Destruct After Reading."

Forty‑six hours ago, the Technical Division, by analyzing Zhang Yuanqing's crime patterns and target‑selection logic, predicted his next hunting target. I dispatched a vanguard squad, six personnel, all with B Ji or above combat power, carrying three Containment Objects, and set an ambush at the predicted location.

Su Ming's voice remained flat.

But the hand holding the remote gripped its knuckles ever so slightly.

"What's the result?" Qian Hongguo asked.

"Four dead, two seriously injured."

A few sharp intakes of cold breath echoed in the conference room.

"Zhang Yuanqing never entered our ambush circle," Su Ming said, "He deployed a monster story he created himself. This monster story possesses autonomous action capability and can carry out a hunt even when Zhang Yuanqing is absent. Our vanguard squad waited by the target for six hours; the monster story seeped in through the Underground Pipe Network, bypassing all defensive nodes."

He pulled up the vital sign records of the vanguard squad.

Six lines: four dropped to zero, two fluctuated violently within the danger zone.

"Captain Zhao Peng fell on the spot; the cause of death was......" Su Ming paused, "After his skin was stripped away, the monster story covered it on its own face, disguising itself as Zhao Peng and approached the remaining team members. By the time everyone reacted, it was already too late."

"Damn." Li Wei cursed, and no one corrected his wording.

"In other words," Qian Hongguo leaned back slowly, "this Zhang Yuanqing is not only S Ji, his monster story can operate independently, disguise itself, and infiltrate. We are not facing a single person, but an entire mobile killing system."

Su Ming nodded: "Moreover, this system is still upgrading. Each completed hunt expands his abilities further. Based on the current growth curve, after at most five to seven more hunts, he will likely far surpass the Laughing Demon that destroyed Dongdao."

Silence.

A long, suffocating silence.

Logistics chief Lao Zhou was the first to break the deadlock: "Then seal off the information. Transfer everyone on his target list to safe houses, cut off his prey source. Without prey, he cannot upgrade."

"How many people do you plan to relocate?" Su Ming retorted. "Our preliminary sweep shows that within Jiang Hai City alone, potential targets meeting his hunting criteria exceed one hundred twenty. Expanding to the entire Federation, the number reaches four digits. How many safe houses do you have?"

Lao Zhou opened his mouth but said nothing.

Li Wei pounded the table: "Then requisition high‑risk Containment Objects from the North American Frontline! Rules against Rules, head‑on clash!"

Su Ming shook his head, "Zhang Yuanqing is mobile, invisible, untrackable. Who are you going to hit with Containment Objects? Hit the air?"

"Then tell me what to do!" Li Wei's anger flared. "Sit here watching him kill one after another? Wait until he fully reaches S Ji before dealing with him? Who will be able to deal with him then?"

"Enough."

Two words.

Unhurried, unvoiced, even with a slightly hoarse elderly tone.

But the entire conference room fell silent instantly.

Lord Wei opened his eyes.

Those seemingly cloudy old eyes swept a circle under the cold light, scanning every face in the room. No one dared to meet his gaze.

He reached out, lifted the tea cup before him, and took a sip.

The tea had long since cooled.

He set the cup back on the table. The faint clink of porcelain against solid wood tightened everyone's spines a notch.

"Direct pursuit can't track him, ambushes can't wait, blockades can't seal," Wei's speech was slow, each word leaping out, "You've been arguing for ages; each of you is just noise."

No one dared to reply.

Wei's gaze fell on Su Ming.

"Su Ming."

"Present."

"How long have you studied Zhang Yuanqing?"

"Since his first crime, I have been tracking him for fifteen days."

"Then tell me, does he have any weakness?"

Su Ming was silent for two seconds.

"Yes."

All eyes converged.

"His hunting logic is extremely strict, targeting only those with concrete crimes who have escaped legal punishment. In fifteen days, seven targets, none innocent. This shows his core is still that forensic doctor—pursuing a complete evidence chain, pursuing procedural justice. He merely moved the judgment from the courtroom to his own hands."

Wei nodded slightly: "So?"

"So he isn't an indiscriminate killer. Though he has no principle against killing us or other official forces, he still follows a manipulable behavior pattern." Su Ming paused, "But the problem is, we lack the ability to approach him within his Rules framework. All direct methods have failed."

"Then we won't go head‑on."

Wei stood up.

His stature was not tall, even slightly stooped with age. Yet when he stood there, the room's air grew a few degrees heavier.

"Since a bright spear can't hit, use a hidden arrow."

He stared at Su Ming; something flickered in those old eyes. Not anger, not anxiety, but an extremely calm, calculated decision after weighing all costs.

"In your own name, contact a person."

Su Ming's pupils contracted.

"Director, you say......"

"You know who I'm talking about." Wei cut him off. "This matter will not go through any official channels, leave no written record, bypass any approval process. All your contact with him, from today onward, is unrelated to the Investigation Bureau."

Su Ming remained where he was, not answering immediately.

He of course knew who Wei was referring to.

Precisely because he knew, he didn't nod right away.

That person— that name—represents something too complex. An enemy, an ally, a venomous snake that could bite back at any moment, and currently the only one capable of playing chess in the shadows against Zhang Yuanqing.

"I understand."

Su Ming finally said only those four words.

Wei Gong nodded, sat down again, lifted his teacup and took another sip of the cold tea, as if nothing had happened.

"Adjourn."

The sounds of chairs shifting rose and fell. Eleven people streamed out in a single file, none whispering to each other, none looking back.

Su Ming was the last to leave.

He stepped out of the conference room and walked along the third underground Corridor toward the elevator. His footsteps echoed in the spacious cement passage, thudding steadily.

The elevator doors opened; he entered and pressed the button for the minus‑one level.

The moment the doors closed, he retrieved a phone from a hidden pocket inside his combat suit.

It wasn't his work phone, nor his personal phone.

It was an old flip‑style encrypted device. Its casing was heavily worn, and a fine crack ran along the screen edge. The phone had never been registered in any system, bore no linked identity information, and its SIM card was a disposable chip bought three years ago on the Black Market.

Su Ming opened the phone and found the only number in the contacts.

There was no label—just an eleven‑digit number.

His thumb hovered over the dial key for two seconds.

The elevator arrived. The doors opened.

Su Ming stepped out of the elevator and turned into an unmonitored fire escape.

He pressed the dial key.

Doo—

Doo—

Doo—

Halfway through the fourth tone, the call connected.

The other end was silent, save for a faint breath and a subtle clink of some metal apparatus.

Su Ming spoke.

"It's me."

The other side remained silent for three seconds.

Then a low, slightly hoarse resonant male voice came through the receiver:

"Agent Su."

Pause.

"Let me guess—are you in trouble?"