Chapter 458: Proposing Cooperation

Jiang Hai City outskirts, the abandoned Starry Grand Theatre.

Three months ago this place experienced a B Ji paranormal incident; after the whole building was weirdly contaminated, no one dared to approach again. The city government didn't even dare to demolish it, only set up a three‑layer isolation barrier, letting it rot in the overgrown grass.

Su Ming parked the car five hundred meters away.

He turned off the engine, took off his ear‑mic, and locked his work phone inside the co‑driver's shielding box.

He pushed the car door open; a cold wind poured in, carrying a damp mildew scent and the iron‑like smell of rusted metal.

No weapon. No Containment Object. He wasn't even wearing the standard Tactical Vest.

Just a plain black jacket, zip pulled up to the chest.

He walked toward the theatre.

Moonlight was sliced by clouds into fragments, intermittently spilling onto the cracked asphalt. Su Ming's steps were neither fast nor slow; the soles of his shoes creaked over broken glass shards.

The theatre's main gate had long since collapsed halfway, its rusted iron frame crooked like an open mouth.

He went inside.

Black.

Pitch‑black, from top to bottom.

The interior lighting system had been scrapped long ago; there wasn't even an emergency light. Su Ming stood in the lobby for about ten seconds, letting his pupils adjust to the darkness.

Then he heard breathing.

Not just one person's.

At least twelve, spread across the Second Floor boxes, behind the stage curtains on both sides, and on the light rigs overhead.

Spades Group. Eden Garden's most elite combat unit.

Su Ming kept moving, walked straight through the lobby, pushed open the double doors of the audience hall, and followed the central aisle toward the stage.

A thick layer of dust covered the seats; the air was filled with the smell of moldy velvet and decaying wood. His gaze swept the vague silhouettes in the darkness, but he didn't linger.

When he reached the third row, he stopped.

Because somewhere above the stage, a pair of eyes were watching him.

Those eyes had no light, no warmth, hollow like two dried wells. Yet Su Ming knew whose they were.

Xu An.

The Silent One crouched on the sound‑board on the left side of the stage, barefoot, his tattered clothes hanging down, a Red Wood Ruler held horizontally in his hand. His sewn lips traced a snarling curve in the dark.

Su Ming withdrew his gaze and found a relatively clean seat to sit down.

He crossed his legs.

He waited.

One minute later, the air changed.

Not a temperature shift, but a texture. It was as if the previously thin air was suddenly compressed, becoming viscous and heavy; each breath required a little extra effort.

The stage floor began to tremble.

Fine dust drifted down from the ceiling, forming silver‑white threads in the gaps of moonlight.

Then the space cracked.

Not metaphorically. Literally. The air at the centre of the stage was torn open by an invisible hand, revealing a black fissure about two metres high. Light at the edge of the fissure warped and stretched, creating a bizarre prism effect.

A hand emerged from the fissure.

Long, pale, with distinct knuckles, gripping a black staff.

Then shoulders, a meticulously slicked‑back haircut, and that face cold enough to be almost cruel.

Chen Shao.

He stepped out of the crack, his pace neither hurried nor slow; his leather shoes struck the dust‑laden wooden stage with a crisp tap. Each step carried a ritualistic feel, like walking a red carpet and a death march at once.

The fissure silently sealed behind him.

He stood still.

The staff paused lightly on the floor.

That crimson left eye lit up in the darkness like a lantern set alight. No, more aggressive than a lantern. Wherever that red light touched, the air trembled faintly, screws on the seat armrests began to loosen, emitting a metallic fatigue creak.

The pressure of the Dominating Demon Eye poured out without reservation.

Su Ming remained seated, unmoving.

His hair was blown back by the invisible pressure, his jacket collar pressed tight against his neck. Yet his expression did not change.

He even leaned back against the seat back to sit more comfortably.

"Agent Su," Chen Shao spoke, his voice low but carrying far in the empty theatre, "Last time we met, you threatened me with my sister's safety to force cooperation. This time, what bargaining chip will you use?"

Su Ming did not rush to answer.

He fished a cigarette pack from his jacket pocket, took one out, and held it between his lips.

"Can I borrow a light?"

Chen Shao looked at him, saying nothing.

Su Ming shrugged, lit it himself with a lighter, inhaled, and exhaled a puff of white vapor.

"You've been in a bad mood lately, huh?" Su Ming said, his tone as casual as chatting about the weather.

Chen Shao's eyes chilled for a moment.

"Half a month ago, you led all of Eden Garden's elite to encircle Zhang Yuanqing." Su Ming flicked ash, "Result? Xu An's Correction Place was dismantled on the spot, you were punched through the barrier, and the entire Spades Group retreated."

He lifted his head, meeting that crimson eye.

"S Ji wanted criminal, Eden Garden's leader, 'the Dominator' Chen Shao. Reduced to a dog by a forensic examiner who had awakened less than a month ago."

The temperature in the theatre dropped sharply.

Xu An dropped silently from the sound‑board, the Red Wood Ruler horizontal before him, his sewn lips emitting a muffled low growl. In the darkness, at least six Spades Group members simultaneously adjusted their stances, murderous intent coalescing into tangible pressure.

Chen Shao lifted his hand.

Everyone stopped.

"You came all this way just to say that?" Chen Shao's tone was flat, but his cane paused on the floor, and the wooden board cracked, spawning a spiderweb of fissures.

"I came to show you something."

Su Ming fished a palm‑sized holographic slide from another pocket and tossed it into the air.

The slide hovered between them, lighting up an icy‑blue screen.

A curve appeared on the screen.

The horizontal axis was time, the vertical axis energy level. The curve started at the lower left and rose toward the upper right with an almost frantic slope.

"Zhang Yuanqing's energy growth model," Su Ming said, "The Technical Division fitted it from the residual fluctuations after each of his crimes."

He pointed at the curve's endpoint with the tip of his cigarette.

"At this rate, after five to seven more hunts, he'll break the known energy ceiling—perhaps surpass S Ji. Then he'll complete some 'ascension' ritual we haven't yet deciphered."

Chen Shao stared at the curve, saying nothing.

Su Ming tucked the cigarette back into his mouth and continued, "You know what S Ji means. The Laughing Demon erased Dongdao from the map. Once Zhang Yuanqing reaches that tier, how many seconds do you think your Eden Garden, your capital empire, the golden‑silk cage you built for your sister can hold?"

Silence.

The entire theater fell silent.

Even the breathing of the Spade Group vanished.

Chen Shao's scarlet pupils narrowed slightly, and the joints on his cane tightened for an instant.

Su Ming saw it.

He pressed the cigarette out on the armrest and stood up.

"I won't beat around the bush," Su Ming said, "We can't catch him, and you can't beat him. He's getting stronger while we bleed. If we keep dragging this out, when he ascends, both of us will die. You won't be able to protect the person you cherish most."

When those last four words hit the floor, Chen Shao's Demon Eye flared for a moment.

The oppressive pressure surged abruptly; the floor beneath Su Ming sank two centimeters, and the metal frame of the seat creaked under the strain.

Su Ming remained perfectly still.

He stayed there, hands in his pockets, head tilted back, watching Chen Shao on the stage.

The two locked eyes.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.

Chen Shao's Demon Eye dimmed.

The suffocating pressure receded like the tide, and the theater returned to its prior dead silence.

Chen Shao closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, the scarlet pupils held back madness and arrogance, leaving only pure, cold calculation.

He raised his right hand.

His thumb interlocked with his middle finger.

A snapping sound.

The crisp snap echoed through the empty theater.

In the void above the stage, a tiny fissure opened silently, and a fist‑sized black data disc drifted down, hovering between them.

Encrypted dark‑gold patterns coursed across its surface, and its edges flickered with faint pulse light.

"Eden Garden's global dark‑web intelligence stream," Chen Shao said, his voice returning to its usual coldness. "Zhang Yuanqing's potential target list, Underground Pipe Network thermal imaging archives, and the energy residue coordinates after each of his crimes."

Su Ming stared at the disc, not reaching out immediately.

"Don't misunderstand," Chen Shao said, turning his back to Su Ming, his cane tracing a shallow arc on the floor. "This isn't an alliance. I just don't like anyone destroying this world."

He tilted his head; the profile of his side face appeared especially sharp in the shards of moonlight.

"When Zhang Yuanqing dies, we'll settle our scores."

Su Ming reached out and caught the disc.

The metal shell pressed against his palm, the icy feel traveling through his skin.

"Fine," Su Ming slipped the disc into his inner pocket, his tone nonchalant.

Chen Shao said nothing further.

The spatial fissure tore open again. He stepped into it, and his black silhouette was swallowed.

In the final instant before the fissure sealed, his voice echoed from the twisted space:

"Tell Wei Gong, next time send someone to monitor Qiu Ce Yuan, but choose a smarter one."

The fissure vanished.

Xu An silently melted into the shadows, the Spade Group's presence withdrawing from the theater one by one.

Thirty seconds later, only Su Ming remained inside the building.

He stood in the center of the aisle of the audience balcony, his hand slipping into his inner pocket, fingertips grazing the disc's edge.

The corner of his mouth twitched.

A slight movement, not a smile, tinged with bitterness.

Federal Weird Investigation Bureau and Eden Garden.

Two organizations that have each placed bounties on the other's leader, two forces that should be endless.

Tonight, in the darkness of an abandoned theater, they completed their first intelligence link.

Not because of trust, not because of reconciliation.

Only because a madman on the path to godhood left everyone with no way out.

Su Ming turned and walked out.

When he pushed open the theater doors, the night wind hit him head‑on, carrying a faint warmth from the distant city lights.

He pulls out that old flip‑cover encryption device, flips it open, dials a number.

After two rings, the line connects.

"Director, the item has been obtained."

There is a brief silence on the other end.

Wei Gong's hoarse voice comes through: "What about the price?"

"No," Su Ming says, "he's more urgent than we thought."

Another silence follows.

Then Wei Gong says two words: "Very good."

The call ends.

Su Ming snaps the flip device shut, looks up at the sky. The cloud cover is thick, and the moon shows only a small, pallid sliver.

He puts his phone away, pulls up his jacket zipper, and walks toward the parking area.

His footsteps echo across the open wasteland.