He wore a custom high-end suit, a limited-edition watch worth millions on his wrist, and leather shoes polished so brightly they could reflect a person’s shadow.
Such an outfit formed an extreme contrast with this narrow alley, this old building, and this dilapidated door.
He truly found it hard to believe that “that side,” as his father called it, was hidden in a place like this.
Pushing the door open, the scene inside disappointed him even further.
In a room of about ten square meters, three or four old office desks were arranged. The computer monitors on the desks were models phased out a decade ago, thick enough to be used as bricks.
Documents were piled haphazardly, some even pressed under half-eaten instant noodle cups.
Two young men in crumpled shirts were inside; one was slouched in a chair scrolling through his phone, the short video’s background music blaring loudly.
The other was slumped over his desk napping, drool nearly dripping onto the keyboard.
Hearing someone enter, the one scrolling through his phone didn’t even look up, speaking lazily.
“Looking for work?”
“There’s a notebook on the desk by the door. Register yourself, leave your contact info, and we’ll notify you if there’s a suitable position.”
Bai Chengye took a deep breath, forcing down the urge to turn around and leave.
“I’m not looking for work.” He walked to the desk and looked down at the man, speaking the secret code his father had provided.
“I want to ask if you’re still hiring for the jobs at the factory in the south.”
The young man’s finger paused on his phone, and he finally looked up.
His lazy gaze swept over Bai Chengye, moving from the custom suit to the million-dollar watch, finally landing on that face which was clearly accustomed to a life of privilege.
“You’ll have to ask our manager about that.”
After saying that, he stood up and walked straight to the inner room labeled “Manager’s Office.” He knocked twice and pushed the door open.
About a minute later, he came out and jerked his chin toward Bai Chengye. “Go in. The manager is free.”
Bai Chengye pushed the door open and entered; the door behind him closed automatically.
The office was thick with cigarette smoke, making one’s eyes sting.
A middle-aged fat man wearing a cheap floral shirt was sitting in a large executive chair with his legs crossed.
A gold chain as thick as a thumb hung around his neck. He had a cigarette in his mouth and held a stack of old newspapers that looked years out of date.
His image was the perfect embodiment of a deadbeat boss of a shell company found in the rural-urban fringe.
The fat man looked up, his cloudy eyes sizing Bai Chengye up. He exhaled a smoke ring and spoke slowly, “Looking for work?”
Suppressing his discomfort, Bai Chengye followed the protocol. “I’m not looking for work. I want to ask if you’re still hiring for the jobs at the factory in the south.”
The fat man narrowed his eyes. “Which factory in the south?”
Bai Chengye replied, “Factory Three.”
The fat man said, “Factory Three isn’t hiring anymore. Factory Two is still short on people. Interested?”
Bai Chengye replied, “Yes.”
The fat man asked again, “How many people?”
Bai Chengye said, “Just me.”
The fat man asked one last question, “What’s the job type?”
Bai Chengye took a deep breath and spoke the final line of the code. “Cleaner. Specialized in difficult cases.”
The moment those words were spoken, the laziness and greasiness on the fat man’s face were instantly wiped away by an invisible hand.
He slowly set down the newspaper and stubbed out his cigarette. His cloudy eyes became sharp and clear in an instant, as if he had become a completely different person.
“Sit.” His voice had changed too; no longer greasy, it was now low and steady, carrying a slight weight of authority.
Bai Chengye sat in the chair opposite him.
“Speak. What is it?” the fat man got straight to the point.
Bai Chengye recounted every detail of Bai Ruochu’s case and the specifics of the commission.
His daughter driving alone to an abandoned warehouse late at night, killing a professional mercenary, and then suffering a complete mental breakdown afterward, unable to provide any useful statement. There were no traces of a third party at the scene, leaving the police helpless...
After listening, the fat man was silent for a moment, then nodded. “I understand. You may leave.”
Bai Chengye was stunned. “That’s... that’s it? You don’t need to ask anything else?”
The fat man glanced at him, his gaze meaningful. “Everything that needs to be asked has been asked. The rest is not for you to know.”
Bai Chengye opened his mouth to speak but ultimately said nothing.
He stood up and left the smoke-filled office.
The fat man leaned back in his chair and lit another cigarette, his features blurring in the smoke.
Once the cigarette was finished, he picked up the old-fashioned landline on his desk and dialed a number.
The phone rang twice before being picked up; the other end remained silent.
The fat man spoke in a tone entirely different from before—concise, efficient, and without a single wasted word.
“Line Three. We have a ‘Cleaner’ request from the Bai family.”
“Target: Investigate the truth behind the murder case involving the Bai family’s daughter, Bai Ruochu.”
“The crime scene is bizarre. The victim was a professional mercenary, and the killer is a young socialite with zero combat ability. The killer suffered a mental breakdown afterward, and there were no traces of a third party at the scene.”
“The Bai family suspects third-party intervention and requests a thorough investigation.”
The other end of the line remained silent; only the steady sound of breathing indicated someone was listening.
“Received. Report will be filed after data processing. Await instructions.” After hearing the response, the fat man hung up.
He leaned back in his chair again and picked up the old newspaper. His eyes were fixed on the words, but he wasn’t reading a single one.
The Bai family... Bai Ruochu... a bizarre murder scene...
This matter was likely far deeper than what a “lowest-level liaison” like him could handle.
But that didn't matter. His mission was only to pass the information up.
As for who would be sent down to investigate or whether the truth would be found, that was not his concern.
Late at night, in an unremarkable logistics park in the eastern suburbs of Jiangcheng.
Deep within the park stood a small four-story building with plain white exterior walls, bearing a sign that read “Yuanhang Freight Transit Station.”
During the day, vehicles moved in and out constantly, but at night, it grew quiet, with only a few dim lights still burning.
No one would suspect that this was the Jiangcheng branch of “that side.”
On the third floor, in a seemingly ordinary meeting room.
The head of the branch was a man named Fang, in his early forties, with an ordinary face. Wearing a dark grey jacket, he looked like a middle-aged man who had spent years in the logistics industry.
He was currently sitting at the head of the conference table. The computer screen in front of him displayed the complete report sent from “Chengxin Professional Agency.”
The Bai family. Bai Ruochu. Murder case.
His fingers tapped lightly on the table, and his brow gradually furrowed.
On the surface, this was just an ordinary high-society crime—a young lady going mad and killing someone, and a mercenary dying a strange death.
But through the eyes of an insider, it was something entirely different.
A professional mercenary killed by a woman who couldn't even lift a heavy object.
No traces of a third party, and the killer suffering a total mental breakdown afterward.
No matter how one looked at it, this was bizarre. It looked far too much like the work of that domain.
And the client was the Bai family.
The Bai family...
Fang Yingshan stood up and walked to the window, gazing at the distant, shimmering night lights of Jiangcheng in silence for a long time.
His gaze turned profound.
Rate on N.U.
