Luo Yang stood at the base of the wall for another half minute before he finally couldn’t help himself. He began walking toward the rusted iron door, his footsteps so light that the soles of his shoes made only the faintest rustling sound as they brushed against the tiles.
He reached the door and placed his hand lightly on the handle.
Grains of rust rubbed against his fingertips—cold and smelling slightly of damp earth.
He gave the door a push, and the hinges emitted a very faint, sharp, and short-lived creak.
There was no one inside.
The old-fashioned desk lamp on the counter wasn’t on, and the jars of pickled vegetables in the glass containers glinted faintly in the shadows.
Luo Yang’s gaze swept across the counter and landed on the small door. It wasn’t fully closed, leaving a narrow crack through which a sliver of cool white light leaked.
He clicked his tongue inwardly.
This group was arguing so much they had forgotten even the most basic procedures.
The voices coming from beneath the stairs were amplified several times by the crack. Every word struck the steps and bounced upward, finding its way into Luo Yang’s ears.
“—You fucking tell me this isn’t your decision?!”
It sounded like the voice of a middle-aged man.
“That thing is still in its verification period! Do you understand what a verification period is?! You dare use it on a child? Do you have no shame?!”
There was a moment of silence below. No one replied immediately, followed only by a long sigh.
Luo Yang pressed himself half an inch closer to the crack, completely stilling his footsteps.
Liang Shen didn’t rush to defend himself. He treated Uncle Zhang’s curses like a passing wind, waiting for it to blow over before speaking.
Uncle Zhang’s voice rose another notch, hurling a few more insults until he was nearly out of breath, the coarse grit in his throat finally settling.
Only then did Liang Shen speak.
“Old Zhang.”
His voice was steady, neither fast nor slow.
“You’re a veteran comrade. How can you be so restless?”
Uncle Zhang was clearly stung by those words. There were two heavy gasps, followed by the muffled thud of a chair leg being kicked.
“Restless?” Uncle Zhang spat. “If I could keep my cool, I wouldn’t have rushed over here in such a hurry today!”
Liang Shen didn’t meet his fire. He seemed to take a couple of steps, the soles of his leather shoes making two light taps on the concrete floor as he stopped beside Uncle Zhang.
“Old Zhang,” he said again, his voice even lower this time. “I have no choice either.”
“Don’t you use that line to brush me off,” Uncle Zhang shot back.
“This isn’t a brush-off,” Liang Shen said. “I am the Chief of the Internal Affairs Department, and my power is indeed not small. But this order was personally given by the Section Chief. As a subordinate, I have no room for negotiation.”
“The Section Chief?” Uncle Zhang’s voice paused for half a second. “Which Section Chief?”
“Which one could it be? The Section Chief of the entire Special Division.”
Luo Yang let out a very soft sigh of exclamation at the top of the stairs.
To think it even involved that Section Chief—interesting. Logically speaking, such a being wouldn’t bother with the resignation of a low-level employee.
Uncle Zhang was clearly struck by this as well. He was stunned for a long while before asking with a frown.
“How did Xiao Qiu’s resignation manage to disturb that person?”
Liang Shen took a deep breath as if to relieve his own stress before answering after a moment. “Old Zhang, in our line of work, have you ever seen anyone meet a good end, other than those who died or retired?”
“In my view, the organization agreeing to let her quit is already an act of mercy. This ‘confidentiality agreement’ is the final concession reached by all the Section Chiefs and other high-ranking officials after a general meeting. This was only allowed because of her status as a direct descendant of the Qiu family. Otherwise, how could we possibly permit it?”
Uncle Zhang likely wanted to retort, but the words remained stuck in his throat.
This sounded like they were leaving a way out for Qiu Shubai, but if one looked closer, it was more like saying, ‘We’ve reached our limit; if you continue to be ungrateful, don’t blame us.’
The sound of a chair leg scraping against the floor came from below.
Qiu Shubai’s voice rang out for the first time.
“Chief Liang, those two seniors just now... what exactly were they going to do?”
Liang Shen turned his gaze toward her, the soles of his shoes pivoting half a turn on the floor.
“Essentially, they were going to apply a special technique to you, placing something akin to a seal in your mind.”
No one in the underground space spoke. Even Uncle Zhang’s heavy breathing grew a level quieter.
“If everything goes well, it will have no impact on your life after completion. It will simply automatically block the important information regarding the Special Division in your memories.”
“And if there’s an accident?”
Liang Shen didn’t answer as quickly this time.
“It depends. A minor accident would result in a mild concussion at most, which would heal after some rest.”
“If it’s a serious accident...” He paused. “It could very likely cause memory confusion or even a massive shift in self-perception.”
Qiu Shubai’s expression finally underwent a subtle change.
A Punisher seeks to grow stronger, racing toward higher ranks, with every step being one they must tread themselves.
This path relies not only on physical attributes, blood energy, and mental power, but more importantly, on whether one has a firm will and philosophy.
In the terms used in those cultivation novels, it depends on whether one’s Dao heart is stable. If something goes wrong with the Dao heart, even the greatest talent is useless.
When Qiu Shubai spoke again, she was half a beat slower.
“What is the success rate of this technique?”
Liang Shen’s answer followed almost immediately after her words.
“Seventy percent.”
A roar of fury erupted in the underground space.
“Bull-fucking-shit!”
Every word from Uncle Zhang sounded as if it were carved out of stone.
“I’ve looked into this thing! Under normal conditions, the success rate isn’t even fucking thirty percent! Seventy percent? Where do you get the nerve to say seventy percent?!”
Liang Shen’s composure wavered. He took two steps toward Uncle Zhang, his shoes tapping three times in succession.
“Old Zhang! You were a leader once too; can’t you use your brain before you speak? If I say seventy percent, then I naturally have seventy percent confidence! With these two Star Initiation rank seniors and my personal assistance, the success rate will naturally rise significantly!”
“You—”
“Enough.” Liang Shen’s voice suddenly grew a notch colder. “This matter was decided by the higher-ups. No matter how much you argue, the result won’t change.”
“Unless she withdraws her resignation and continues to work for the organization.”
The underground space fell silent once more.
Luo Yang stood behind the small door for a few more seconds.
He had originally come just to see the excitement; he wanted to see how the Special Division worked and find out just how mysterious these people hiding in the undercurrents really were.
But when he heard that ‘seventy percent,’ something in his chest gave a light nudge.
It wasn’t a heavy nudge, but it was very annoying.
He remembered the way Qiu Shubai had turned her head to the side on the rooftop, her hair brushing her shoulder; he remembered her soft ‘thank you’ and her eyes that were always so calm.
Seventy percent.
If it were a fight against mutant beasts, a seventy percent chance would be well worth the gamble.
But the thing before them was a gamble involving a brain, a Dao heart, and whether a person could continue moving forward for the next few decades.
Moreover—
He had never even heard of this thing.
Although he had stayed away from the center of Shenzhou these past few years, he hadn’t collected any less information, especially regarding various advanced technologies.
An arrogant thought suddenly surfaced in his mind: How good could a technology be if even Young Master Luo had never heard of it?!
Luo Yang reached out and tapped the doorframe three times.
It wasn’t heavy, but it was very clear.
Gripping the doorframe, he stepped over the threshold and walked half a step along the edge of the stairs, allowing himself to fall completely into the range of the cool white light below.
He didn’t go down the stairs; he simply leaned against the upper end of the staircase, against the frame of the small door.
He looked down at the group around the table from his high vantage point.
Liang Shen’s face looked pale under the light of the whiteboard. Uncle Zhang was gripping the doorframe, his chest still heaving. Qiu Shubai was sitting in her chair; she had just turned her head, and for the first time, a small sense of fluster—completely uncharacteristic of her—appeared in her usually calm eyes.
The two robed figures also turned their heads toward him. The angle of the light on their jaws shifted, and Luo Yang saw the outlines of their faces for the first time.
Two old men—very old men.
Luo Yang didn’t look at them. His gaze was fixed on Liang Shen’s face.
“Chief Liang certainly is confident.”
He spoke, his tone very light, yet everyone at the bottom of the stairs heard him clearly.
“I’d quite like to know where exactly you get the courage to be so certain of a seventy percent success rate?”
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