X
7:30 a.m., Xin Hai City Public Security Bureau Headquarters, Major Crimes Division One.
Unlike other parts of the city, time here seemed to have stopped twenty years ago.
The duty office was filled with a foul, indescribable staleness—a mixture of cigarette smoke, instant noodles, sweat, and dust. This was the air frontline police officers breathed day in and day out.
To outsiders, being a police officer seemed glamorous: a civil servant with job security and generous benefits.
But what they never saw was how many grassroots officers collapsed at their posts each year: sudden death from overwork, deaths in the line of duty, quiet departures from unforeseen illness…
Without having lived it, few could understand that heavy feeling of “trading one’s life for a salary.”
Without pure devotion and conviction, without an integrity rooted deep in one’s soul—
How could anyone persist year after year?
How could anyone hold that bottom line against temptation and pressure?
Luo Shaotian carried a steaming cup of instant coffee back to his desk.
His workstation was the only “pure land” in the entire cluttered office: files sorted by category, neatly stacked, and a spotless desk so polished it reflected the old fluorescent tube buzzing overhead.
In stark contrast, his colleagues’ desks had become “mountains of garbage,” piled high with takeout boxes and case files.
He had just come off an all-night stakeout. Fatigue darkened his eyes, yet they still shone with a sun-like brightness—burning with focus and persistence for the case.
He booted up his computer and pulled up a surveillance analysis report he’d compiled overnight on the Chicheng Gang’s recent movements in District B.
Just then, a slow, plodding set of footsteps echoed behind him, like an old man strolling through a park.
A lazy, world-weary voice followed:
“Little Luo, up all night again?”
He didn’t need to turn around. He already knew.
Luo rose at once, respectful:
“Morning, Captain Zhang.”
Zhang Zheng—Division One’s resident “living fossil.”
Clutching an enamel mug stained dark with years of tea, he strolled over in his faded jacket. His eyes drifted over Luo’s overly tidy desk, then to his tired but resolute face. His tone was teasing, yet laced with a veteran’s concern:
“You young guys just don’t get it. Take it from your mentor—cases never end. They won’t grow legs and run away. You burn yourself out, and the higher-ups won’t even remember your name. The condolence money sure won’t keep you company for life.”
Luo only smiled, saying nothing.
He knew well enough: though his mentor nagged like this, whenever they went out on a case, it was always Zhang who charged to the front first.
“Captain, I found something new about the Chicheng Gang’s recent activity.”
Luo projected his report into the air.
The clear chain of logic showed unusual personnel movements at several of the gang’s key strongholds in the Hive District.
Zhang squinted at it. For a moment, his bleary eyes flashed with a sharp glint.
“…Interesting.”
He took a sip of tea, grunted, and said:
“Alright. Sort it all, bring it to the meeting room. And wake up those lazy bums still snoring—we’re having a morning briefing.”
With that, he shuffled out, enamel mug in hand.
Ten minutes later, the Division One conference room—hazy with smoke—was finally full.
Zhang took the main seat, drained his cold tea, tapped the table, and spoke in a tone that said, I know you all just want to go back to sleep, so let’s make this quick.
“Enough with the long faces. Business.”
He threw several case files into the central holo-display.
“First case: Two weeks ago in the Deep Harbor District, District E—an entire shipping container of high-purity industrial crystal powder vanished from a Huaxia Heavy Industries freighter. Customs and port authority ran circles for days and came up with squat.
“Second case: Five vicious gang fights in District B’s Hive District in the past week—all tied to the Chicheng Gang. Suspects showed extreme violence, inhuman endurance, and fought like rabid dogs.”
He paused, his eyes drifting to the young officer sitting ramrod straight in the corner—Luo Shaotian.
“Little Luo, you spent the night digging in B District. What’ve you got?”
Luo rose immediately, calm and confident.
He connected his encrypted police terminal. A massive holographic map filled with annotations and data flows lit up the room, replacing the messy case files.
It was a layout of B7 in the Hive District—an underground ecosystem of cheap housing blocks, illegal casinos, smuggling dens, and fight clubs marked in glaring red like tumors.
“Veterans,” Luo began, his voice steady and clear, carrying a compelling logic that drew every drowsy gaze to him.
“Based on intelligence and surveillance, the Chicheng Gang’s activity shows three anomalies.”
First anomaly—personnel.
He showed a sped-up recording: over a week, the crowd entering a “cybercafé” turned underground fight arena called Steelheart shifted from random thugs to organized men in gray uniforms with disciplined strides and fierce eyes.
“Cross-referencing with Huaxia Heavy Industries’ records—85% match. These are ex-employees and security from the old Chicheng site. They’ve gone from a rabble to a quasi-paramilitary force.”
Second anomaly—finances.
A complex financial chart appeared.
“The gang’s entertainment venues show a 300% surge in monthly revenue. Instead of spending it, they’re funneling small amounts through shell accounts into an untraceable offshore crypto account. I suspect large-scale arms procurement—but not conventional firearms.”
He glanced at Zhang, who only tapped his mug for him to continue.
Third anomaly—medical.
The map lit with red alerts.
“Three underground clinics in B7 have purchased massive amounts of sedatives, painkillers, and concentrated adrenaline. At the same time, reports of ‘psychosis’ and ‘violent hallucinations’ in the area have risen nearly 50%.”
His tone hardened:
“In short, I believe the Chicheng Gang is distributing a new illicit substance that boosts physical capability but causes severe mental breakdown. Their funds are fueling preparations for a larger operation.”
The room fell utterly silent.
Even the most jaded old cops unconsciously straightened, their lazy expressions replaced by shock, grimness, and a touch of bruised pride at being outdone by a junior.
“…Good work,” Zhang muttered, before projecting another file—the one that infuriated him most.
“Third case: A few weeks back, F District’s Deep Sea Dream Aquarium evacuation. Officially ‘gas leak.’ Bullshit! The scene looked like something had ripped through with high-energy blasts—nothing a gas pipe could do!”
He slammed the table.
“And then those Emergency Management Bureau white-shirts swooped in, sealed it off, called it a ‘safety drill,’ and shoved us out. Every file classified as ‘C-level secret.’ Not even a hair left for us to see!”
The room buzzed with bitter murmurs. This wasn’t the first time their work had been cut off.
Luo listened quietly, recalling something his police academy instructor once said:
“In this city, we police handle human affairs. The non-human affairs… are handled by others. Our job is to clean up after, nothing more.”
He had thought it a drunken joke. Now, he felt the invisible wall of “truth” looming closer.
“Enough,” Zhang cut them off. His bloodshot eyes swept the room, and with the unshakable instinct of an old detective, he declared:
“These cases look unrelated, but they all stink of the same rot. And I’ll bet my life it ties back to the Chicheng Gang and their so-called ‘new drug.’”
Silence. Heavy, suffocating silence.
After the meeting, Zhang called Luo into his cramped office, its shelves sagging with old files.
He opened a rusty cabinet, pulled out a yellowed folder, and tossed it onto the desk.
“Little Luo,” his tone weighed with gravity, “you’re sharp. You’ve got brains and fire. Not like us old dogs, ground down by this damn system.
“These—” he gestured at the folder, smoke curling around his worn face “—are cases the Emergency Bureau snatched from me over the years. Classified, buried. You won’t find a trace in the official system.
“I’m old, nearly retired. But I don’t buy their lies. You dig through this garbage. See if there’s truth hidden. But remember—this stays between us. If anything happens, don’t you dare say it was me.”
Luo opened the file. The smell of mold and dust hit him.
Inside were scars the city tried to hide:
One after another, “unsolved” cases sealed away with a stamp.
Luo’s hand tightened on the files. His fiery gaze burned hotter.
No grand words. He simply gathered the “black materials,” stood, and saluted his mentor.
“Captain. Leave it to me.”
Zhang looked at him, and in his clouded eyes, he saw his younger self—the one who had once refused to bow to fate.
“…Get out,” he muttered, turning away, his back bent with fatigue.
Back at his desk, Luo didn’t open the files immediately.
Instead, he logged into the police intranet and entered an address:
Morning Dawn Gardens, Building 7, Apartment 404.
His current residence.
Just yesterday, he had discovered something unexpected: his old classmate, Lin Yu, had rented the unit downstairs.
He had planned to “run into” him, see how life was treating him.
But when he entered that address into the system, an encrypted case file popped up—one flagged as restricted.
The rest was grayed out—insufficient clearance.
Luo’s gaze fixed on the black-and-white photo, his brows furrowing.
“…Day off today. Perfect chance to check it out. I’ll inspect the apartment—and pay my old friend a visit.”
You think this chapter was thrilling? Wait until you read Can You Be a Little Gentler? I Won’t Be a Bad Woman Anymore, Wuu…! Click here to discover the next big twist!
Read : Can You Be a Little Gentler? I Won’t Be a Bad Woman Anymore, Wuu…
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The masquerade really gets in the way of.policework.