A heretical cultivator in Bureau 749, I'm the fiercest at pulling out tendons and skinning peop

In the western part of Jinghai District, deep in Wutong Lane, there is an antique shop with a small storefront.

The signboard is made of an old elm wood with three characters carved on it: Chenggu Zhai.

The lettering is faded and looks quite old; most of the paint has peeled off, revealing the grayish-white wood grain underneath.

Two antique-style lanterns hang at the entrance, unlit, swaying gently in the wind.

This shop is located at the very back of the alley, in an extremely remote location.

There's a dead end in front, a stinking ditch behind, and the neighbors on the left and right are a funeral clothing store and a funeral supplies wholesaler.

Normal people would have to walk around it, let alone come in and browse.

But Zhu Cheng liked this place.

Quiet, secluded, and undisturbed.

At this moment, he was sitting on a mahogany armchair in the shop, holding a Ming Chenghua doucai grape-patterned cup in his hand, squinting as he examined it closely.

The cup has a thin body and a lustrous glaze. A bunch of purple grapes is painted on the cup wall, with vines entwined, leaves spread out, and fruits plump and juicy, gleaming with a warm luster under the light.

He extended a finger, and a faint glow emanated from its tip, like a light mist in the morning, gently covering the cup.

The spiritual energy seeps into the body of the vessel through the glaze, nourishing the barely perceptible dark cracks, like giving a precious gem the most exquisite spa treatment.

Those who work in this line of work not only need to be able to distinguish between genuine and fake items, but also need to know how to care for them.

Like fine jade, fine porcelain needs to be nurtured.

If cared for properly, its luster can be passed down for three generations; if not cared for properly, even the best things will be wasted.

Zhu Cheng was enjoying himself when suddenly a clear, crisp sound of wind chimes came from the doorway.

"jingle--"

Someone pushed the door open and came in.

Zhu Cheng didn't even lift his eyelids, continuing to warm the cup with his spiritual energy, and habitually called out:

"Feel free to look around. If you like anything, you can handle it, but please be gentle. If you break something, we will compensate you three times the market price."

The person who came in didn't say a word.

Zhu Cheng waited a few seconds, but heard no reply. Just as he was about to look up, he heard a rustling sound—

The man walked to the door, reached out and flipped the wooden sign that read "Open for Business" over, revealing "Closed" on the back.

Then, the door was gently closed.

The latch clicked down with a soft "click".

Zhu Cheng stopped moving.

He slowly put down the cup in his hand, raised his head, and looked at the person who had come in.

He was a man in his fifties, wearing a drab gray jacket, with gray hair and a face bearing the rough marks of years of exposure to the elements.

She has an average appearance; you'd never notice her in a crowd.

But his back was ramrod straight, and he stood there like a deeply rooted old pine tree.

Zhu Cheng frowned slightly and tapped his fingers lightly on the rim of the cup twice, producing a crisp "ding-ding" sound.

"Old Huang."

He spoke, his voice not loud, but carrying an air of authority without anger.

"Didn't I tell you? Don't come here unless it's really important. Your face may not be noticeable, but if you come here often enough, someone with a keen eye will still remember you."

Upon hearing this, the man called Lao Huang bent his knees and was about to kneel down.

This is an old habit.

According to old-fashioned custom, one must perform a grand ceremony when meeting the lord.

Seeing his posture, Zhu Cheng gently lifted his finger, and a gentle spiritual force, like an invisible palm, steadily supported Lao Huang's knees, preventing him from kneeling down.

"Alright, alright."

Zhu Cheng waved his hand, his tone tinged with helplessness.

"Old Huang, what era are we living in? They were already advocating a new lifestyle back in the Republic of China era, and the New Great Han has been established for so many years. Still kneeling? What are you kneeling for? Your knees may not hurt, but I'm complaining that the floor is cold. Get to the point, stop with this nonsense."

Supported by that spiritual energy, Old Huang couldn't kneel down, so he had to stand up straight, a hint of embarrassment on his face, which he quickly suppressed and replaced with a solemn expression.

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, and said in a low voice, "My lord... something has happened."

Zhu Cheng didn't speak, he just looked at him and waited for him to continue.

"A Jinyiwei spy who was monitoring His Highness has been arrested by the 749th Bureau."

Zhu Cheng's eyes narrowed slightly.

The change in his eyes was so subtle that you wouldn't notice it unless you were staring at his face.

He picked up the teacup on the table, took a sip, and found the tea had cooled down and tasted slightly bitter.

"Alive?"

"To live."

Old Huang nodded, "He had already attempted suicide by poisoning himself, but the poison sac ruptured, and the poison had already entered his throat, but then..."

He paused, a look of utter disbelief on his face, his voice trembling with disbelief:

"As a result, the young man who adopted His Highness was pulled back from the brink of death. I don't know what kind of evil method he used, but he completely drained the poison and brought the person back to life."

Zhu Cheng's hand, holding the teacup, froze in mid-air.

He was silent for a few seconds, then put the teacup back on the table, the bottom of the cup making a crisp "tap" as it touched the surface.

He reached up and rubbed his temples, pressing his fingertips against them as if trying to relieve a throbbing headache.

"Old Huang, what did I tell you before? Didn't I tell you? Things aren't like they used to be. We can't act like we used to. In this society, it's all about skills."

"You need to teach those Imperial Guards how to hack, how to use computers, how to hack into surveillance systems, and how to track targets in the online world without leaving a trace."

"By learning these techniques, you can significantly reduce the risk of exposure, and you won't even need to personally go out on the street to keep watch."

Old Huang's face immediately fell.

He had a pained expression on his face, as if he had just swallowed a live fly, unable to swallow it down or spit it out, his features almost scrunched up together.

"My lord...you know about those Imperial Guards. They're experts at assassination, disguise, infiltration, and poisoning; every single one of them is top-notch. But what about teaching them hacking techniques..."

He paused, as if recalling some unbearable scene, his voice tinged with despair:

"Let me put it this way, they can't even type properly. They use one finger, typing one letter at a time, and it takes them three minutes to type 'hello.' Teaching them programming? They'd be better off dismantling tanks by hand."

"Last time, some kid wanted to learn how to transfer money online, but he clicked on a phishing website and almost donated all the money in one of our secret accounts to some Red Cross thing."

Zhu Cheng rubbed his temples, pressing his fingers harder on his temples.

He remained silent for a while, then reached out and picked up the Ming Chenghua doucai grape-patterned cup on the table.

Carefully place it into the brocade box next to it, close the lid, and fasten the clasp.

The movements were slow and steady, as if the person was using the motion to organize their thoughts.

"Fine, I'll go."

"Huh? Where to?"

"Jinghai Bureau 749." Zhu Cheng stood up and patted off non-existent dust from his clothes.

Old Huang's expression changed instantly.

"My lord, no! That's too dangerous! We should hide now..."

"alright."

Zhu Cheng interrupted him.

"Modern technology is too advanced, but the Embroidered Uniform Guard is still using the old methods. With the abilities of those people in the 749th Bureau of Jinghai, it won't be long before they catch the Embroidered Uniform Guard scouts who are in one-way communication with the spies."

"In a few days, we'll be able to follow the clues and find this antique shop. Rather than waiting for them to come to us, I'd rather go there myself. At least I'll have the upper hand."

"Besides, for the sake of that plan, Bureau 749 will have to confront them sooner or later."

Old Huang opened his mouth as if to say something, but ultimately kept it closed.

He knew that once the Lord had made a decision, no one could dissuade him.

Meanwhile, in the underground prison of Bureau 749.

Ji Zuodao's efficiency was much faster than Zhu Cheng had imagined.

In just one afternoon, he identified every single spy who had been following Qiqi over the past few months.

There were seventeen people in total.

There are twelve men and five women.

Some dressed up as deliverymen, some as sanitation workers, some as food delivery drivers, and some as elderly men taking a stroll.

Their ages range from their early twenties to their fifties, and they use a wide variety of disguised identities, covering all walks of life.

Ji Zuodao crammed them all into a modified van and drove them back to Bureau 749.

Seventeen people were crammed into the carriage like sardines in a can, arms pressed against arms, legs pressed against legs, making it difficult to even turn around.

At this moment, all these people were locked in their cells, looking dejected and ashen-faced, like wilted eggplants.