After breaking up with my boyfriend, I made a fortune and rose rapidly in my career.

"Kite."

Chen Ping muttered those two words over and over. The projector's cooling fan was still humming, casting a blurry, bright spot of white light onto the ceiling.

A kite. It's not a code word, not a symbol; it's a structure.

Wang Dexin's confession replayed in his mind. That old-fashioned intelligence broker had described a set of communication methods commonly used in the smuggling circle in the 1990s in the Xinhuo Phase II case—"laying out a signal" and "retrieving it." Once the signal was sent out, without waiting for a reply, all communications would be cut off, and then they would go to the designated physical location to retrieve the next instruction.

The string is let out, and the kite flies into the sky. But the other end of the string must be tied to a fixed stake on the ground.

Wu Shaoming went on a fishing boat to the high seas to lay out fishing lines. But he couldn't possibly actually go to the high seas. A former secretary from the inland region, he had no experience in deep-sea fishing, no supporting vessels, and the fishing boat's range was no more than forty nautical miles.

That fishing boat was a smokescreen.

Chen Ping dialed Qin Yu's encrypted line and threw out three sentences.

"Wu Shaoming didn't leave. The fishing boat was a feint, a ruse to escape. He's still in Dangang."

The sound of Qin Yu typing on the keyboard leaked from the receiver.

"in accordance with?"

"He cut off the AIS signal after sending the 'kite,' which means he never intended to leave the country by that ship. There's no support from the high seas, so he has at most half an hour to jump ship and return to shore. Have your spies in Dan Port immediately check all possible 'recycling points' within a five-kilometer radius of the port—mailboxes, shop bulletin boards, temple donation boxes, any blind spot where things can be hidden."

Qin Yu paused for a moment.

"The scope is too large."

"I'll shrink it."

After hanging up on Qin Yu, Chen Ping opened the encrypted communication software and sent a message to Su Qingwan.

"Has Yan Qinghua established any projects or connections in Dangang? The type is not important, the more inconspicuous the better. Focus on intangible investments such as charitable donations, poverty alleviation initiatives, and religious site renovations."

After sending the message, Chen Ping stood up and turned off the projector. The conference room fell into darkness, with only the light from the phone screen cutting a small patch of light across the table.

Seven minutes.

Su Qingwan's reply popped up.

"Found it. During his tenure as the secretary of Guangling, Yan Qinghua donated a total of 470,000 yuan to the Dangang City Charity Federation in his personal capacity. The largest donation, 230,000 yuan, was specifically designated for the renovation of the Mazu Temple in Beiyu Village, Dangang. The person who handled the donation was Wu Shaoming."

Chen Ping's thumb was pinned to the screen.

Mazu Temple. Fishing village. Seaside.

A temple, funded by Yan Qinghua and renovated by Wu Shaoming, stands on the coastline of Dangang, so unassuming that no one would notice it.

The other end of the line was tied there.

Chen Ping dialed Qin Yu's number.

"Mazu Temple in Beiyu Village. Wu Shaoming's recycling point."

This time, Qin Yu didn't ask for the basis.

"I'll send the nearest team over. They'll be there in forty minutes."

"Don't force it." Chen Ping switched his phone to his left hand and reached for his car keys with his right. "Set up three hidden checkpoints around the temple, just surround it and don't move. He'll definitely come to get the things; wait until he goes inside before closing in."

"And you?"

"I'm on my way."

At 2:19 AM, Chen Ping's car once again entered the highway. The provincial capital to Dangang was 300 kilometers, all at night. The speedometer needle hovered near the 150 mark, and the soundproofing strips on either side receded rapidly.

Zheng Xian called while he was on the road.

"The fishing boat has been found. It's eleven nautical miles southeast of Dan Port. It's empty, and the engine is still running. There's a rope ladder hanging on the side of the boat, with the end of the ladder submerged in the water and the bottom rope cut."

"Jump ship."

"We jumped ship. We searched the surrounding waters but found no trace of lifeboats or other vessels. However, shore-based radar detected a small rubber boat leaving port from the direction of North Fishing Village ten minutes before the fishing boat cut off its AIS signal."

"The timing is right."

"It matches perfectly."

Chen Ping hung up the phone and increased the car speed by another five miles per hour. It was pitch black outside the windshield, with only the occasional flash of oncoming headlights that made him squint.

At 4:51 a.m., the car turned off the highway and entered the territory of Dangang.

Chen Ping didn't enter the city; instead, he turned north along the provincial highway by the sea. The salty, alkaline smell seeped in through the cracks in the car window, both fishy and astringent.

The road sign for Beiyu Village flashed briefly under the car headlights. He parked the car under a crooked banyan tree at the village entrance and turned off the lights.

The phone vibrated; it was an encrypted message from Qin Yu.

"Three hidden checkpoints are in place. There are six observation points within a 200-meter radius around the Mazu Temple, with infrared coverage covering all blind spots. There is currently no one inside the temple."

Chen Ping replied with two words: "Wait."

I waited for one hour and seven minutes.

Just as the first hint of gray appeared on the horizon, Qin Yu's message popped up.

"Someone is there. On the east side of the path, alone, wearing a baseball cap, approaching on foot."

Chen Ping stared intently at his phone screen.

Thirty seconds later, the second one.

"Target: Enter the side gate of the Mazu Temple."

Another forty seconds passed.

"Heading towards the donation box. The hidden compartment at the bottom is being removed."

Chen Ping dialed Qin Yu's number.

"receive."

One word.

A short, sharp command came from the other end of the phone, followed by the muffled thud of footsteps, the sound of a wooden door being kicked open, a very short gasp, and then the click of metal handcuffs snapping on.

Qin Yu's voice reappeared in the receiver.

"We've got the person. We found an oilcloth bag in a hidden compartment of the donation box—it contained a new passport, 20,000 euros in cash, and a plane ticket to Amsterdam for three days later."

Amsterdam. Netherlands. NexvanceBV.

Yan Qinghua's line, which extended overseas, eventually pointed back in the same direction.

Chen Ping opened the car door, and the sea breeze, carrying a salty smell, hit his face.

He walked along the village road toward the Mazu Temple, the gravel under his feet creaking. The stone lions at the temple entrance crouched in the morning mist, most of their paint peeled off, revealing the dusty cement beneath.

Inside the temple, Wu Shaoming was pinned to the floor tiles in front of the offering table by two plainclothes officers. His baseball cap was lying to the side, his hair was a mess, and his face had salt stains left from dried seawater.

Chen Ping stood at the door for three seconds, glanced at the oilcloth bag on the ground, and turned to walk out.

"Send him to the provincial government. No one is allowed to contact him for 24 hours, including his lawyer."

That afternoon, in the interrogation room of the Provincial State Security Department.

Wu Shaoming sat in the iron chair, his handcuffs locked to the iron rings on the armrests. The interrogators changed three times, and his water cup was refilled five times, but he didn't utter a single word.

His mouth was tightly shut, his eyes were fixed on the fluorescent light tube on the ceiling, his pupils reflecting a pale light, and occasionally the corner of his mouth twitched, not out of nervousness, but out of laughter.

When the third interrogator came out, Qin Yu was leaning against the corridor wall waiting.

"You spoke up?"

The interrogator shook his head.

He only said one sentence: He wanted to see Chen Pingfang.

Qin Yu frowned, dialed Chen Pingfang's number, and repeated the situation exactly as it was.

There was a five-second silence on the other end of the phone.

"What else did he say?"

Qin Yu glanced at the interrogator, who then looked down and opened his notebook.

"His exact words were: 'Want to know who the old musician is? Make him give up someone's life in exchange.'"

There was no sound from the phone; you couldn't even hear someone breathing.

Qin Yu waited eight seconds and then called out.

"Director Chen?"

"Old musician." Chen Ping repeated these three words, enunciating them very slowly, each syllable grinding against his teeth.

Behind the one-way mirror in the interrogation room, Wu Shaoming leaned the back of his head against the iron chair, and the smile on his lips reappeared.