Special forces soldier demobilization: Starting from the county government compound, a meteoric rise

"Bang!"

A dull thud echoed through the deathly silent courtyard.

Liu Ming remained expressionless, and with a sudden swing of his right hand, the brown paper bag, covered in the musty smell of the ground and years of dust, along with several bank transfer stubs that were as thin as cicada wings but as heavy as a thousand pounds, was slammed hard onto the cold white marble table.

Dust swirled in the dim light of the courtyard lamps.

At the very top of that stack of stubs was a professional voice recorder, entirely black and gleaming with a metallic sheen.

Old Qian stared intently at the things on the stone table.

Due to extreme fear, the surface of his eyeballs was covered with dense blood vessels.

His breathing became extremely rapid, each breath seeming to require all his strength, his chest heaving violently, causing his old Zhongshan suit to tremble.

His eyes, which usually radiated wisdom and kindness, now looked as if they had been doused with a layer of dead ashes.

"What is this? Liu Ming, what tricks are you trying to pull?"

Old Qian clung to his last shred of dignity, his voice hoarse beyond recognition.

"Style?"

Liu Ming gave a cold laugh.

He reached out and picked up the bank transfer slips, spreading them out one by one in front of Mr. Qian.

"This is the original stub from a Swiss bank. Even though you used thirty layers of shell accounts, and even though you think blockchain technology can erase all traces, you've forgotten that everything a person does leaves a trace."

Liu Ming pointed to a faint red mark marked with fluorescent agent in the lower right corner of the stub, which was almost invisible to the naked eye.

"This is your right thumbprint. It was left three months ago when you made this transfer using a satellite link in that old, unconnected computer room in the library. You were wearing gloves then, but unfortunately, they were made of special latex that could protect against the naked eye, but not against nanoscale carbon powder replacement."

Mr. Qian's face went from pale to ashen, and then from ashen to deathly pale.

His hands gripped the edge of the stone table tightly, and due to excessive force, his neatly trimmed nails made a screeching sound as they scratched the hard white marble.

He wanted to argue, he wanted to rebuke, but he found himself unable to utter a single word.

Liu Ming gave him no chance to catch his breath. He stretched out his slender fingers and pressed the play button on the recorder.

"Sizzle—sizzle—"

After a slight electrical hum...

A recording so clear that even the sound of breathing could be discerned flowed slowly through the eerily quiet courtyard.

"...Mr. Qian, the M Group is getting impatient. The deposit for the drawings has already been received, and they hope you can send over the remaining parameters as soon as possible."

This is a male voice with a heavy accent.

"What's the rush?"

Immediately following was that voice that all the people of Kyushu were extremely familiar with—it was Old Qian's voice, carrying a nauseating greed and coldness that could be heard even in nightmares.

"Tell them the price has changed. Liu Ming's 'pulse engine' is enough to change air superiority for the next fifty years. I want their global map of deep-sea mineral veins, plus an additional three hundred million US dollars. No installments."

"This...they'll probably think we're extorting them."

"blackmail?"

In the recording, Mr. Qian let out a contemptuous sneer.

"In this world, the future that money can buy is never expensive. Go and get it done. And while you're at it, have 'Old K' send a few capable people. That kid Liu Ming has investigated too deeply. I don't want him showing up at next month's graduation ceremony."

……

The recording abruptly stopped.

At that moment, the whole world seemed to stand still.

Qian listened to his own voice. He listened to every syllable that came out of his own mouth, a syllable that would nail him to the pillar of historical shame.

He felt his blood congealing, and his legs began to tremble uncontrollably. The feeling of weakness caused by extreme fear made him unable to support his seemingly respectable facade any longer.

"No...this is fake...it's AI-generated!"

Old Qian roared hysterically, his voice completely distorted.

"Liu Ming! You're framing me! You're challenging my authority! I'm the leader! You have no right to judge me!"

"Rules? Authority?"

Liu Ming took a step forward.

The oppressive feeling of emerging from a mountain of corpses and a sea of ​​blood was like a collapsing Mount Tai, instantly crushing the last shred of reason in Mr. Qian's mind.

"You maggot, who leeches off the backbone of the nation, dare to talk to me about authority?"

Liu Ming reached out and suddenly grabbed Old Qian by the collar, lifting him off the ground.

"This ten million is the life of that single father who died in the mine."

Liu Ming pointed to a string of numbers on the transfer slip, her voice so low it sounded like she was reading a death sentence.

"These two hundred million are the blood of the three Kyushu agents you betrayed and who were ultimately dismembered by mercenaries at the border."

"This debt is your own doing, the debt you incurred for ruining thirty years of technological advancement in Kyushu!"

"Every penny hides a wronged soul."

Liu Ming's eyes reddened; the anger that had been suppressed for ten years finally erupted at this moment.

"Qian Zhixian, when you ride your bicycle to work, do you hear those wronged spirits crying in your ears?"

"When you were eating that bowl of millet porridge that cost only a few dollars, did you smell the blood on it?"

Liu Ming suddenly flung her hand away.

"Bang!"

Old Qian's aged and frail body, like a sack of rotten cotton, fell heavily onto the rattan chair made of the finest rosewood, a symbol of status and poverty.

The rattan chair creaked, as if it too was bearing some unbearable weight.

Old Qian lay there, his reading glasses in the mud, his wig askew, and he looked old and ugly, exuding a sense of decay and impending death.

He looked at the cold, waning moon in the sky, and at the Dragon Shield assassins in the courtyard, armed to the teeth and with icy eyes.

He knew the talisman had failed; the mask he'd worn for thirty years had been ripped to shreds by a young man tonight.

"Hahaha……"

Suddenly, Mr. Qian let out a bitter laugh, laughing until tears streamed down his face.

He lowered his head and looked at Liu Ming, his eyes revealing an extremely complex, dying madness.

"Liu...Ming..."

His voice was hoarse, and every word was spoken with great difficulty.

"I should have thought of that sooner."

"This kind of reckless, crazy personality. This kind of wildness that wants to tear the sky apart."

"In this circle, only one person has it."

He stared intently at Liu Ming, as if trying to see the shadow of another man through that cold face.

"You...you're Liu Jianguo's son?"

Mr. Qian's voice trembled, carrying a sense of destiny that spanned a decade.

"Back then, he was just like you, standing in my office with account books in hand, talking to me about conscience and the future of Kyushu."

Liu Ming stood in the moonlight, his figure as upright as a pine tree. In his hand, the "Dragon Fang" military dagger emitted a faint, cold light.

He listened to that name, the name that had haunted his dreams for over three thousand days and nights.

His gaze became more resolute and colder than ever before.

You're right.

Liu Ming spoke slowly, her voice as soft as the wind, yet chilling to the bone.

"I am Liu Jianguo's son."

He took a step forward. His military boots thudded heavily on the blue bricks.

"I came to the capital not for promotion, nor for wealth."

"I'm here."

"They've come... to collect a debt."