I started with a ship full of max-level veterans, and I'm just a complete noob.

At 9:20 p.m., the backyard of the old shop in the south of the city was not lit.

The wooden door was unlocked. When the crew-cut clerk pushed it open with his shoulder, the hinges made a dull thud, and the door panel hit the wall bricks and bounced back half an inch.

The smell of bitter almonds wafted out from under the door, so strong that it made the crew-cut clencher's throat tighten immediately. He turned and shouted "Prepare a flashlight" towards the corridor, then squeezed into the back room, which was less than ten square meters.

As the flashlight beam swept across, the old shopkeeper lay supine on the hardboard bed against the wall, his left leg bent and resting on the edge of the bed, his right leg stretched out and touching the brick seam in the ground, his upper body tilted to one side, and his head resting on his right arm.

His face was a bluish-purple gray, not the color of a living person.

There were dark traces left by dried liquid on the corners of his mouth and chin, which flowed down his jawline to his neck and soaked into the collar of his cloth-buttoned Zhongshan suit.

As the forensic doctor crouched down to examine the room, the crew-cut officer had already begun searching it.

There weren't many things in the room: a long table, an old leather suitcase, an account book and a pair of reading glasses spread out on the table, and a few bundles of old newspapers tied with hemp rope piled up in the corner.

Director Wang stood at the door without coming in. His gaze went past the shoulder of the crew-cut clerk and watched as the forensic doctor pried open the shopkeeper's mouth to examine the oral mucosa.

"Cyanide," the forensic doctor said, turning around in a low voice.

"How long has it been?"

Judging from the body temperature and stiffness, it was four to five hours ago, around three or four in the afternoon.

Director Wang twirled the unlit cigarette in his hand halfway around, then tucked it between his index and middle fingers and put it back in his pocket.

He leaned against the doorframe and said to the crew-cut clerk, "Turn everything upside down—the brick seams, the base of the walls, under the bed boards."

The flat-headed clerk used a screwdriver to pry up the baseboard of the table against the wall. When the flashlight shone inside, there was a layer of fine ash and several dead cockroaches.

He continued moving to the right, and when the third brick loosened, a tin cigarette box wrapped in oilcloth was revealed underneath.

The cigarette box was opened, revealing a folded letter inside, face down, with the light blue floral pattern on the back visible.

The clerk with the crew cut used tweezers to take the letter out, turned it over to look at the front, then looked at the back, and then handed it to Director Wang with the tweezers.

Director Wang didn't reach out to take it. He leaned closer to examine the color and texture of the paper, then stepped back to let Jiang Ming come over.

When Jiang Ming turned from the corridor into the backyard, the bitter almond smell had faded a bit, but it was still pungent.

He walked over to Director Wang, his gaze first falling on the corpse covered by a white sheet beside the bed, then turning to the tweezers in the flat-headed clerk's hand.

It had a light blue background, a smooth surface, and neatly trimmed edges, making it almost identical to the notepad he had seen in the leaked letter from Yuanlei No. 1.

The letter was turned over, front side up, and the handwriting was in pencil. The strokes were intentionally distorted, and the corners were deliberately rounded. However, the writing was done with great force, and in two or three places the pencil tip had already torn the paper, revealing the white of the underlying paper fibers.

The text consisted of two lines, with no heading and no signature.

"The mine has landed; quickly erase all traces. If Northwest 04 is lost, you will have nowhere to retreat."

Jiang Ming read the two lines of text twice from beginning to end, then pointed to the light blue printed pattern on the back of the paper.

"This kind of notepad is an internal anti-counterfeiting paper printed by the ministry in June this year. The Third Electronics Factory received a batch, and the Materials Allocation Department received a batch. The total distribution range does not exceed six units." His finger moved along the serrated cutting marks on the edge of the paper. "It is clearly stated on the requisition registration form that only those at the level of director or above have the authority to sign for it."

After hearing this, Director Wang looked up from the letter and gazed into the darkness outside the window.

There were no streetlights in the courtyard; only a faint light from the street in front reflected off the damp blue brick ground, creating a small patch of brightness.

"'The thunder has landed.'" Director Wang repeated these four words in a very flat tone.

"What does the character '雷' (lei) refer to?" the flat-headed clerk asked.

Director Wang did not answer immediately. He remained silent for about five seconds, then took his hand out of his pocket and tapped the letter.

"How much do you know about Lao Lei's case?"

The flat-headed clerk shook his head.

"You don't need to know too much." Director Wang turned to Jiang Ming. "This letter proves one thing: the writer already knows we are investigating the flow of materials in the mining areas of Northwest China, and he has ordered his subordinates to cut off all traces that can be traced back to Beijing."

Jiang Ming stared at the "04" in the two lines of text, thinking of the place name deciphered from the Iron Chain Operation tape.

"Old mine shaft No. 04 on the northern slope of the Altun Mountains," he said.

Director Wang nodded: "It's the same thing."

The flat-headed clerk put the letter into a pre-prepared evidence bag, sealed it, and affixed a date and number label.

Director Wang took the evidence bag, weighed it in his hand, and then stuffed it into the inside pocket of his coat.

He turned around and took two steps toward the courtyard gate, then stopped and turned back. When he faced Jiang Ming, his expression had completely suppressed his emotions.

There's another matter. This afternoon at four o'clock, about an hour before the shopkeeper took poison, Meng Dechang submitted a business trip application to the ministry. The destination was listed as a visit to the Northwest base, the route would pass through Aksai, Gansu, and the final destination would be the frontline supply transfer station.

Jiang Ming's fingers curled slightly along the seam of his trousers.

"He wants to go to Mine 04 in person." Director Wang's voice sounded dry and calm in the darkness of the backyard. "Let's put this matter aside for now. Come to my office first thing tomorrow morning."

.....

The next morning, as soon as Jiang Ming arrived at Wu Hanzhang's office, Wu Hanzhang pulled the official document out of the envelope.

The wax seal on the edge of the paper had not completely solidified, indicating that the notice was printed overnight and delivered early in the morning.

The document number was followed by the round seal of the First Ministry of Machine Building's Confidentiality Bureau and two seals across the seam. The main text consisted of only three paragraphs, printed in boldface, with no embellishment in the wording.

First paragraph: Given that Comrade Jiang Ming's participation in the "Yuanlei-1" domestic magnetron project and the dual-balance mixer preamplifier scheme are top-secret core military achievements, and after review and approval by the Ministry's Confidentiality Committee, his personal confidentiality level is upgraded from Class A to Double Class A, effective immediately.

The second paragraph states that dual-level Class A core technical personnel are subject to a full-time protection system, with a designated person from the Confidentiality and Security Department serving as both a security guard and a confidential liaison, accompanying them 24 hours a day without being restricted by the distinction between workdays and rest days.

The third paragraph states that the protected person may not leave the designated activity area alone without written approval, and all external communications and contact outside the area must be registered and reported by the security guard.

After reading the last line, Wu Hanzhang put the document on the table and looked up at Jiang Ming.

"From today onwards, Xiao Song will be following you." The Xiao Song he was referring to was the flat-top clerk, whose surname was Song. Everyone was used to calling him flat-top clerk, and even he himself rarely referred to himself by his real name.

Jiang Ming stood across the table, his hands resting on the edge, looking down at the official seal and signature on the document.

"Twenty-four hours?"

"Twenty-four hours." Wu Hanzhang's tone left no room for negotiation, but he added, "Don't feel uncomfortable. This is to protect you, not to monitor you."

Two soft knocks came from outside the door. The crew-cut officer pushed the door open and came in. His military green cotton-padded jacket was buttoned up to the top, and the canvas holster at his waist was mostly covered by the jacket, with only a section of brown leather belt buckle showing.

"Comrade Jiang." He stood at the door, nodded to Jiang Ming, and his facial expression was no different from when he was on duty.

"Have a seat," Jiang Ming said, pointing to the folding chair in the corner.

The crew-cut clerk didn't sit down. Instead, he moved the folding chair to the wall by the door, stood next to it with his back against the wall, and looked straight ahead.

Starting that morning, whenever Jiang Ming went to the cafeteria to get food, the flat-headed clerk would follow him three steps behind, holding his own enamel bowl.

When Jiang Ming went to the toilet, the crew-cut officer stood two meters outside the toilet door, facing the other end of the corridor.

While Jiang Ming was working on the welding table in Workshop No. 1, the crew-cut clerk sat on a high stool diagonally opposite the worktable, sometimes flipping through a yellowed old magazine, but his eyes would rise every few tens of seconds to scan the surroundings.

At 10 p.m., only two people remained in the confidential cubicle converted from the old power distribution room.

Jiang Ming sat on the edge of the cot and took off his shoes, while the crew-cut officer laid out his bedding in the small room next door, which was partitioned off with wooden boards.

There was no door between the two rooms, only a military green canvas curtain. There was a gap of about fifteen centimeters at the bottom of the curtain, and from Jiang Ming's position, he could see the crew-cut officer's military boots on the ground.

"The lights are off," Jiang Ming said.