Mastering the Sword Manual, sweeping across the globe

The four men in the lead were dressed in civilian clothes, but their gait and imposing manner made the old gatekeeper, who opened the door, only glance at them before quickly retreating back into the guardhouse, not even daring to turn on the lights.

Third floor, east side unit.

"boom--"

The sound of the door being forcibly kicked open was particularly jarring in the early hours of the morning.

The man in the bedroom suddenly sat up in bed, his hand instinctively reaching for the bedside table, then stopping.

He stared at the doorway, and by the faint light filtering through the curtains, he saw several figures already standing at the bedroom door.

"Who?!"

Nobody answered that nonsense.

The man in the lead took a step forward, and by the light of the streetlamp shining through the window, his official robes could be clearly seen—indigo blue, with a xiezhi embroidered on the rank badge.

Those were people from the Censorate.

"At 1:13 PM yesterday," the Censorate official began, his voice low but sharp as a nail driven into your ears, "you spoke on the phone with people in the Far East. What did you say?"

The man paused for a moment, then his expression changed, but he quickly regained his composure.

"Making a phone call between friends..." he forced a smile, "That doesn't violate confidentiality regulations, does it?"

"Of course not." The man from the Censorate nodded, his tone even bordering on polite.

Before the man's smile could fully open, he heard the other man continue:

“Okay, you don’t like talking about this. Let’s change the subject—last December, how much of that ‘post-disaster reconstruction special fund’ you approved actually reached the grassroots level, and how much was retained by the companies you introduced? Let’s find a place to discuss this properly.”

The man's face turned completely pale.

-

A newly built residential community in the south of the city.

The bedroom lights came on at the same time the door was broken down.

A man in his fifties with graying hair stood by the bed, wearing an overcoat, watching the group of people rush in, trying to keep his expression calm.

"Who made the phone call at 2:22 yesterday afternoon, and what did they say?"

"I didn't say anything..." the gray-haired man said, his voice slightly unsteady. "I'm not directly in charge of the food delivery business, and I don't know anything about it."

Please answer the question.

The man paused for a moment, then said, "I didn't say anything."

“He didn’t say…” The man looked at him, his gaze as calm as a still pond. “Fine, take him away.”

Two constables stepped forward and grabbed his arms, one on each side.

The man panicked: "I...I only gave him the phone number of a chief physician!"

"Okay, take it with you."

The man struggled, raising his voice: "He called to ask me which departments the Ugly Gang members went to at the hospital... I just gave him a specialist's phone number and told him to contact them himself—this is a private company asking for help! I can't even give them a phone number?"

"Whether it works or not, you know best in your heart."

With a sudden tightening of his arm, he was dragged out.

-

In the eastern part of the city, in an old-fashioned courtyard.

After the door was broken down, the owner of this house did not panic like the previous two.

He sat on the edge of the bed, draped in his clothes, and even lit a cigarette.

“That wasn’t my intention.” He exhaled a puff of smoke, his voice low and slow. “Someone… mentioned it.”

"What did you mention?" the team leader asked.

"They didn't say it explicitly." He flicked his cigarette ash, looking out at the brightening sky. "It's just... something they said in casual conversation, something about not knowing how many places that person could visit in one night. It would be great if we knew—that's roughly the gist of it."

"Who said that?"

He did not answer.

"Who?"

He stubbed out his cigarette, but his hand trembled slightly.

"Can't you tell?"

He raised his head, his face deathly pale, his lips moved, but he couldn't utter a single word.

The team leader looked at him for a few seconds and then waved his hand.

When he was lifted up, he felt completely drained, so limp that he could barely stand.

-

The fourth, the fifth, the sixth...

The sound of doors being broken down echoed throughout the capital.

Some of them went limp as soon as they were pulled out of bed.

Some were still putting on a brave face, but once a few old grievances were brought up, they softened.

Some said nothing, but their footsteps as they were led away were heavier than those who came in.

At 5:40 a.m., the last black official car drove away from the gate of an inconspicuous residential area.

It's almost dawn.

--------

At six o'clock in the morning, the sky was gradually brightening.

Shenzhen, a five-star hotel.

The executive suite on the 52nd floor has floor-to-ceiling windows facing Deep Bay.

The distant horizon began to turn red, and several cargo ships moved slowly on the sea; everything seemed calm and peaceful.

Qin Wenhua had just finished showering and was sitting by the window wrapped in a bathrobe, watching the horizon gradually brighten in the distance, feeling a rare sense of relaxation.

Twelve hours.

It has been exactly twelve hours since his car drove out of the company's underground parking garage at 4:20 pm yesterday.

The flight to Shenzhen, the transfer to a business vehicle, and the check-in to the hotel were all smooth and without any issues.

No matter how capable that person is, it's impossible for them to chase him all the way to Shenzhen, right?

Qin Wenhua picked up his coffee and took a sip.

The coffee is freshly ground at the hotel, much better than what's served in the company's break room.

The phone on the bedside table suddenly vibrated.

He glanced at it—an unfamiliar number, a local landline.

Could it be hotel service? Or some kind of sales pitch?

He didn't answer.

The phone continued to vibrate for a good ten seconds before stopping.

Qin Wenhua put down his coffee cup and continued looking out the window.

Three seconds later, the phone rang again.

Same number.

He frowned, picked up his phone, and answered the call.

"Is this Mr. Qin Wenhua?" A male voice answered, speaking standard Mandarin.

"Yes, that's me. Who is it?"

"This is the Shanhe Yamen of S City. There's something I'd like to verify with you."

Qin Wenhua's fingers tightened slightly.

"what's up?"

"Here's the thing, our system found that you own a property in Shenwan No. 1, Nanshan District. There are some anomalies in the property registration information, and we need your cooperation to verify it."

Qin Wenhua's brows furrowed even more.

Deep Bay One.

Those are the most luxurious residences, with an average price of 300,000 yuan per square meter, and the smallest units starting at 200 square meters.

He does have a property there—it's held by a distant cousin, bought three years ago, used as a place to stay when he occasionally visits Shenzhen, and also as an investment.

The property registration is in the name of that cousin, not him.

"You must have made a mistake," Qin Wenhua said. "I don't own any property in Shenzhen."

There was a moment of silence on the other end.

“Mr. Qin,” the voice remained steady, but with a hint of something else in it, “Are you sure? Our records show that you are the actual investor, the actual user, and the person who has paid the property management fees for this property over the years. The nominee shareholder’s surname is Zhou, he is your cousin, and he currently runs a small electronics factory in Dongguan. Would you like me to give you his ID number?”

Qin Wenhua felt as if something was blocking his throat.

"In addition," the other end continued, "besides the one in Deep Bay One, we also noticed that you own one in Tomson Riviera, held by a nominee surnamed Li, who is your ex-wife's younger brother; one in Beijing Yintai Centre, held by a nominee surnamed Wang, who is your university classmate; and in Hangzhou, Guangzhou, and Chengdu..."

The voice announced the names of cities, properties, and individuals at a leisurely pace.

Qin Wenhua's hand holding the phone began to tremble.

Some of these properties were bought by him, some were acquired through various complicated channels, and some he could hardly remember—they were scattered all over the country, and the nominees were his closest and most trusted people, some of whom he had even paid a lot of money to find "clean" identities for.

How can it be?

How could it be investigated so thoroughly?

"...Furthermore," the voice continued, "we've also noticed the stocks you hold through your three offshore companies—Tencent, Moutai, and CATL. Should I also state the shareholding percentages and cost prices?"

Many of these things...aren't really mine...

I... was just acting as a proxy holder...

However, Qin Wenhua opened his mouth but couldn't utter a single word.

"Mr. Qin?" came the voice on the other end. "Are you still listening?"

"Who...who exactly are you?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end.

“Mr. Qin, I’m just a messenger,” the voice said, its tone as calm as if it were discussing the weather. “The message from above is that you’ve been out there for twelve hours and it’s time to come back. The scenery in the capital is better than in Shenzhen.”

The phone hangs up.

Qin Wenhua stood frozen in place, holding his phone.

Outside the window, the sky over Deep Bay was already fully bright, and the sunlight shone on the sea, making it sparkle.

He saw nothing.

---

At the same time.

Bangkok, Suvarnabhumi Airport.

In the international departure lounge, Chief Financial Officer Wu sat on a sofa in the corner, with an untouched cup of Thai milk tea in front of him.

He chose Bangkok for a reason—visa-free entry, convenience, and the ability to travel at any time. More importantly, Bangkok has numerous flights to anywhere in the world, so if things don't go his way, he can easily transfer to another destination.

Thirteen hours.

If I can endure the thirteen-hour flight to the United States, I'll be safe.

He glanced at his watch: 5:50 a.m. Bangkok time, 6:50 a.m. Beijing time.

There are still three hours until boarding.

My phone vibrated.

Unknown number, local Thai number.