Mastering the Sword Manual, sweeping across the globe

"Is this Mr. Wu?" A male voice answered, fluent in English with a slight local accent.

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

"I am an employee of the Thai Immigration Bureau. There is something I need to verify with you."

Mr. Wu's heart jumped into his throat.

"what's up?"

"Your visa for this trip to Thailand is visa-free, but the system shows that you have a previous overstay record—although it was very short, according to regulations, we need to further verify your information. Please come to the airport immigration office now."

Mr. Wu was stunned.

He has no overdue payment record in Thailand. This is his first time in Bangkok.

“You’ve got it wrong,” he said. “I’ve never been late.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end.

"Mr. Wu, are you sure? The system shows that you stayed in Phuket for fifteen days last December, but your visa was only valid for fourteen days, and you overstayed by one day. Would you like me to show you your entry and exit records from that time?"

Wu's mind raced.

“I can cooperate with the verification,” he said, “but I’m at the airport right now, about to board my flight. Could you wait until I get back to process this?”

There was another second of silence on the other end.

"Mr. Wu," the voice became somewhat subtle, "you're flying to the United States, right? San Francisco? UAxxxx flight?"

Wu's blood ran cold instantly.

“We also have information about this flight,” the other person said. “In addition, we’ve also noticed your residence in San Francisco—the property you purchased through an offshore company. Would you like me to provide you with the address?”

Mr. Wu held his phone, unable to utter a single word.

"Mr. Wu, I'm just relaying a message," the other person said. "The message from above is that you've been traveling so far and must be tired. The weather in the capital is nice and suitable for rest. Would you like me to book your return flight?"

The phone hangs up.

Mr. Wu sat on the sofa, staring at the untouched cup of Thai milk tea, without touching it for a long time.

---

Singapore.

Marina Bay Sands Hotel, 57th floor, infinity pool.

Zhou, the operations director for the North China region, leaned against the edge of the pool, holding a glass of champagne, and looked at the distant city skyline.

Singapore was a carefully chosen foothold for him.

The time difference here allows him to keep track of domestic developments; the mature financial market facilitates fund allocation; and more importantly, Singapore and Beijing do not have an extradition treaty, so he can handle any problems calmly.

It has been almost sixteen hours since I left the company at 3 pm yesterday.

everything is normal.

He took a sip of champagne, feeling the cool water slide down his throat.

The phone rang.

An unfamiliar number, a domestic landline, starting with 010.

Mr. Zhou frowned.

A phone call from Beijing.

He hesitated for two seconds before answering.

"Is this Mr. Zhou?" A male voice came from the other end, a little tired and hoarse, as if he had been working for a long time. "I'm Chen from the Nephrology Department of Peking Union Medical College Hospital. There's an emergency I need to inform you of."

Mr. Zhou's heart suddenly clenched.

Peking Union Medical College Hospital. Department of Nephrology.

"what's up?"

"Your daughter, Zhou Xiaohan, was brought to our hospital early this morning."

Mr. Zhou's hand tightened, and the champagne glass almost slipped from his grasp.

"What's up with her?"

"Acute renal failure." The voice on the other end was calm, as if reciting a routine medical record. "Both kidneys are rapidly deteriorating, and the creatinine level has reached 1200. Dialysis must be started as soon as possible. However, dialysis is only a temporary measure, and a kidney transplant will be necessary in the end."

Zhou's mind went blank.

Daughter. Zhou Xiaohan. Sixteen years old, first year of high school.

During our video call last month, she said she was a little tired, which he assumed was just due to the pressure of studying. Two weeks ago, on the phone, she said she didn't have a good appetite, and her wife suggested taking her to the hospital, but she said it was nothing, probably just a cold.

He didn't think much of it.

The market share of the group has declined for three consecutive quarters, and some people on the board have already started to have concerns.

At this point, securing one's position is the top priority.

Many assets need to be transferred out quickly while the exchange rate is favorable, otherwise it will be too late to act if the situation becomes tense.

“How could she…” Zhou’s voice began to tremble.

“Mr. Zhou,” Dr. Chen interrupted him, her voice still calm, “Based on our current understanding, your daughter’s kidney problems did not occur suddenly. She has a family history of kidney disease, and coupled with long-term improper diet, irregular sleep patterns, and high stress levels, her kidney function has actually been slowly declining. It’s just that the early symptoms were not obvious—fatigue, loss of appetite, and increased urination at night—these are easily overlooked.”

Mr. Zhou was stunned.

Fatigue. Loss of appetite. Increased urination at night.

My daughter has mentioned all of these symptoms.

He told her to rest more, eat more good food, and not stay up late.

He didn't take her for a checkup.

He's busy.

Busy with meetings, busy with social engagements, busy transferring assets to safe places.

“Mr. Zhou,” Dr. Chen’s voice brought him back to reality, “The most important thing now is to find a suitable kidney donor. Your daughter has type O blood, so the matching range is relatively wide. But there are too many patients in China waiting for kidney donors, with an average waiting time of three to five years. She is sixteen years old this year and cannot wait that long.”

Zhou's hands trembled more and more violently.

"The best option is a related transplant," Dr. Chen said. "The success rate of matching among immediate family members is the highest, and the postoperative rejection reaction is also the least. I recommend that you and your wife come to the hospital as soon as possible for matching tests. If the matching is successful, the surgery can be arranged as soon as possible."

Mr. Zhou opened his mouth.

He is in Singapore.

He ran 5,000 kilometers.

He was thinking about how to avoid that person.

"Mr. Zhou?" Dr. Chen asked, "Are you still listening?"

"I...I'm in Singapore."

There was a moment of silence on the other end.

“Mr. Zhou, your daughter’s condition cannot be delayed.” Dr. Chen’s voice remained calm, but there was something indescribable in that calmness. “If you can come back as soon as possible for tissue matching, there might still be a chance. If you can’t come back…”

He didn't continue.

But Zhou understood.

If you can't come back, then let her wait patiently.

Maybe there's hope.

84 Fluctuations

As the plane began taxiing on the runway, Qin Wenhua glanced at the sky outside through the porthole.

The sky over the capital was overcast, and it was impossible to tell whether it was cloudy or smoggy.

He looked away, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.

More than six hours have passed since I received that phone call.

For more than six hours, Qin Wenhua didn't sleep for a single minute.

When I close my eyes, all I see are those reported properties, stocks, and nominee shareholders.

The plane came to a stop, and the jet bridges were connected.

Qin Wenhua stood up and followed the crowd out.

As soon as I stepped off the covered bridge, two people in plain clothes came to greet me.

"Mr. Qin Wenhua?" the one on the left asked.

Qin Wenhua nodded.

"Come with us."

Without showing any identification or offering any explanation, the two men flanked Qin Wenhua on either side and led her directly into a passageway that was not open to the public.

At the end of the passage was a door, and a black minivan was parked outside.

The car door was open, and the engine was still running.

Qin Wenhua was shoved into the back seat.

The car door closed, and the car started immediately.

He looked out the car window—there was another identical black minivan leading the way, followed by another one.

The three vehicles maintained a constant distance and drove out of the airport area at a leisurely pace.

"Where are we going?" Qin Wenhua asked.

The person in the passenger seat turned around, glanced at him, and didn't say anything.

Qin Wenhua did not ask any further questions.

The car drove through the city, through the ring road, through increasingly sparse buildings, and finally onto a highway leading to the suburbs.

The view outside the window changed from high-rise buildings to factories, from factories to farmland, and from farmland to patches of woodland that were hard to see clearly.

Qin Wenhua leaned back in his seat, watching the scenery rushing past the window, his mind blank.

About an hour and a half later, the convoy slowed down, turned off the highway, and drove onto an asphalt road without streetlights.

Tall poplar trees lined both sides of the road, their branches and leaves overlapping above the car roof, completely blocking out the sunlight.

Occasionally, sunlight would peek through the cracks, casting fast-moving patches of light on the ground.

After driving for another ten minutes or so, a tightly closed gate appeared ahead.

The gate was also unmarked, with high walls on both sides and rusty wire mesh on top, making it look like an old factory area that had been abandoned for many years.

The convoy stopped.

The door slid open silently inward.

Three cars filed in.

The yard looks much bigger inside than it does from the outside.

The main building is a four-story building with gray exterior walls and few windows, most of which are covered by curtains.

Several identical black official vehicles were parked in front of the building, along with some medium-sized buses whose purpose was unclear.

The landscaping is excellent, with tall trees that are neatly trimmed.

If it weren't for the rusty barbed wire and the pervasive quiet, this place would look like a sanatorium—or a high-end retirement home for retired officials.

The car door opened.

Qin Wenhua was asked to get off the car.

A young man in a dark uniform stepped forward and nodded to him.

"Mr. Qin, please come with me."

Qin Wenhua followed him into the main building.

The scene inside the building stunned him for a moment.

It looks gray and drab on the outside, but it's a completely different world inside.