Chapter 54
The clock turned back to 9:00 PM.
At the southernmost corner of the southwest area of Zone 7, an alpha officer in a black raincoat moved quickly through the outermost containers in the loading area. The sound of the ocean grew louder, and only two distant searchlights were on in the loading zone, allowing him to catch a glimpse of the massive cargo ship far away from specific angles between the containers.
He felt alone again, with just himself and the flashlight in his hand, which was so hot it seemed about to explode. Zhao Yang raised his hand again, the beam sweeping over a row of blue and red container doors. His eyesight was sharp, and he quickly noticed a thin rope hanging from each door, secured with a tamper-proof seal.
These seals were numbered, and once broken, they could never be reattached, making them an easy way to check.
With about a hundred more containers to go, Zhao Yang would have finished searching his half of the southwest area. But so far, no one had found anything suspicious. Had they missed their chance?
Standing in front of a container, Zhao Yang wiped the rain from his face. In the darkness, his flashlight beam illuminated the bright red container door beside him, the only color in the darkness.
Walking in the downpour for a full hour, even in midsummer, had sapped his body heat. His facial muscles had stiffened, and he rubbed them to regain some sensation. But as he did, he realized something was wrong. Dammit.
He touched his right ear—hell.
When had his earpiece fallen off?
Zhao Yang cursed under his breath, then turned his flashlight to the ground. Aside from puddles dotting the concrete, there was nothing. The worst part was, he had no idea when he’d lost it.
He quickly retraced his steps in his mind. He remembered bumping into Xu Zhangying earlier, and before parting, they’d even mentioned the earpieces—so it must still have been there then.
Damn it. That was over ten minutes ago. He’d run at least two kilometers since. Zhao Yang checked his pockets and pulled out a soaking wet phone. He took a deep breath, suddenly recalling that Shao Qiaoqiao had given him a waterproof lanyard for his phone before they set out—but he’d found it too cumbersome. She’d then said the earpiece was waterproof, so he shouldn’t need his phone anyway.
Staring at the phone stuck on the startup screen, Zhao Yang felt a surge of frustration. Today was going from bad to worse.
Another gust of wind blew fiercely across the empty dock. Zhao Yang instinctively shielded his face from the rain—then he heard something. It sounded like gunfire.
He stood still for a few seconds, but aside from the howling wind and crashing waves, he heard nothing else. He quickly decided to retrace his steps to find the earpiece—without a way to communicate, even if there was something in the remaining hundred containers, it would be useless.
Since the loading area was right by the sea, with no buildings or dense clusters of containers to block the wind, the wind was much stronger than inland. The heavy raindrops stung his face like needles, forcing him to run with his head down, his vision limited to the small patch of ground illuminated by his flashlight.
Every time he spotted a small white glint in the distance, it turned out to be nothing more than the reflection of a puddle in the rainy night. As time ticked by, Zhao Yang’s anxiety grew. He grew angry at himself for being so careless. Not only had he failed to finish searching his assigned area, but now, if anything happened to the others, he’d be completely unaware.
Fuming, he leaned against the door of a blue container to catch his breath. He swept his flashlight beam from near to far, but in the darkness, all he saw were glimpses of yellow, red, and blue containers—nothing else. Then, the distant cargo ship on the sea let out another blast of its horn, making Zhao Yang's skin crawl.
What if the two exhibits weren’t even in this port? What if they’d really left on the ship bound for Xinsha Port?
Zhao Yang forced himself to calm down. Searching for a black earpiece in this storm was even harder than finding the exhibits—and besides, the earpiece had been provided by Xia Qing. If it was lost, could he even demand compensation?
Might as well just finish searching the remaining hundred containers for peace of mind. If the exhibits were still there, he could sprint back to Xu Zhangying on the other side of the southwest area in five minutes.
Resolved, Zhao Yang stubbornly changed direction and plunged back into the rain. His sense of direction was sharp, and even with the flashlight beam swinging wildly in the pitch-black night, it didn’t affect his judgment. But suddenly, something flickered at the edge of his vision.
Zhao Yang skidded to a stop, his shoes splashing in a puddle. He swung his flashlight toward the concrete behind him—and there, about five meters away, lay a small object. His heart leaped. Wasn’t that his earpiece?
Of course, he’d been searching blindly earlier and missed it. Relief flooded him as he hurried forward, bending down to pick it up—but then he froze.
It wasn’t the earpiece.
It was a cut seal.
Then he realized—had this been here when he passed earlier? Hadn’t he already checked this area and confirmed no container seals were broken?
Still crouched, the rain pounding on his back, Zhao Yang clutched the overheating flashlight, which suddenly emitted a sharp crackle. Then he realized—
In this pitch-black night, while he’d been retracing his steps to find the earpiece, someone had assumed he’d left—and had cut open the seals on the nearby containers.
So earlier in the darkness, unknown to him, a pair of eyes had been watching him all along.
Where are those eyes now?
Are they watching him at this very moment?
The sea wind drove the rain hard against Zhao Yang’s body. Staring at the small patch of light illuminated by his flashlight on the ground, he realized it was the only light source within a hundred-meter radius. The massive loading and unloading area of this port where he now stood was practically a no-man's-land in this modern city.
No one would know he was here, and to top it off, he had lost all means of communication.
Rain ran down his neck to his chin. Despite having already lost much of his body heat to the rain, Zhao Yang suddenly broke into a cold sweat in this freezing downpour.
Suddenly, Zhao Yang twitched his fingers. The moment he picked up the seal, he turned off his flashlight.
The instant he vanished into the darkness, Zhao Yang drew his sidearm, the slide’s click drowned out by the rain’s roar, and lunged toward the nearest container.
Back pressed against the cold metal of the container, Zhao Yang turned off the chip behind his ear—every second-gender chip was connected to the network and wasn’t to be deactivated except in emergencies. The moment it was turned off, his district’s alpha division would get an alert.
Beyond that, the young alpha officer felt like a filter had been ripped away from his surroundings. A flood of scents and subtler sensory details rushed his brain.
The earthy smell of rain and the distinct briny odor of seawater became more pronounced. Zhao Yang's pheromone level, like most people's, was graded as "good"—above the passing threshold but far from the elite alphas who could distinguish dozens or even hundreds of pheromones in a crowd and process the information they conveyed in a flash.
Against his will, Zhao Yang thought of Xu Zhangying and Xia Qing, but he quickly refocused. He could take this on alone.
Besides, those two should be nearly done searching their assigned areas by now. They would surely check the comms and immediately notice something was wrong on his end.
Zhao Yang shut his eyes, fighting to release his pheromones in the torrential rain. Two minutes later, he opened his eyes in the darkness—no one?
Zhao Yang remained motionless, standing statue-still in the downpour for another three full minutes.
Nothing but the sound of rain and wind.
He unfolded his rain-soaked, bloodless palm and swept his flashlight beam across the container door before him, staring at the small piece of seal in the darkness for a long time.
Could this seal have been left behind from an old container?
Zhao Yang didn't dare act rashly, but then he noticed another massive spotlight in the distance flickering back to life. Checking his watch, he saw it was already 17 minutes past—the foreign freighter would soon depart.
Even if criminals were moving cargo from the containers now, they wouldn't make it in time—perhaps the goods had already been moved while he was away.
Without his earpiece, Zhao Yang couldn't relay this to Yan Jianbai and the others, but he couldn't bear the thought of letting the criminals slip right under his nose. He decided to take the risk and verify whether any seals in the nearby container stacks had indeed been broken.
Removing his rain hood and gripping his pistol tightly, Zhao Yang moved silently. His focus was so intense that his pheromones reached a level-one interference concentration. Though the rain would dilute it, within a five-meter radius, he'd be more sensitive than usual to other alphas or any distinct scents and sounds.
Zhao Yang circled around the containers, slowly moving to the front of the stack nearest where he’d found the seal. After confirming no one was around, he quickly turned on his flashlight. In the light, he saw the seals on three red container doors intact.
Relieved, Zhao Yang began checking other nearby container stacks. After inspecting three groups of ten containers each, he found no signs of broken seals.
He started to suspect the seal in his hand was just discarded scrap left behind by workers. The device—Xia Qing’s shoddy repair job—emitted another ominous crackle.
"Damn it," Zhao Yang hissed before turning it off to save power. He turned to continue checking the remaining containers from earlier. After running about a hundred meters, another deep ship’s horn blast sounded behind him—the last before departure.
It was now 21:25.
Once more standing by the rain-lashed containers, Zhao Yang couldn't help but wonder if there was any point in continuing the search now.
Three seconds later, despite his doubts, he flicked the flashlight back on and glanced behind him.
Abruptly, he froze.
A gaping black void directly faced him, just a step away. The wide-open container door resembled a lurking eye in the dark, eerily staring at him for who knows how long.
A chill of dread shot through Zhao Yang’s veins like an electric current, his hair standing on end as he instinctively recoiled from the gaping container door. The hell? This door was sealed shut seconds ago—why was it open now? Who had opened it in the mere minutes he’d been gone?
“Who’s there?!” Zhao Yang aimed his gun into the darkness of the container. Amid the storm, the open doorway looked like a gaping predator’s mouth, luring prey inside.
The wind abruptly sharpened, and the container door slammed wildly under the gale. The momentary horror fueled Zhao Yang’s exhaustion into defiance—more anger than fear. Clutching the flashlight in his left hand, he advanced step by step toward the container.
“Show yourself—now! Or I’ll shoot!”
Silence. Zhao Yang’s pheromones spiked violently, flooding the surroundings in an instant. He edged closer to the doorway, the flashlight gradually illuminating the interior.
No presence. Impossible—unless this extremist gender organization had deployed beta criminals, or someone with terrifying pheromone control like Xia Qing. But Extreme-Superior Alphas weren’t exactly common.
Had someone been watching him from the shadows, swiftly opening the door and moving the goods during the six minutes flat he’d been retrieving his earpiece?
Why risk moving them dockside? Why wait until the ship was about to depart?
Zhao Yang knew there was no turning back. Whatever awaited him inside, he had to face it alone—an all-or-nothing play.
The best-case scenario: the container was empty but had evidence of the haul being moved, allowing him to retreat safely and get Yan Jianbai to scramble intercept on the departing ship.
The worst-case: remaining organization members lurked inside, and without his earpiece, he’d be alone against multiple hostiles.
Rain lashed at Zhao Yang’s black raincoat as he tightened his grip on the gun. His mind emptied, an eerie calm settling over him. His gut screamed warning—too late. A flash of lightning split the sky. Instinctively, he stepped inside a second before the thunder rolled.
The flashlight beam cut through the darkness, illuminating the cramped container. Where his gun pointed, a corpse-pale face hunched in the shadows, staring straight at him.
Fuck. Bad call.
Five minutes earlier.
“Why? Why is LEBEN only moving exhibits 256 and 327 now?” From above, the container grid flickered with scattered flashlights. Li Jiali’s urgent, puzzled voice blared through the comms.
Uncertain whether Zhao Yang was heading to the firefight in Zone 3 or had met trouble in Zone 7, the team split up, racing down five main routes between the two zones.
Xu Zhangying, Xia Qing, and Song Yuli took the fourth route. Wiping rain from his face, Song Yuli shouted, “This makes no sense! The ship docked at 5 PM, and the storm darkened the sky by 6. Why act now?”
“Because the exhibits were never meant to leave on this ship tonight,” Xia Qing’s calm voice cut through the comms, icing everyone’s veins.
“The 48-hour window was a lie—a deliberate misdirection. David City likely realized we were onto them when we headed for the port. They panicked and rushed to move the exhibits originally scheduled for tomorrow’s early hours.”
His words clarified LEBEN’s bizarre actions that night. The dark web had fed the police disinformation. No matter how bold, they wouldn’t risk losing million-dollar exhibits to “Faust.”
But David City never expected the police to uncover their route secret so quickly, triggering a deadly game of cat-and-mouse on equal footing.
“It’s 9:28 PM. Even if delayed, the exhibits must’ve been moved by now. Finding Zhao Yang is priority!” Fang Puxin barked.
“Xia Qing.”
Amid the storm’s roar, Xu Zhangying’s voice suddenly sharpened. Xia Qing halted, though Song Yuli ran ahead, oblivious.
“Hear that?” In the cold flashlight glow, Xu Zhangying stood in the rain, his profile unnervingly calm, as if stripped of all emotion.
Xia Qing studied his pale, stern face and shook his head. “No.”
Extreme-Superior Alphas had physiological sensory advantages, heightened by pheromones. Yet Xu Zhangying, a beta, remained rooted in the rain, his eyes alight with predatory focus.
“I think I heard something.”
"Bang!"
The instant the thunder cracked, the gun in Zhao Yang's hand spat fire—the bullet striking precisely between the eyebrows of that contorted face. Yet, in the same second he pulled the trigger, the surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins was reined in by cold logic.
Because that face did not belong to a living person.
Holding the flashlight in one hand and the gun in the other, Zhao Yang tugged off his soaked rain hood and edged into the dark, cramped container. His nostrils were soon filled with the acrid flour dust. He edged past the stacked burlap sacks between makeshift wooden shelves and crouched before the corpse.
Under the cold, harsh light of the flashlight, Zhao Yang recognized the contorted yet recognizable face—Exhibit 327.
No disrespect to the dead, but after the whiplash of adrenaline he’d just endured, Zhao Yang crouched before the bronze human sculpture with a dark thought:
That shot he just fired probably cost Xia Qing at least a million dollars in damages.
The moment Zhao Yang entered the container, he confirmed there were no other living things inside—not just from the absence of pheromones, but also because the cramped space left no room to hide a living adult.
The flour-filled burlap sacks were uniformly stacked, separated by wooden frames. It took no more than ten steps to reach the opposite metal wall. Exhibit 327 was placed between the shelves near the door, its face partially visible through the gaps between the flour sacks—at first glance, it really did look like someone crouching inside.
As for Exhibit 256, it was also stored between the shelves on the right, further inside.
But Zhao Yang didn’t let his guard down. His grip on the gun remained ironclad. He hadn’t forgotten that this container had been abruptly opened. Though he didn’t know why the two exhibits hadn’t been moved, whoever had opened the door must still be watching him.
The heat from the flashlight offered Zhao Yang a sliver of comfort. In this dark, semi-enclosed space storing corpses, it was the only thing that provided any warmth. Leaning against the metal door at the far end, he directed the beam at the flour shelves, where the two chillingly lifelike human sculptures lurked in the shadows.
He had two choices now: hunker down and wait for Yan Jianbai and the others to find him, or double back to alert the team.
But both carried risks. The criminals who had opened the container didn’t know he’d lost contact with his team. The best-case scenario was that they’d seen him enter and abandoned their operation. But if they were still lurking in the shadows, they’d soon realize Yan Jianbai’s team hadn’t arrived—meaning Zhao Yang had no comms. For someone armed with only a pistol, that spelled disaster. *Game over.*
Goddammit. If only he hadn’t lost his earpiece.
Zhao Yang wiped the rain from his face with the hand holding the gun and shifted his crouching position. At least the container, despite being dark and holding corpses, was warmer than the storm outside.
Suddenly, the light flickered, and the silhouettes of Exhibits 256 and 327 shimmered in a ghostly flicker—an effect so eerie it made his skin crawl.
"Goddammit," Zhao Yang muttered under his breath, glaring at the flashlight emitting ominous sputtering. *Don’t you die on me,* he thought. *You’re the only piece of tech I’ve got left.*
As if hearing his plea, the flashlight stabilized briefly before erupting into a seizure of light.
Zhao Yang nearly choked in frustration. The strobe light from hell was so erratic that if any criminals were still outside, they might think he was signaling in Morse code.
In the stifling confines of the container, Zhao Yang shook the flashlight, but it continued to strobe like a malfunctioning strobe light—alternately illuminating the twisted silhouettes of the sculptures and the English lettering on the flour sacks.
Out of options, Zhao Yang suddenly recalled Xia Qing’s traditional "fix" for flashlights: smashing them. With no better alternative, he heaved the flashlight and slammed it against the metal door behind him.
*Clang—*
The flashlight convulsed with a wild burst of light before stabilizing.
But the restored light brought no relief. Instead, Zhao Yang felt as if he’d been doused in liquid nitrogen. A wave of despair and horror, unlike anything he’d ever experienced, exploded in his mind like thunder—because the moment the flashlight struck the door, the unexpected metallic echo told him one thing:
The door wasn’t solid.
Someone was behind it.