“Morning and midnight feel no different at all… Don’t tell me it'll stay like this until dusk,”

  An elderly man appeared in the top-floor circur corridor of the airport terminal. He gazed out into the thick fog, a flicker of unease passing through his heart.

  Originally, Zhong Sheng should have been leisurely strolling into the Aerospace Investigation Bureau’s headquarters in the outskirts of Dongdu today, welcomed by appuse and smiling faces. There was supposed to be a grand farewell ceremony and a mysterious gift—who knew what tricks those young folks had up their sleeves.

  As a founding member of the Bureau, today was supposed to be his final day before retirement.

  Years of glory and madness, pain and pride—every case, every brush with danger—had been etched into the pages of his personal memoir. After today, he could finally dote on his grandchildren, boasting to them about his once-illustrious past.

  And yet, here he was, rushing to Dongdu Airport at dawn, returning to a pce he had been countless times.

  It all began with an urgent call from airport customs the day before:“Based on our intel, there’s a major smuggling operation happening at Dongdu Airport tomorrow. There’s a high chance of violent criminal activity. We’re requesting cooperation from the Aerospace Investigation Bureau.”

  “A major case? How major? What kind of support do you need?”“Potentially the biggest high-tech smuggling attempt in the past decade. We request full support.”“Understood.”

  The call had come directly from Chief Zhang at airport customs. Li Xunfang, upon hearing the news, also spoke to him briefly over the phone to get a clearer understanding of the situation.

  And so, Zhong Sheng made the decision: postpone the retirement ceremony, deploy the core team, and aim to resolve the case within half a day.“We’ll be back here by the afternoon for the real celebration!”“No, no—we should be the ones celebrating your retirement! Perfect, we’ll toast the night away!” Li Xunfang had responded with hearty enthusiasm.

  So here he was, personally overseeing operations while his agents were already stationed and awaiting orders below.

  Finally, a pne touched down. The roar of the engine and the screech of tires against the runway shattered the earlier stillness. But soon after, everything fell silent once more.

  Zhong Sheng decided to linger in the corridor a little longer, rather than head straight into the office behind him. At times, he folded his hands behind his back; at others, he rested them on his waist, where his old, trusty firearm still hung.

  “Well, maybe it’s a good thing. I’ve been so wrapped up in all the pre-retirement formalities and the never-ending caseload. It’s rare to have a quiet morning like this.”

  He looked into the fog just beyond the gss, lost in thought.

  Zhong Sheng wasn’t a superstitious man, but his instincts were unusually sharp. Maybe it was the cursed weather, but deep within, a spark of unease fred up—and then began to burn. It grew rger, darker, and started to emit bck smoke.

  The smoke and fog clouded his thoughts. He forced his eyes open, trying to pierce through it, trying to see clearly—but it was all in vain.

  Suddenly, he saw something—or thought he did. He stared intently, and there it was: a moment from three years ago. A sea of fire. The sky itself had turned red.

  He shuddered and snapped out of it.

  The corridor remained empty. No smoke, no fire—just the ever-present fog outside the window.

  But he couldn’t return to the state of mind he had been in moments earlier. He tried to suppress the memory, but it had cwed its way back out of the cracks of his mind like a ghost.

  “Three years ago… It was a tragedy. I let you down. To this day, I still don’t know what really happened. That wasn’t just some accident—I know it wasn’t. But so what if I’m certain? There’s no proof! None! Not even a motive…”

  Zhong Sheng clutched his head with both hands, digging his fingers into his scalp as if he could scrape the memory away.

  His hair was completely white now, but still thick enough to make men his age jealous. The white strands, paired with his square face and determined gaze, gave him an aura of dignified strength.

  But at this moment, his eyes were full of sorrow.

  “Ever since that incident… our job’s only gotten harder.”

  And so, on the morning of his retirement, in the empty upper corridor of Dongdu Airport, Zhong Sheng finally admitted that truth to himself.

  He had sensed it clearly over the past three years. But whenever the media or colleagues asked about it, he had always denied it with conviction:“No, everything’s normal. Just busier than before.”

  Busy and chaotic—only a word apart. In those three years, many cases unraveled before they reached a conclusion. Even when he personally took over, he couldn’t make sense of them. They faded away, unresolved. The case files marked “Unsolved” in the Bureau’s archive had multiplied several times over.

  With so many cold cases, it felt like a sword of Damocles hanging over their heads. Public criticism of the Aerospace Investigation Bureau grew louder.

  “Wasting taxpayer money flying all over the world, and not solving a single case? Might as well rename it the Aerospace Tourism Bureau…”

  “Why even bother setting up this international agency in the first pce? It took so much effort to get all the countries to agree…”

  “They should just hand enforcement back to local departments. Let each region handle their own business.”

  Thinking about this, Zhong Sheng found himself less resistant to the task at hand. He chuckled bitterly.“At least it shows Dongdu Airport customs still trusts us…”

  “Fine, I’m retiring soon anyway. Why worry about it? Dust to dust, ashes to ashes. After tomorrow, whether this Bureau thrives or colpses—what does it matter to me?”

  “No… it does matter. Where else would my pension come from?”

  “Alright, enough. Enough.”

  Zhong Sheng didn’t want to spiral deeper into those unpleasant thoughts. He turned and opened the office door behind him.

  The room was pitch bck. He flicked on the lights and left the door open. A long band of light stretched down the dim corridor, his faint shadow elongating and then disappearing as he entered the room.

  “Haven’t been in here for a while… These young ones really should tidy up more often.”

  He frowned at the slightly messy floor and desk, and couldn’t help but start tidying things up.

  As he turned his back to the door and began arranging the stack of well-worn books on the aged brown desk, he sensed a faint movement behind him.

  In the light spilling into the corridor, a dark figure appeared.

  Not long after, he colpsed onto the office floor—the same floor he’d stood on countless times—blood pouring from his chest in a crimson torrent he could not staunch. He closed his eyes, never to open them again, and the retirement he had looked forward to so eagerly ended abruptly that morning.

  He had imagined his career concluding amid the youthful energy of his protégés, celebrating the next chapter of his life. Instead, he was bound for another world, greeted by the comrades who had died in the line of duty before him.

  In that final instant, Zhong Sheng’s st thought was a sharp regret: “If I hadn’t listened to him—if I’d ignored everything and just shot that bastard—would I be alive now?”

  He had been straightening the brown wooden desk in his office at the time, grumbling, “These youngsters—so messy.”

  Then he froze, sensing someone close behind him. At such an early hour on this floor, the visitor could not be here for anything benevolent—no airline executive or regutor would start work this early.

  Just as he reached for his gun, a voice said, “I don’t think shooting is a good idea.”

  The accent was strange, yet the tone absolute. From where the voice came, the stranger must be tall.

  Zhong Sheng’s right hand flew to his waist as he spun around. “One false move, and I’ll blow him away!”

  Standing before him was a Caucasian man: golden curls framing a face carved with depth, blue-gray eyes set in shadowed sockets, and a hooked nose above thin lips. His cheeks were clean-shaven, but wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth marked him as no spring chicken. Still, he was at least a head taller than Zhong Sheng, cd in a long bck trench coat and polished brown Oxfords.

  “He looks fastidious…” Zhong Sheng thought, scanning his mind for a memory of this man. He came up empty. Still, he judged quickly: “Not here to make trouble—at least not right now.”

  “I’ve heard the Old Master Zhong is as vigorous as ever,” the stranger said in fwless Chinese, his accent heavy but his command of the nguage impressive.

  “You know me?” Zhong Sheng felt two surprises in one: that the man knew him, and that he’d dared call him “Old Master Zhong”—a title usually reserved for insiders at the Bureau; outsiders normally used formal rank.

  “New recruit?” Zhong Sheng guessed. The Bureau had been expanding, but surely they hadn’t hired someone this old.

  “Of course,” the stranger ughed, “who doesn’t know the famous Old Master Zhong?”

  Even his smile felt cool, distant. Zhong Sheng returned it. “You ftter me. But you didn’t come here just to say hello. This office isn’t easy to find. So—what do you want?”

  The blond man spread his hands, palms up, as if to show he bore no arms. “See? No weapons.”

  “Old Master Zhong, I’ve come in good faith. Could you—please—remove your hand from your holster?”

  “Very well.” Zhong Sheng unclenched.

  “My name is Zhu Baiju,” the stranger continued. “Of course, that’s not my real name—just my Chinese one. My given name is Jude Belling. Call me whatever you prefer.”

  “Mr. Zhu,” Zhong Sheng said in Chinese, though he understood English perfectly. “Now, what is it you wanted to tell me?”

  Zhu Baiju tilted his head, frowned as though gathering courage. “I’m a bit embarrassed… Old Master Zhong, my request is simple: would the Aerospace Investigation Bureau withdraw its pursuit of the case from three years ago?”

  The words fell like thunder. Zhong Sheng forced himself calm. “Oh? Interesting. You’re not one of us, then?”

  “I’m not that lucky.”

  “But you seem well informed about our affairs.”

  “Haha—the Bureau and Old Master Zhong have quite the reputation!”

  “Then which case three years back? We had many open files then; some are still unresolved.” Zhong Sheng studied Zhu’s expression. Nothing gave away his intent; his voice was steady. “Old Master Zhong—surely you jest? A second case from three years ago?”

  “Please be specific.”

  “All right—remember the incident at Okinawa Airport? Does that ring a bell? I won’t share details; I wouldn’t want to rouse unpleasant memories… Okinawa’s a small facility, with so few cases, you must recall it.”

  “So it is that case,” Zhong Sheng said, his heart sinking.

  That scandal had been the shame of both him and the Bureau.

  Why—on this fog-shrouded morning of his retirement—had this man found him here and ripped open that old wound, scattering salt into it?

  “Closing that file? Impossible. Every case can be closed—except that one. Even in retirement, I won’t allow it!”

  His pulse raced, but his voice remained calm. “Oh, that case—we’re still following protocol. No need to close it yet.”

  “Finally, you remember,” came Zhu’s quiet remark. “As for closing it… I’m merely a messenger today. And frankly, it’s not your decision to make…” He paused. “Are you certain you won’t change your mind?”

  Those gray-blue eyes bore into Zhong Sheng, delivering an unspoken ultimatum.

  “I won’t,” Zhong Sheng replied, unflinching.

  Though his hand had left his holster, every nerve stood ready for the stranger’s attack. Yet Zhu Baiju did nothing but offer a rueful smile and turn to leave.

  “Let’s look to tomorrow…” a voice echoed down the corridor, oddly detached. “By the way, Wu Letian is dead.”

  Silence fell once more.

  “What does that mean?” Zhong Sheng snapped, drawing his gun toward the empty hallway. No one appeared.

  “They think once I’m retired, I won’t mind… they’re fools,” he muttered as he closed the door. Then the name struck him anew—Pale white fear churned in his gut.

  “Zhu Baiju… ‘Punish White Bureau’?” He stared at the closed door, realization dawning with deadly crity.