Neon lights outside stained the "Cloud Summit 1987" folder blood red. The chill of the morgue hadn't faded, but the killing intent of the old district had already arrived.
The morgue's piercing alarm and frantic flashing red lights were eventually suppressed by the hospital security department's deliberately low-key handling and the vice dean's tearful explanation of "managerial oversight." The name Shen Wei, along with that heart-stopping "morgue farce," was carefully sealed under the hospital's emergency-imposed "gag order," like a red-hot branding iron – touch it, and you get burned.
No police. No reporters. The invisible giant hand of the Shen family could brush lightly across Starry Glory City's intricate web of power and erase any untimely ripples.
Shen Hong's secretary, a man whose voice was as flat as a precision instrument, contacted the terrified vice dean via encrypted line less than an hour after the incident. No threats, no reprimands, just one icy instruction, sharp as a scalpel: "Miss Shen has suffered a shock and needs quiet convalescence. Any disturbance is a provocation against the Shen family. As for those two 'accidental intruders,' the temporary workers…" The voice paused, indifferent as crushing an ant. "They won't appear in Starry Glory City again."
The vice dean's hand holding the phone shook like a Parkinson's patient's, his back drenched in cold sweat. He hastily agreed, swearing to handle all "aftermath" and prevent any "reputational damage" to the Shen family. He even offered, proactively, that the hospital could provide Shen Wei with a private, fully-equipped VIP room "out of humanitarian concern" for her to "recuperate in peace."
Humanitarian concern? Recuperate in peace?
Lying in the single room arranged by the vice dean himself, tucked in the hospital's quietest corner, Shen Wei listened to the deliberately hushed footsteps outside and the guards' vigilant patrols. A cold, utterly humorless curve touched her lips. The clean, soft sheets emitted a faint, elusive mustiness beneath the disinfectant. Outside the window was a meticulously manicured garden, lush and fragrant with birdsong, forming a grotesque, sharp contrast to the morgue's bone-deep chill and scent of death.
This ward was a velvet-wrapped cage casually tossed out by the Shen family. Pacification, but also surveillance. "Charity," but also a silent warning – See? With a flick of its finger, the Shen family can turn you from a morgue 'corpse' into a 'distinguished guest' in this comfortable cage. Just as easily, it can turn you back into a real, forgotten corpse.
On the inside of her wrist, the cold 1987-Ω brand seemed even more sinister under the dappled sunlight filtering through the blinds. Her fingertip lightly traced the rough protrusion. Closing her eyes, fragments of the original host's chaotic, shattered memories surged back.
A dark, damp basement. Air thick with the pungent mix of rust and disinfectant. Cold metal restraints biting into flesh. The blinding glare of the overhead surgical lamp stretched the blurred figures around her into twisted specters. The agonizing burn on her skin… not an illusion. Then low, muffled instructions, sounding as if filtered through thick water: "Ω Sequence adaptability test… 1987 Matriarch candidate… Neuro-Link stability…"
"Hiss…" Shen Wei's eyes snapped open, a fine sweat beading on her temples. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest; phantom pain throbbed faintly around the brand. Project 1987… Ω Sequence… Matriarch candidate…
These icy terms licked at her sensitive nerves like a snake's tongue. This was far more than just a tragic story of a discarded pawn. The Shen family adopted her. The moment Shen Nian returned, they were desperate to eliminate her, resorting even to extreme measures like forging a death certificate and hiring killers to destroy the body… Was the poisonous vine named "Project 1987" entwined behind it all?
She needed information. Needed power. Needed to tear open the Shen family's glamorous facade and see the filthy maggots writhing beneath. Staying in this Shen-bestowed ward was waiting for death.
Her gaze fell on the bedside cabinet. There lay a set of clean hospital pajamas provided by the hospital, and her personal belongings confiscated by security upon admission and "kindly" returned – only one item: the cheap, coarse, stained blue work jacket, speckled with dark red blood, brought out from the morgue freezer.
Shen Wei reached out, her fingertip touching the rough fabric. Along the inner seam of an inconspicuous, crudely stitched pocket edge, her finger touched an unusual, hard protrusion. Not the fabric's roughness, but something hastily stuffed inside and clumsily stitched over.
Her eyes sharpened. She sat up swiftly. Agonizing pain in her ribs made her grunt, cold sweat instantly beading on her forehead. Ignoring the protests of soreness from her body, she ripped open the stitching. Her finger probed inside, touching a cold, hard, angular metal object.
Pulling it out, it was an old, heavily worn USB drive. Pitch black, no brand logo, the connector slightly oxidized. Utterly inconspicuous, like electronic junk sold by weight in a flea market.
Who would sew this into a morgue temp's jacket? The original host? Or… that blurred figure who seemed to have appeared fleetingly in the morgue, in her final moments before rebirth?
Shen Wei's heart skipped a beat. She clenched the cold USB drive like a lifeline, or perhaps a key to an unknown abyss.
Can't stay here!
The thought ignited action. The meticulous mind of a top-tier PR consultant snapped into high gear. She pulled out the annoying IV needle from the back of her hand and threw off the blankets. Her body was terribly weak; her legs buckled the moment her feet touched the floor. Black spots danced before her eyes. Every breath tugged at the agonizing pain in her ribs, like a dull knife twisting inside. She steadied herself against the bed frame, her gaze sharp as an eagle's. She checked the door quickly – locked from the outside. Expected.
Her eyes turned to the window. Third floor. Outside was the hospital's carefully tended rear garden, relatively secluded. She walked to the window, gently parted the blinds, and peered out. Below, two men in plain clothes but radiating vigilance were "strolling," their eyes periodically scanning her window.
Shen Wei's lips curled in a cold sneer. The Shen family's "protection" was indeed meticulous.
She retreated to the center of the room, scanning it. Finally, her gaze fixed on the small, frosted-glass vent window in the bathroom. High enough, narrow enough, but for someone whose will to survive overrode everything, it was the only way out.
Time was critical. Shen Wei took a deep breath, suppressing the weakness and the ache in her chest. Each inhalation felt like swallowing glass shards. She quickly stripped off the pajamas and pulled on the bloodstained blue work jacket. The rough fabric scraped her skin, carrying the morgue's unique chill and scent of death, yet it brought a strange, eerie clarity to her chaotic mind.
She piled the hospital bed blankets haphazardly into a human-shaped mound, stuffing a pillow underneath. She closed the bathroom door, leaving only a crack. Then, she dragged the heavy wooden chair, positioning it steadily beneath the bathroom sink. Just this effort left her panting, sweat soaking her hairline. Gritting her teeth, bracing against the cold tile wall, she climbed onto the chair, then carefully onto the cold ceramic sink. The height was just right to reach the small vent.
Icy night wind gusted through the narrow vent slit, chilling her sweat-dampened temples. Shen Wei mustered all her strength, fingers clawing at the vent's rusty metal frame. Inch by painful inch, she forced it open. The old hinges screeched horribly, jarringly loud in the silent room. The wounds on her shoulder and ribs pulled, sending waves of pain that darkened her vision.
She held her breath, listening intently. No unusual sounds outside.
Now!
Shen Wei braced her hands on the frame. Her body, like a fish out of water, summoned its last ounce of strength, thrusting upward and outward! The narrow frame scraped viciously against her injured ribs and shoulder. The agony nearly made her black out. Her upper body cleared the window; the frigid night air instantly enveloped her. Below was the hospital alley's medical waste corner – dim, filthy, reeking.
No hesitation. Shen Wei closed her eyes, released her grip, and let herself fall!
Thud!
Her body slammed onto several stacked, half-empty cardboard boxes, absorbing some impact. Still, the jolt felt like her organs had shifted violently. A coppery taste rose in her throat. She curled in the stinking shadows reeking of disinfectant and decay, gasping for breath. Each inhalation brought searing pain; she could barely move.
Seconds later, the bathroom door upstairs burst open. Guards' wary shouts echoed: "Where is she?!"
Shen Wei clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling a cough. Struggling, almost crawling, she forced herself up. Staggering, she plunged into the deeper darkness of the alley. She had to leave. Now!
Starry Glory City's old district was like a massive, festering sore parasitic on the gleaming body of this international metropolis. The shadows cast by towering skyscrapers carved it into pockets of perpetual twilight. Narrow, twisted alleys formed a labyrinth. Overhead, a dense spiderweb of illegally strung wires hung with faded, dilapidated signs and perpetually damp laundry. The air reeked of backed-up sewers, cheap fried food, sweat masked by cheap perfume, and a bone-deep mustiness of rust, machine oil, and despair.
Shen Wei tightened the bloodstained blue work jacket, burying her face in the upturned collar, hunching her shoulders to blend into the chaotic stream of hurried or numb pedestrians. Her steps were unsteady, each one like treading on knives. The pain in her ribs left her face ashen, sweat dripping from her temples. Filth from the alley mixed with sweat, clinging stickily to her skin. Compared to the other weary, hollow-eyed workers in similar cheap clothes, her eyes – overly sharp, burning with hatred and vigilance even in the shadows – stood out starkly.
She needed a place. Somewhere absolutely safe, chaotic enough to hide her temporarily, yet where she could get information. A place the Shen family's hand couldn't easily reach… yet.
The sign for "Black Alley Net Cafe" hung crookedly over the entrance of a three-story building with peeling walls like mange. Most of the neon tubes were broken; only "Black" and "Cafe" flickered feebly in the gloom, buzzing with electrical noise. A few youths with rainbow-colored hair crouched by the door, smoking, their eyes vacant or challenging as they sized up passersby.
This was it. The old district's underground information hub, the nest of data cockroaches. Shen Wei took a deep breath of the foul air, suppressing nausea. Head down, she walked quickly past the scrutinizing eyes and pushed open the greasy, stained glass door.
An overwhelming miasma assaulted her – sweat, foot odor, cheap instant noodle seasoning, tobacco tar, and the overheated plastic-dust smell of countless old computers. The light was dim, only the flickering blue glow of computer screens illuminating faces young, addicted, or numb. The clatter of keyboards, mouse clicks, game sounds, and low curses wove a grating background hum.
Shen Wei's sharp gaze swept through the smoky haze, finally landing on the deepest corner, shrouded in the shadow of massive server racks. A barely-there "private booth" was partitioned off, a crooked "Under Repair" sign hanging on its makeshift door. A young man, thin as a rail in a faded oversized T-shirt, a messy bird's nest of black hair on his head, was curled in a battered swivel chair. His long legs were propped shamelessly on a table cluttered with electronic components and snack wrappers. An unlit lollipop stuck out of his mouth. His fingers flew across three upright monitors, typing so fast they blurred. Code cascaded down the screens in a dizzying waterfall.
Agui. The old district's notorious, yet most resourceful information broker and hacker. Rumor was no information was beyond his reach – if you could pay his price, whether in money or something more… "interesting."
Shen Wei walked straight over, ignoring the "Under Repair" sign, and pushed open the creaky, flimsy door.
"Hey! Said it's under repair! Blind?" Agui didn't look up, his voice raspy from perpetual sleeplessness and annoyance, fingers still dancing.
Shen Wei didn't speak. She walked to the cluttered table and slammed something down heavily onto the only small clean spot beside his keyboard.
It was the blood- and grime-smeared Starry Glory Central Hospital morgue ID badge. The name "Shen Wei" and her cold photo glared eerily under the monitors' blue light.
The typing stopped dead.
Agui froze, the lollipop dangling. Slowly, stiffly, he raised his head. Beneath the messy hair, bloodshot eyes – sharp and bright from constant screen-staring – locked onto Shen Wei through thick lenses like searchlights. His gaze swept the bloody badge, pupils contracting almost imperceptibly, then crawled inch by inch to her face, pale as death yet unnervingly calm.
The cafe's background noise seemed muted. In corners, figures seemingly engrossed in games slowed their typing fingers almost invisibly, peripheral glances flickering towards the server-shadowed corner. The cheap smoke hung heavy, charged with silent, icy scrutiny.
Agui straightened deliberately, his long legs scraping off the table. He extended a finger, nail-edge grimy, and cautiously pinched a corner of the badge. He held it up to the monitor's blue glow, examining it like an unearthed relic. His eyes narrowed behind the lenses.
"Tsk tsk tsk," he clicked his tongue, the lollipop clicking against his teeth. His voice held exaggerated, almost flippant astonishment. "Starry Central Morgue? Fresh 'employee photo'? Pretty unique onboarding ritual, comes with its own blood effects? Hardcore taste." He looked up, his gaze tangible on Shen Wei's face, probing for cracks in her calm facade. "Shen Wei? Name rings a bell… lemme think… Oh!" He slapped his thigh dramatically, a knowing smirk spreading. "The one making waves in the rich circles lately? The unlucky fake heiress the Shen family raised for fifteen years, kicked out the door the moment the real one came back, slapped with a 'thief' label?"
His voice wasn't loud, but in the artificially quiet corner, each word landed like a pebble in still water. The breaths of the watching figures seemed to quieten.
Shen Wei remained impassive, as if the trampled, discarded, slandered wretch he described was someone else. Her gaze pierced past the thick lenses, straight into the depths of Agui's eyes, which held mockery but also deep scrutiny and wariness.
"Seems your intel channels are stuck rummaging through the rich folks' gossip trash heap." Her voice was low, hoarse, edged with ice. Each syllable was a thin, sharp blade. "Didn't even dig up the headline scoop that the Shen family needed forged death certificates and hired killers to destroy the evidence just to clean up one 'discarded pawn'? Agui, is your encryption tech like Shen Hong's wig too – looks flashy, but underneath it's all flimsy silicone padding?"
"Pfft—cough cough cough!" Agui choked violently on the sudden, viciously precise analogy, the lollipop nearly flying out. He coughed, gaping at Shen Wei in disbelief. Forged death certificates? Hired killers to destroy the body? Fk… did the Shen family do that? Or was this woman who crawled out of the morgue insane?
The playful insolence vanished from his eyes behind the lenses, replaced instantly by a professional, icy assessment. He scanned her bloodstained jacket, her posture – pale and weak yet rigid as a drawn bowstring, radiating tension and power. And her wrist… His gaze lingered on her instinctive move to pull down her sleeve.
"Hah," Agui stopped coughing, repositioned the lollipop, and leaned forward, elbows on knees, closing the distance. His voice dropped lower, a snake-like hiss. "Interesting. Morgue sightseeing didn't scare the guts out of you, just poisoned your tongue? Miss Shen, you know how many Starry Glory coins I'd get selling a recording of what you just said to Shen Nian?" He made an exaggerated gesture.
"Then you'd better pray your recording gear is as reliable as your encryption." Shen Wei didn't back down, her gaze cold as iron, even challenging. "Otherwise, I guarantee the moment Shen Nian gets that tape, your 'accidental' copies of the city's public security database, those 'management fee' flows you 'conveniently' skimmed from charity funds, and those 'toys' stashed three levels down in the 'recycling center'… will all land together on the Anti-Hacking Division chief's desk. Think the Shen family would protect a 'data cockroach' who knows too much and can be easily pinned? Or would they rather crush you into paste as a scapegoat?"
Shen Wei's words were a rapid-fire barrage, each hitting Agui's most secret, fatal pressure points! Her past life had dealt with too many information security crises; she knew exactly what people like Agui, walking the grey line, feared most – not death threats, but exposure, severed income, dragged into the light!
Agui's face froze completely. The lollipop stick clenched tight between his teeth made a faint "crack." His eyes behind the lenses locked onto Shen Wei, churning with shock, suspicion, dread, and the fury of being utterly exposed. His fingers on his knees curled slightly.
This woman… How could she know?! Those things, he thought were airtight! Who was she? Just a Shen-discarded fake heiress? Or… a wolf in sheep's clothing?
The air in the corner solidified. The server racks' low hum sounded piercingly loud. The watchers subtly turned away, but their tense muscles betrayed their heightened alertness.
Seconds of deadlock.
"Hah… ha ha ha…" Agui suddenly burst out with short, dry, almost hysterical laughter, shattering the tension. He wiped imaginary tears (or sweat) from his eyes and slumped heavily back into the groaning chair.
"Alright, Miss Shen. You're ruthless." He took off his glasses, wiped them haphazardly on his shirt, and put them back on. When he looked at Shen Wei again, the flippancy was gone. Only the dangerous scrutiny of a worthy opponent remained… and a flicker of hard-to-spot interest. "Seems the morgue wasn't a waste. Yama give you an upgrade? Talk. What d'you wanna know? The Shen family's dirty laundry? Or that… unlucky-looking 'souvenir' on your wrist?" His gaze pointedly swept her clenched sleeve.
Shen Wei's heart lurched. He noticed! This Agui was indeed sharp!
She slowly released her sleeve, exposing her left wrist to the monitor's blue glow. The cold 1987-Ω brand, in the dim light, looked like an evil totem whispering ominous secrets.
"Everything." Shen Wei's voice was low, clear, resolute. "About the Shen family. About Shen Nian. About Zhou Min. About Shen Hong… And about this." She lifted her wrist; the brand gleamed with cold metal under the blue light. "Especially… the 'Cloud Summit 1987 Project.' Everything you know. I want it all."
"Cloud Summit 1987…" Agui chewed the words, his brow furrowing deeply, eyes turning grave. His fingers tapped unconsciously on the greasy table, "tap, tap," as if rapidly sifting through mental data fragments. "Tsk. That thing… waters deep enough to drown the Dragon King. Shen family guards it tighter than their ancestral graves. Outer firewalls crazier than Sky Tower security. Price ain't cheap, Miss Shen. Just crawled outta the morgue. Can you pay?"
"Whether I can pay is my concern." Shen Wei pulled the cold, unremarkable black USB drive from her jacket pocket and placed it gently on the table, sliding it towards Agui. "Down payment. This… might hold something the Shen family doesn't want seen." She offered no specifics. It was her only chip, her probe.
Agui's eyes flickered to the old USB drive. He didn't grab it immediately, but looked up, reassessing Shen Wei through his lenses, weighing her words and the drive's potential value.
Just then—
Crash!
The net cafe's already shaky glass door was violently kicked in! Shards exploded like hail!
"Freeze! Police! ID checks!" A rough bellow and trampling footsteps flooded in, shattering the cafe's din! Several men in black muscle shirts, thickly built and vicious-eyed, barged in. The bald leader waved… not any badge, but a heavy, gleaming metal pipe!
"Police"?!
Shen Wei's pupils contracted! The clumsy disguise didn't fool her! That look, those moves, the barely contained brutality – identical to the morgue thugs! Shen Nian's people! So fast! Hospital cameras caught her escape route? Or Shen spies in the old district?
The bald thug's ferocious gaze swept the smoky, moving crowd like a searchlight, instantly locking onto the server-shadowed corner – onto Shen Wei!
"There! Get the woman in the blue jacket!" The bald thug snarled, waving his men forward. Like three bloodthirsty hyenas, they shoved aside patrons, roughly knocking over chairs and tables, charging straight for her! Screens flickered; shouts and curses erupted!
Chaos engulfed the cafe! Players scrambled to dodge; chairs and tables crashed; keyboards and mice clattered to the floor!
Agui's face paled. "Fk! Sht luck!" he spat. Reacting lightning-fast, he snatched the black USB off the table and stuffed it into his pocket, fingers flying over the keyboard. His three screens instantly went black, all data vanishing.
"With me!" Agui sprang up, agile as a cat, nothing like the lazy gamer. He grabbed Shen Wei's wrist! His fingers were icy, grip surprisingly strong, brooking no refusal.
Shen Wei didn't resist. Amid the bald thug's snarl and the heavy footsteps of approaching death, the cold 1987 brand on her wrist seemed to pulse faintly with heat.
Agui pulled her, not towards the blocked main entrance, but spun her around and slammed her shoulder-first into the huge, humming server rack!
On the rack's side, a hidden metal panel, thick with dust, yielded to the impact with a soft click! A stronger wave of dust, ozone, and rust assaulted them. Inside was a narrow, steep metal staircase plunging into darkness below.
"Quick!" Agui roared, shoving Shen Wei through the opening!
Shen Wei stumbled down the steep steps. Behind her came the heavy thud of Agui slamming the panel shut, and the bald thug's furious roar: "Dammit! Don't let 'em get away! Block the door!"
Frantic, heavy blows and crashes hammered against the metal panel! It groaned under the assault.
Shen Wei steadied herself in the darkness, heart pounding wildly. She looked up. Through the gap around the panel, chaotic light from the cafe flickered. Agui was braced against the violently shaking panel, his face stripped of all pretense, etched with the ferocity of a cornered beast. He looked down, meeting Shen Wei's sharp gaze in the gloom. His lips twisted into a grin, savage in the fractured light. He mouthed silently:
"Go! Down!"
No hesitation. Shen Wei turned, groping for the cold metal railing, and fled deeper into the suffocating dark. Behind her: the pounding, the enraged shouts, Agui's strained grunts holding the door. Dust and rust filled the air, mingling with a faint, cold, eerie electronic hum.
She didn't know if she was running towards escape or a deeper trap. But the weak heat from the brand on her wrist seemed sharper in this darkness. The morgue's chill, the old district's killing intent, the heavy fog shrouding "1987"… There was no retreat.