Chapter 1: The Critical Point
The sound of a sharp slap echoed as several identification cards were thrown onto the cold iron table, scattering across it in a fan-like spread. Each card bore the same photograph, yet each was stamped with a different name.
Beneath the dim yellow light, Lin Mian lifted her eyes, her gaze fixed on the hand of the man across from her, who was holding the cards. His name was Qin Zhao'an, a senior investigator from the Port Anti-Smuggling Bureau, and his sharp, hawk-like eyes were locked onto her with intensity.
"Lin Mian — or whatever your real name is," his voice was low, firm, and unyielding. "Explain to me which of these identities is the real one."
Lin Mian didn't respond, but her fingertips involuntarily curled into tight fists. Her hands were shackled to the cold iron armrests of the chair, the cuffs leaving bruises around her wrists. Her heart hammered loudly in her chest, but she forced herself to appear calm, her face an impenetrable mask. The smell of disinfectant lingered heavily in the air, making it feel like the very atmosphere was suffocating her. The harsh light above seemed to pierce her eyes, beads of cold sweat trickling down her temple, but she maintained an air of detached indifference.
Qin Zhao'an waited several seconds for a response, but when none came, he let out a mocking laugh. He slapped the stack of identification cards back onto the table, scattering them further. "Names, nationalities, origins — you'd better speak up, or things will only get worse for you."
Lin Mian closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her thoughts. When she opened them again, her gaze was dark and steady, like ink. "I don't know what you're talking about," she answered, her voice rough, though she made every effort to control it.
"Still pretending?" Qin Zhao'an's eyes flashed with coldness as he stood up. He grabbed a file from the table, flipping through several pages. "Lin Mian, female, twenty-six years old, no legal record of entry into the country. Just last week, late at night, you attempted to sneak through the Feather Port with a fake ID, but we caught you red-handed." He slammed the file shut, his eyes narrowing as they bore into her. "This is not a place for lies."
Lin Mian felt her fingers tingle with a cold, numbing sensation. Every word he uttered seemed to inch closer and closer to her heart, each one a sharp needle. Yet, she forced herself to stay calm, her voice unwavering: "I'm not lying."
"Not lying?" Qin Zhao'an suddenly leaned forward, his hands pressed against the table as his voice dropped dangerously low. "Then what about these?" He gestured toward the table, where the identification cards and other items lay. "Six different IDs under different names, a satellite phone, and that passport of yours, which almost made it past us. What would a regular smuggler need all of this for?"
Lin Mian's pupils contracted briefly, but she quickly regained her composure. She knew better than to give him any signs of weakness. "The satellite phone isn't mine. I was just… helping someone carry goods through customs," she muttered, quickly inventing an excuse. "These IDs were for refugees. I didn't mean any harm."
The lie spilled out effortlessly, so much so that she almost convinced herself of its truth. But Qin Zhao'an wasn't buying it. "Refugees?" He repeated her words slowly, his voice cold and empty. "Interesting choice of words. Too bad we have evidence that you're no ordinary refugee."
Lin Mian's heart sank, and she felt a wave of panic rising in her chest. Evidence? She struggled to maintain her composure, but her fingertips were digging into her palms. Qin Zhao'an pulled several photos from the folder and slapped them down in front of her. The dim light cast harsh shadows, but Lin Mian could make out the images — they were screenshots from the port surveillance cameras. In one, her figure appeared in the vicinity of the warehouse area; in the next, the hallway was empty.
"You seem to have quite the talent for disappearing from surveillance," Qin Zhao'an said, his voice frigid. "Where did you go? Did you have help, or did you use some trick to get away?"
Lin Mian stared at the photos, a cold sweat creeping into her palms. This gap in surveillance footage was something she herself didn't know had been discovered, and now it was laid out in front of her as irrefutable evidence. Her heart almost leapt out of her chest, but on the surface, she only raised her head and met his cold gaze, responding with a calm voice, "I don't have any accomplices, and I don't know any tricks."
Qin Zhao'an stood up straight, looking down at her from above, his expression critical and calculating. He fell silent for a moment, his gaze never leaving hers. He took a few slow steps around the table, and then his voice rose once more. "No accomplices? So, you decided to take this risk alone? You make it sound so easy. But tell me, who's backing you up? Who gave you these fake IDs and this equipment? What organization are you working for?"
Lin Mian said nothing. She could feel the silence between them growing taut, like a rope pulled too tight. Qin Zhao'an clearly didn't like being met with this silence. He inhaled deeply, as though preparing for something. Suddenly, he pulled a chair from the side and sat down with a sharp movement, leaning toward her. His face was mere inches from hers.
"Not going to talk? Fine," he said, his voice soft but lethal. "I'll ask you again — who are you really? A spy? A mole for a smuggling ring? Or maybe a member of a terrorist organization?"
Lin Mian felt her throat go dry. She understood exactly what he was doing. Every question was designed to corner her, to force her to admit something — anything. But she couldn't admit to any of it. The only choice left to her was silence.
The interrogation room fell into a brief stillness. The faint hum of the overhead light was the only sound, and the shadows of the room stretched long across the floor. Qin Zhao'an continued to watch her without saying a word, his eyes cold and unblinking. Lin Mian lowered her gaze, trying to remain composed.
"I've told you everything I need to," she said finally, her voice steady but carrying an edge of finality.
As soon as the words left her mouth, Qin Zhao'an slammed his fist onto the table, his jaw clenched tight. The frustration in his eyes was palpable. "You'd better hope that everything you've said is the truth," he said, his voice low and menacing. "Because if it's not, you won't get another chance to explain yourself."
He straightened up and gave her one last look, his eyes sharp and unwavering. Without saying another word, he turned and walked toward the door, slamming it shut behind him. Just as the door clicked shut, there was a soft knock from outside. A young officer entered, offering a quick salute to Qin Zhao'an before speaking in a hushed tone and handing him a transparent evidence bag.
Lin Mian's heart leapt in her chest. She could make out what was inside the bag — several printed pages. Despite the distance, she immediately recognized the faint English words and redacted classification markings on them — it was the translation she had carefully hidden away.
Qin Zhao'an glanced at the evidence bag, his eyes narrowing. He gripped it tightly without a word. "Keep an eye on her," he ordered the young officer in a sharp voice before turning and leaving the room. The door slammed shut behind him.
The sound of the lock clicking into place echoed in the empty room. Lin Mian sat frozen, her eyes locked on the cold metal door, the weight of the situation pressing down on her chest. Her mind raced with a flood of thoughts, but she couldn't seem to make sense of them. The fragile hope she had been holding on to evaporated in that moment. Her heart beat heavily in her chest, and for the first time, she realized how truly trapped she was.
This translation has been carefully crafted to preserve the tension, atmosphere, and depth of the original text while maintaining a professional and fluid tone suitable for publication. If you have any further requests or adjustments, feel free to let me know!