Malfeasance

The echo of the gunshot still buzzed in his ears, but Liu Zheng’s pupils abruptly constricted, his gaze locking onto Lin Mo with an almost physical intensity.

Acting purely on instinct, his fingers moved in a near-spasmodic motion to eject the magazine. With a sharp tug on the bolt, a brass cartridge was flung into the air—only to be caught mid-flight.

He counted the bullets.

One was missing.

That meant the shot had been real—the bullet had indeed been fired.

Liu Zheng’s eyes slowly drifted back to Lin Mo’s chest. The fabric there was smooth and unblemished—no bullet hole, not even a singe from the gunpowder.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Liu Zheng muttered, his throat dry, voice hoarse. “I thought it was all about speed?”

He had expected to see someone fast enough to dodge bullets—not a monster who could take one head-on without flinching.

Lin Mo bent down, plucked the flattened, pancaked bullet from the floor, and tossed it onto the table with a soft clink.

“I was just quoting a classic line from Kung Fu Hustle,” he said casually.

“I have a protective talisman given to me by my master. You don’t need to worry—he can foresee far more than either of us could imagine.”

Now it was Liu Zheng’s turn to hesitate. He cautiously added, “Really?”

“Truth isn’t the point,” Lin Mo replied. “I just wanted you to know that I can protect myself—and that I’m stronger than all of you.”

There was nothing more Liu Zheng could say to that. Still, he pressed, “But I do hope the North Profound Immortal will intervene.”

Lin Mo waved him off. “Enough. My master is wise beyond measure. How do you know this isn’t exactly what he foresaw?”

In those few words, Liu Zheng pieced together the image of an unfathomably powerful figure.

Even Chunzhenzi, one of the strongest in the Yangcheng branch, had been effortlessly subdued by the North Profound Immortal.

And during the incident involving the curse magic, the Immortal had dismantled the hexes with ease.

From what Shouzhen had said, even Chunzhenzi could only seal the curses temporarily before removing them—nothing like the North Profound Immortal’s direct resolution.

“Then… we’ll leave it at that,” Liu Zheng conceded. “If the North Profound Immortal makes a decision, please inform me immediately.”

With that, he collected the deformed bullet and the spent casing from the floor.

Lin Mo didn’t bother seeing him out, merely giving another dismissive wave.

“Safe travels.”

—System: Imagination is powerful, but what if reality is even stronger?—

Yangcheng Branch, Awakened China. Interrogation Room.

The harsh overhead light left no shadow untouched. Chen Lai’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the worn, frayed edges of the documents before him.

In stark contrast to his agitation, the man across the table—gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose—exuded nothing but calm.

Dong Lingjun leisurely skimmed the tea leaves from his cup, took a sip, and let the steam fog his lenses, obscuring his gaze.

“Saying the Pengcheng branch suffered heavy losses would be an understatement,” he remarked. “The key figure overseeing customs defense is dead. The trail ends there—completely severed.”

He set the cup down with a soft click that resonated like a hammer in Chen Lai’s chest.

“A mess of an investigation. The special task force from Tianjing won’t be as patient as we are, Director Chen. If you know something, now’s the time to talk.”

His tone was almost mocking, as if discussing some trivial gossip, wholly indifferent to Chen Lai’s darkening expression.

Pengcheng, a special economic zone, had always operated independently from the rest of Guangdong, its budget dwarfing the combined allocations of every other city in the province.

That privilege had bred arrogance—and years of unspoken rivalry between the two branches.

The city siphoned resources and talent from its neighbors.

For years, the Pengcheng branch had dominated Yangcheng.

Even when Pengcheng demanded personnel, Yangcheng had no choice but to comply.

Chen Lai’s neck stiffened, his voice gravelly. “The task force will ask the same question: Why did your Yangcheng support team vanish at the critical moment?”

“No need for your concern, Director Chen.” Dong Lingjun adjusted his glasses, the lenses reflecting the light like twin discs of ice.

“My people are prepared for scrutiny. After all, they left strictly under orders—basic discipline.”

Chen Lai slammed his palms on the table, his chair screeching as it skidded back.

“Dong Lingjun! I said it before, and I’ll say it again—I never gave that order!”

Unfazed, Dong Lingjun almost seemed amused. He slid a file to the center of the table.

“Whether you gave the order or not isn’t up for debate. But the command my team received? It came directly from Pengcheng’s encrypted internal channel.”

Leaning forward, his voice dropped to a serpent’s whisper.

“Director Chen, even now, you refuse to admit that your Pengcheng branch is rotten to the core?”

The words doused Chen Lai’s fury in ice, leaving only a bone-deep chill.

He slumped back into his chair.

Ten years.

Ten years since he’d left Tianjing for this southern coastal city, dedicating himself tirelessly, never once slacking.

And in a single night, the Ning Family’s branch was annihilated. His elite teams had been wiped out in their own safe houses. A decade of effort—gone.

His career was over.

After a long silence, Chen Lai bowed his head, exhaustion weighing his words.

“Let the task force come. I’ve done nothing wrong—I’m not afraid of an investigation.”

Dong Lingjun finally stood, looking down at him with cold detachment.

“This isn’t about what you fear. Pengcheng’s body count is too high. This case will be dug into until there’s nothing left.”

“As director, if all you can say is ‘I don’t know’ or ‘I didn’t order it,’ how do you think Tianjing will take it?”

“Will they see incompetence? Or will they assume you’re shielding the real traitor?”

Straightening his immaculate collar, Dong Lingjun cast one last glance at the broken man before him.

“To them, incompetence and complicity are one and the same.”

With that, he turned and walked out without looking back.

The heavy iron door swung shut behind him, the lock clicking with finality, sealing Chen Lai inside the sterile, unforgiving light.

Once outside, Dong Lingjun returned to his office and picked up the landline, dialing a number.

“Still no trace of Pengcheng’s Summer Solstice Team? Or that squad with the mind-diving ability?”

After a pause, he sighed and hung up.

Pengcheng’s personnel had been exceptional—those with mind-diving abilities were rare as phoenix feathers.

A shame they’d disappeared too.

Otherwise, one dive into Chen Lai’s mind would have forced the truth out, no matter how stubborn he was.