Director Jin's Trap

This time, it took Zhu Yan a full five minutes to get the answer he wanted.

By then, Zhu Zeyu had already followed the guide’s instructions and registered for a dorm room at the front desk.

He was assigned to a six-person room. Besides him and Yang Zhanbai, the dorm housed three [Walking Corpses] and an old acquaintance, Guan En.

Yang Zhanbai excitedly dragged him off to collect their daily necessities, while Zhu Zeyu continued to look distracted, paying attention only to the [Fog] elsewhere.

…

“I’m sorry.” The Seer swallowed. “There are so many scenes. I can see the dungeon descending, and some people are terrified. It affects many places, and some of the scenes are blurry.”

“The timeline seems…”

The Seer pondered her wording.

“The timeline seems to be out of order. Right now, I can only see what happens after the dungeon descends, but I’m certain that he’ll tamper with the router and the control room.”

The [Fog] did not move, intending to listen a little longer.

Zhu Yan already understood most of the situation.

The Seer really could see quite a lot. Fortunately, Zhu Yan’s level was higher than hers, so she could not see the entire sequence of events clearly and coherently.

She thought the timeline was out of order because she had seen the “dungeon descend,” but had no way of determining whether it was a “real dungeon” or a “virtual dungeon.”

From Zhu Yan’s perspective, the Seer had most likely mistaken the “virtual dungeon” for a real one.

That was why she believed the “dungeon’s descent” was the result of Zhu Yan tampering with the control room.

In reality, the “dungeon’s descent” was merely a small smokescreen, and it had happened before Zhu Yan made his move against the control room.

Director Jin pursed his lips in displeasure without saying a word.

Jin Rongxu glanced at Director Jin’s expression and remained silent as well.

In the oppressive air, which seemed ready to solidify, the young Seer was clearly beginning to buckle.

Her pretty brows were knitted into a tight knot, and a crystalline bead of sweat rolled down her cheek.

After who knew how long, she finally gave up trying to observe further.

“I’m sorry, Director Jin,” the Seer said. “I’m sorry. This really is all I can see.”

“Please do as I said. In any case, defend the control room and… the router at all costs.”

Another terrifying silence descended.

In the end, Director Jin gave a slight nod.

The Seer finally let out a breath of relief and pushed open the door to leave. Her steps were much more unsteady than before, as though overusing her ability had drained her of all her energy.

“She’s useless too.” Jin Rongxu spoke coldly. “She was so vague, and the other side has so many cheats. How are we supposed to defend against them?”

He let out a cold laugh.

“Just that one ability, [Telekinesis], is enough for that bastard to do whatever he wants!”

Director Jin’s face darkened.

After a long while, the corners of his mouth slowly pulled back, and he began to chuckle under his breath.

“My nephew, when judging a person, don’t look at how many things they have. Look at what they want.”

“What do you mean?”

“He has [Telekinesis], [Bringing Glory to the Ancestors], and so many high-level weapons capable of killing you. Yet he’d rather suffer a little at your hands than take your life. Why do you think that is?”

Jin Rongxu fell into thought.

“Because there’s something on me that he still wants?”

“Exactly.” The muscles around Director Jin’s eyes drew taut. “I’m afraid his plan is much the same as ours. We want his abilities, and he wants yours.”

“What gives him the nerve?”

When Director Jin heard this, he turned around and fixed him with a sharp gaze.

“That isn’t important. What matters is that he wants your ability.”

Jin Rongxu fell silent, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead.

“If the dungeon really does descend, who do you think he’ll come looking for first?”

“…Me,” Jin Rongxu said quietly.

Director Jin smiled.

“Don’t show yourself for the next few days,” he said. “I’ll announce that you’re staying in a certain dormitory and spread this false information to a select few people.”

“Then I’m supposed to hide?” Jin Rongxu frowned. “If I don’t show up, will the [Hunter] believe it?”

Outside the window, Zhu Yan was dancing with an exaggerated side-to-side sway.

Believe it, believe it—believe my ass.

“He’s taken so many bone coins, so he’s had a glimpse of what our family is capable of. Even if you don’t show yourself now, he’ll only assume you’re hiding something from the public and engaging in some shady business.”

Director Jin stood with his hands behind his back, his expression somewhere between a cold smile and a bitter one of resignation.

“I’ll have that metal expert cooperate by coming and going from the fake dormitory. I’ll arrange a script for him.”

“Since the [Hunter] wants to use you as a target, we might as well use you as bait.”

Zhu Yan’s swaying dance turned into a three-part shimmy, and an eerie smile appeared at the corners of Zhu Zeyu’s mouth as well.

He waited and waited. Sure enough, Director Jin did not disappoint and said exactly what he wanted to hear.

“From this moment on, I’ll temporarily close the sanctuary’s entrance.”

“We’ve already seen everyone who has entered so far. They’re either military personnel or our own people.”

“The detector at the entrance also hasn’t detected any invisible life-form entering.”

Director Jin sighed.

“Go to the twenty-third basement level now. That was originally my suite, and it was also used to entertain guests.”

“It’s extremely well hidden, and almost no one knows about it. Even those who do know won’t have the necessary clearance, and the elevator won’t stop on the twenty-third floor.”

Zhu Yan was delighted.

The elevator would not stop on the twenty-third floor, but the [Fog] could slip into the elevator shaft and reach it.

If he could find a way to bring his earlier wild idea to life, this would be incredibly entertaining.

Jin Rongxu, however, suddenly changed the subject.

“I still think there’s something wrong with that Zhu Zeyu. I don’t know why. There are truly no flaws in any aspect of his behavior, but…”

“Zhu Zeyu won’t know where you are,” Director Jin interrupted. “Besides, if we follow the plan above, won’t it also give us a chance to investigate him?”

Jin Rongxu’s eyes lit up.

“What do you mean?”

“There are only so many people who know about this. If the [Hunter] really takes the bait and goes to that false location, wouldn’t it be much easier to investigate those people directly?”

…

The [Fog] clung to the window and waited.

Only after Jin Rongxu left alone and Director Jin finished making the call announcing the temporary closure of the sanctuary entrance—only after everything had been settled—did the [Fog] slowly turn around and drift downward.

His puppet, “Zhu Zeyu,” was still waiting for the elevator on the fifth floor with his luggage in hand.

If he moved quickly enough, he should be able to slip into the puppet’s body before the elevator arrived.

…

“Hey, want to go check out the cafeteria together?”

Yang Zhanbai tossed down his bulky luggage bag. As he swiftly made the bed, he extended the invitation to Zhu Zeyu.

Their dormitory was more cramped than Zhu Yan had imagined. It was tiny, with only two stainless-steel bunk beds—each one three tiers high—tightly bolted against the wall.

Fortunately, each level was spacious enough for an adult man to sit up normally.

“Him?” Guan En glanced at Zhu Zeyu. “He can’t go. Captain Zheng is waiting for him outside.”

“Zhu Zeyu, did you know about this?”

Zhu Zeyu was thinking about the 【Connector】, moving sluggishly as he made the bed.

He played dumb. “Know what?”

“Director Jin specifically requested you to go and provide close protection,” Guan En said. “Hurry up. I have to leave too—I’ll be out in the field for the next few days.”