Many had called Nuocheng a strange place.
Unlike the sprawling metropolis of Wuxin, Nuocheng was compact—barely a third of its neighbor's size. Yet paradoxically, this modest coastal town boasted a bustling port. To call it a city was generous; it resembled more a seaside hamlet swallowed by warehouses.
Mu Yiming had initially questioned why their rendezvous was set here. Years ago, Nuocheng had been little more than a fishing enclave. Now, its concrete tentacles clawed across the shoreline, fueled by Lin Heyuan's whispered promises: *"Everything you need is here. The black markets thrive."*
Lin Heyuan himself remained an enigma. Mu Yiming had only met him once during the Hecheng incident, when the young researcher from Nuocheng joined the post-mutant investigation. To Mu Yiming, Lin had seemed ambitious—a kindred spirit chasing grand designs.
Zuo Lun, however, distrusted the man on principle. *Who stays decades in a backwater like Nuocheng while sourcing cutting-edge lab gear?* he mused. *No clean hands here.*
"We're here," Mu Yiming announced as their car crawled through Nuocheng's arteries. He dialed a number, the phone's glow etching shadows across his face.
While he spoke, Zuo Lun studied the surroundings: moss-eaten eaves, cobblestone alleys, and rusted cranes looming like skeletal sentinels. The architecture—a bastardized European port style—clashed with every city he'd known. Lanhai's sleek labs, Hecheng's industrial brutalism, even Wuxin's neon sprawl… none resembled this gothic labyrinth.
*What madman chooses this as a base?* Zuo Lun thought. The air itself felt claustrophobic, thick with salt and secrets.
"Turn right ahead," Mu Yiming ordered, snapping his phone shut. "Lin's waiting."
Lin Heyuan waved them toward a warehouse, his grin too bright for the gloom. After perfunctory greetings, he led them inside. The screech of rolling shutters revealed a cavernous space crammed with equipment—reactors, spectrometers, and the shimmering core of a phase converter.
Zuo Lun's breath hitched. For a heartbeat, he was back in Lanhai University's labs, the sterile scent of possibility in the air.
"Everything you requested," Lin spread his arms. "Now, next steps?"
Mu Yiming traced a gloved hand over the converter. "The other item. Did you acquire it?"
Lin's smile tightened. "Secured, yes. But it's… volatile. You sure you want to skip straight to Phase Four?"
Zuo Lun stiffened. *Phase Four*—the theoretical endgame, requiring data from three prior stages. Jumping ahead was insanity.
"No." Zuo Lun's voice cut the silence. "This isn't some video game. No data, no safeguards—you'll blow us all to hell."
Mu Yiming remained still, eyes locked on the machinery.
"Scientist, not demon hunter," Zuo Lun growled, storming out.
Lin sighed, dragging chairs into a tense circle. "He's not wrong, you know. Even with the… *help* arriving tomorrow."
"Help?" Zuo Lun scoffed later, surveying the so-called assistants—a ragtag crew of grad-school dropouts and black-market techs.
Over two days, they transformed the warehouse into a Frankenstein lab: exposed wiring, jury-rigged servers, and a lingering stench of mildew. Lin dubbed it "vintage Nuocheng chic." Zuo Lun thought it closer to a mad doctor's den from old horror flicks.
Mu Yiming vanished into a back room, emerging only for meals. When knocks went unanswered, Zuo Lun muttered Chen Chen's old verdict: *"The man's possessed."*
Unbeknownst to them, Mu Yiming's laptop glowed nightly with encrypted exchanges. Dr. Mufario Kroze's guidance flowed through the wires—revised equations, risk assessments, whispers of *"accelerated timelines."* Their bond, forged seven years ago at Lanhai University, had survived exile. Some claimed Mufario had gifted Mu Yiming forbidden research, sparking the rift with Chen Chen. Gossip, perhaps. Yet here, in this coastal purgatory, the old mentor's fingerprints lingered.
When Mu Yiming finally emerged, confidence radiated like a fever.
No explanations. No debates.
The countdown began.
Six months later, Nuocheng's port lit up the night sky.
Witnesses described a figure striding through the inferno—unscathed, unrecognizable. Not Mu Yiming, Zuo Lun, Lin, or any of the "help." Locals coined a name: *The Shadow of Nuocheng.*
But that…
That is a story for another year.