In a cozy six-table restaurant, a group of police officers sat eating and drinking in silence. Occasionally, their gazes flicked toward Xiao Yang as he devoured his food, their expressions unreadable.
Nobody quite understood who Xiao Yang really was. Only the officers in the white uniform shirts knew his true role. A fresh graduate—not even a full-fledged officer—somehow involved in this major investigation? Was it normal? Was it right?
But after the three senior officers vouched for him publicly, everything suddenly seemed logical. Initially, some assumed Xiao Yang must be the child of someone important, brought in by coincidence or nepotism. But once he had astonished a room full of seasoned investigators with razor-sharp deductions, nobody could question him anymore.
Yet here he was, eating again.
They all knew there had to be a reason behind Xiao Yang's invitation. They wanted to figure out what exactly he was up to. But for the whole time, he said nothing—just kept eating. Everyone was baffled. Was he really just here to eat?
Xiao Yang finally looked up, meeting their puzzled gazes.
> "What are you staring at?"
He shrugged and smiled.
"Eat up—better fill your stomach, we still have work to do."
They exchanged glances.
"Is he… serious?"
Five minutes later, a tall figure entered the restaurant.
Every head followed her walk as she approached.
It was Chu Dongchan, dressed down in canvas sneakers, a white shirt, and jeans. The clean cut framed her stunning figure, revealing sleek curves under the casual attire. Her eyes—cold, confident, and unreadable—held everyone's attention.
She sat down beside Xiao Yang with effortless poise.
Just as you'd expect from a real war goddess—making an entrance with undeniable presence.
Xiao Yang quickly redirected his gaze back to his food.
> "Did you find anything?"
Her mayfly-like eyes narrowed.
She gave him a cold look.
> "Don't look at me like that."
He stared back, lips muffled by rice.
"Smart people—they notice they're being watched. Then they check. If you discover something, you don't lunge headfirst—you wait. You consult. Am I wrong?"
Chu Dongchan looked taken aback, staring at him as if she'd been stripped bare—exposed with no secrets left.
> "How many?"
Xiao Yang swallowed and sidled a glance at the iceberg beauty.
> "Just one," she said quietly.
"About 200 meters away. Very careful—clearly one of theirs."
> "Good."
He nodded, smacking his lips.
"That's probably your sentry."
A sentry or warning device—human or otherwise.
Move wrong, and you alert the enemy.
His deduction was accurate.
Somebody had been monitoring everyone at the Criminal Police Division. And not just monitoring—listening in.
He turned to Captain Liu sitting nearby.
> "Captain Liu, quick question: in the past six months, have there been any renovations, repairs, or maintenance—electrical, plumbing, structural work—anything like that in the division?"
Liu's face shifted. He nodded.
Xiao Yang was onto something.
Someone had used maintenance work as a cover to plant hidden devices.
> "They fixed… what?"
> Liu's expression grew dark.
"One of our surveillance cameras went down. It was quietly repaired. No one thought much of it."
He ground his teeth as the realization hit home—this wasn't Liu's fault. Even spies could bug a camera feed.
Satisfied with his explanation, Xiao Yang continued.
> "Second question: in the past six months, how many people were processed—either as suspects brought in or witnesses filing reports?"
Criminal division hubs handle dozens of major cases—murders, robberies, kidnappings, violence, economic crimes, drug crimes…
> "Dozens, at least," Liu responded quickly.
> "Pull the logs—find everyone who entered in that time: lobby, interview room, interrogation room, anywhere they came into contact with police."
Xiao Yang thought a moment.
> "But focus on people who entered and left again."
That was easily checked.
Most places keep footage 7–30 days. But police stations? They often keep recordings months or even permanently, for case review.
Xiao Yang took Liu's phone, connected to their internal network, and scanned recordings.
Six clips stood out—six visitors who fit the timeline and movement.
Four were actual suspects; two were civilians filing reports.
All had contact with officers, all had conversations.
He rewatched every clip—but saw nothing suspicious.
No one touched any officer. No passing of packages, no hint of anything.
So how did they slip the item onto a cop—under the camera?
He slapped his forehead.
> "If they're special operatives, they wouldn't do something that stupid in view of surveillance."
Setting the phone down, he asked Liu to assemble the involved officers.
Standing before them, Xiao Yang said:
> "Let's jog your memory—those times you talked with any of these six: did you physically touch them? Any handshakes, glove contacts, transferring objects…? Even indirect contact?"
The officers looked confused, confused, blank. They shook their heads.
But then—one officer's face shifted.
> "I remember..."
He sighed heavily.
"One of them said his phone had died. He asked to borrow my phone. Would that count?"
Everything went silent. The restaurant seemed to hold its breath.
Xiao Yang closed his eyes and exhaled a slow sigh of relief.
Got it. Finally!