Provocation

Youcheng, an ordinary residential complex, late at night.

Several unmarked black SUVs glided silently into the complex like sharks in the night, parking around the target building.

The doors opened soundlessly. Bai Ye stepped out first, followed by several sharp, swift Special Affairs Bureau operatives. Hua Yin was among them—on the way over, Bai Ye had told him in an unquestionable tone to "follow and watch."

There were no sirens, no shouting, only the mournful wail of the night wind passing through the buildings.

Bai Ye made a gesture, and the operatives moved like droplets melting into the shadows, swiftly securing the building entrance, stairwell, and all possible escape routes above and below.

The entire operation was professional and efficient, carrying the distinctive style of the Special Affairs Bureau's Operations Department.

Hua Yin followed behind Bai Ye as they climbed the stairs.

Their footsteps had been deliberately softened, yet their heartbeats seemed amplified in the silence.

His gaze swept over the familiar yet unfamiliar corridor—he had visited Qing Wuyan's home a few times before, though not often. He had never imagined returning this way.

Target: Room 501.

Bai Ye stopped before the dark green security door. He neither rang the bell nor knocked.

He extended a finger, and an almost invisible pale-green vortex of wind gathered at its tip before lightly touching the keyhole.

A faint click sounded. The mechanism inside the lock seemed to turn beneath the twist of an invisible key.

The door opened a crack.

Bai Ye's eyes sharpened. He shoved the door open and rushed inside like lightning.

The operatives followed immediately, flooding in within seconds.

Hua Yin stepped into the apartment.

The resistance, panic, and even battle they had expected never came.

A dim floor lamp glowed in the living room. The television was on, playing a boring late-night shopping commercial at low volume.

The air carried an... overly ordinary domestic scent. There was even a lingering smell of food.

But two people sat on the sofa—Qing Wuyan's parents.

They sat side by side, their postures unnaturally rigid, their hollow eyes fixed on the television screen. Their faces bore no expression. They showed no reaction whatsoever to the uninvited group barging into their home; their eyes did not even shift.

They looked like two exquisite wax figures dressed in casual home clothes.

"Search!"

Bai Ye barked the order, his eyes sweeping across the living room like a hawk's. At the same time, he had already darted toward Qing Wuyan's bedroom like the wind.

The operatives quickly spread out, checking the other rooms, the balcony, and every possible hiding place.

Hua Yin stood where he was, watching the couple on the sofa as though their souls had been ripped away. A chill spread through his heart.

He knew Uncle Qing and Aunt Qing. They had once been warm, even somewhat talkative ordinary middle-aged people. They should never have looked like this.

Bai Ye emerged from the bedroom with a grim expression, holding an open, empty backpack. Inside were only a few high school textbooks and exam papers—no personal belongings, electronic devices, or anything suspicious.

The bedroom was excessively tidy, more like a hotel room than a home, as if someone cleaned it every day. It lacked any trace of life.

"Captain, no one in the other rooms."

"Nothing in the kitchen, bathroom, or balcony."

"There are only a few seasonal clothes in the wardrobe. Most of the space is empty."

"No items or traces related to supernatural power were found."

The reports were brief and clear. Every one of them struck the silent air—and Hua Yin's heart.

They had come up empty.

And the other side had cleaned up exceptionally thoroughly, as though they had never truly lived here.

Bai Ye walked over to Qing Wuyan's parents, crouched down, and carefully examined their pupils.

Then he extended both hands and lightly pressed an index finger against each of their foreheads.

An extremely fine, gentle strand of green spiritual power seeped into their foreheads like the thinnest probe.

A few seconds later, Bai Ye withdrew his hands. The coldness in his eyes deepened.

"Deep hypnosis."

"The technique is highly professional. Multiple layers of 'everyday life' disguise commands were woven into them, allowing them to maintain an outwardly normal routine, social interactions, and even respond to simple questions."

"But their core consciousness has been sealed away. They cannot react to genuinely significant external stimuli."

Bai Ye rose to his feet. His tone was calm, but grave. "This isn't violent destruction. It's meticulous 'weaving.'"

"It seems our 'psychologist' no longer needs this 'home' as cover. These two are merely props for maintaining the identity of 'Qing Wuyan.'"

"Can it be undone?" an operative asked quietly.

"Yes, but it will take time. Forcibly undoing it may also cause them some psychological damage, and they'll need follow-up care."

Bai Ye signaled to an operative beside him. "Contact the Medical Department. Have specialists come handle this. Move them carefully."

He walked to the window and looked out at the heavy night and the city skyline dotted with scattered lights. His back looked somewhat cold and rigid.

"He expected us to come."

Bai Ye did not turn around, but his voice reached everyone clearly. "Or rather, he simply doesn't care whether this 'home' is exposed."

"The identity of 'Qing Wuyan' may have already fulfilled its purpose for him. Or... it can be discarded and replaced at any time."

Hua Yin watched as the operatives carefully prepared to transfer Qing Wuyan's parents. Their hollow, numb faces were especially glaring beneath the lights.

He thought of Qing Wuyan at the beef noodle shop—or rather, the thing occupying Qing Wuyan's identity—and that radiant, enthusiastic smile. He thought of their past shoulder-to-shoulder walks through the school corridors, and Qing Wuyan's reminders to "take care of yourself"...

Everything had been wrapped in a carefully woven, sunlit shell of falsehood.

And beneath that shell lay deliberate approaches, the Heartworm within Lin Qingqiu that could be detonated at any moment, and surveillance and calculations hidden in the darkness.

Anger, the resentment of having been fooled, and an indescribable trace of sorrow churned within his chest.

Just then—

In the corner of the sofa, inside an inconspicuous fabric storage basket that Qing Wuyan's father usually used for his reading glasses and remote controls, an old Bluetooth receiver connected to the living room speakers, which had originally been in standby mode,

Its indicator light suddenly changed from red to blue and flickered faintly.

Then, through the speakers, a young male voice that had clearly been altered, carrying an electronic synthesized quality yet strangely retaining a familiar cadence, rang through the silent living room:

"Good evening, uninvited guests. Especially Commissioner Bai Ye, and... my dear good friend, Hua Yin."

The voice was not loud, but every operative instantly tensed. Weapons and abilities were poised to strike as sharp gazes swept toward the source.

Bai Ye spun around, his blade-like gaze shooting toward the Bluetooth receiver.

"Sorry for saying goodbye this way. It's a little rude."

The voice continued steadily, even with a hint of teasing. "The 'home' is yours. Sorry for the trouble, but please take care of Mom and Dad as well. After all, playing a good son is rather tiring."

"As for me..."

The voice paused. Even the synthesized effect could not conceal the deliberately revealed mockery that made one profoundly uncomfortable.

"The game has only just begun. I'm conveying the Doctor's greetings to all of you, though... he probably doesn't like being called that."

"Also, Hua Yin."

The voice suddenly called him by name, its false warmth almost unbearably thick. "Don't forget our promise. Next time, it's your treat."

As the words fell, the Bluetooth receiver's indicator light abruptly went dark. There was no further sound.

An operative hurried over to inspect it, then shook his head. "A one-time trigger device. It has no tracking value, and the source of the voice can't be traced."

Bai Ye's face was dark enough to drip water. This was more than a failed raid—it was a naked provocation overflowing with mockery.

Not only had the other side withdrawn calmly, he had even left behind a "farewell" and ridicule.

"Clear the scene. Seal every item for inspection."

Bai Ye gave the order, a storm suppressed in his voice.

He glanced at Hua Yin and found the young man pale, but his eyes were like blades tempered in fire, fixed directly on the now-defunct Bluetooth receiver.

Bai Ye walked over and patted his shoulder, not lightly.

"Remember this feeling. This is the real dark side. Let's go back."

Not long after Bai Ye and the others withdrew with Qing Wuyan's parents, elsewhere in the city, atop an abandoned water tank on a high-rise building, a lone figure stood silently in the night wind.

He wore an ordinary hooded sweatshirt, his back to the city's brilliant yet distant lights and his face turned toward the approximate direction of the Special Affairs Bureau building.

The night wind stirred the edge of his hood, faintly revealing the lower half of his face—a curve at the corner of his lips entirely unlike Qing Wuyan's sunny smile, filled instead with cold mockery and amusement.

He slowly raised his right hand and extended his middle finger toward the Special Affairs Bureau.

The gesture was unmistakable, full of undisguised contempt and provocation.

Yet strangely—

At almost the exact same moment,

In Harbor City, a thousand miles from Youcheng, a drunkard who had just staggered out of a bar's back alley swayed as he raised his middle finger toward the lighthouse of the Harbor City Special Affairs Bureau branch beneath the night sky.

In Rock Abyss City, which had once suffered a massive rat swarm attack, a homeless man standing at the edge of an old apartment rooftop expressionlessly raised his middle finger toward the conspicuous Special Affairs Bureau building in the center of the city.

In Yunmeng Marsh City, where the Ghost Mist Incident had occurred, a night fisherman suddenly threw down his rod, grinned toward the Special Affairs Bureau's lakeside outpost across the water, and raised his middle finger.

In every city where successful monster incursions or major impacts had once been officially recorded.

In different corners, people of different identities, ages, and genders—perhaps passersby, perhaps homeless people, perhaps employees still out late at night.

It was as if they were controlled by the same invisible strings. At the same instant, they made the exact same gesture: raising that middle finger, brimming with insult and provocation, toward their local Special Affairs Bureau branch.

Even the cold, mocking smiles on their lips, as though they were watching ants struggle, were identical.

Like a virus, synchronized malice bloomed soundlessly in the same second beneath the night skies of numerous scarred cities across the land.

Then, these "people" stiffly lowered their hands. Their gazes returned to being vacant, exhausted, or whatever state they had been in before, and they continued what they had been doing as if that eerie scene had never occurred.

Even if nearby surveillance cameras had caught it, it would only be seen as some bored person's or drunkard's crude gesture, swiftly drowned in the immense stream of everyday urban data.

Except for a very small number of senior Special Affairs Bureau analysts who happened to be simultaneously monitoring abnormal spiritual energy fluctuations and behavioral patterns in multiple cities, struggling to capture that trace of discordant "synchronization" amid the flood of information.

But at that moment, most people noticed nothing of the silent, widespread collective mockery.

Except its instigator.

Atop the Youcheng high-rise, the figure slowly lowered his hand and chuckled. The wind scattered his laughter.

"The Special Affairs Bureau found out... I should speed things up." He murmured as though reporting to someone who did not exist, or perhaps savoring the thrill of holding everyone in his palm.

"So next... which 'patient' should the Doctor's consultation be arranged for?"

He cast one final look toward the Special Affairs Bureau, turned around, and leaped away. His figure seemed to melt into the shadows, vanishing completely.

The night was still long.