The Fluorescent Agent's Deadpan Joke

Only the monotonous busy tone remained in the room, along with my own low, hoarse laughter that I could no longer hold back.

Fluorescent agent.

Five percent synthetic fluorescent agent.

Phased out three years ago.

Pay attention to the details.

He was still checking the details.

After I drove a pen through the head of a deputy secretary of the Provincial Political and Legal Affairs Commission, after I exposed a staggering web of corruption in blood and ink in that solemn conference room, he called to tell me the fluorescent agent content of the meeting paper was wrong.

This was just...

This was the coldest fucking joke I had ever heard in my life.

I doubled over laughing, my fingers clenching the phone until my knuckles turned white. Tears spilled uncontrollably-not from grief, but from some extreme, absurd exhilaration.

Ryuk did not laugh in the corner. He did not even make a sound. The shriveled, blackened apple core remained pinched in his enormous claws, but his crimson eyes stayed fixed on me without blinking. Something unreadable churned in them-no longer mockery, no longer curiosity, not even wariness, but a kind of... almost horrified scrutiny. As though he were watching a precision instrument slowly disintegrate, or... evolve.

I laughed for a long time, until my chest began to hurt. Only then did I slowly straighten and wipe the moisture from the corners of my eyes.

My breathing gradually steadied.

But inside my veins, that roaring blend of ice and fire did not stop. Instead, it burned fiercer, colder.

Pay attention to the details?

Fine.

Then I'll give you details.

A detail so perfect it leaves you unable to breathe, with nothing to do but nitpick in the most pathetic way possible.

The next target had to be a silent thunderclap. It had to happen at the most unlikely, most sacred time and place, where no desecration could be tolerated. The most complete exposure had to be achieved through the simplest, most unimpeachable means. Every one of his "detail checks" had to become a feeble, utterly laughable struggle.

The target... had to be a symbol. A symbol more deeply entrenched than Zhou Huaian, one that better represented a certain kind of "correctness." His death could not be bloody. It had to be... clean. A clean death that brought forth the filthiest truth.

My mind worked faster than ever, filtering through every piece of information. Zhou Huaian's death had detonated a nuclear bomb; the entire system was bound to descend into unprecedented purges and suspicion. At a time like this, who would step forward? Who would become the new "pillar of stability"? And who would be the next insider who needed to be "cleaned up"?

My gaze settled on one man.

Zheng Guodong. A renowned law professor, an expert receiving a special allowance, and a frequent consultant on major legislation, known for his "measured" views and his ability to "keep the bigger picture in mind." He was also... Zhou Huaian's close friend from university. The two had maintained close ties for decades and collaborated on numerous academic projects. An anonymous source claimed that the legal structure of Zhou Huaian's daughter's overseas foundation had originally been devised under Professor Zheng's guidance.

An academic authority. A legislative adviser. An immaculate public image.

The perfect symbol.

His death should take place in a sanctuary of knowledge. It should be filled with... ritual solemnity and purity.

I walked to the desk and once again opened the notebook that radiated an ominous aura. The pen tip was cold, steady as a rock.

[Zheng Guodong]

Cause of death: the price of truth. Time: tomorrow at three in the afternoon, in the Centennial Auditorium of the university where he teaches, at the climax of a special lecture on "The Spirit of the Rule of Law and Social Stability." Cause of death: sudden cardiac arrest (no external injuries). Before dying, he must publicly refute the central argument of his lecture, admit that he has spent years using his academic status to lend an appearance of legitimacy to the powerful, and explain in detail how he helped the Zhou Huaian family establish overseas money-laundering channels. Finally, in clear, unambiguous academic language, he must disclose the cloud storage address and password for the key evidence.

Location: university auditorium. Cause of death: cardiac arrest (consistent with the image of an academic titan "devoting himself to the very end"). Method: verbal confession (consistent with his identity as a scholar). Evidence: cloud storage address (consistent with the times).

Every detail fit his identity and the setting perfectly.

Let's see how you check the fluorescent agent this time!

At precisely three the following afternoon.

The Centennial Auditorium was packed. Students, professors, and reporters listened intently to the eminent scholar onstage. Professor Zheng Guodong had reached an impassioned point in his lecture, waving his arms as he explained how the rule of law ensured lasting peace and stability in society.

"...Therefore, we must resolutely uphold the dignity of the law. Any attempt to circumvent the law and seek privileges outside it is..."

His voice cut off.

His arm froze in midair.

His face instantly turned ashen, cold sweat streaming down.

He abruptly clutched his chest, swayed, and braced himself against the lectern.

A faint stir ran through the audience. Some thought the elderly professor had suddenly taken ill.

But the next moment, he raised his head and spoke into the microphone in an extremely steady, remarkably clear voice, nothing like someone suffering a heart attack.

"Everything I just said was a lie."

The audience fell instantly silent.

"The law is not dignity. It is a tool. A tool people like me use to whitewash the crimes of men like Zhou Huaian." His voice had no inflection, yet it carried a lethal penetrating force. "The consulting fees they transferred to me through Credit Suisse went through the offshore company I established in the Virgin Islands. The account number is..."

He began reciting a string of numbers, transfer routes, and dates.

"...Encrypted backups of all the original contracts and financial transaction records are stored in the cloud. The address is XXXXX, and the password is..."

He spoke extremely quickly, delivering an immense amount of information, yet everything was clearly organized, like the most precise database reading itself out automatically.

After his final word, all his strength seemed to drain away. His eyes closed, and he toppled backward, stiff as a board, crashing heavily onto the stage.

The alarm of a cardiac monitor shrilled out; only afterward did people learn that the university had prepared medical equipment in case of emergencies.

After several seconds of dead silence, the audience descended into uncontrollable chaos!

In my room, the screen showed chaotic footage leaked from the scene and a feed of information updating at a frantic pace.

Ryuk abruptly leaned forward, drawing a low breath that sounded as though his throat had been seized.

The phone rang.

It began in the fifth minute after the chaos erupted.

The ringtone was unlike anything before: an utterly monotonous beep, like a machine initializing.

I answered.

There was no silence.

The electronic voice spoke immediately, steady and cold, without the slightest fluctuation of human emotion-more machine-like than a machine.

"The cloud storage provider carried out a global upgrade to its key algorithm three weeks ago."

"The password you supplied was based on the old encryption system."

"Access denied."

"Next time..."

"Keep up with technological changes."

The call ended.

A busy tone.

I held the phone.

I stood in the center of the room.

Outside the window, the sun shone brightly.

I lowered my head.

I looked at the cheap disposable phone in my hand.

Then.

Slowly.

I raised it to my mouth.

Into the microphone of the disconnected phone, with nothing left but the busy tone.

In an exceptionally clear, calm voice.

I spoke softly.

"All right, mentor."

"I'll pay attention next time."

With that, I let go.

The phone fell onto the soft carpet, barely making a sound.

Keep up with technological changes?

Heh.

Mentor.

The way you check the details...

How pathetic.