After Lu Wenchuan went inside, the iron door did not close immediately.
That was not normal.
Fake Shen Cheng was in no hurry to cut off his retreat. Instead, he left the long maintenance corridor fully exposed to everyone's view. Twelve isolation bags remained along its sides. The people inside had their eyes open, their faces drained to a bluish pallor as they watched Lu Wenchuan enter through the doorway.
Xu Zhihan stood at the shaft opening, staring at the screen.
"One."
Lu Wenchuan paused, then continued forward.
He chuckled, his voice coming over the comms.
"You're actually counting."
Xu Zhihan said coldly, "Two."
Lu Wenchuan stopped wisecracking.
The maintenance corridor floor was slippery, with old cables scattered around his feet and red lines winding along the bases of the walls. Every time Lu Wenchuan took a step, the red lines lit up, as though probing his fate line. His right hand could not exert any strength, so he held the short knife in his left, its blade pointed down. Thunderfire stayed compressed against the blade without spreading outward.
At his sixth step, isolation bag thirteen on the left began to tighten.
The man inside gave a muffled cry as the white membrane on his face pressed into his skin again.
Xu Zhihan said, "Left side, number thirteen. The Black Buckle is behind the bag's opening."
Without stopping, Lu Wenchuan flicked his blade backward.
The Black Buckle snapped.
The bag loosened, and the Deputy Captain immediately operated the hauling rope to drag number thirteen out.
The Faceless Man stood at the end of the maintenance corridor without stopping them.
His blank face tilted slightly toward Xu Zhihan's position.
"You're getting better and better at working together."
Xu Zhihan counted to seven, his voice flat.
"Jealous?"
The Faceless Man fell silent