Observation and Lying Low

The maintenance team's warehouse was a haphazardly constructed shed made of sheet metal and asbestos tiles in the southwest corner of the park.

The room was filled with rusty tools, broken tables and chairs, tangled wires and network cables, several buckets of paint and thinner emitting a pungent odor, and parts salvaged from some scrapped equipment. The air was thick with the smell of rust, machine oil, and dust.

"Qingsong"—now his name is "A Mu," a silent man who came from the Guangxi border and is said to have worked in the plumbing and electrical industry on construction sites—squatted next to a pile of old wires, slowly wiping the jaws of a pair of pliers with a dirty rag. His movements were unhurried, his eyes focused on the pliers, as if the tool in his hand was the only important thing.

A security guard in a wrinkled uniform, with a rubber baton at his waist, leaned against the warehouse door, impatiently urging, "Hey, A Mu! Hurry up! Brother Bo said he needs to fix the lights in a few toilets in Block A today, they keep tripping the circuit breaker! Also, there's a security camera on the second floor of Block B that's crooked, go straighten it!"

"Okay, got it." Qingsong (A Mu) replied in a muffled voice without looking up, putting the cleaned pliers into a slightly worn canvas tool bag next to him. The bag also contained a screwdriver, a voltage tester, insulating tape, a bundle of new wire, and a small adjustable Wrench —it looked like the belongings of an ordinary electrician. But the order in which he organized his tools and the placement of them showed an unconscious, well-trained meticulousness.

He slung his tool bag over his shoulder, picked up an aluminum ladder leaning against the wall, and followed the security guard out of the warehouse. The morning sunlight was a bit dazzling, so he squinted to adjust to the light, and then, like everyone else working there, he lowered his head slightly, looking at the uneven cement ground beneath his feet, and followed the guard.

The park awoke to the daytime cacophony. In the distance, the "office area" building emitted a faint buzzing background noise, occasionally punctuated by the shouts of security guards from the dormitory area. Along the way, one could see groups of two or three "dog pushers" being escorted by security guards, their eyes glazed as they headed towards the "office area," and several other menial workers, like him, wearing vests of different colors (representing different jobs), bustling about.

Qingsong's steps were slow but steady. His eyes didn't dart around, but the peripheral vision in his eyes, like the most precise scanner, silently imprinted everything around him into his mind.

The wall is about four meters high, topped with a spiral barbed wire mesh that is electrified, and you can see the dark red warning lights on the old porcelain bottles. Some parts of the brick and stone structure of the wall have weathered and cracked. Near the northeast corner of the wall, there seems to be tall weeds growing and some construction waste piled up, creating a small blind spot.

Watchtowers: There was one at each of the four corners, constructed of steel pipes and wooden planks, about seven or eight meters high. As he passed the one on the east side, he glanced up slightly.

There was someone on the tower. A man in camouflage was leaning against the railing, smoking, with his gun casually resting to one side. His gaze was somewhat unfocused as he stared into the distance, not seriously watching the area below. The tower's structure looked quite old; the edges of the wooden planks were rotten, and the makeshift ladder for climbing was rusty.

The patrol team: a group of five, dressed in a motley collection of camouflage or dark clothing, carrying old-fashioned Type 56 assault rifles or AK-series rifles, strolled lazily along a dirt path worn into the inner side of the wall. Their formation was loose; some yawned as they walked, others looked at their phones, and the leader was grumbling in the local dialect, seemingly dissatisfied with the outcome of last night's gambling. They brushed past Qingsong and the security guard without giving them a second glance.

Internal Security Dormitory: A two-story prefabricated building with clotheslines strung up at the entrance, some unwashed clothes hanging there. Through the open door, you can see messy bunk beds inside, and vulgar posters pasted on the walls.

Next to the entrance was a small compartment enclosed by an iron fence. Through the gaps in the fence, you could see several green metal gun cabinets standing against the wall inside. The cabinet doors were locked with ordinary padlocks, and one of the gun cabinet doors wasn't even closed properly, revealing a section of the gun stock. A security guard was squatting by the door brushing his teeth, his mouth full of foam.

Main building: Located in the center of the park, it has three floors, white tiles on the exterior walls, security bars on the windows, and heavy curtains behind some windows.

Two guards, dressed in matching black combat uniforms, wearing sunglasses, and carrying relatively new automatic rifles, stood ramrod straight at the entrance, their sharp eyes scanning anyone who approached.

Two SUVs were parked to the side of the main building, one of which had a machine gun mounted on its hood. These eight men were completely different from the lazy patrols and watchtower guards; they exuded an aura of competence and menacing severity. This was the "General's" personal guard.

Qingsong followed the security guard to the so-called Block A, which was actually a dorm building with poor sanitation. The toilet lights were indeed faulty; the old-fashioned fluorescent light ballast hummed and flickered on and off. The security guard led him to the door, said "Hurry up and fix it," and went to the stairwell to smoke, clearly uninterested in the stinking toilet.

This was exactly what Qingsong needed. He set up the A-frame ladder, climbed up, and opened the access panel in the toilet ceiling. Dust and a musty smell rushed out. He turned on his headlamp (a regular miner's headlamp from his toolbox), first checking the bulb and ballast with practiced ease. At the same time, his right hand seemed to be groping casually in the dim space above him, his fingertips gently pressing on the side of a pre-selected, dusty beam.

A tiny, rice-grain-sized, dust-indistinguishable, adhesive camera was discreetly placed there. The lens angle was carefully calculated to cover a small section of the corridor leading to the toilet entrance and the stairwell. This camera had no wireless signal (making it easy to detect), only physical storage; he would later return under the pretext of "checking the wiring" to retrieve the memory card.

He deliberately dawdled for a while, fixed the light (actually just tightened the loose wire), then packed up his tools and went downstairs. The whole process was smooth and natural. When the security guard came back after finishing his cigarette, he saw the light was on, muttered "Not bad," and then led him to the next location.

The so-called "crooked surveillance camera" on the second floor of Block B is actually just a PTZ camera whose casing is loose and the lens is drooping. This surveillance point is located at a corner, offering a view of an important internal passageway and the side entrance of another building.

During the repair process, Qingsong, under the cover of adjusting the angle, quickly and discreetly filmed details of several key locations around him using a miniature pinhole camera (disguised as a button) hidden in his sleeve: the width of the passageway, the location of the fire door, the model of the lock on the side door of another building, and the specific orientation of another surveillance camera above.

Throughout the morning, he accompanied the security guard, fixing four or five minor malfunctions in different areas of the park. At each location, he acted like a skilled but taciturn electrician, quickly locating and resolving the problem, then quietly packing up his tools and leaving. But his brain and senses remained highly efficient, gathering all the seemingly fragmented information:

Where does the main power line connect from, its approximate route, and is there a backup generator (a diesel generator covered with a tarpaulin was found behind the warehouse).

The main incoming line for the network and telephone lines is located in a concrete block behind the main building (it's locked).

The passageways connecting the various buildings can be identified as follows: which are visible passageways, and which may have hidden back doors or passageways (for example, behind the kitchen, near the garbage collection point, where there is an inconspicuous indentation in the wall, and the electrical grid there seems to have a section of light dimmer than other areas, possibly indicating unstable voltage or damaged insulation).

The security guards' routines and moments of laxity: They like to gather at the dormitory entrance or the side of the canteen to smoke and chat before and after lunch and dinner; from 2 pm to 4 pm is the time when patrols and watchtower guards are most tired and their vigilance drops significantly; when changing shifts at 8 pm, the shifts handing over and the incoming shifts often get together to chat and laugh, creating a few minutes of downtime.

This information was rapidly integrated, layered, and labeled in his mind, forming an increasingly clear dynamic security topography map of the park.

At lunchtime, he was taken to the "piglet" canteen. The canteen was bustling with noise and smells. He took his meal—a stew with no discernible ingredients and two hard steamed buns—found a corner seat, and sat down to eat quietly. But amidst the noisy background, he tried to discern and filter out useful pieces of information.

"I heard two more escaped yesterday, but they were caught in the woods and beaten badly..."

"That place up north, it seems something happened; it was wiped out by the ' Alliance Army '..."

"The general has been in a bad mood these past few days, so be careful..."

"Those newcomers are pretty quick and efficient..."

As he was eating, a burly man wearing a greasy apron sat down opposite him with a bowl of food. He was from the kitchen, called "Old Shi," and was also new. The man looked honest and simple, with dark skin and large hands, like a kitchen helper who had been doing manual labor for years.

"Brother, electrician?" Old Shi grinned, revealing a set of teeth stained yellow by smoking, his accent carrying a hint of the border region between Yunnan and Guizhou.

"Mm." Qingsong nodded and continued eating his steamed bun.

"I'm a kitchen helper. This place is awful, the stove keeps having problems, the fire is unstable. Can your electrician fix it?" Old Shi complained, his voice not loud, but clear enough.

"Take a look. It could be the circuitry, or it could be the stove itself." Qingsong raised his eyes and quickly glanced at the other person. Although the disguise was excellent, the other person's posture was unconsciously straight, and the way he held the chopsticks was subtly different from ordinary people. It was "Black Stone," another agent who had infiltrated the kitchen.

"Oh. Then I'll ask you to come over and take a look another day." Black Stone picked at his food, glanced around casually, and said in a low voice, barely audible to the two of them:

"The kitchen has a back door, near the garbage dump. After 10 p. m., it's basically deserted, except for an old man who watches the garbage and sleeps soundly. It leads to the dent near the broken electric fence in the wall. The meals for the main building are delivered three times a day by a distant relative of one of the general's concubines, with a dedicated person and vehicle. We have no way of getting close to them."

Qingsong slowly chewed his steamed bun, and after a few seconds, responded in the same low voice, "East Watchtower, the ladder is rusty; behind the dormitory building in South District 3, there's a blind spot for surveillance, and lots of clutter. From 2 PM to 4 PM, the western patrol team likes to smoke and slack off behind the old warehouse."

The information was exchanged in two seemingly ordinary sentences. Neither of them looked at the other again, each burying themselves in their food, as if it had just been a casual chat between coworkers.

After finishing his meal, Qingsong put his food bowl in the recycling area, picked up his tool bag, and was then called by security to fix another minor problem in another area.

He walked in the park under the scorching afternoon sun, his shadow stretching short across the concrete. He seemed to be just another quiet, hardworking electrician, no different from the hundreds of numb or desperate figures in the park.

No one knew that the electrician's eyes, like a scalpel, had dissected the seemingly solid shell of this fortress of evil, finding its pulsating heartbeat and its most vulnerable joints.

He, and others who had infiltrated like him, were patiently waiting for the moment when their pulses would beat at their most erratic.