Chapter Two: The Struggle in the Bookstore

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2:00 a.m., Donghai Branch of the National Security Bureau, Data Intelligence Center.

A massive curved electronic screen silently played a segment of overseas surveillance footage, processed and grainy. The image trembled and blurred, and only dark silhouettes could be seen in a violent firefight inside an abandoned building.

The video ended in failure: the operation botched, the target escaped.

Xiao Ran stared, expressionless, at the blood-red words “Mission Assessment: Failure” on the screen. She was the only person in the entire command center. The light above her was parsimonious, casting a small halo that encased her, while everything else around her dissolved into icy darkness.

Here, it was so quiet she could hear her own heartbeat, mingled with the deep, ceaseless drone of the server racks’ fans.

She unconsciously raised her right thumb to rub the inside of her left wrist, tracing an old, pale pink scar that stood out starkly against her fair skin. It was a habit even she hadn’t noticed—one that appeared only when she was utterly exhausted or under immense pressure.

Messed up again.

A silent, self-mocking thought echoed in her mind.

She hadn’t directed this overseas operation, but she had been responsible for the intelligence analysis beforehand. The failed assessment report felt like a silent slap, landing squarely on her vaunted “absolute professionalism.”

She loathed failure.

More precisely: she feared it.

“Beep—beep—”

The encrypted red phone on her desk suddenly rang, its shrill electronic tone slicing through the dead stillness of the night.

Xiao Ran picked up the phone. She listened for three seconds, and a razor-sharp glint instantly flashed in her sleep-deprived eyes.

“The target has appeared?” Her voice regained its usual chill and crispness.

On the other end was her subordinate, Old K, the technical team leader. “Yes, Chief. That handler we’ve been tracking, the one linked to the ‘Huaxin Case’ short-selling funds, codename ‘Fisherman’—his phone signal just briefly switched on in a 24-hour bookstore in Huangpu District!”

“Address.” Xiao Ran spoke as she was already standing, strapping on the tactical gear draped over her chair.

“Fuxing East Road, ‘Ferry Old Bookstore.’”

Upon hearing the name, Xiao Ran’s hand paused imperceptibly as she fastened her tactical belt.

A scene flickered through her mind—afternoon sunshine, a lazy cat, the air heavy with the scent of old pages and coffee. It was the dream she kept deep within herself, smoky and imperfect, yet full of life.

Only a moment’s reverie, and her gaze steeled, hard as iron once more.

“Have Team B assemble at the designated location within five minutes and lock down all exits.” She strode toward the door, issuing commands in a cool, steady tone. “Team A on standby, ready to support at any moment.”

“Understood!” Old K replied. “Chief, should we have the assault team storm in directly? The target may be armed—it’s dangerous!”

Xiao Ran reached the armory door, took a state-of-the-art 9mm pistol from the wall, checked the magazine, chambered a round with practiced ease. The cold metal offered a sliver of reassurance.

“No.” Her voice was controlling, brooking no argument. “He’s just a small fish. Too much noise will alert the sharks behind him.”

She paused, looked into the mirror, retightened her neat ponytail, her eyes icy.

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“I’ll go myself.”

…

At 2:00 a.m., the “Ferry Old Bookstore” was a forgotten corner of the sleepless city.

Inside, the lighting was dim. Bookshelves soared to the ceiling, silent labyrinths slicing the limited space into a web of cramped passages. The air was indeed filled with the scent Xiao Ran had imagined—a blend of old pages and dust—but tonight, it pressed down on her with inexplicable heaviness.

The store stayed open all night because the proprietress lived upstairs in the loft with her autistic son. For the child, this near-empty, tranquil bookstore was his only safe harbor.

A woman in a beige trench coat and gold-rimmed glasses pushed open the creaking wooden door.

It was Xiao Ran, disguised as an ordinary white-collar worker.

She didn’t scan the room immediately. Instead, she walked straight to the bestsellers, picked up a book, and flipped through it absentmindedly, like any customer. Yet her peripheral vision, sharp as radar, swept silently across every corner, every face.

Her mind worked at a terrifying speed.

Behind the counter, a woman in her thirties dozed—clearly the owner. On a small cot beside the bar, a little boy in blue Ultraman pajamas clutched a battered Ultraman toy and quietly paged through a picture book.

Xiao Ran’s gaze lingered on the child half a second longer.

Finally, her eyes locked onto a figure at the deepest part of the store, near the fire exit.

A man in a black jacket and baseball cap stood with his back to her, pretending to read a thick history tome. His posture seemed relaxed, but the fingers resting on the shelf tapped erratically, revealing a nervous edge.

More crucially, at his feet was a half-open backpack, a signal jammer’s antenna jutting from the gap.

It was him—“Fisherman.”

Xiao Ran slowly closed her book and returned it to the shelf. Without disturbing anyone, she turned and walked toward another aisle, her steps light as a cat’s.

Between her and the target stood a row of towering shelves. She moved parallel, maintaining the barrier of mute books.

Between them, only a few silent shelves. But a silent psychological duel had already begun.

Xiao Ran could sense he’d noticed her, too. The man’s tapping fingers stilled.

He was waiting.

Waiting for her to make the first move.

A cold curve formed on Xiao Ran’s lips. Patience was her greatest weapon.

She stood there, as if genuinely considering a book.

One minute…

Two minutes…

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The oppressive silence was so thick it seemed to freeze the air.

At last, the handler codenamed “Fisherman” lost his nerve!

He hurled the book violently to the floor—a loud crash! Then, like a beast driven into a corner, he whirled and bolted for the fire exit!

“Go!” Xiao Ran’s voice rang coolly in every team member’s earpiece.

The B team, already lying in wait outside the shop and at the emergency exit, burst in at once.

“Don’t move! Police!”

“Fisherman’s” face went ashen. Seeing the exits blocked, he realized he had no way out.

Desperation made him reckless.

He didn’t surrender. Instead, he whipped a gleaming knife from his jacket!

But he didn’t charge at Xiao Ran or the police. Instead, he spun and, in a flash, lunged at the most defenseless, vulnerable target—

The little boy in Ultraman pajamas, lost in his own world.

“Careful!” Xiao Ran’s pupils contracted to pinpoints in that instant.

But it was too late.

“Fisherman” seized the child, pressing the sharp blade to his tender neck!

“Nobody move!” he screamed, hysterical, “Or I’ll kill him!”

The proprietress, shocked awake, saw the scene and let out a shrill scream before fainting on the spot.

The autistic boy seemed unable to comprehend what was happening. He neither cried nor shouted. Overcome by fear and unable to express himself, he made a harsh, asthmatic wheezing sound, clutching the battered Ultraman plush to his chest as if it were his last refuge.

That wheezing, like a rusty key, suddenly wrenched open a long-sealed door deep in Xiao Ran’s memory—a gateway to hell.

Buzz—

Her mind went utterly blank.

In that moment, time lost all meaning.