Nine o'clock in the morning.
The sunlight slipped over the tops of the shelterbelt trees and slanted down onto the asphalt road leading to the foot of the mountain.
Wearing a black T-shirt, Fang Cheng hitched up the blue canvas shoulder bag on his left shoulder, hefted the heavy carry bag in his right hand, and stood before a wide wrought-iron gate.
On the marble pillar beside the gate hung a white plaque with black characters—"West Mountain Green Valley Sanatorium."
Letting his gaze pass over the imposing gate and the staggered buildings in the front yard, he could faintly see the stretching West Mountain Main Peak behind the sanatorium.
On the surface this place looked like a high-end convalescent club, but in fact it belonged to an important unit under the Special Search Team's logistics system.
Several guards with live ammunition stood outside the sentry booth, faces solemn, eyes sweeping warily over passing pedestrians and vehicles.
