The main banquet hall had descended into chaos.
Just moments ago, Liu Yuan had sealed off the building. What had been a lively gathering of champagne glasses and laughter now turned into a crowded, noisy mob pressing against the exits, voices rising in a cacophony of complaints.
A woman in a crimson evening gown—Chang Jiu, the daughter of energy tycoon Chang San Ye—stood with her hands on her hips, arguing with the security personnel. "We're here to celebrate an anniversary, not rot in jail. My father's waiting for a video conference!"
Chang San Ye stood nearby, his face dark as thunder, silent but clearly displeased. As the head of Changping Capital, controlling hundreds of billions in assets, he was a man accustomed to deference.
Others chimed in. "Yeah, what's with this lockdown?" "We're not criminals—why can't we leave?"
Amid the uproar, Professor Qing Song stepped forward. Without raising his voice, he simply raised his hands, and the chaos miraculously stilled. Adjusting his glasses, he said, "Special circumstances. I understand the inconvenience, but to uncover the truth behind Elder Hong's death, we need a quick verification process." He pointed to the ceiling above the entrance. "There's a hidden scanning system that recorded everyone's gait, iris patterns, and bioelectromagnetic fields—unique identifiers, just like fingerprints. Once we run the backend checks, those who match will be free to go. Volunteers to assist are welcome."
That shut everyone up. Everyone knew Professor Qing Song's reputation—his so-called "hidden scanning system" sounded far-fetched, but no one dared doubt him.
Security quickly handed out tablets, guiding each person through iris scans and gait analysis. The process was swift, and within thirty minutes, all identities were confirmed—no issues.
Just as relief settled in, two guards dragged in a disheveled young man. Wearing a faded work jacket with patched pants, his hair a wild nest, reeking of alcohol, he staggered unsteadily, eyes half-lidded as if about to collapse.
"Liu, this kid sneaked in through the service entrance. No invitation, no record in the database!" one guard reported loudly.
Liu Yuan, already fuming, exploded. Grabbing the youth by his collar, he hoisted him up. "Spit it out. Did you do it? Did you kill Elder Hong?!"
The young man mumbled drunkenly, "The drink… that booze was amazing… better than the bootleg I bought in the alley…" Before he could finish, his head lolled sideways, and he passed out cold.
Liu Yuan's fist clenched, ready to strike—but Dugu Ming stepped in, grabbing his arm. "Liu, calm down. Look at his hand."
Liu Yuan looked down—and noticed tiny, charred-black spots on the youth's right thumb, resembling burn marks from either a cigarette or high-frequency current.
"Take him away. Secure him. Use electromagnetic cuffs. Lock him in the monitoring room's side chamber," Professor Qing Song ordered, his gaze lingering on the youth's face with unusual intensity.
As the guards moved to haul him off, a sharp click sounded. A metallic object—UFO-sized, silver-gray—dropped from the youth's jacket pocket. It emitted a beep, then lit up with a blinding red light.
"BOMB!" someone screamed.
Panic erupted. Guests scrambled backward, a businessman dropping his champagne glass in terror.
Dugu Ming reacted instantly—he kicked the object sideways, sending it skidding into a corner. Everyone held their breath… but nothing exploded.
Instead, the red light faded, replaced by a floating holographic countdown: **[00:59] [00:58] [00:57]…**
Then—BOOM.
The banquet hall's exits slammed shut as thick, ten-centimeter alloy blast doors thundered down, sealing every passage. A synthesized voice echoed directly in everyone's skulls:
"Game start. Find the 'key' within one hour. Fail, and the air circulation system will release modified VX nerve agent."
Silence fell, save for the ticking countdown and ragged breathing. Chang Jiu clutched her father's arm, her face pale as paper.
Then—flash. Flash. Flash.
Three blinding pulses of light, each followed by pitch darkness. When the lights returned, the "drunkard" was gone.
Vanished.
No trace remained except the hovering countdown, now a mocking death knell.
Liu Yuan and Professor Qing Song exchanged grim looks. Elder Hong's death wasn't the end—it was a setup. A trap.
Who was the drunkard? The killer? A pawn? Or… the only one who could break the game?
No answers. But one thing was certain: if they didn't find the "key" in sixty minutes, everyone here would die.
Chang Jiu dragged her personal assistant, Xia Xiang, into a corner. Xia, clad in black tactical gear (standard for the Chang family's security team), pulled out smart glasses. Data flooded the lenses.
"Miss, no nerve agent detected yet, but the blast doors are electromagnetically sealed. Our gear can't crack them."
Chang Jiu frowned at the spot where the drunkard had stood. "He faked being drunk, planted a timer bomb… what was his play?"
Suddenly—a commotion. Two men strode toward the monitoring room:
• Niu Zhen Tian, CEO of Tiger Security, a hulking brute wielding a blue-glowing stun baton.
• Ma Guo Jiang, president of Falcon Tech, shorter but vicious, his black knuckle dusters crackling with high-voltage arcs.
"The drunkard did this!" Niu bellowed, swinging his baton.
The drunkard—now upright, swaying but alert—dodged effortlessly. His elbow snapped downward, striking Niu's wrist precisely at the ulnar nerve groove. Niu howled as the baton clattered to the floor, his arm going limp.
Ma charged, slamming his electrified knuckles toward the drunkard's chest. The drunkard sidestepped, toe-stubbing Ma's knee—the peroneal nerve pressure point. Ma crumpled with a grunt.
Spectators watched in shock. This "drunk" fought like a martial artist, disabling opponents with surgical precision.
"STOP!"
Professor Qing Song's voice cut through the chaos. He approached, studying the drunkard's techniques. "Neural interference. Targeted strikes on motor nerve clusters to temporarily block signals."
Dr. Liu Qing added, eyes wide, "That's **'Golden Invulnerable'**'s signature style—the legendary security consultant who retired a decade ago!"
The drunkard straightened, rubbing his collar where Liu Yuan had gripped him. His drunken haze lifted slightly. "He was my teacher."
Silence.
Golden Invulnerable was a mythic figure. And this disheveled youth? His disciple.
Liu Yuan recalled something—Elder Hong's expression in the meditation room, that flicker of realization. Had he known? Known this man's identity?
The drunkard ignored the murmurs. He crouched beside the countdown hologram, tapping it. The timer sped up: **[00:45] [00:44]…**
"The key's not on me," he said, meeting Liu Yuan's and Qing Song's eyes. "But it's tied to Elder Hong's death. Remember the wooden beads in the meditation room?"
Liu Yuan's heart clenched. He'd forgotten the beads—still clutched in Hong's hand. He ordered an assistant to retrieve them.
The drunkard smiled faintly. "Name's Feng Chen. As for why I'm here…" His gaze darkened. "I came for an appointment. Three months ago, Elder Hong messaged my teacher: 'If something happens to me, send Feng Chen to Shanghai. He'll want something.'"
Turns out, Hong had foreseen his death.