For the next three days, Lin Xi took no action.
Like a patient hunter, she lurked in the shadows, observing every move, every habit, every departure and return time of her prey. Liu Dayong's daily routine was as precise as a clock—leaving home at 3 p.m., sitting in the mahjong parlor without joining a game, returning by 6 p.m., heading out again at 8 p.m. to wander through the old town's alleys, and getting back around 2 a.m.
But on the third night, his pattern changed.
At 9 p.m., instead of wandering the alleys as usual, Liu Dayong left the old town directly and headed toward the port. He walked quickly, glancing back frequently like someone afraid of being followed.
Lin Xi followed fifty meters behind him, dressed differently this time—in black track pants, a dark blue hoodie, her hair tied back and tucked into a baseball cap. From behind, she looked like a young woman out for a night jog, running slowly in Binhai City's damp evening breeze.
Liu Dayong didn't notice her.
He walked along the port's perimeter fence for about twenty minutes before stopping at a secluded side gate. Two men in black jackets stood guard there—stocky builds that suggested they were trained fighters. They exchanged a few words with Liu Dayong, then opened the gate to let him in.
Lin Xi didn't follow. Instead, she found a hidden spot in the freight parking lot across the way, crouching between two container trucks to watch the side gate through a pair of miniature binoculars.
The port was still busy at night. Giant gantry cranes moved across the sky, lifting and lowering containers with dull metallic thuds. Several ten-thousand-ton cargo ships were moored in the distance, their lights reflecting on the sea like strings of broken pearls.
Through the binoculars, Lin Xi's gaze fixed on the side gate. The two men in black were still there, smoking and talking in low voices. Their posture and vigilance spoke of professional training—not ordinary security guards, but armed personnel with proper instruction.
Liu Dayong stayed inside for forty minutes. When he emerged, he carried a brown paper envelope—bulging noticeably, clearly holding something substantial.
He tucked the envelope into his inner coat pocket and hurried back the way he'd come, his steps even faster this time, almost a run.
Lin Xi waited until he was far away before emerging from the parking lot. She didn't continue tailing him—she knew he'd go home, lock himself in his room, and cower in the corner like a frightened rat.
What she needed was what was inside that envelope.
But not tonight. Tonight, she'd only come to confirm one thing: Liu Dayong was still working for the organization, and he wasn't just a low-level informant in their intelligence network—he was directly involved in some kind of port-related transaction.
Those cargo manifests. Three years ago, she'd also been betrayed at the docks.
History was repeating itself.
Back at her rented room, Lin Xi didn't turn on the lights. She sat on the edge of the bed, sorting through her observations in the darkness. The port map appeared in her mind—the Seventh Dock, where she'd fallen into the sea three years ago; the location of the side gate, the number and positions of the men in black; Liu Dayong's demeanor and gait as he entered and exited.
All clues pointed to the same conclusion: the Ouroboros network in Binhai City hadn't disappeared—it was still operational. The port remained a key hub, and the containers labeled "medical equipment" still held contraband.
She needed to know what was in that envelope. But she couldn't risk alerting them. If she tried to steal it tonight, Liu Dayong would notice, the organization would be on guard, and all her carefully laid plans would be ruined.
Keep the line long to catch the big fish.
It was the first lesson she'd learned in the organization—and the most useful one Old Daddy had ever taught her.
Lin Xi closed her eyes, letting her thoughts drift into the depths of memory.
It was her first solo mission. She was eighteen, fresh out of all training courses, and had been summoned to Old Daddy's office.
"Jingzhe," he said, sitting behind his massive mahogany desk with a cigar in hand, his eyes holding the same look one might give a hunted animal. "Do you know what matters most in hunting?"
"Patience," she'd replied.
"No." He smiled, the expression blurry and distant through the smoke. "It's knowing when to strike and when not to. A true hunter doesn't kill prey with speed—they do it with waiting."
He handed her a file folder containing intelligence on an arms dealer.
"I want this man dead. But not now. I want you to tail him for a month first, record everything—where he goes, who he meets, what he does. Only then will you kill him."
"Why?"
"Because killing one person is easy. The hard part is destroying the entire network behind him. If you act now, his subordinates will flee, his superiors will be alerted, and his funding will be moved. You'll have killed just one man, but let an entire snake get away."
He stood up and walked to the window, his back to her.
"Keep the line long to catch the big fish. This is the last lesson you need to learn."
A month later, she'd not only killed the arms dealer but also dismantled his entire Southeast Asian network. After that mission, Old Daddy had awarded her a medal—a badge carved from a bullet casing, engraved with the character "Jing" (Startle).
She'd kept that badge until the day she fell into the sea, when it sank to the bottom of the East China Sea along with all her belongings.
Now, thinking back, the badge itself had been a mockery. He'd taught her to be patient so she could serve him better—but in the end, that lesson would become a weapon against him.
Lin Xi opened her eyes. The photos on the wall were blurry in the dark, but she knew exactly where each face was placed.
Liu Dayong was just bait. Scar Liu was the fishing line. And the "Messenger"—the core intelligence courier codenamed "Hawk"—was the first big fish she intended to catch.
She needed to use Liu Dayong to find Scar Liu, use Scar Liu to find the Messenger, use the Messenger to find Ghost. Layer by layer, like peeling an onion, until she reached the name at the very center—
Old Daddy.
But this would take time. It would take patience. It would require making the right choice at every step.
Tonight, the right choice was to wait.
Lin Xi pulled out an old notebook from under her mattress, flipped to a new page, and began recording her observations. Her handwriting was small and dense, like lines of ants crawling across the paper. Every detail was noted with precision—time, location, people, conversations, behavioral patterns, possible connections.
When she finished, she tucked the notebook back under the mattress, lay down, and closed her eyes.
Rain could be heard outside. The downpour had stopped, but water still dripped from the eaves—drop after drop, like some ancient timekeeper.
Lin Xi drifted off to sleep to the sound of dripping water. Her breathing was light, her body completely relaxed, like a beast curled up in its den. But her ears remained alert—any unusual sound would rouse her from sleep in a fraction of a second.
That was another lesson from Old Daddy. One she'd never forget.
Day Four
Liu Dayong didn't leave home. He locked himself in his rented room and didn't emerge all day.
Day Five
He went out, but instead of heading to the mahjong parlor, he went to the convenience store, bought a case of instant noodles and several bottles of water, then returned home.
Day Six
He left again, this time in the evening. He wandered through the old town's alleys for a long time, doubling back repeatedly as if checking for tails. Only after confirming he was "safe" did he turn into an alley Lin Xi had never seen him take before.
Lin Xi followed at a greater distance—about a hundred meters away. Today she wore a gray coat, blending into the twilight almost completely.
Liu Dayong stopped in front of an abandoned internet café. He glanced around, then pushed open the side door.
Lin Xi didn't approach. Instead, she circled to the back of the café and found a half-open window with broken glass and dust-covered frames. Listening closely, she could make out faint voices inside.
"Here's this month's list," Liu Dayong said, his voice dripping with obsequious flattery.
"Put it on the table," another voice replied—deep, hoarse, and carrying an air of unshakable authority.
Lin Xi's eyes narrowed slightly. She knew that voice—she'd heard it in that old town stairwell, behind the slightly open door on the fourth floor. It was Scar Liu.
"Brother Liu, about last month's payment..." Liu Dayong's voice grew even more servile.
"You'll get it all," Scar Liu said, a hint of impatience in his tone. "After this job is done, you'll be paid in full, plus interest. But remember—"
His voice dropped suddenly, turning dangerous.
"If I find out you've leaked anything, you know what'll happen."
"No! No! Never!" Liu Dayong's voice was almost a shriek. "I keep my mouth shut, you know that, Brother Liu!"
"Get out of here."
The side door opened and closed, and Liu Dayong's footsteps hurried away.
Lin Xi stayed still, crouching below the window and waiting. About five minutes later, she heard the scrape of a chair and then footsteps—Scar Liu was leaving.
She peeked out carefully and saw a middle-aged man emerge from the side door. He wore a dark jacket, had a stocky build, and walked with a slight limp in his right leg. A prominent scar ran from his left eyebrow to his cheekbone, like a centipede crawling across his face.
Scar Liu.
Lin Xi's pupils contracted slightly. She'd seen his face in photos, but in person he looked older—and more dangerous. His eyes were like a snake's, cold and watchful as they scanned every corner around him.
He didn't spot Lin Xi. He walked out of the alley at a steady, unhurried pace.
Once he was far enough away, Lin Xi climbed through the window into the café.
The place was in chaos. The computers had long been removed, leaving only a few worn tables and chairs; cigarette butts and empty bottles littered the floor. The air reeked of mildew and stale tobacco.
Her eyes landed on the table—the envelope Liu Dayong had brought was still there.
Lin Xi put on gloves, picked up the envelope, and opened it.
Inside were printed documents bearing the header "Binhai Port Group." She scanned them quickly, her heartbeat quickening slightly.
It was a detailed cargo manifest—dates, ship names, container numbers, cargo types, consignees—every piece of information clear and complete. On the surface, all were legitimate imports and exports: electronics, machinery, textiles. But Lin Xi noticed that several containers were marked with a special symbol—a small asterisk next to the cargo type.
She examined those marked containers closely. The cargo type was listed as "medical equipment," and the consignee was a biotech company registered in Binhai City.
Medical equipment.
Three years ago, she'd been lured into a trap over a shipment of "medical equipment" too.
Lin Xi photographed every page with her phone, then put the envelope back in place and climbed out the window.
Back at her room, she transferred the photos to her old phone, encrypted them with software, and sent them to Sompong.
The phone rang five minutes later.
"Where did you get what you sent?" Sompong's voice held a note of caution.
"Cargo manifests from the port. A few containers are marked; the consignee is a biotech company."
"I saw them." Sompong's keyboard clattered in the background. "I checked the company—on paper they sell medical devices, but their registered address is empty and the legal representative doesn't exist. A classic shell company."
"Can you find out where the containers are headed?"
"Give me some time." Sompong paused. "Lin Xi, this is serious. If those 'medical devices' are actually organs or something else, it means the Ouroboros network is still active in Binhai—and operating on a large scale."
"I know."
"What do you plan to do?"
Lin Xi was silent for a few seconds. Dog barks drifted up from the alley outside, and in the distance, the roar of a motorcycle echoed through the night.
"Keep the line long to catch the big fish," she said.
There was a pause on the other end, then Sompong let out a low laugh.
"That doesn't sound like something you'd say."
"Someone taught me," Lin Xi's voice was as calm as a frozen lake. "Now it's time to use it on him."
She hung up and walked to the wall, looking at the array of photos pinned there.
Liu Dayong's photo already had a red circle drawn around it. Now she drew a circle around Scar Liu's photo too, connecting the two with a red line.
That line represented Ouroboros's intelligence chain in Binhai City. Liu Dayong was the low-level informant, tasked with gathering information; Scar Liu was the middleman, responsible for compiling and relaying it. And above Scar Liu was an even higher tier—the Messenger codenamed "Hawk."
Lin Xi stepped back to look at the network taking shape on the wall. Each line was a node, each node a life.
She wouldn't act immediately. She'd let the chain keep running, let Liu Dayong keep passing intelligence, let Scar Liu keep reporting upward. She needed to know where the chain led, who was receiving the information, and who was pulling the strings behind the scenes.
Then, once she'd mapped out the entire network—
She'd burn it all to the ground.
Lin Xi looked away from the wall and walked to the window. The sealed panes let in no light, but she knew it was night outside. In Binhai City's darkness, the port blazed with lights, containers lifted and lowered by gantry cranes, while the marked "medical equipment" waited quietly inside some container.
She didn't know what those containers held. But she knew one thing—
Three years ago, she'd plunged into the deep sea because of a shipment of "medical equipment." Three years later, the same cargo, the same port, the same organization.
This time, she wouldn't be tricked.
This time, she was the hunter.
The dog barks outside fell silent. The motorcycle engine faded into the distance. The old town settled into late-night stillness, save for the steady drip of water from the eaves—drip, drip—like some ancient countdown.
Lin Xi lay back on the bed and closed her eyes.
In her mind, an even larger web was spreading out. Liu Dayong, Scar Liu, the Messenger, Ghost, Old Daddy—each name a node, each line a path. She'd follow those paths step by step toward the center.
It would take time. It would take patience. It would require making the right choice at every node.
But this time, she wasn't in a hurry.
She'd already waited three years. A few more days, weeks, or months meant nothing.
Keep the line long to catch the big fish.
It was the last lesson Old Daddy had taught her.
And now, it was time to return it to the teacher.