It was long past clock-out time inside the Central Government Building, yet every department buzzed at full throttle. Not even Intelligence Division Nine was spared.
It had all started earlier that morning after the urgent conference convened by Madam President. Very few staff members knew the underlying truth, but one look at their superiors’ grim faces signaled a storm brewing. Tension hung thick in the air, keeping everyone glued to their desks.
Even Section Chief Liao Yi’an of Intelligence Division Nine—a man who loathed atavists and wished every last one of them would drop dead—looked thoroughly shaken after the meeting. He paced back and forth, mumbling under his breath, “How could this happen? How is that possible? Was the Qiu Family massacre twenty-three years ago really not Qiu Fa’s doing?”
Liao Yi’an despised all atavists equally, including Qiu Fa. Like many others, he had long refused to believe Qiu Fa’s rampage wasn’t to blame for his family’s annihilation. Otherwise, why was Qiu Fa the sole survivor? Why hadn’t a single person among the powerful Qiu Clan called the authorities or tried to escape that night?
Unless an unknown force had wiped out the White Tiger Atavists in a single instant, the only plausible explanation was that the culprit was someone the family held most dear—someone they hesitated to report or flee from in order to protect him. An instant wipeout seemed impossible, making Qiu Fa the prime suspect.
Yet now, someone was actually capable of killing Qiu Fa?
The impossible first theory suddenly gained weight.
Liao Yi’an wasn’t the only one in this state of shock. Every attendee who learned of the Information Broker’s prophecy regarding Qiu Fa’s impending death felt the same chill.
Over the years, they had formed a terrifyingly clear picture of Qiu Fa’s raw power. He surpassed every ancestor in the Qiu Clan’s thousand-year history, standing as the undisputed titan of Hualan—and quite possibly the strongest combatant on Earth.
“Remember five years ago? When that famous Number One from our neighboring country turned traitor? Their military fired twenty intercontinental atavist missiles and spent over fifty billion across a full month, yet failed to kill him. Desperate, they sought our help. Madam President dispatched Qiu Fa, and in under three days, the traitor was dead.”
That was the moment everyone realized Qiu Fa’s strength defied imagination. Even at identical levels of atavist purity within the same species, a vast gap in combat prowess existed. More importantly, every record showed that Qiu Fa grew stronger the fiercer his opponent became—a warrior born for slaughter.
Granted, government-affiliated atavists rarely fought each other in full-scale battles; two nuclear titans clashing would spark global panic. Thus, an official international ranking was impossible.
Still, Qiu Fa’s position as Hualan’s absolute combat ceiling was beyond doubt. How could the organization possibly eliminate him? And within a single day?
Cold sweat drenched their backs at the thought. Desperate for answers, they buried themselves in mountains of files concerning the illegal organization. Following the recent retaliation from the Tao Family triggered by the Liu Yin incident, the organization’s network across Yunjin Prefecture had collapsed. The Tao Family’s vengeance didn’t stop there—it had spread to other prefectures, resulting in daily arrests and an overwhelming flood of intelligence for the government to process.
The raw data was messy and vast: confiscated phones and computers, interrogation records, witness statements from friends and family. Because every operative had their core memories wiped upon capture, much of the information lacked context and mixed truth with falsehood.
Sorting through this chaos to piece together a coherent picture demanded immense effort. Their immediate focus was uncovering the exact method the organization planned to use against Qiu Fa.
“Madam President, look at this!” The Cabinet Secretary rushed into the President’s office, holding a thick folder.
Madam President put on her glasses and flipped through the document.
“This is a ledger recovered from a subsidiary unit run by Miss Hong—the Atavist Genetics Control Organization. Back when our auditors examined the accounts inside the spatial bubble, one inspector vanished. We suspected he was either an insider or silenced after discovering something, but lacked proof.”
The ledger resembled standard accounting records, listing research investments, profits, and fund transfers. Project names were masked using plain numbers.
“However, a traitor arrested yesterday confessed to murdering his colleague. The exact ledger the victim had been analyzing was this one.”
The inspector had spotted a subtle anomaly hidden within dense columns of figures, coming within an inch of the truth before his traitorous coworker struck him dead, shoved his body into an industrial meat grinder, and fed him to crocodiles.
Madam President’s sharp eyes scanned the ledger, her brow furrowing. “Project Code Nine has existed since the organization’s inception. Every single dime of profit generated across all other projects was funneled directly into this one, without a single cent returned to investors.”
From their current intelligence, the organization relied heavily on shareholder investments. Yet no investors in history poured hundreds of years of capital into a black hole without seeking financial returns—unless money was never their goal.
In Hualan’s cultural heritage, “nine” represented the absolute peak, signifying supreme importance. This project was the ultimate reason the organization was founded and maintained to this day.
The Cabinet Secretary nodded. “We also traced the project’s original bank account. It was registered in Yongle City.”
Madam President snapped her head up. “Yongle City?”
Yongle City was the historical name of Nevergone District.
Just then, Madam President’s phone rang. It was Qiu Fa.
Her face drained of color as she stood up abruptly.
Jing Pei’s heart hammered in her chest as a strange wave of dread washed over her.
“Miss Long.” An officer’s voice snapped her back to reality.
Jing Pei blinked, pulling her gaze away from the far end of the congested traffic lane to face the arriving police officers and medical personnel.
With emergency teams on site, her presence was no longer needed. She dialed Qiu Fa’s number, but the call failed to connect, deepening her unease. The rain-slicked road grew even more clogged due to the pileup. Covered in grime and soaked to the bone, she abandoned the scene and ran on foot toward Qiu Fa’s apartment.
Soaked and pale, she rang his doorbell repeatedly, but no one answered.
A text from Wen Yuxian confirmed that Qiu Fa wasn’t at the Tribunal Division, nor was there any record of him going on field duty. He had clocked out for the day.
Replaying the evening’s events in her mind, she remembered how her veteran driver had sworn this route would be clear, only for them to get trapped in an endless gridlock caused by a massive accident… Her eyes narrowed into a sharp glare as she made another phone call.
“Initial findings show the pileup wasn’t caused by atavist power. No energy ripples were detected in any of the drivers involved. But the circumstances are deeply bizarre. Nine out of the ten drivers claimed their minds suddenly went blank before swerving violently, while the last couldn’t even explain why he took this route in the first place. They’re all overcome with remorse…”
In low-visibility weather, compounded by heavy traffic, dinner-time hunger, and sudden mental lapses, the chain-reaction crash had unfolded naturally.
Hearing that human error—not atavist intervention—had caused the accident made Jing Pei’s expression darken even further.
Jing Pei dialed one final number.
The call connected after a dozen seconds.
“Madam President, where is Qiu Fa right now?”
A moment of heavy silence hung over the line before the President spoke. “Why don’t you ask the Information Broker you know so well?”
Background noise filtered through the speaker—rushed footsteps, muffled orders dispatching troops, and reports of missile transports being prepared.
The acrid scent of imminent warfare reached her through the receiver.
Jing Pei gripped her phone tightly. “Did he go home?”
After a long pause, the President answered solemnly, “Yes.”
Her terrifying suspicion was confirmed. Qiu Fa’s day of death had been moved forward. To eliminate him, that rebellious Plot had personally intervened. Tonight’s traffic jam and accident were engineered specifically to keep her away.
Unlike the congested city center, the coastal periphery of Yunjin Prefecture was sparse, populated only by a few fishing villages where the white tiger atavists of the Qiu Clan loved the ocean and its fish. Once on the highway, the road was completely clear.
A strange sense of dread gripped the taxi driver. It felt as though a spectral voice from the netherworld was urging him to step on the gas, lest sinister spirits claim his soul. Cold sweat soaked his shirt as he floored the accelerator, oblivious to the mountain of speeding tickets or license points he was racking up.
Tearing through the torrential rain and freezing night, Qiu Fa returned home for the first time in over two decades.
The location given in the phone call was his ancestral estate.
Stepping through the gates, memories flooded his mind. Treading across fragments of the past, he walked into the gruesome scene of massacre and found the old man waiting among the ruins.
Old Lei smiled, bowing slightly with the impeccable grace of a head butler. “Welcome home, Young Master.”
In an instant, Qiu Fa recognized the face in his memory fragments—a face from twenty years ago.
He remembered this man always wearing a crisp suit, greeting them as they returned home, humble yet dignified. He managed the household with flawless precision, once carried little Qiu Fa on his shoulders to pick bayberries from the trees, fished beside him at the lake, and splashed in puddles together…
“So it was you,” Qiu Fa said softly, his voice devoid of warmth.
Old Lei stared at his face, a tinge of disappointment in his eyes. “I expected you to look a bit more surprised. A hint of betrayal would have been nice.”
“You seem disappointed,” Qiu Fa replied coldly, his face expressionless.
Old Lei had forgotten the environment Qiu Fa grew up in. What kind of betrayal hadn’t he witnessed? Learning that Old Lei was the family traitor was hardly a surprise.
“Back then, if the Family Head hadn’t rescued me from the sea, I would have ended up in the belly of a fish. I was deeply grateful, so I worked tirelessly for your family for ten years to repay that debt before acting,” Old Lei said with fake sincerity, watching Qiu Fa’s face closely, hoping to catch a crack in the stoic expression that so closely resembled his father’s.
Yet Qiu Fa remained stoic, his handsome face unreadable. “Continue.”
Old Lei continued, “Shortly after you were imprisoned, I returned to my hometown. Now I have grandchildren, plenty of food and clothing, and the villagers respect me. I’m living out my golden years. You know my hometown—Lei Village nearby.”
“Continue.”
Old Lei gritted his teeth, slightly irked by Qiu Fa’s calm. Then he smiled. “Very well. I will keep my promise and tell you how the Qiu Family was wiped out. But know this—once you hear the truth, your time will be up.”
Old Lei guessed that the government was urgently deploying forces, refusing to watch Qiu Fa walk into his death. But it was useless. It was too late. From the moment Qiu Fa stepped into this estate, he was destined never to leave—just like his family before him.
