Siheyuan came through and sent Jia Zhang to prison

Later, we assigned someone to go with Jiang Hu and watched him go to Warehouse No. 3 on the outskirts of the city—a former abandoned food factory warehouse. He stayed inside for almost an hour before coming out. When he did, his bag was gone, his face was pale, his forehead was covered in sweat, and he looked quite nervous. His hands were even shaking when he got into the car.

He Feng tapped his fingers lightly on the table, making a rhythmic "tap-tap" sound, and pondered, "It seems they're exchanging something, and it's probably not something legal." He looked up at Zhao Lei, his eyes sharp as an eagle's, "Alright, you guys keep an eye on Jiang Hu. Also, add another person to the warehouse, on 24-hour shifts. Don't let anyone escape. Since Zhang Jie is so close to him, there must be some deep-seated interests involved; he'll slip up sooner or later. When they make their next transaction, don't bother asking for permission; just catch them red-handed, to avoid any complications."

"Understood, Director!" Zhao Lei nodded emphatically, carefully tucking the notebook back into his pocket as if it were a precious treasure, and then turned and quickly left the office—he had to hurry and arrange manpower; at this critical juncture, he couldn't afford to make any mistakes, otherwise, let alone solve the case, he might not even be able to keep his position.

The day passed quietly in a flurry of activity. The lights in the interrogation room flickered on and off, a thick stack of case files piled up, and the sky outside the window gradually darkened. The office lights came on one by one, casting long shadows on everyone. Around 7 p.m., He Feng had just finished compiling a report and rubbed his throbbing temples when Ma Xin walked in carrying two thermos cups, fine water droplets clinging to the sides. She had a gentle smile on her face: "Director He, are you done? My friend brewed some rice wine yesterday and asked me to bring some over for you to try. I thought we could have a couple of simple drinks, a little break from our busy schedules, to relax a bit."

Just as He Feng was about to agree, Ma Xin's cell phone on the table suddenly rang. It was an old-fashioned keypad ringtone, which sounded particularly clear in the quiet office. Ma Xin picked up the phone, glanced at it, her eyes flickered almost imperceptibly, and quickly walked to the window to answer it. With her back to He Feng, she whispered a few words, then simply hummed in agreement twice, saying "I know," before hurriedly hanging up.

He Feng looked at her, about to ask whose call it was, when Ma Xin turned around, her face showing some apology, her fingertips gently stroking the thermos: "He Feng, I'm really sorry, a friend just called and said that his child suddenly had a fever and there was no one to take care of him, so he insisted that I come over to help. We'll have to postpone our drinking session for another day. I'll treat you to a couple of drinks at a restaurant then."

He Feng didn't think much of it. Ma Xin was usually very sociable and had many friends, so it was normal for her to contact him urgently. He smiled, picked up his coat from the back of the chair, and said, "Okay, then I'll head back first. Don't overwork yourself after get off work. Get some rest. We can talk about it tomorrow at work. Your health is the most important thing."

Ma Xin nodded, watching He Feng leave the office. Only when the footsteps in the corridor gradually faded away did she turn around and sit back down at her desk. But instead of packing up to leave as He Feng had suggested, she opened the files on her desk, her gaze falling on the dense text, her eyes somewhat unfocused—what friends did she have to see? The phone call she'd just received was from the liaison officer codenamed "Night Falcon," who only said, "Same place, eight o'clock, new mission," and she knew she'd be working late again tonight.

Beneath the seemingly peaceful daily routine in this office lie countless untold missions. The lamplight cast a soft glow on Ma Xin's focused face. She took a deep breath and scribbled a line on a piece of paper: "Received, on time." Moonlight streamed through the blinds, casting dappled shadows on the documents, like silent symbols witnessing the hustle and bustle about to begin in the darkness. And she was just one of many who toiled in the shadows, silently guarding a corner of peace.

When Ma Xin pushed open the door of that familiar little restaurant, the glass wind chimes hanging on the door jingled, their crisp sound creating a brief silence in the slightly noisy street. The place looked like any ordinary eatery—the gleaming mahogany tables had worn smooth edges, the chair legs were wrapped in non-slip cloth, and a yellowed plastic menu hung on the wall, the words "Stir-fried Pork" and "Hot and Sour Shredded Potatoes" slightly blurred by cooking fumes. But only a few knew that this was their long-established secret hideout, and that beneath the owner's apron lay a secret identity.

The sizzling sound of stir-frying filled the kitchen, mingling with the aroma of scallions and ginger. The owner, wearing a faded blue apron, was busy at the stove. Hearing the door open, he peeked out. His greasy face initially held the usual politeness, but when he saw it was Ma Xin, his eyes flickered almost imperceptibly, like a pebble thrown into a deep pool, before returning to their usual calm. He casually wiped the grease off his hands with a rag, untied his apron, hung it on a hook, and quickly came out to greet her.

"You're here?" The boss lowered his voice, as if afraid of disturbing something. As he spoke, he quickly glanced outside the door to make sure no one was watching from behind the trees across the street or by the telephone pole at the corner before stepping aside to let her in. "I'm here to see you. I have something important to say in person."

Ma Xin went straight to her usual spot by the window and sat down. This was where she and He Feng had last met. The wood grain on the table had been polished smooth by countless people, and she could almost remember which cracks were new. She tapped the table unconsciously with her fingertips, the rhythm light but with a hint of wariness: "Just say what you have to say. I don't have much time; I have to go back to work in half an hour."

The boss pulled up a chair next to him and sat down, leaning forward slightly. His tone was heavy, as if a stone was pressing down on him: "Ma Xin, you should have heard about what happened at the coal mining bureau, right? They were investigating it a while ago, and it caused quite a stir. There was this guy named Zhang Jie, who used to be in the inspection department. He had a lot of information about us. He ran away during the chaos a few days ago, and his whereabouts are unknown now."

Ma Xin raised an eyebrow, her fingers pausing. "Zhang Jie? I know him. He's our informant, responsible for monitoring the collusion between coal mine owners and the bureau. He's run away? Did he defect or get discovered? Do we need to bring him back?"

The boss nodded, tapping his fingertips lightly on the table, making a soft "tap-tap" sound, like tapping on someone's heart: "Nine times out of ten, he's a defector. We can't keep this guy; keeping him is like keeping a ticking time bomb. If what he has falls into the hands of our rivals, or gets reported to higher-ups, we'll be in big trouble. It could destroy all our plans over there."