Zhuang Tongfang felt somewhat uneasy as soon as he arrived at work today.

Since participating in Cloud Shadow Society's "Shadow Project," he has recently felt like he has thorns in his back.

An inexplicable crisis seems to be quietly approaching...

The first task of the "Shadow Project" was to use his position and influence in the police force to quickly establish Lin Dong's guilt.

This matter would normally have been a simple favor for him, but just now, he received some information from a high-ranking official in the department:

The authorities suddenly took the "Rongshu Ferry Shooting Case" very seriously and transferred the case investigation report overnight.

The department leaders did not reveal who the high-ranking official in charge of the shooting was, but Zhuang Tongfang guessed that it was probably from Beijing.

The word "capital" alone carries enough weight.

I don't know who it was, but they actually used their connections at the very top level. This is going to be a huge problem.

At lunchtime, Zhuang Tongfang had lunch in the company cafeteria and was about to take a nap in his office when the phone on his desk rang.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Captain Zhuang, would you be available to come out at 3 p.m.? I have something important to give you, it concerns your daughter, Zhuang Wanting."

A hoarse male voice came through the phone, presumably deliberately lowering his voice.

Zhuang Tongfang's heart sank, and he asked urgently:

"Who are you? What have you done to my daughter?"

"Who I am is not important, Captain Zhuang. Please rest assured that your daughter is safe for the time being. However, there are some things I need to personally deliver to you."

"Okay, 3 PM, where?"

"You're very familiar with this place, it's the Zhuang family's ancestral home. Remember, don't try anything funny, come alone, otherwise the secrets of the ancestral home won't be kept, you know..."

Then the call ended.

Hearing the beeping sound of the microphone, Zhuang Tongfang broke out in a cold sweat. His premonition over the past two days was right; something bad had happened.

He quickly changed into civilian clothes, hesitated for a moment, and then put his pistol into the inner pocket of his cotton-lined trench coat.

The Zhuang family ancestral home is located in Niujiao Village, on the western outskirts of Qishi District, Nandu. It takes Zhuang Tongfang at least an hour to drive there from his workplace.

The ancestral home is located at the entrance of Niujiao Village, next to a century-old lychee tree.

...

Zhuang Tongfang was extremely anxious and drove at top speed. He arrived at Niujiao Village 15 minutes before 3 p.m.

Before he even reached the village entrance, his heart was already pounding uncontrollably.

Seven years ago, he secretly dug a cellar in one of the rooms of his ancestral home.

Besides its extremely secluded location, the entrances and exits are also disguised, making it difficult for outsiders to spot even if they get close.

In addition, he specially installed two iron locks and one combination lock at the entrance and exit of the cellar.

He always chose to store the stolen money and goods alone at night.

Therefore, Zhuang Tongfang believed that this secret gold hiding place was absolutely safe.

But a phone call from a stranger today almost scared him out of his wits.

It's still uncertain whether my daughter, who is taking the postgraduate entrance exam in Wuhan, is safe, but the other party has chosen to meet me at the Zhuang family's ancestral home.

The meaning here is somewhat complicated.

It's like someone has easily taken control of your two vital points. Would you still dare to gamble?

...

Ouyang Qing's interview team arrived at Niujiao Village at 2:30 p.m. The team prepared for the interview and filming in front of the Zhuang family's ancestral house.

Yesterday, she learned from a stranger named Niu Defa that Lin Dong had been implicated in a major murder case and was wrongfully imprisoned.

As an excellent columnist, she immediately realized that there was something to be discovered here.

That's why she agreed without hesitation; the person she was going to interview was no ordinary person.

Zhuang Tongfang, Deputy Commissioner of Police and concurrently Captain of the Criminal Investigation Division.

He has the most authoritative voice on the shooting case involving Lin Dong.

Zhuang Tongfang parked his car 200 meters from the village entrance and walked along the path toward his ancestral home.

As he approached the gate of the ancestral home, he keenly sensed that something was amiss:

Why are there so many TV station interviewing devices set up at the main entrance?

Also, he had seen that beautiful woman with an elegant demeanor standing in front of the camera on television:

She is the host of the "Qingqing Online" special program on Southern Metropolis TV.

Damn, even TV reporters have come out. How are we supposed to compete now?

"Captain Zhuang, you've been here for a while."

A deep male voice suddenly rang out beside a clump of bamboo trees by the roadside.

It was him, the person on the phone.

Zhuang Tongfang was startled and instinctively stopped in his tracks.

"It's obvious that Captain Zhuang loves your daughter very much. Also, you really care about this ancestral home."

A lean man emerged from the shadow of the bamboo tree.

"Who are you? What do you want? What happened to my daughter?"

Zhuang Tongfang questioned repeatedly, and the air of a seasoned police officer suddenly emanated from him.

But Feng Zi, who had followed Lin Dong through dozens of life-or-death battlefields, had seen it all. How could he be intimidated by this little bit of aura?

"Who we are is not important. What matters most is what despicable things you have done. Don't worry, your daughter is safe for now."

Seeing that his official authority and imposing manner could not suppress the other party, Zhuang Tongfang softened his tone:

Where is my daughter?

"Sorry, I don't know where she is, but I have a photo of her."

As Fengzi spoke, he took out an A4 sheet of paper from his pocket, on which was a clear black and white fax.

A pretty girl, about twenty-three or twenty-four years old, with her eyes blindfolded and her hands tied behind her back, sat in an empty room...

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