Chapter Forty-Seven Dust

The London night, like a huge velvet cloth soaked in ink, heavily covered the banks of the Thames.

The river reflected sparse lights, like the last flicker of light in the eyes of a dying person. Beneath this thick darkness, another, more secretive and deadly operation was silently underway.

Sia stood in the shadow of a dilapidated coal barge, his body pressed against the cold, damp gunwale. The barge swayed gently in the murky river, making a soft creaking sound that masked the barely audible beating of his heart.

He was dressed in a dockworker's uniform, stained with engine oil and coal dust, which he had obtained from the black market. His face was also deliberately smeared with dirt, but his fiery red hair was tightly wrapped in a dark cloth, revealing only a pair of red eyes that burned with cold flames in the dark night.

He stood like a frozen statue, his gaze like the most sophisticated radar, scanning again and again the building not far ahead that lay like a black behemoth on the riverbank—a warehouse under the BXX organization, ostensibly engaged in the import and export trade of textiles.

According to the intelligence provided by Lian Yeyi, which was obtained at a considerable cost, a regional core archive of BXX is hidden deep underground in this warehouse. It may contain early, not yet fully digitized, paper and microfilm records about the "Kui" family. This is the closest physical node to BXX's core secrets that Lian Yeyi's intelligence network can reach.

The voices of opposition from Gongyang and Muye still echoed in his ears, as if through a thick curtain of water. He knew the danger of this journey; it was tantamount to sticking his head into the lair of venomous snakes.

But he had no choice. Zhong Si's blood, the thousand-flecked hanging from the beam, burned his soul day and night like a red-hot iron. Xu Yue's gray eyes, filled with suppressed grief and placing all hope in uncovering the truth, were an even heavier burden he could not bear.

He had to go. He needed evidence, the kind of irrefutable proof that could turn vague guesses into cold, hard facts, and he needed to find out, for Xu Yue and for himself, what the ghost named "Di'an Kui" truly meant.

The connection provided by Lian Yeyi was a low-level manager at BXX, responsible for nighttime inventory checks, a gambling addict burdened with massive high-interest debts. Through careful threats and inducements, this man, nicknamed "Old Cripple," became the only key tonight. The appointed time was fast approaching.

A mournful cry came from the river; it was the agreed-upon signal.

West Asia glided off the barge like a ghost, treading on the slippery mud, and quickly approached a half-submerged iron gate at the back of the warehouse, which was specifically designed for unloading small cargo ships.

The door lock had been broken from the inside by "Old Lame," leaving a crack that emitted a mixture of the fishy smell of river water and the stench of moldy goods.

He squeezed in sideways. Inside was a narrow, dimly lit passageway with pipes dripping condensation overhead and wet metal plates underfoot. The air was thick with dust and the pungent smell of some kind of chemical.

Following the route map provided by "Old Lame," he moved swiftly like a silent shadow through the maze of shelves and mountains of wooden crates.

His senses were heightened to their limit. His ears picked up the distant footsteps of patrolling guards and the muffled sounds of conversation, his eyes adjusted to the almost nonexistent light, and his body's instincts allowed him to perfectly avoid several hidden infrared sensors connected to alarms. This was the instinct of the "whale shark," a survival skill honed through countless brushes with death and etched into his very bones.

In a lounge at the end of the corridor, filled with the strong smell of tobacco and cheap coffee, he met "Old Lame." He was a thin man with shifty eyes and a slight limp in one leg, who was nervously rubbing his hands together, his forehead covered in fine beads of sweat.

"Where is the stuff?" Sia asked in a low voice, her red eyes like two cold stars in the darkness, fixed on the face of "Old Lame".

“In…in the archives…on the second basement level…a key and a password are needed…I can only get the key to the outer door…the password for the inside…I…I really can’t access it…” The old cripple trembled as he pulled out a brass key, his voice shaking, “The patrol passes by every half hour…you…you only have twenty minutes…twenty-five minutes at most…”

Xiya grabbed the keys, her cold gaze sweeping over the old cripple: "Keep your mouth shut. If you're exposed, you know the consequences."

The old lame man nodded vigorously, almost collapsing.

Xiya ignored him and turned to disappear into the deeper darkness. The stairs leading to the underground level were rusty, and his footsteps echoed faintly in the enclosed space. Like a cheetah hunting its prey, he landed precisely in the most silent spots with each step. A heavy, old-fashioned pin tumbler lock hung on the iron door to the second basement level.

He inserted the key, turned it, and made a soft "click" that sounded particularly clear in the silence. He held his breath, listened intently for a moment, and only after confirming that he hadn't disturbed anything did he gently push open the door.

The world behind the door was completely different from the clutter of the warehouse above. The air was cold and dry, carrying the distinctive smell of paper and years of dust.

Before me stood rows upon rows of floor-to-ceiling metal filing cabinets, like silent tombstones, neatly arranged and stretching as far as the eye could see. Only a few safety indicator lights emitting a faint green glow provided barely enough light for visibility, making the entire space seem even more eerie and sinister.

Time is of the essence.

Based on the vague instructions in Lian Yeyi's intelligence—that "records of early non-core members of the Kui family or related events may be stored in the 'abandoned/to be destroyed' area"—Xi Ya began a rapid search. His gaze swept over the yellowed labels like a scanner: "Personnel Changes (1900-1910)," "Financial Records (North American Branch)," "Supply Procurement List"... Most of them were unimportant daily records.

Sweat trickled down his forehead, not from the heat, but from extreme tension and the passing of time. The patrol's footsteps seemed to be right above him, each faint sound tightening his nerves.

He forced himself to calm down, his brain racing as he recalled the keywords Mu Ye had analyzed: "abandonment," "children," "unidentified," "around twenty years ago," and "cover-up of a traffic accident."

His finger stopped on a filing cabinet labeled "Undercover Incident Handling (London and surrounding areas, 1905-1915)". This is it!

He quickly pulled open the heavy drawer, which was filled with densely packed folders. Dust rushed out, and he suppressed the urge to cough, quickly flipping through them in the dim green light. Most of them were records of industrial accidents and gang fights, cold and formulaic.

Just as he was about to give up on the drawer, a thin folder with slightly torn edges caught his attention. The label, written in faded ink, read: "Traffic Accident - Kent A20 Road - Autumn 1909 - Aftermath".

Kent A20 road... twenty years ago... traffic accident...

Xi Ya's heart clenched, almost leaping out of his chest. His fingers trembled as he opened the folder.

There were only a few pages inside. A formatted copy of a police accident report was clearly forged, describing a "bicycle accident caused by slippery roads due to rain, resulting in loss of control and crashing into a tree," and claiming that "a middle-aged couple inside the vehicle died at the scene, and their identities are yet to be determined."

The report was concise in its wording but vague in its details, as if it were eager to close the case. Another page contained a brief internal directive from BXX, requiring that "the scene be thoroughly cleaned up to ensure that no clues to identity remain, the vehicles be disposed of properly, and necessary 'guidance' be given to the local police and media."

While this information confirms the "cover-up of a traffic accident," it's not enough! Where is the crucial evidence?

Sia's gaze fell on an inconspicuous transparent compartment inside the folder. There seemed to be a small, hard card tucked inside. He carefully took it out and examined it in the dim light.

It was a black and white photograph negative, the edges of which were somewhat blurred. But the image on the negative was still recognizable—it was a photograph taken from a hospital bed.

Lying on the bed was a little girl who looked about four or five years old. Her head was wrapped in thick gauze, her face was pale, and her eyes were closed, as if she were unconscious or asleep. The girl had hair that looked unusually light, almost silver-white, even in the black and white photograph.

On the back of the photograph, in extremely fine yet clear and powerful handwriting, a line of text was written:

"Dian Kui. Source of contamination isolated. Archived footage prior to the initiation of the memory erasure procedure. Follow-up: Permanent abandonment procedure approved and executed."

“Di’an…Kui…”

Xiya silently uttered the name, each syllable like an icicle piercing his eardrums and reaching the depths of his soul. The fragile, pale, seemingly delicate little girl in the photograph… was that Xu Yue? Was that the same Xu Yue who now led the crows, calm, powerful, and as icy as a mountain?

"Source of pollution"... "Memory erasure"... "Permanent abandonment"...

These cold, inhuman words, like poisoned daggers, utterly shattered the last vestige of hope in his heart. This was not speculation, not deduction, but irrefutable evidence! BXX, Xu Yue's biological parents, not only cruelly staged a car accident to abandon her, but also treated her as a "source of pollution" that needed to be "erased from her memory," "isolated," and "permanently abandoned"!

A chilling current, a mixture of extreme anger, immense grief, and icy killing intent, instantly swept over Xiya's entire body. He gripped the small film tightly, his knuckles cracking from the force.

He could almost see through the negative the little girl lying in the hospital bed, enduring the cruelest judgment from her loved ones while unconscious. That despair of being utterly rejected and abandoned by the entire world, by the very person who gave you life, is far more cruel and unforgettable than any physical harm!

He finally understood the origin of the wound deep in Xu Yue's heart that could never heal.

I now understand why she has such an almost obsessive pursuit of "order" and "control." Because she was once a victim, ruthlessly crushed by "order" and utterly betrayed by "blood ties"!

Just then, clear, increasingly close footsteps and the flickering beam of a flashlight came from afar! The patrol had arrived ahead of schedule!

Xiya was jolted awake from the overwhelming emotional shock. He quickly stuffed the negatives into his inner pocket, put the folder back in its original position, and pushed it back into the drawer, his movements as swift as lightning.

He retreated rapidly along the route he had come from, like a wisp of smoke, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, not from fear, but from the bloody truth that had just been revealed.

When he breathed in the cold, damp air of the river again, it felt like an eternity. The barge continued to rock gently in the darkness.

He glanced back at the warehouse, which resembled a giant beast's lair. The fire burning in his red eyes was no longer a simple flame of revenge, but a deeper, more resolute determination, as if he wanted to perish together with the darkness.

He obtained the key—a poison-stained key that could unlock the mystery of Xu Yue's origins, but would also tear apart her current world. He knew that bringing this truth back to Xu Yue would be another form of crueler harm. But he had no other choice.

The truth is like Pandora's box; once opened, it will unleash unimaginable pain and storms.