Game Rules
Rainwater trickled down the windows of the safe house, refracting the city lights outside into blurry patches of color. Du Siling stood by the window, her fingers unconsciously tracing the edge of her father's police badge. Three days had passed, and Chen Yan's side was unusually quiet; this silence was more unsettling than any action.
"Look at this."
Han Beimo's voice came from behind. Du Siling turned around and saw him standing by the dining table, on which lay the photos taken from the bank safe deposit box and Ling Hua's research notes. Han Beimo wasn't wearing his usual azalea today, and his black hair was slightly damp, as if he had just taken a shower.
"What did you find?" Du Siling approached.
Han Beimo pointed to a page in his research notes, on which lay a complex genetic map of azaleas: "My mother's expertise was in plant genetic engineering. Look here—" He pointed to a line of small print at the edge, "A special marker gene fragment, codenamed 'RH-0'."
Du Siling frowned: "What's so special about this?"
"RH-0 is not a plant gene," Han Beimo's voice became unusually calm, "It's the rarest type in the human blood group system, with a probability of less than 0.1%."
He rolled up the sleeve of his black sweater, revealing a tiny scar on the inside of his arm: "When I was seven, my mother took me for genetic testing. After that, she started researching azalea grafting."
Du Siling suddenly realized something: "You're RH-0 type?"
"Not only that." Han Beimo loosened his collar, turned his back to Du Siling, and said, "Look here."
Above his lower back, a thumb-sized mark is clearly visible—it looks like a birthmark, but upon closer inspection, fine coded patterns can be discerned: RH-0-0509.
"May 9th..." Du Siling murmured, "My birthday, and also the day you were taken away from the orphanage."
"This isn't a birthmark," Han Beimo said, straightening his clothes. "It's a genetic marker. I've looked it up; in the late 1990s, the military conducted a secret genetic project to mark carriers of specific blood types."
Du Siling's police communicator suddenly vibrated, interrupting his thoughts. It was a message from an encrypted channel, from Lin Yue, a colleague in the narcotics squad—one of the few people he still trusted in the police station.
"Urgent. Chen has ordered a city-wide manhunt for you on charges of collusion with [redacted]. Team Leader Yang has dispatched a special task force, with Han suspected as the target. Be careful."
Du Siling's blood froze instantly. "Captain Yang"? Yang Zhiming, her father's former partner, was officially recorded to have died in a drug enforcement operation fifteen years ago.
"Is there a problem?" Han Beimo keenly noticed his unusual behavior.
Du Siling showed him the information: "Yang Zhiming is my father's partner, theoretically he has already..."
"Dead?" Han Beimo sneered. "It seems Chen Yan is skilled at 'bringing people back to life.'"
He quickly walked to the wall, retrieved a hidden weapons case, and took out two pistols and several magazines: "We have to move immediately. Yang Zhiming knows the locations of all the safe houses."
Du Siling took the weapon and expertly inspected it: "Where to?"
"The dock." Han Beimo handed him a bulletproof vest. "I have a boat docked at Pier 7."
It was the very dock where his parents had died twenty years ago. Du Siling wanted to say something, but Han Beimo's gaze silenced him.
Just as they were about to leave, the alarm suddenly went off in a piercing blare—the safe house's security system had been triggered. The monitor screen showed five fully armed SWAT officers breaking down the front door.
"Backdoor!" Han Beimo grabbed the evidence documents and stuffed them into a waterproof bag.
The back alley was also guarded. Du Siling saw two dark figures setting up a cordon through the kitchen window. Han Beimo gestured, pointing to the ventilation duct—a narrow space barely wide enough for an adult to pass through.
"You go first." Han Beimo lifted the cover of the ventilation vent. "It leads directly to the underground parking lot."
Du Siling shook her head: "Together."
A loud bang came from the front door, accompanied by shouts of "Police! Search warrant!" There was no time for argument. Han Beimo crawled into the ventilation duct first, followed closely by Du Siling.
The pipe was dark and narrow, the metal surface icy cold. Du Siling could hear his own rapid breathing and the rustling of Han Beimo's clothes in front of him. His wound began to throb, but he gritted his teeth and endured it.
After crawling for about ten minutes, a faint light appeared ahead. Han Beimo gently pushed open the exit gate, carefully observed the surroundings, and then jumped down. Du Siling landed after him and found herself standing in the electrical substation of the underground parking lot.
"Over here." Han Beimo pointed to an inconspicuous delivery van.
As they approached the vehicle, a beam of bright light suddenly shone down.
"Don't move! Police!"
Du Siling instinctively raised his gun, but froze when he saw who it was—he had seen that face in his father's old photos since he was a child. Yang Zhiming had hardly aged, except for a hideous scar over his left eye.
"Du Zhiyuan's son." Yang Zhiming sneered, his gun firmly pointed at Du Siling's chest. "Put down your weapon. You're under arrest."
Four other "SWAT officers" emerged from the shadows, all wearing masks, but Du Siling noticed that their equipment had no police insignia—this was not a regular police operation.
"Uncle Yang," Du Siling said, keeping his gun raised, "official records say you were killed in 2008."
Yang Zhiming's eyes flickered. "Some missions are more important than life and death. Put down your gun, kid. Your father wouldn't want to see you like this."
"How did my father die, Uncle Yang?" Du Siling took a step forward. "Was the car accident really an accident?"
Han Beimo suddenly moved. So fast it was almost invisible; he flung a small knife, striking Yang Zhiming's gun-wielding hand precisely, while simultaneously rolling to the side behind the car. A gunshot rang out, the bullet whizzing past Du Siling's ear.
In the chaos, Du Siling took cover behind a load-bearing pillar. Han Beiming had somehow circled around to Yang Zhiming's side and knocked him down with an elbow strike. The other four opened fire to suppress him, bullets echoing shrilly in the parking lot.
"Get in the car!" Han Beimo tossed a car key to Du Siling.
Taking advantage of the opportunity, Du Siling rushed towards the van and started the engine. Han Beimo retreated while firing, accurately blowing up two roof lights and creating a large shadow. Just as he was about to reach the vehicle, a gunshot rang out, and a burst of blood erupted from Han Beimo's shoulder.
"Han Beimo!" Du Siling shouted.
Han Beimo stumbled, but still managed to get into the passenger seat. Du Siling slammed on the gas, and the van roared up the hill. In the rearview mirror, Yang Zhiming clutched his bleeding wrist, his expression a mixture of anger and something strange...relief?
The car sped out of the parking lot and onto the midnight streets. Du Siling kept changing routes to make sure she could shake off any potential pursuers.
"Are you badly injured?" He glanced at Han Beimo. Blood had already soaked through the black sweater on his right shoulder.
"I won't die." Han Beimo gritted his teeth and tore open his clothes to check the wound. "The bullet went through, but it didn't hit the bone."
Du Siling meandered through the alleys of the red-light district, finally stopping behind a run-down motel. These kinds of places don't require ID registration, and the owners are usually good at "turning a blind eye."
After checking into the room, Du Siling helped Han Beimo inside. The simple space contained only a bed and a chair, but at least it was clean. Han Beimo sat on the edge of the bed, his face pale from blood loss.
"Let me see." Du Siling took out the first aid kit.
Han Beimo did not object and quietly allowed Du Siling to treat his wound. His muscles tensed when the alcohol touched the wound, but he remained silent. Du Siling examined the bullet hole closely; it was a clean, penetrating wound, not serious, but it required stitches.
"There's no anesthetic," Du Siling warned. "It will hurt."
Han Beimo gave a cold laugh: "Compared to my father's methods, this is just a tickle."
The suturing process was long and agonizing. Fine beads of sweat appeared on Du Siling's forehead, partly from his focus, and partly from the inexplicable heartache he felt whenever Han Beimo tensed up in pain. When the last stitch was completed, both of them let out a long sigh of relief.
"Thank you," Han Beimo said softly, the word sounding strangely unfamiliar coming from his mouth.
Du Siling nodded and began to clean up the blood-stained gauze. Just then, Han Beimo suddenly grabbed his wrist: "Wait."
He pointed to the back of Du Siling's badge—where there was a tiny, almost invisible bump, like an accidental solder joint.
"This isn't the original," Han Beimo said. "There's something hidden inside."
Du Siling frowned and carefully pried open the back of the police badge with his dagger. A chip the size of a grain of rice fell out, with extremely fine code etched on it: RH-0-0509-D.
It is almost identical to the markings on Han Beimo's defensive midfielder, except that it has an extra "D".
The two men stared at each other in shock. The chip had been implanted in the police badge at some unknown time, and Du Siling had carried it for seven years—from the day he officially became a police officer.
"What is this?" Du Siling's voice was dry.
Han Beimo picked up the chip and examined it under the light: "A gene tracker. Military-grade." He paused, "Now you know why Chen Yan insisted on having you as an undercover agent."
Du Siling recalled his father's words when he handed him the police badge before he died: "Keep it with you, son. It will protect you." Now, he realized that those words had a deeper meaning.
Car headlights suddenly flashed past the window. Du Siling quickly turned off the lights and peered outside through the curtains. Two black SUVs were silently parked across from the hotel, and several dark figures were spreading out to surround them.
"How did they find it?" Du Siling asked in a low voice.
Han Beimo looked at the chip: "It's activated. It's transmitting a signal."
There was no time to destroy the evidence. Du Siling quickly stuffed the chip back into the badge, then made a bold decision—he slipped the badge into the gap in the bedside table.
"Let's go." He helped Han Beimo up. "Let them chase after this."
They climbed out of the bathroom window and down the fire escape to the backyard. Just as they scaled the fence, they heard the sound of a door being broken down. Du Siling glanced back one last time and saw Yang Zhiming standing at the window, holding his police badge, a triumphant expression on his face.
This expression confirmed one thing for Du Siling—the chip in the police badge was what Chen Yan truly wanted. He and Han Beimo were merely pawns in this game.
But now, the pieces are about to change the rules of the game.
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