Chapter 185

Chapter 185: Talking Reason

The moment the elevator doors opened, Song Cheng saw Yu Sheng step out with two members of his little crew—Irene perched on his shoulder, and Foxy lingered quietly at his side. But even with those familiar faces, Song Cheng’s eyes still snapped to what Yu Sheng was holding.

It was a vicious-looking club. A length of rebar with rings welded onto it, bristling with blades, iron nails, and jagged rusted shards. Song Cheng had spent years on the front lines and seen all kinds of bizarre “weapons,” but his eyelid still twitched. If someone took a photo and posted it online, it would probably need censor bars. Just looking at it made his bones ache.

Yu Sheng strode out carrying the tetanus staff, grinning at Song Cheng like he’d finally found the perfect pillow for a nap. “Where are those two angel cultists?”

Song Cheng’s brain stalled. The day the Director invited Yu Sheng into the Special Operations Bureau, he’d known this guy would eventually start showing up at headquarters like he lived there. He just hadn’t expected him to bring something like this. His gaze stayed glued to the club. “First tell me—what the hell is that in your hand? Didn’t the guards stop you?”

Yu Sheng blinked. “Guards? What guards?”

Song Cheng smacked his forehead. “Right. I forgot you didn’t even use the front entrance…”

Yu Sheng chuckled. He hefted the tetanus staff—after going back last time, he’d “upgraded” it again, and now the head had at least twice as many nails and rebar—and shoved it toward Song Cheng. “This is the miaomiao tool we’ll need in a minute.”

The horrifying club swayed inches from Song Cheng’s face. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted two metal plates welded near the head. Each plate had two crooked, scorched words burned into it—one read “reason,” and the other read “critique.”

“I need to have a nice, long chat with those two angel cultists,” Yu Sheng said solemnly, meeting Song Cheng’s eyes. “Help me set it up.”

As he spoke, he casually swung the club onto his shoulder. “Lead the way.”

The moment the weapon landed there, a startled yelp came from his shoulder. Yu Sheng turned his head and saw Irene sprawled on the floor.

He frowned. “Irene, why are you sitting on the floor?”

“You swung me off with your damn stick!” Little Doll charged over and drove an elbow into Yu Sheng’s knee. “You can’t tell left from right on your own shoulders?!”

Yu Sheng: “…”

Song Cheng broke into a cold sweat. He was used to seeing all kinds of bizarre things inside Special Operations Bureau headquarters, but this kind of chaos had a very particular energy. After the doll finally calmed down, he hesitated, then glanced again at the club in Yu Sheng’s hand.

“I think I know what you’re planning,” he said carefully, “but I have to warn you—the Special Operations Bureau has rules. We’re a formal agency. Even interrogating a cultist has standard procedures and prohibitions.”

Yu Sheng thought about it for a moment. “What if the cameras are broken?”

“…Even if the cameras are broken, it’s still not allowed. And in this building, it’s impossible for any area to have a true surveillance blind spot—”

Song Cheng was only halfway through when his phone rang. He pulled it out, glanced at the caller ID, and answered immediately. “Director.”

A calm voice came through the receiver. “The monitoring system in Human Prisoner Containment Zone A-16 is down.”

Song Cheng went still. “Director…?”

“Do you need me to repeat myself?”

Sweat prickled down the back of his neck. He reflexively turned, but the corridor was empty. Even so, it felt like the Director’s gaze was on him from every direction—and the nearest line of sight was less than a meter away. “N-no. No need.”

“Good. Take him there.”

Song Cheng put the phone away and looked at the Hotel trio with a strange expression. After a beat, he cleared his throat.

“Come with me. I’ll take you to the containment zone.”

Yu Sheng hadn’t heard the voice on the call, but he could guess what had happened. Nothing in this building escaped the eyes of a certain Madam Director.

He relaxed visibly, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. With Irene back on one shoulder and “reason” on the other, he followed Song Cheng and asked with genuine curiosity, “So you usually watch those shows where a bunch of girls get together and start a band…?”

Song Cheng sounded like his soul was leaving his body. “My daughter did that! Every time I change it, she changes it right back…”

Under Captain Song’s lead, Yu Sheng wandered through Special Operations Bureau headquarters like a pedestrian strolling through a time-and-space maze. They passed countless doors built for security, along with eerie corridors and partitions that made the place feel deeper than it should have been. Yu Sheng could sense when they left the “main building” and started moving into somewhere else—some colder, heavier layer of the structure. After a long trek, they passed the last “office” with flashing red lights. Beyond the door at the end was a circular hall that looked like a transit hub.

Corridor entrances lined up in neat rows. Fully armed guards stood at attention. Weapon systems tracked down each hallway. Warning signs, blunt and unmistakable, pressed down like a physical weight.

Song Cheng didn’t waste words. After identity verification and registration, he led Yu Sheng’s group into one corridor.

As they walked, Song Cheng kept turning back, watching Yu Sheng stroll like he was out for a casual evening walk.

Yu Sheng noticed, of course.

“You know, I was actually about to come find you,” he said at last. “When you called to say you’d caught those two angel cultists, I’d already changed my clothes. I even filed my door-opening report. I wanted to talk to you about them.”

Song Cheng’s gaze sharpened. “What do you mean? You…”

“Yesterday I looked into something,” Yu Sheng said. “You remember why Little Red Riding Hood and I went to the museum’s white exhibition hall in the first place? That hall where the sacrifice ritual happened. Those two angel cultists were causing trouble there, and that’s why they got arrested.”

His voice turned slower, heavier.

“The curiosities association liaison who issued the commission to Little Red Riding Hood recently died.”

“I heard,” Song Cheng said immediately, frowning. “Another department is handling it. But from the way you’re talking… you found something?”

“Those two angel cultists were probably targeting ‘fairy tale,’ not Little Red Riding Hood personally,” Yu Sheng said. “And it wasn’t random. That liaison had a lot of ties to fairy tale while he was alive. Whether his real cause of death was murder or an accident is still unclear—you’ll need professionals for that. But from what I dug up, he was targeted and lured because of his connection to fairy tale. Those cultists have been planning this for a long time.”

Even Foxy, who usually avoided talking to outsiders, muttered with quiet anger, “I heard about the victim’s ordeal from Benefactor… Cultists are truly hateful.”

Yu Sheng nodded. “It’s complicated. I’ll give you the full details later.”

Song Cheng listened, thoughtful. They’d reached the gate at the end of the corridor, but before he gave the order to open it, he couldn’t help glancing again at the “reason” on Yu Sheng’s shoulder.

“Seriously… you’re sure you want to use that?”

“I know my limits,” Yu Sheng said solemnly. “And I brought Foxy. She knows healing magic. I won’t make a mess you can’t deal with.”

“No. That’s not what I mean.” Song Cheng shook his head. “Plain pain is useless against those cultists.”

Yu Sheng raised an eyebrow.

“You can inflict every kind of suffering a human can imagine, and they’ll still endure it,” Song Cheng said. “Sometimes they even turn it into ‘noble sacrifice.’ The Bureau has methods that work better than physical punishment—hypnosis, illusion techniques, truth serum, even high-tech stuff like the neural interference rig. Same result. No matter what you ask, they won’t give you what you want.”

He didn’t say it outright, but the meaning was clear.

If beating them worked, they would have done it ages ago.

Yu Sheng just smiled. “Did I ever say I came here to ask them anything?”

Song Cheng froze. “…Huh?”

“I brought this for fun.”

The heavy gate began to open. Yu Sheng stepped inside with Irene and Foxy, club in hand, and the door slid shut behind them.

The armed guard posted at the entrance watched the three “strangers” enter a high-security cell and couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Boss, this isn’t compliant—”

“I’ll take responsibility,” Song Cheng said, staring at the sealed door with a complicated expression. He drew a slow breath. “Take me to the control room.”

“Okay. It’s next door…”

*

The pale blue light screen in front of him faded away. Yu Sheng stared at the advanced device for a heartbeat, briefly wondering just how far the Special Operations Bureau’s tech went, then let his gaze settle on the bald man sitting not far away.

The man lifted his head. Calm. Emotionless.

Those clear, steady eyes looked like they’d already seen through everything.

His voice was flat and confident, as though he’d risen above mortal wisdom. “Looks like a lot will happen today. New tricks again—when will you finally realize the Lord’s faithful servants will never answer—”

Yu Sheng didn’t wait for him to finish. He strode forward and brought the club down.

Yeah. No.

He hadn’t planned to ask anything anyway.