Commissioner Li Zheng's departure left a charged silence in Qi's Silken Threads, thicker than the scent of sandalwood. The weight of his request – the authority, the danger, the sheer *scale* of it – hung heavy in the air. Zhāng Měi was the first to break it. She let out a low whistle, then a sharp, incredulous laugh that echoed off the bolts of silk.
"Captain Qí Hǔ!" she crowed, striding over and clapping him hard on the shoulder. "Look at you! From threadbare shopkeeper to Deputy Commissioner-level spymaster in one breakfast! Should I start saluting too, or just curtsy?" Her eyes sparkled with a mix of fierce pride and her signature irreverence, a necessary counterweight to the gravity settling over them.
Qí Hǔ didn't flinch, but a faint, almost imperceptible twitch touched the corner of his mouth. "Not a captain," he stated, his voice low but firm. He looked around at the three faces watching him – Zhāng Měi's challenging grin, Wáng Jiàn's calm expectancy, Chén Léi's vibrating eagerness. "Just us. The five of us. Together."
"Five?" Zhāng Měi's eyebrows shot up. She exchanged a quick glance with Wáng Jiàn, then fixed Qí Hǔ with a piercing look. "Qi, are you including *Lán* in that count? After… everything? The slap? The boyfriend? The radio silence?"
Qí Hǔ met her gaze steadily. The memory of Lán Yīng's tear-streaked face, David's sneer, the sting on his cheek – it was all there, vivid and raw. But beneath it lay the deeper currents: Harbor Light, shared laughter, the unspoken bond that had survived twelve years of absence. "Yes," he said, the single word carrying surprising weight. "She needs to know. Truly know. Not just about the threat, but about us. About this." He gestured vaguely, encompassing the shop, the mission, the reforged family. "And she needs to be a part of it. If she chooses. It's her fight too, whether she sees it yet or not."
Zhāng Měi sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes heavenward. "Fine," she conceded, though her tone held a grudging respect for his conviction. "But if Sparkles McBoyfriend answers her phone, I'm hanging up. Chén Léi, you're elected. You have the official cop voice. Make the call."
Chén Léi, still buzzing from Li Zheng's trust and his new, clandestine role, pulled out his phone with solemn purpose. He dialed, putting it on speaker. The ringtone echoed in the quiet shop. It rang several times before connecting.
"Chén Léi?" Lán Yīng's voice came through, cautious, perhaps still raw from their last encounter.
"Lán, it's me," Chén Léi began, his tone serious but warm. "Listen, something big has happened. We're all at Qi's shop. Commissioner Li Zheng was just here—"
"Commissioner Li?" Lán Yīng interrupted, surprise evident.
"Yes. It involves Qi, the Nightingale Loom… it's serious, Lán. Life and death serious. Qi… he wants you involved. Needs you involved. We all do. Can you come? Now?"
There was a long pause on the other end. They could almost hear the conflict – the pull of the past, the push of her new life, the shock of the Commissioner's name. When she spoke again, her voice was tight, strained. "Chén Léi… I… I can't. Not now. I have… commitments. Rehearsals. David… he wouldn't understand. It's too much. Too sudden. I'm sorry." The line clicked dead.
Silence descended again, heavier this time. Zhāng Měi's expression hardened. "Commitments," she muttered, snatching the phone from Chén Léi's hand and ending the call herself with a decisive stab. "Right. Fine. Sparkles wins this round." She tossed the phone back to Chén Léi. "So. Us four then. The Fantastic Quartet plus one grumpy shopkeeper-cum-commando."
Qí Hǔ gave a single, definitive nod. "Us four." He accepted her phrasing, the exclusion of Lán Yīng, for now. "What now, Qi?" Chén Léi asked, leaning forward, the detective in him itching for action. "Where do we even start? Tracing the giant? Jin's old contacts? The cobalt thread angle?"
Wáng Jiàn, who had been silently processing, adjusting his glasses, spoke up. His voice was calm, practical, cutting through the operational fog. "We start," he stated, "by renovations."
Zhāng Měi blinked. "Renovations? Wang, darling, did the server meltdown fry your circuits? We're about to take on an international criminal syndicate, and you want to redecorate?"
"Precisely," Wáng Jiàn replied, unfazed. He gestured around the shop. "This is our base of operations. Granted by Commissioner Li. But Qi's Silken Threads, as charmingly authentic as it is, is also known. To the locals. To Jin's remnants. Possibly to the Nightingale Loom themselves after that giant's visit. We need security. Discretion. Capability." He met Qí Hǔ's gaze. "We need to modify it. Outwardly, it remains Qi's Silken Threads, perhaps… elevated. More successful. A plausible cover. Inwardly…" He paused, letting the implication hang. "A hidden command center. Secure communications. Surveillance monitoring. Armory. Medical station. All seamlessly integrated."
Zhāng Měi's expression transformed from skepticism to dawning, acquisitive glee. Her eyes lit up like a child presented with a blank canvas and an unlimited budget. "A hidden command center…" she breathed, her mind already racing. "Disguised as a *luxury* textile boutique? Wang Jiàn, you genius! Think of the aesthetic possibilities! We can use the fabric bolts themselves as movable walls! Soundproofing woven into tapestries! Security panels hidden behind displays of Ming dynasty brocade!" She clapped her hands together. "I am *so* on board. Consider me your interior designer-slash-security consultant. This is going to be *fabulous*."
Chén Léi grinned, catching the vision. "And I know people. Discreet builders. Ex-military engineers. People who can make things… disappear… or appear where they shouldn't."
Qí Hǔ stood silently amidst the burgeoning plans. He watched them – Zhāng Měi sketching furious ideas in the air with a perfectly manicured finger, Wáng Jiàn pulling out his tablet and already calling up architectural schematics of the building, Chén Léi scrolling through his contacts list with focused intensity. The dusty alley shop, the place of quiet restoration and hidden violence, was being reshaped before his eyes into something new, something powerful, something dangerous. His sanctuary was becoming a fortress, his solitude replaced by a team.
He didn't interrupt. He didn't offer suggestions. He simply observed, his dark eyes taking in the energy, the competence, the sheer *belief* radiating from his siblings. They weren't asking for his permission; they were building his command center. They were weaving the operational net around him, trusting him to lead them into the shadows. The weight of responsibility settled on him, not as a burden, but as an anchor. He was no longer just protecting his shop; he was safeguarding his family, armed with the authority of the state and the unwavering loyalty of the people who mattered most.
The familiar scent of sandalwood seemed to mingle with the new tang of ozone – the crackle of impending action. The quiet shopkeeper faded further into the background. The leader, the strategist, the Shadow Captain, stepped forward. He gave no orders yet. He simply stood, a silent, watchful presence, as his team began the intricate work of transforming threads into a weapon, and Qi's Silken Threads into the clandestine heart of the Shadow Weavers. The hunt had a home. Now, it needed a name.
"Speaking of names," Chén Léi said, looking up from his phone, "this squad. Commissioner said Qi picks it. What are we calling ourselves? 'Team Silk'? 'The Alley Cats'?" He grinned.
Zhāng Měi wrinkled her nose. "Terrible. We need something with gravitas. Stealth. Power. Something that reflects our… textured approach." She winked.
"Shadow," Qí Hǔ said quietly. The word cut through the brainstorming. They all looked at him. "It needs 'Shadow'."
"Shadow…" Wáng Jiàn mused, tapping his tablet. "Shadow Ops? Shadow Unit?"
"Shadow Stitch?" Chén Léi offered, trying to weave in the textile theme.
Zhāng Měi snapped her fingers, her eyes alight. "Shadow *Weavers*," she declared. "Think about it. We weave threads – of information, of strategy, of justice. We operate in the shadows. We unravel the Loom's dark tapestry. It's perfect. Textile, covert, elegant."
Silence followed. Chén Léi nodded slowly, a smile spreading. "Shadow Weavers. Yeah. I like it. Sounds… capable. Mysterious."
Wáng Jiàn gave a small nod of approval. "It integrates the core concept effectively. Operationally sound."
All eyes turned to Qí Hǔ. He held Zhāng Měi's gaze for a moment, then gave a single, definitive nod. "Shadow Weavers."
The name settled over them, a mantle as tangible as the plans taking shape for the transformed shop. They were no longer just siblings bound by a shared past. They were the Shadow Weavers. Their loom was justice. Their threads were danger. And their first pattern was the unraveling of the Nightingale. The game was on.