Chapter 6: The Edge of the Cliff
The night was heavy, and the entire port city seemed to be covered in thick ink, silent as death. In the interrogation room deep inside the customs office, only one faint lamp flickered weakly, casting a dim yellow glow that slanted across the cold cement floor. The narrow space was filled with the sharp smell of disinfectant, mixed with the musty odor from leather handcuffs and electronic equipment. The light sliced through the air like a blade, and every breath seemed to draw in cold to the bone, making one shiver. The corner of the room was completely dark, as if invisible eyes were watching every soul that entered, suffocating them.
The door was suddenly pushed open with a rough screech. Lin Mian walked in slowly, her hands tightly cuffed, her body straight to the point of seeming almost unnatural. The black trench coat cast a shadow under the light, and though her steps trembled slightly, she maintained a near-meditative pace.
A cold draft crept through the gap under the door, making her shiver. She fought to suppress the trembling in her limbs but couldn't stop the waves of turmoil crashing in her chest. Her heart raced, as if it was about to tear out of her chest. A cold sweat trickled down her back, making her spine tremble involuntarily. However, there was not a trace of fear on her face. Her hollow black eyes, like the waters of a deep abyss, silently observed everything in the room.
The interrogation room was furnished with a heavy, old wooden table and two rusted iron chairs. The surface of the table was worn and faded, the color darkened, as if dried blood had once stained it. All the light seemed to have been devoured. The iron chairs were pressed against the cold wall, heavy and desolate, like unspoken judgment seats—anyone who sat there would have to first confront the chill rising from the bones. Lin Mian was pushed to the table, the old wooden stool creaking under her. She slowly sat down, her body taut like a bowstring, her back pressed firmly against the chair, unwilling to show any weakness. Her chest rose and fell heavily as she tried to calm the chaotic flow of blood, but found it impossible. Every breath intensified the sound of blood rushing in her mind, her eardrums seemingly struck by the pulse of her veins.
The cold concrete under her ankles made her legs feel as if they were sinking into an icy pit. She closed her eyes for a moment, her long eyelashes casting a curved shadow across her face, her breathing slow and rhythmic, seeming calm. Yet behind her eyelids, a storm surged within her: fragments of past memories, the faces of childhood, the murmurs of strangers, endless silence. She struggled to smash these chaotic thoughts, forcing herself to focus only on the present.
Lin Mian sat with her hands clasped tightly, her fingers turning white. On the table in front of her were all her belongings—a shut-off satellite phone, several ID cards issued by different countries, and a passport intercepted at customs.
Her communication had been cut off.
From the moment she had been brought into this customs building, all her contact channels were severed. The emails she had once used were now disconnected, the dedicated line "Yu Gang Three Layers" cleared, and a string of encrypted authentication keys were automatically erased the moment her devices were confiscated.
No one truly knew where she came from, except for the people who absolutely needed to know.
She had no legal identity in this land, but she possessed detailed information about the transportation parameters of several border cities. She had once handed over crucial materials during an investigation into a dark web port transaction, and was now listed as an "important informant."
She wasn't a spy, but she was far from an ordinary illegal immigrant.
A shadow appeared behind a frosted glass door, and the sound of footsteps echoed through the narrow hallway. The dull footsteps seeped into the room through the gap at the door, filling the air with a pressure-laden, authoritative presence. Suddenly, a sharp gaze shifted from the shadow, as though it could pierce through the thick wooden board.
The light illuminated the woman's face sitting at the table, showing her trembling hands. Her fingers interlocked, her index finger lightly resting against her palm, but the subtle tremor could not be hidden. Her skin appeared pale under the light, the veins clearly visible. Qin Zhao'an's figure appeared at the door. His tall and straight posture made the narrow interrogation room feel even more cramped. His nose was sculpted sharply, and his brows carried an irrepressible coldness.
Qin Zhao'an stepped forward, his footsteps echoing with force in the dead silence. Sitting at the table, he straightened his back slightly, lowering his gaze as he studied her. He placed the documents in his hand down slowly, his knuckles tapping lightly on the table, the rhythm slow but full of threat. The yellowed file cover faintly marked the words "Illegal Identity," like an invisible shackle tightening around Lin Mian's chest.
When their eyes met, Qin Zhao'an's gaze was like cold obsidian, unrelenting and leaving nowhere to hide. His voice was low and steady, each word striking Lin Mian's heart: "Do you know where you are right now?"
Lin Mian did not respond immediately. Her indifferent eyes swept over the scattered documents on the table and a green ceramic teacup. She took a deep breath, as though trying to find something to calm the storm raging within her. A bitter taste rose to her tongue, but she quickly swallowed it. She lifted her chin slightly and spoke in a surprisingly calm voice, like a lake under a silent night: "The customs interrogation room."
As soon as the words left her mouth, her pupils suddenly contracted. In the confined space, Qin Zhao'an immediately felt the air growing heavy. He held his breath, carefully observing the calm woman sitting in front of him.
Qin Zhao'an frowned slightly, lowering his voice again to ask, "Customs… interrogation… room?" His voice flowed like an undercurrent, casting both suspicion and warning into Lin Mian's ears.
Her facial muscles hardly changed. Her thin lips did not smile, but a coldness briefly appeared: "…Yes."
Qin Zhao'an stood up, walking around the table to block her final escape route. His eyes were as sharp as an eagle's, and he leaned in slightly to whisper in her ear: "You used a fake ID to enter the port. This is no place for lies."
Lin Mian's knees subtly resisted, but her inner self remained as still as death. She tentatively answered, her voice barely a whisper: "I… didn't…"
The sound of blood rushing in her ears grew louder. She knew that any sign of irregularity would be detected immediately. She clenched her lower lip, the battle between despair and reason waging in her mind, and she could only keep the conversation to the bare minimum.
Qin Zhao'an raised an eyebrow, his tone becoming even more pressing: "Don't lie to me! I have all the evidence of your origins, including the surveillance footage from the port when you disappeared."
She slowly lowered her head, her long hair cascading over her shoulder, concealing the trembling of her throat. The jet-black hair appeared like a still pool of water, rippling faintly. Qin Zhao'an, however, could see beyond her hasty downward gaze, witnessing an endless abyss in her eyes. The effort to suppress her breath trembled in the lingering warmth of his fingertips.
Lin Mian suddenly felt a dull ache in her fists, but she forced herself to remain silent. The blood coursing through her veins surged, and it felt like a storm was about to break in her mind. She could clearly hear the roaring of her heart.
Qin Zhao'an suddenly paused, realizing she was not following the usual pattern. His usual pressure seemed to be clashing with some invisible force. A premonition suddenly made his joints freeze: the woman before him was far more complicated than he had expected.
A brief silence returned, the only sound coming from the clock on the wall, ticking slowly, as if cutting into his nerves.
The lights in the interrogation room returned to their normal brightness. Qin Zhao'an closed the door, and his figure stretched out in the cold hallway. In the deepening night, his unspoken warning reverberated in his heart: the true puzzle had only just begun.
Chapter Summary:
In this chapter, the tension between Lin Mian and Qin Zhao'an escalates. Lin Mian is interrogated, and her true identity is slowly revealed. She is not just an illegal immigrant, but someone deeply entangled in a web of secrecy and power. Qin Zhao'an's calm demeanor contrasts with his subtle pressure, revealing his complex role in the investigation. As Lin Mian grapples with her past, she is pushed to confront the harsh reality that her actions and identity are no longer hers to control.