met free Chapter 62 Fire!
Chapter 62 Fire!
Zhou Xiao lowered his eyes, his gaze sweeping over Feng Manna's radiant expression before settling on Wu Cheng's pale, sweaty face.
He was plotting how to send this traitor to his death silently, in full view of everyone.
The Mingtai Action Team is too far away to help in an immediate crisis.
The intelligence channels had already been cut off; there wasn't even time to exchange a glance.
He can only get rid of Wu Cheng by himself.
But how should this knife be used?
Suddenly, Zhou Xiao's gaze was fixed on the flickering candlelight in the corner of the interrogation room!
fire--
Yes! That's it!
Arson pencil!
A thought flashed through Zhou Xiao's mind: the top-secret technique that his sixth brother, Zheng Yaoxian, had personally passed down to him years ago suddenly came to mind.
Deep in his office drawer lay a flammable pencil, a product of Wu Cheng's family. If one were to quietly slip it into Wu Cheng's pocket, within three minutes, the man would burst into flames—silent, smokeless, unnoticed, leaving not even a speck of ash. The traitor Wu Cheng would be utterly erased.
Thinking of this, Zhou Xiao felt a surge of warmth in his heart, and his fingertips trembled slightly.
"Manna, get the printing plates back as soon as possible!" He spoke in a very low voice, but every word was forceful. "Keep a close eye on Wu Cheng. I'm going to urge the action team right now—every moment we delay doubles the risk!"
Feng Manna nodded crisply: "Understood!"
Zhou Xiao turned around and strode out of the prison door, heading straight for his office.
The drawer was pulled open, and there stood an unremarkable pencil—a black lacquered wooden shaft and a brass cap, looking exactly like an old student's pen. But who would have guessed that it contained a potent chemical that could burn bones and corrode flesh?
He gripped his pencil tightly, strode through the corridor, and headed straight for the front yard of the Special Operations Headquarters.
The action team was lined up and ready to go, and Chen Shen was leaning against the wall cleaning his gun.
"Director Zhou, is there some tough work to be done?" Chen Shen asked, looking up.
"Just stay close, don't ask any questions," Zhou Xiao said, leaving only that one sentence.
Before she finished speaking, Feng Manna had already led Wu Cheng out of the cell. The man's hands were cuffed behind his back, his face was pale, and his steps were unsteady, looking like a wandering soul just dragged out of a coffin.
Zhou Xiao knew perfectly well that once the Military Intelligence Bureau learned of the capture of Wu Cheng and his two companions, they had most likely already moved the printing plates overnight. But how could one feel at ease with such a high probability?
What if they overlooked it?
What if something goes wrong during the transfer?
What if... it's just an hour short?
The consequences weren't just a matter of losing a few sheets of paper—it meant thousands upon thousands of banknotes becoming worthless, soldiers on the front lines running out of food and medicine, and the entire mountain town's bustling streets going out overnight.
Even if there's only a one in ten thousand chance, Zhou Xiao will absolutely not allow it to take root.
Even the smallest probability is a spark; once ignited, it can burn down the entire country.
Moreover—Wu Cheng deserved to die.
If traitors are not eliminated, they will sooner or later become collaborators; if collaborators are not killed, their poison will seep into every street and alley.
Zhou Xiao stepped forward, grabbed Wu Cheng's shoulder, and smoothed out the wrinkles in his collar, his voice as soft as a whisper: "Wu Cheng, if you had listened earlier, why would you have suffered like this?"
"If you try anything funny this time—those five starving wolves in the backyard are just waiting to gnaw on your bones."
"But if you really lead us to the printing press... it won't be difficult for Special Operations Headquarters to make room for you as a deputy section chief."
"Did you understand?"
As soon as he finished speaking, the pencil slid into Wu Cheng's left trouser pocket—as fast as a dragonfly skimming the water, without even causing a single wrinkle in his clothes.
Wu Cheng's Adam's apple bobbed, and he replied in a trembling voice, "I...I understand."
Zhou Xiao raised his arm: "Let's go!"
The convoy roared to life, a black sedan leading the way, followed closely by a Capo, kicking up clouds of dust. Only Lan Yanzhi was left at headquarters—which ironically suited her, allowing her to rummage through classified files amidst the chaos.
Zhou Xiao and Feng Manna sat in the front car, the window half-lowered, and the wind blowing in carried the coolness of early autumn.
Wu Cheng was huddled in the back of the truck, guarded by two agents on each side, with a light machine gun mounted on the roof.
Zhou Xiao's palms, gripping the steering wheel, were slightly sweaty.
This was the first time he had used an arson pencil to kill someone.
Adrian—the code-breaking fanatic known as the "father of the black chamber"—created this contraption in his Berlin laboratory: steaming the gel, splitting the core, embedding the tube, sealing it, and finally sealing the two-agent reaction chamber with a thin copper cap. With just a slight bend of the pen tip, air rushes in, the two solutions mix, heating up in three seconds, burning the skin in ten seconds, and igniting subcutaneous fat in twenty seconds—burning it completely and thoroughly.
On a rainy night at the mountain city dock, Sixth Brother Zheng Yaoxian stuffed this pencil into his hand and said, "When you use it, don't blink or be soft-hearted."
Now, it's time to use it.
The convoy sped along, its tires crunching over the gravel road.
Inside the car, Wu Cheng suddenly stiffened, feeling as if he had been branded with a hot iron on his side, followed by a piercing burning pain, as if a red-hot needle was stabbing into his flesh.
*Pfft—* Hiss!*
Without warning, flames burst forth from his waistband, starting as a small, dark blue cluster and quickly transforming into orange-red tongues that licked upwards along the seam of his pants.
"Fire!" someone shouted in alarm.
But no one dared to put it out—the fire was too wicked and burned too fiercely.
In an instant, Wu Cheng was a human-shaped torch, black smoke carrying the smell of burning rising straight to the roof of the vehicle. He screamed as he rammed the car door, tumbled out of the compartment, and rolled wildly on the scorching gravel road, his screams tearing through the air, making people's teeth ache and their backs go numb.
The car in front braked suddenly, its tires screeching loudly.
Zhou Xiao pushed open the door and jumped down, with Feng Manna following closely behind. The two rushed to the side of the truck in a few steps—Wu Cheng was engulfed in flames, even his hair was crackling and popping; even the canvas roof of the military truck had a black hole burned through it.
Feng Manna stood frozen in place, her lips pale: "How...how did this catch fire? Who did it?!"
Zhou Xiao had already ripped off his coat and was lunging at Wu Cheng while yelling, "What are you standing there for? Take off your clothes! Pour water on me! Quickly!"
Chen Shen stood three steps away, gripping his gun, his face completely drained of color.
He never dreamed that the prisoner he personally escorted would be burned alive to ashes in broad daylight.
The special operations headquarters agents were suddenly jolted awake and frantically tore off their coats to extinguish the flames rising from Wu Cheng's body.
But it was too late.
Wu Cheng, who had just been rolling and howling on the ground, was now lying motionless, his body curled up into a charred heap. Flames licked his flesh, crackling and popping, and the air was filled with the pungent, acrid smell of burning grease—the sound was dense and eerie, like a few drops of lard dripping into a hot pan.
By the time everyone had exhausted all their strength to extinguish the last flame, Wu Cheng had already shrunk into a curled-up, stiff charcoal corpse. His skin was cracked and peeling, his fingernails were curled and white, and even his eye sockets had sunk into two dark, deep holes. The smell of burning flesh filled the air.
Gao Xiang strode forward and stopped in front of Zhou Xiao and Feng Manna, his voice low and deep: "Director Zhou, Section Chief Feng, the person... is beyond saving."
"Dead?" Feng Manna's eyes were bloodshot as she abruptly turned to stare at the two subordinates escorting her. Her voice suddenly rose, almost splitting the air, "Speak! What happened? How could a living person suddenly catch fire?!"
The man on the left swallowed hard, his voice weak: "Section Chief Feng...it really wasn't us! He...he just suddenly caught a fever!"
The man on the right nodded hurriedly, sweat beading on his forehead: "Absolutely true! All the brothers here saw it—Wu Cheng first started flaming up from his waist and abdomen, and in the blink of an eye, it shot up to his chest, throat, and head... We had barely reached out when the flames had already engulfed his entire face!"
Those escorting Wu Cheng were trusted confidants personally chosen by Feng Manna; accompanying them in the same vehicle were also key members of the action team. At this moment, they all nodded, their expressions solemn, and no one questioned the situation.
The scene was deathly silent.
Less than fifteen minutes after stepping out of the Special Operations Headquarters, key witness Wu Cheng was turned into charred remains in public.
absurd.
Bizarre.
That doesn't make sense.
Gao Xiang suddenly lowered his voice and blurted out, "Director, section chief...could it be...there really is something dirty?"
The moment the word "spontaneous human combustion" was uttered, even the wind seemed to freeze.
"Dirty stuff?" Feng Manna sneered, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white. "Even if there is, it's a devil hidden in the bellies of our own people!"
She didn't believe it, but the more she thought about it, the more confused she became: a perfectly healthy person, who hadn't been exposed to oil, electricity, or fire, why would they be burned to ashes at this time and place?
She was unaware of the "fire pencil" technique.
Most agents didn't know either.
This assassination method is too cunning and too secretive; it has always been passed down only to a very small number of people and is never leaked.
Zheng Yaoxian entrusted it to Zhou Xiao simply because he was his most trusted apprentice, a truly reliable and capable person. Even Zhao Jianzhi, his close deputy for many years, had never seen the pencil in person.
Feng Manna's gaze shifted to Zhou Xiao's face: "Third Brother, you're so knowledgeable, did you figure it out? How... how did the person catch a fever?"
Zhou Xiao raised his hand to signal her to calm down: "Manna, stay calm."
He paused, then said in a steady voice, “Spontaneous human combustion is rare, but it’s not a legend. The earliest record is from Europe more than 300 years ago—in the early 17th century, a priest was sitting by the fireplace when he was silently burned to ashes, without even catching fire to his cushion.”
"Later scholars have proposed several hypotheses: ball lightning strike, static electricity accumulation and explosion, human fat acting as a wick for slow burning, or ketosis causing the accumulation of flammable substances in the body... but to this day no one has been able to reproduce it, and there is no conclusion."
"Therefore, we cannot completely rule out the possibility of accidents in the Wucheng incident."
"But more likely—someone has taken action. And the method they used is one we've never seen before."
Chen Shen then interjected with certainty: "I recently flipped through 'Science Pictorial' and actually read a similar report: a man was sleeping in the middle of the night when his body suddenly started smoking, and in the end only half of his spine and a few teeth remained, but the sheets and blankets were perfectly intact."
Zhou Xiao shook his head: "But if it really was spontaneous combustion, why choose this time? Why didn't it burn during transport, or during interrogation? Why wait until they just left the house and the person had just breathed a sigh of relief before it started burning?"
"There are too many suspicious points."
"A thorough investigation is necessary."
check?
The clues have been completely cut off.
Feng Manna gritted her teeth: "Third Brother is right."
The convoy had no choice but to turn back and drive back to the special operations headquarters empty.
The only remaining clue about where the printing plates were buried is a picture in Wu Cheng's mind—once a person dies, the picture becomes a mystery.
Feng Manna did not give up and immediately dispatched the action team and the elite personnel of the action department to conduct a door-to-door search of the old houses in the Bund area.
But the Shikumen houses there were crisscrossing, the alleys were so narrow that only one person could pass sideways, and the residents were a chaotic mess. How could one find any clues?
Even if the printing plates were still hidden there, they would have long been moved or buried, so it's definitely a lost cause.
She felt a tightness in her chest.
I just touched the edge of the printing plate, and it was burned to ashes in the blink of an eye—I can't swallow this insult.
Zhou Xiao stood quietly to the side the whole time, his sleeves hanging down slightly, and his fingertips showing no abnormality.
No one doubted him.
No one knew that with a gentle twist of his fingers, the spark at Wu Cheng's waist was quietly ignited.
This burning eliminated the possibility of the Japanese and their collaborators seizing control of the printing plates, and also severed the poisonous chain that allowed the enemy to plunder the blood and sweat of millions of people and cut off the supplies of hundreds of thousands of soldiers on the front lines.