"If you truly consider me a good friend, then shouldn't you tell me why your friend wants to kill you?" I was quite preoccupied with this, so I asked casually.

Yang Zhifeng sighed, saying, "If you really want to know, then wait until I'm in a bad mood sometime and I'll tell you. That incident was too heavy; I can't bring it up in this atmosphere right now. Anyway, for a time, I was just like you, feeling like an extra person in this world. That event hit me so hard that I saw my former self in you."

I thought to myself, This guy looks younger than me, what's with the sudden deepness?

But since his ranking in the 9th Division was higher than mine, I ultimately held my tongue.

The car sped along the Fourth Ring Road, and twenty minutes later, we arrived at the Old Beijing Mutton Hot Pot place he mentioned. We both got incredibly drunk that night and crashed at some random hotel.

The next morning, Yang Zhifeng had completely forgotten about me. As soon as he woke up, he left with two hotel girls for some unknown spree.

In the end, I paid for the room myself and hailed a cab outside.

Before getting in, I had already decided: this mission's partner was a monk, so I needed to find a place a monk would favor.

An old teahouse or similar quiet venue would be suitable. Conversely, places like coffee shops, juice bars, or movie theaters wouldn't be appropriate.

So, I found a famous old teahouse in Beijing and sat down. Sipping my tea, I wondered: without a phone call, without prior arrangement, would Guy Number 2 actually be able to find me here?

Just as I was thinking this, a clear, melodious sound of tapping a wooden fish suddenly echoed from the quiet private room.

I felt a strange sensation and looked around, but the room was small—there was no one to be seen. Where on earth was that wooden fish sound coming from?

I even opened the room door to check outside, but still couldn't locate the source of the sound.

Yet, the persistent tapping of the wooden fish drilled into my ears, making my heart prickle with apprehension.

Finally, I realized I hadn't checked under the tea table, but the space beneath was less than thirty centimeters high and only a meter wide. Even if a person lay flat on the ground, they couldn't possibly hide there.

At this thought, a cold sweat broke out on my forehead. Have I seen a ghost?

Once I focused my attention on the space under the tea table, the sound seemed to emanate even more strongly from there.

I paused, thinking, Could someone have placed a remote-controlled recorder under there?

If that were the case, it would offer some small measure of relief.

So, I squatted down and lifted the tablecloth from the tea table, peering underneath, only to be struck dumb with a mixture of laughter and despair.

Because I saw Ah Gui, that black-furred monkey belonging to Number 2, sitting there, earnestly tapping a small wooden fish with perfect form, his eyes half-closed in deep concentration.

I remained on the floor, watching the impish monkey, and said, "Hey, Ah Gui, when did you get here? Where's your master?"

Ah Gui seemed to hear my voice, suddenly opened his eyes, chittered twice at me, set down the small tapping stick, and twisted to scramble out from under the table.

Not knowing what he meant, I quickly scrambled out from under the table as well, and there, sitting in the chair directly opposite me, was a man wearing a knitted vest over a shirt, a baseball cap, sunglasses, and a massive jade Buddha pendant hanging around his neck.

If Ah Gui hadn't chittered and climbed onto his shoulder, I wouldn't have recognized him as Number 2 at all.

After a moment of stunned silence, I managed, "You! When did you arrive?"

Number 2 removed his sunglasses and laughed heartily, saying, "Haha! This humble monk knew yesterday that you would come to this teahouse, so I sent Ah Gui ahead!"

Hearing this, I suddenly recalled what Number 8 had said last night—that Number 2 possessed precognitive abilities. It seemed that was true, and apparently, it could be this accurate.

After a slight moment of surprise, I asked Number 2, "You're dressed like this because..."

Number 2 paused and asked, "Am I not handsome?"

I was immensely embarrassed but quickly affirmed, "Handsome! Stunningly handsome!"

Number 2 nodded with satisfaction and said, "This humble monk just heard that the Envoys have some understanding of our 9th Division. As a monk, I am very conspicuous, so a disguise was necessary."

I nodded and said, "Oh, I see. But if you're going to disguise yourself, perhaps you should also change that catchphrase, 'This humble monk.'"

Number 2 replied, "Don't worry. This humble monk will never say 'this humble monk' again—at least not during a mission."

I was speechless for a moment and decided not to press the issue further. I took out the red file folder I had received last night and pulled out the documents inside.

I had expected the contents to be extensive, something I could study for half a day, but when I took it out, there was only a single sheet of paper.

It contained three sentences written in printed type.

The first sentence read: Yuanmou County, Chuxiong, Yunnan Province, Zhang Jiashan.

The second sentence read: Investigator casualties: 22. Danger Level: SSS or X. Avoid direct engagement.

The third sentence read: What kind of bird is in the Yuanmou Stone Forest? There are no birds; the hairy ones are all wild men.

I understood the first two sentences perfectly, but the third left me completely bewildered.

Number 2, at this point, dropped his good-natured smile and said, "That's street code. Although we aren't in a crisis right now and shouldn't be monitored, it's customary to burn the materials after reading them."

I nodded. "I understand."

Just as I was about to pull out my lighter, the paper in my hand spontaneously burst into flames.

I didn't know why, but Number 2 across from me was smiling faintly, observing my surprised expression with apparent satisfaction.

The paper quickly burned to ash.

But only after the paper was completely gone did I remember something, and I let out an exclamation.

Number 2 asked what was wrong, and I said, "There was still one person on our team, Number 12—he hasn't seen the data yet!"

To be honest, Number 12, with his extremely weak presence, was so unremarkable that I had completely forgotten about him.

Number 2 stated, "It doesn't matter. We can relay the content later. Unless something unexpected happens, this fellow will rush out of a taxi in about a minute, exclaiming apologetically that he is late."

I paused, asking, "Huh? I don't remember notifying him of this location last night."

Number 2 smiled and replied, "I told him."

One minute later, sure enough, the sound of a taxi horn blared from downstairs, followed by someone shouting, "Hey! Kid, haven't paid the fare yet!"

Then came an apologetic voice: "Oh, sorry, sorry, I'm in a rush! Here, here’s the money."

Thirty seconds later, Number 12 pushed open the private room door, panting, and said, "Sorry, I've arrived. My apologies."

Seeing how exhausted he looked, I said, "It's fine, come in and sit down. Have some tea."

However, Number 2 put on his sunglasses and stated, "Chuxiong Prefecture is in Yunnan, thousands of miles from Beijing. We need to go buy plane tickets now; we probably won't arrive in Kunming until tomorrow morning. So, we must leave immediately. Let's go."

Number 12 looked surprised, but despite his exhaustion, he could only nod and say, "Okay, let's go... let's go..."

I picked up my briefcase, walked over, clapped Number 12 on the shoulder, and said, "Rest on the way, haha, young man, you need some training."

We had been in Beijing for three months, transitioning from late autumn into early winter.

As we stepped out of the teahouse, a gust of north wind howled, causing all of us to instinctively pull our necks in.

The people on the street were wrapped in scarves and masks. Although the sun was mild, only the white steam rising from the street food stalls offered a hint of warmth.

I saw that Number 12 was only wearing a school uniform, and it looked like a high school uniform at that. He was shivering, almost curled into a ball, his messy long hair whipping wildly in the wind, constantly rubbing his hands and chattering his teeth. I asked him, "Brother, aren't you cold wearing so little?"

A smile flickered across Number 12's sharp face, defined by prominent cheekbones. He said, "Not cold, not cold. Once this mission is done, I'll have money."

As he spoke, he waved the case in his hand, appearing quite cheerful.

I understood the implication in his words; looking at his flat pockets, I guessed he had spent all his money on the taxi ride just now.

So, I clapped him on the back and said, "How can you take on a mission if your basic needs aren't met? How about this: I'll buy you some clothes and we'll eat first, then we leave. What do you say, Number 2?"

Number 2 seemed particularly fond of me. Although it was somewhat inconvenient, he only hesitated for two seconds before saying, "Alright then, there's nothing to be done. We should eat first."

At that moment, Number 12 interjected, "It's not that much trouble. We can just buy some fish balls from a roadside stall, and then I can get a trench coat from that place."

I saw he was pointing to a low-budget clothing supermarket behind us, the kind elderly people usually shopped at. I asked, "Is that really okay? Will a single trench coat ward off the cold?"

Number 12 smiled and said, "It will, it will! I see you two are both wearing trench coats, so I must buy one too, otherwise, we won't make a proper trio."

I nearly burst out laughing when I heard that. "Alright, I'll indulge you."

So, we bought a few skewers of Oden fish balls from a street vendor, and then went into that clothing supermarket. He chose a nylon trench coat, the kind favored by old men, costing only 189.

When Number 12 slipped on the trench coat, he looked like a toad stuffed into a plastic bag, convinced he was a bat—utterly smug.

That enormous coat draped over such a thin, awkward frame made him resemble a kite. He certainly didn't look like a good person.

But Number 12 was quite pleased with himself. He even found a parked sedan, used the car window as a mirror, and started fixing his hair.

I glanced at Number 2, feeling a mixture of amusement and frustration, hoping he understood my feelings.

Unexpectedly, he also leaned over, took off his baseball cap, stroked his inch-long stubble, and proceeded to pick his teeth...

I was utterly speechless, thinking, This trip is going to be a spectacle; these two are complete clowns.