Chapter Eighteen: The Plan of the Terror of Spirits

Walking through the campus of Mingcheng University, Li Weiwei’s heart felt somewhat heavy. The words Zhou Donghai spoke yesterday had shaken her deeply, to the point she felt her understanding of the world had been fundamentally altered. She hadn’t slept a wink all night, turning over in her mind what had happened—what had become of this world? Why were there such people? Was it that she had always been too naïve, or was the world itself too sinister?

Raised in the sheltering embrace of her parents, doted on by her siblings, and surrounded by smiling faces, everyone she knew had always been gentle and kind. Even after leaving home for school, her classmates were friendly. The few she disliked were, in her eyes, simply people whose personalities clashed with hers; the so-called “bad people” were nothing more than individuals she didn’t get along with.

At work, her colleagues got along harmoniously, often gathering for meals and trips together. In Li Weiwei’s world, the “bad people” were merely those she found disagreeable due to temperament. But compared to the villains Zhou Donghai described, her concept of evil was fundamentally different.

She couldn’t imagine that such people actually existed in this world, let alone in such numbers as to form a vast criminal organization—something she’d only seen in movies, now playing out in reality. Reality, it seemed, was even more outlandish than fiction, and her worldview had been utterly upended.

As Zhao Zhijie stepped off his car, he saw Li Weiwei wandering the campus with her head bowed, lost in thought. He walked up to her, patted her on the shoulder, and said with a smile, “Don’t always walk with your head down, or you’ll run into a wall.”

Li Weiwei looked up and saw Zhao Zhijie, her eyes filled with confusion. Noticing her uncharacteristic demeanor, Zhao Zhijie asked, “What’s wrong? Did someone scold you? You don’t look like yourself at all.”

Li Weiwei asked, “Weren’t you shocked by what Zhou Donghai said yesterday?”

Zhao Zhijie nodded, “Of course I was shocked. I thought we’d accomplished our mission, but it turns out we’ve only just begun. Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us!”

Li Weiwei shook her head. “That’s not what I mean,” she said. “I mean, aren’t you shocked by what those people have done? Are there really so many bad people in the real world? Don’t you think what he described is as exaggerated as a movie?”

Zhao Zhijie understood her confusion. As someone who had been cherished and protected since childhood—a little princess—she had never glimpsed the darker side of society, unlike Zhao Zhijie. Her upbringing and even her workplace were full of sunlight. Suddenly confronted with such a colossal darkness, it was only natural for her to feel unsettled.

He said, “The environment you grew up in meant you would never come into contact with these criminals. Your family background meant your circle was always bright and cheerful. That’s your life—but it isn’t everyone’s. Crime happens every minute, every second in this world, and with it, people are plunged into pain every moment.”

He paused, then continued, “When I first joined the police, I couldn’t believe there were so many bad people in the world, so much evil. Later, I understood: where there is light, there must be shadow; where there is day, there must be night; where there are good people, there will inevitably be bad ones.”

“That’s why the police exist—to ensure that more people, like you, can live in the light, unaware of society’s darkness and blissfully happy. As for the real world, it’s far less pleasant than your ideal. As the saying goes, the reason you enjoy peaceful times is because someone else is bearing the burdens for you.”

Li Weiwei asked, “So you’re saying you’re always confronting society’s dark side, always fighting against criminal organizations like what Zhou Donghai described? Are the police really that good? That’s not the impression I used to have.”

Zhao Zhijie replied, “Every profession has good people and bad people. The police are no exception. The difference is, if ten police officers do a hundred good deeds, people may not notice, but if one officer does something wrong, it taints the whole force. The media is also more likely to report on bad officers—because that grabs attention and makes news. So it’s only natural that what you’ve heard doesn’t match reality. Chief Qiu, Captain Hai, Captain Liu, and Zhang Mufeng are all police officers. Do you think they’re bad people?”

“That’s different,” Li Weiwei said. “Except for Captain Hai and Captain Liu, you all don’t seem much like police officers—how can I put it—you’re too gentle, not at all thuggish.” She couldn’t help but pout slightly. Although she’d heard stories of police colluding with criminals, she realized police weren’t as bad as she’d imagined. Most were probably good people, like Uncle Qiu.

Her interactions with Zhao Zhijie and the others confirmed this, but she still suspected that perhaps only the officers in her immediate circle were good; she wasn’t confident about the rest. In her experience, people generally avoided contact with the police and didn’t think much of the profession.

Zhao Zhijie laughed. “I keep telling you, we’re police, not gangsters. Why would we act like thugs? Police are tough toward criminals, but with ordinary people, of course, we’re friendly. How we behave depends on the person. If we were fierce with you, a little girl, and made you cry, that’d be a problem!”

Li Weiwei persisted. “But sometimes police officers do treat regular people badly—I’ve seen it myself.”

Zhao Zhijie asked, “But how do you know that person was truly innocent and not a criminal? Things aren’t always as they appear—you need to know the facts. Of course, dealing with criminals all the time can make one a bit rough around the edges. Expecting all police to be gentle with everyone isn’t realistic, but you can’t dismiss the whole force over a few flaws!”

Li Weiwei insisted, “But there are bad people among the police, too!”

Zhao Zhijie nodded, “There are. Like I said, every profession has its bad apples. But most police are good people—dedicated, working long hours and forgoing holidays, standing guard at night, protecting the light.”

Li Weiwei teased, “You’re good with parallel structures, aren’t you? Normally you’re not so talkative, but now you’re quite eloquent.”

Zhao Zhijie smiled and said, “Don’t overthink it. You’ll understand more in time. Now hurry to the meeting room, or we’ll be late!”

With that, the two of them headed toward the White Tiger Squad’s secret base.

Before they even entered, they heard Liu Zhiyang’s voice drifting from inside.

“Haifeng, you’re something else. You called Zhou Donghai a fraud, but you’re the biggest trickster here. You really dare say anything, don’t you? I didn’t call you out in front of the youngsters, but you’ve really outdone yourself with your wild stories. When did Zhang Zili ever run into Zhou Donghai’s mother? From what I know, it was just a regular traffic accident. Being a police officer is a waste of your talent—you should be a screenwriter, you’re never afraid of making things up!”

“That was a ruthless move, I’ll give you that—you even fooled me. No wonder they call you ‘Ghosts’ Bane.’ You can out-trick a ghost. Zhou Donghai’s luck ran out meeting you. Tell me, what goes on in your head? How could you tie Zhang Zili and Zhou Donghai’s mother into a traffic accident? Weren’t you worried Zhou Donghai would see through your story?”

“After all, he’s a conman, not an idiot. Weren’t you afraid he’d catch on and ruin everything? Still, your trick worked. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have confessed so clearly. Now there’s no need for investigation—just arrest them all. That actually makes things easier.”

“But I think you’d better talk to Director Qiu first. This is a big operation, across provinces even. Don’t act on your own. I thought we were just catching a few fraudsters, but you’ve turned it into a major racket. If you have a plan, spit it out—don’t keep it to yourself. We need to be ready, and we’ll have to move quickly, or they’ll destroy the evidence and all will be lost. Did you hear me?”

Haifeng felt a headache coming on. He could handle any difficult suspect, but Liu Zhiyang always left him at a loss. After all that, he still hadn’t figured out what Liu Zhiyang was actually trying to say, so he just stared blankly at him.

Liu Zhiyang sighed. “Fine, I’ve been talking to myself. I might as well have been doing stand-up comedy. Never mind—I know you have your methods. Just remember to inform Director Qiu before you act, got it?”

“Yes, he’ll be joining us for the meeting in a moment,” Haifeng replied.

Hearing this, Liu Zhiyang fell silent and waited quietly with Haifeng for the others to arrive.

“Weiwei, why are you two standing out here? Why not go in?” a voice called from behind. Li Weiwei turned to see Qiu Zhiyong, and felt a bit embarrassed. “Uncle Qiu, what brings you here? You walk so quietly—I didn’t hear you approach.”

Qiu Zhiyong smiled. “You were eavesdropping so intently you didn’t notice this old man coming.”

Li Weiwei blushed, and Zhao Zhijie, seeing her expression, couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

Qiu Zhiyong then led Li Weiwei and Zhao Zhijie into the room, where the other team members were already gathering.

Seeing everyone was present, Haifeng turned on the projector and began to outline their plan.

He looked at Qiu Zhiyong and said, “You’ve already heard the basic outline from Zhou Donghai, but let me summarize.”

He glanced around, seeing all the team members focused on him, and began his briefing.

“We started investigating because of Huang Guan’s suicide, which led us to a woman named ‘Li Mengyao’ who lured victims into romance scams. Thanks to everyone’s efforts, we’ve caught the real ‘Li Mengyao’—that is, Zhou Donghai, who has confessed to his crimes.”

He paused for effect, then continued, “But in interrogating Zhou Donghai, we learned something even more important: he’s not the leader of this organization, and we’ve only uncovered the tip of the iceberg.”

Looking at Qiu Zhiyong, Haifeng saw no trace of surprise; Qiu had always suspected that someone as rootless and uneducated as Zhou Donghai could not run such a sophisticated criminal operation alone—a puppet must have a master. Qiu felt gratified at his choice of team leader; Haifeng had not let him down, and with the White Tiger Squad in place, perhaps these lawless criminals’ days were truly numbered.

Haifeng continued, “According to Zhou Donghai’s statement, we now have a rough understanding of the group. The leader is Sun Zhengtao, male, 31, from Songbai County, Songzhou City, Songhai Province. He has a younger brother, Sun Shengcai, also a key figure.”

“Sun Zhengtao divided operations into seven branches: game scams, sexual scams, impersonating law enforcement and extortion, PAU and romance scams, airline ticket scams, financial scams, and impersonating acquaintances. Each branch has its own leader: Zhou Donghai, Lu Xiaoyu, Zhang Zili, Lü Yue, Zhang Zhijun, Sun Shengcai, and Zhou Qiang. Zhou Donghai was only in charge of game scams—a single branch.”

Qiu Zhiyong listened carefully. This Sun Zhengtao caught his attention—not least because he was another criminal from Songhai, a region notorious for rampant scams. During his visits there, local police leadership had lamented how easy it was for scammers to operate nationwide with just a mobile phone. While Songhai was a hotbed of scam artists, Qiu knew well that Mingzhou, his own jurisdiction, suffered more as a victim region. The low number of cases was due to lack of investigation, not a lack of crime.

The supposed “good working environment” was only because many online cases were left untouched, set aside indefinitely. If they kept working this way, Mingzhou might become a haven for cybercrime, and as deputy director, he would be partly to blame. That was why he had tasked Haifeng with forming a special team.

Haifeng went on, “Within the group, Sun Zhengtao is at the top. Next come Lu Xiaoyu, Zhang Zili, and Lü Yue, his first batch of subordinates. Beneath them are Zhang Zhijun, Sun Shengcai, Zhou Qiang, and Zhou Donghai. Sun Zhengtao also has a trusted aide, Zhou Yu, who helps him manage the operation.”

“There are also two special teams—the Technical Group and the Expert Group—responsible for all the devices, software, and scripts used in the scams. These two teams report directly to Sun Zhengtao, which is the key to his control of the whole operation.”

Pointing to Lu Xiaoyu’s photo on the screen, Haifeng continued, “Lu Xiaoyu, male, 29, from Songbai County, Songzhou City, Songhai Province, has a high school education, making him one of the more educated members. He is the second-in-command, calm and strategic, and Sun Zhengtao’s right-hand man.”

“But because of Zhou Yu, a rift has formed. Now the group is divided into two factions: one led by Sun Zhengtao, including Zhang Zili, Zhang Zhijun, Sun Shengcai, and Zhou Donghai; the other by Lu Xiaoyu, with Lü Yue and Zhou Qiang.”

Haifeng turned to address the team. “That’s the basic structure. Thanks to Zhou Donghai, we have their core identities—it’s a Songzhou-based gang, now operating in Qingdong City, Qingjiang Province. What we lack is hard evidence and intel on their technical and expert teams. We have work to do before making arrests.”

He took a deep breath. “First, we need to keep them calm, prevent evidence destruction, and gather more intelligence—especially about the technical and expert teams. Zhang Mufeng, you’ll go undercover. Since they’re all from Songzhou, Wen Yuxin, you’ll use your language skills to help Zhang pose as a Songzhou native. Li Mengyang, you’ll assist as well.”

Zhang Mufeng and Li Mengyang nodded in acknowledgment. Wen Yuxin looked hesitant—it seemed unrealistic to teach someone from scratch the Songzhou dialect in so little time.

Haifeng noticed her doubt. “Yuxin, you don’t need to teach Zhang Mufeng now. He’ll wear an earpiece—you’ll transmit the lines, and he’ll repeat exactly what he hears. He’s a skilled mimic.”

He turned to Li Mengyang. “If they need to speak in dialect, you’ll provide responses. Yuxin will translate for Zhang, who’ll echo the answer perfectly.”

Seeing Yuxin still unconvinced, Haifeng said, “Say in Songzhou dialect, ‘Hello everyone, I am Zhang Mufeng.’”

She hesitated, but complied. Haifeng looked at Zhang, who immediately repeated her phrase flawlessly, matching every intonation. Yuxin was surprised—she hadn’t expected him to be so accurate. With such a chameleon on the team, Haifeng’s plan seemed entirely feasible.

Haifeng continued, “Next, we’ll use technology for covert evidence collection and to confirm targets. Li Weiwei and Zhao Zhijie, you’ll provide technical support.”

Li Weiwei and Zhao Zhijie nodded in acceptance.

Haifeng went on, “Finally, Liu Zhiyang will handle legal support and coordinate with me to liaise with other departments, ensuring a smooth takedown.”

He paused, scanning the group for objections. Seeing none, he said, “I’ve already asked our colleagues in Qingdong to watch for anyone inquiring about Zhou Donghai. Just now, word came that someone is indeed asking. Zhang Mufeng, pack your things—you’ll leave for Qingdong this afternoon. The rest of you will go in batches over the week, to avoid arousing suspicion.”

He handed Zhang a phone and a portable hard drive. “Li Weiwei has installed spyware on the phone—it uses a Qingdong number. The hard drive contains Zhou Donghai’s game code, rewritten by Li Weiwei and Zhao Zhijie. Give it to Lu Xiaoyu. We’ll use the rift between Lu Xiaoyu and Sun Zhengtao to draw attention away from Zhou Donghai, buying us time for investigation. Your first move in Qingdong is to contact Lu Xiaoyu and infiltrate his company. Play it by ear from there. I’ll give you the rest of the equipment on the way to the airport.”

Zhang Mufeng nodded, taking the phone and hard drive.

Haifeng concluded, “That’s the plan. We’ll adapt as needed if anything unexpected happens.”

Qiu Zhiyong, who had been silent, was taken aback. This was no ordinary operation—it felt more like a spy thriller. But he knew Haifeng always had a knack for surprises, and he was impressed by these young people: Wen Yuxin’s linguistic talent, Zhang Mufeng’s mimicry, Li Weiwei and Zhao Zhijie’s technical expertise, Li Mengyang’s professionalism—all promising. With his old protégé Liu Zhiyang’s legal acumen, Qiu felt he had an exceptional team.

Smiling, Qiu said, “Let’s proceed as Captain Hai outlined. I’ll also arrange for the criminal investigation department to send specialists to support you in Qingdong and Songzhou. Do your best—I’ll handle the rest.”

The White Tiger Squad, fired up by Qiu’s words, felt like tigers ready to pounce, their enthusiasm palpable. The meeting ended in high spirits as everyone left to prepare. Liu Zhiyang walked with Qiu Zhiyong around the campus track.

Liu Zhiyang walked with his head bowed, clearly troubled. Qiu noticed and said, “You looked like you had something on your mind during the meeting. Now that we’re alone, speak freely.”

Liu Zhiyang looked at Qiu. “Old mentor, do you really think Haifeng’s approach is safe? He’s so unconventional. This plan is risky—sending a youngster undercover, especially with a language barrier. If something goes wrong, not only will Zhang Mufeng’s family hold us responsible, but the whole squad could be ruined.”

“And as founder of the special team, you’d be implicated—perhaps even see your reputation ruined. Isn’t it reckless to approve the plan so easily? Besides, jurisdiction over Zhou Donghai’s case should reside in Jinghua. Assigning it to us is questionable. Not to mention the case’s connection to Huang Jifeng; technically, we should recuse ourselves.”

“Plus, since the suspects are in Qingdong, this is cross-provincial, attracting more scrutiny. If we’re careless, we’ll become targets for criticism. Apart from Zhou Donghai, we don’t have hard evidence against the others—our authority is questionable. Letting Haifeng run wild worries me. We might not be able to shoulder the consequences.”

Qiu looked at Liu Zhiyang, recognizing genuine concern for himself and the team. As the elder statesman and Haifeng’s old friend, Liu knew Haifeng better than anyone, and that made his worries all the more valid.

Qiu invited Liu to sit on a bench, gazing into the distance. “The weather’s beautiful today,” he said. “Clear blue sky, fresh breeze, a lush campus. It’s relaxing to be here.”

Liu was puzzled by the sudden turn to small talk.

Qiu saw his confusion and smiled. “People like their comfort zones. Laws and rules create order—a comfort zone where everyone knows their role.”

He shifted tone. “But some people aren’t satisfied with those rules. Their greed pushes them to break boundaries, turning the common good into their private playground, heedless of the cost to others.”

“How can we fight such rule-breakers with old routines? I used to think our systems and hard work would suffice. But faced with cybercrime, I realize I was wrong. These scoundrels are wrecking our country and hurting our people, and we’re often powerless.”

“Professional methods, sophisticated techniques, a complete criminal industry—once, we were a step ahead. Now, we lag behind. Crime has changed, but we’re stuck in old ways, unwilling to leave our comfort zone. But is that acceptable? We are the last line of defense. If we fail, what hope is left for the people, or the country?”

Qiu’s gaze was deep, as if peering into the future. “We must leave our comfort zone, break conventions, and fight these criminals with special tactics. Haifeng isn’t one for playing by the book—he’s paid for it, and his career has suffered. But for cybercrime, is there anyone more suited to lead than him?” He turned to Liu and smiled.

Liu agreed with Qiu’s assessment. Though Haifeng was a troublemaker, he was also a master at fighting crime, whether hardened criminals or crafty officials. Sometimes Liu thought Haifeng lacked social skills; yet, his actions showed a deep understanding of human nature, always catching adversaries off guard.

Liu knew traditional methods were useless against cybercrime; only someone as imaginative as Haifeng could hope to keep up. Still, he worried the team and his mentor would become targets for standing out. After all, they were public servants, and being unconventional came at a price.

Qiu seemed to read Liu’s thoughts. “The idea to form a special team was long in coming—not a whim after Huang Guan’s case. Nor do I mean to abuse my power for personal revenge. But Huang Guan’s death showed me that we can’t afford to be timid any longer.”

“How many have suffered because of rampant online crime? Look at the case files—you’ll see the report numbers, but how many have we solved? Are we to let criminals run wild?” Qiu’s voice held a hint of anguish.

“It’s time to fight back. We can’t wait until we’re personally affected to feel the pain. Of course, I won’t deny I have some personal feelings—I do want Haifeng to avenge Huang Guan. I can’t let him die in vain. He was Jifeng’s son, a martyr’s orphan. If he died so unjustly, I’d have no face to see Jifeng again.”

“So yes, you think I’m taking risks, and I admit it. But do you think I care about risk now? I want to change things—to do what a deputy director of public security should, what a police officer should. We’re supposed to face danger, not be cowed by it. Why tie our own hands? Unless we hold fast to our principles, what are we left with?”

Liu looked at Qiu and said nothing more. He knew his mentor’s resolve was unshakable—he had made up his mind to let the special team make a real difference. The deputy director was still the same old mentor: the one who once risked his life to fight crime.

Gazing into the distance, Liu silently prayed, “Haifeng, I trust you won’t let him down. I believe you’ll succeed, and restore this place to purity.”