Lucy led everyone to her room, the one with eight monitors, black walls, and green LED strips creating an almost cyberpunk atmosphere. Everyone except Hǔtān, who was still too injured to move from the medical wing and frankly didn't need to be involved in the technical side of things.
Tòumíng, Ghost Claw, Svetlana, Marco, Polo, and even Think Tink The Tinkerer crowded into the space, which suddenly felt much smaller with seven people in it.
Lucy pulled up a detailed map of Guanlan Lake on her main monitor—the kind of high-resolution satellite imagery that definitely wasn't publicly available, meaning she'd hacked into government or military databases to get it.
"Alright," she said, cracking her knuckles. "Tell me everything you know. Every detail. Names, locations, payment schedules, routines. Everything."
Tòumíng recounted what he knew. The monthly payments. Razor at the boat rental shop. The three loan sharks—Xuě Bào the Ice Queen, Ào Shǔ the Proud Rat, and Ào Wā the Proud Frog. The 30,000 yuan total split between them.
Ghost Claw added her information. The Black Hawk's operational methods. The Gentlemen's Mining Club connection. The ice jade connection to the Ice Queen.
Lucy typed rapidly while they talked, pulling up databases, cross-referencing information, her fingers flying across multiple keyboards simultaneously as different searches ran on different monitors.
"Okay," she said after about five minutes of listening and typing. "Everyone fuck off for fifty minutes while I work. You're all breathing too loud and it's distracting."
"We're breathing normally—" Marco started.
"OUT!"
They filed out of her room, leaving Lucy alone with her monitors and her search algorithms.
Fifty minutes later—almost to the second—Lucy emerged from her room holding three sheets of printed paper covered in notes, diagrams, and highlighted sections.
Everyone had gathered in the cafeteria, drinking coffee and speculating about what she'd found. Lucy walked in and spread the papers on a table like a detective presenting evidence.
"Here's what I found," she said, her split tongue flicking out as she spoke. "Skip tracing isn't just about finding people. It's about finding patterns. Money trails. Digital footprints. Connections that most people don't even realize they're leaving."
She pointed to the first sheet—a printout of maritime traffic patterns around Guanlan Lake.
"Every evening at exactly 6 PM, a 'tour cruise' crosses from the south end of the lake to the north end. Very regular. Very predictable. Same route every day. Same boat. Been running for at least three years based on historical data I pulled from port authorities."
She tapped the highlighted section.
"The weird part? This tour company doesn't exist online. No website. No social media presence. No reviews on travel sites. No booking platform. For a tourist operation on a popular lake, that's impossible. Legitimate tour companies live and die by their online presence. This is a shell company. A fake front."
She pulled up the second sheet—a list of names with red X marks next to most of them.
"I cross-referenced passenger manifests from the boat's registered capacity against public records. The people listed as being on this 'tour' don't exist. Not legally. No passports. No national IDs. No social security numbers. No birth certificates that match their supposed ages and origins. Meaning they're either using false identities, or they're people who exist completely off the grid."
"Smuggling route," Ghost Claw said immediately.
"Exactly. This isn't a tour cruise. It's a transport system. Moving people who don't want to be found or who can't legally travel. Which fits perfectly with the Ice Queen's operations—she runs smuggling routes, she'd need reliable transport."
Lucy moved to the third sheet—a complex web of financial connections drawn in her handwriting.
"Now, this Razor guy you pay every month. He's real. Very real. I found him in about thirty seconds. Full name: Lǐ Fēngdāo, but everyone calls him Razor. Age forty-seven. Works at the Guanlan Lake Boat Rental Service. Has a completely clean record. No criminal history. No gang affiliations. Pays his taxes. Lives in a modest apartment. Googleable. Visible."
"A strawman," Polo said, leaning in to look at the diagram.
"Exactly. He's a legitimate middle man. He collects money from multiple sources, holds it temporarily, then distributes it to the actual creditors. Probably takes a small percentage for himself. Completely legal operation from his perspective, he's just handling financial transfers. Plausible deniability if anyone investigates."
She circled three names at the top of the web.
"But one of the creditors has a loose end. Ào Shǔ—the Proud Rat—has an associate named Jīn Chán. And Jīn Chán is a gambler. A serious gambler. Which means he generates a very trackable money trail."
Lucy pulled out a fourth sheet she'd been holding—this one covered in financial transaction data.
"Gambling debts. Casino visits. Underground betting rings. Loan payments. Jīn Chán's finances are a mess, but they're very well documented mess because gambling operations keep meticulous records for their own protection. I traced his transactions for the past six months. Most of it is random, different casinos, different betting shops. But there's a pattern."
She highlighted a series of transactions.
"Every month, around the same time you make your payment to Razor, Jīn Chán receives a deposit. Not from Razor directly—that would be too obvious. But from a shell company that receives money from another shell company that receives money from Razor. Three degrees of separation. But the timing matches perfectly."
"Money laundering chain," Marco said, impressed despite himself.
"Right. And Jīn Chán uses that money to pay off his gambling debts and fund more gambling. But here's where it gets interesting. Twice a month, Jīn Chán takes the 6 PM tour cruise from the south end of the lake to the north end."
She circled the boat route on the first sheet again.
"And the 6 PM tour cruise, the money trail from Razor through shell companies to Jīn Chán, and Jīn Chán's regular travel patterns all point to one specific location."
Lucy pulled out a final sheet—a satellite image of a building complex on the northern shore of Guanlan Lake.
"The abandoned Jinwei Metal Components factory. Closed down eight years ago after environmental violations. Officially condemned. Should be empty. But satellite imagery from the past six months shows regular activity. Vehicles coming and going. Lights on at night. The 6 PM tour cruise docks at a private pier directly adjacent to the factory grounds."
She sat back, looking satisfied with her work.
"That's where they are. The Ice Queen's operation. Probably all three loan sharks working together out of the same location. And if Black Hawk kidnapped Xuān Láng to find the Ice Queen, that's where they'd take him."
Tòumíng had understood maybe thirty percent of Lucy's explanation. The financial stuff went over his head. The shell company chains confused him. But the conclusion was clear enough.
"Okay, so Xuān Láng is at the factory? And the Ice Queen is there too?"
"Yes," Lucy said simply. "Probably. Based on available data and pattern analysis. I'd put it at about eighty-five percent confidence."
Tòumíng nodded, already starting to formulate a plan. "Thank you. Seriously. That's amazing work."
Lucy's expression didn't change, still the same resting bitch face. "I'm not free. You're now my reconnaissance gopher for the week. When I need someone to physically check locations or verify information in person, you're doing it."
Tòumíng rolled his eyes. "Fine. Whatever."
His phone rang, the new phone he'd just bought, the ringtone still set to default because he hadn't customized it yet.
He pulled it out and looked at the screen.
Háo Héng. The villa landlord. The guy who'd tried blackmailing him with surveillance equipment.
Shit. What did he want?
Tòumíng answered. "Hello?"
Háo Héng's voice came through immediately—panicked, breathless, talking too fast.
"Tòumíng! Thank god! I need help! There are these guys—they came to my house—they said they were recruiters but they're NOT recruiters—they're asking about someone and I don't know what to do and—"
"Slow down," Tòumíng said, alarm bells going off in his head. "What guys? What are you talking about?"
Háo Héng took a shaky breath, trying to calm himself. "These men. Three of them. Wearing all black. Very professional. Very scary. They knocked on my door about an hour ago. Said they were offering ridiculous rewards—like hundreds of thousands of yuan, for information about a guy named Chesqo Dong."
Tòumíng's blood ran cold. Three men in black. Professional. Offering money for information.
Black Hawk.
"Do you know who that is?" Tòumíng asked carefully.
"Yes! I do! That's the problem! Chesqo Dong hired me about two years ago! I signed an NDA—a non-disclosure agreement. He paid me a lot of money to keep quiet about our business arrangement!"
"What was the arrangement?"
"He needed me to help find mining locations in Tibet. Specifically for jade deposits and rare minerals. I have connections in the mining industry—my family used to own mining operations before we sold them. Chesqo Dong paid me very, very well to use those connections discreetly. But the NDA was very clear—if anyone asked, I couldn't tell them anything. Ever. Under any circumstances."
Háo Héng's voice was rising again with panic.
"So when these recruiter guys showed up asking about him, I said I didn't know who that was! I honored the NDA! But then they got angry and they started asking more questions and I kept saying I didn't know anything and then—"
A loud CRASH came through the phone. Splintering wood. The sound of a door being kicked in.
"They just busted down my door!" Háo Héng's voice rose to a scream. "I'm hiding in my closet! They're searching my apartment! What do I do?! WHAT DO I DO?!"
"Stay there!" Tòumíng said urgently. "Don't move! Don't make noise! Just stay hidden until—"
"I CAN'T!" Háo Héng's voice was frantic. "I have really bad claustrophobia! I can barely breathe in here! I need to get out! I need—"
"DON'T!" Tòumíng yelled. "Just stay quiet! They'll leave if they don't find you!"
Tòumíng was about to say something else, to try to calm Háo Héng down, when a different sound came through the phone.
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.
An alarm. Electronic. Loud and insistent.
"What the fuck is that sound?!" Tòumíng demanded.
Háo Héng's voice came back, choked, horrified, absolutely devastated.
"I... I forgot I have Pilates class today."
Tòumíng's brain short-circuited. "WHAT?! Why the FUCK does a grown man have a Pilates class reminder set when he's hiding from—"
The closet door was ripped open—Tòumíng could hear it through the phone. Háo Héng screamed. Hands grabbed him. There was struggling, thrashing, Háo Héng's voice pleading—
"NO! WAIT! I CAN EXPLAIN! THE ALARM WAS FOR—"
His screams grew fainter as he was dragged away from the phone, which had apparently fallen to the floor during the struggle.
Heavy footsteps. A hand picking up the phone. Then silence as the call was ended from the other side.
Tòumíng stared at his phone, his mouth hanging open.
"OH COME ON!"