In the second week of Lin Xi working at the auto repair shop, Old Zhou started looking at her with a different kind of eyes.
The change began that afternoon.
A black business van stopped at the shop's entrance. White smoke billowed from the engine bay. The driver was a man in his thirties, dressed in a suit and tie, looking like some company's executive. He was still on his phone when he got out, his tone urgent, seemingly discussing some important business.
"Boss, can you fix it? I need it urgently." He hung up, glanced at Old Zhou, then at Lin Xi, his gaze lingering on her for an extra second—probably thinking it was a bit odd to see a young woman in an auto repair shop.
Old Zhou opened the hood, took one look, and frowned. "Engine overheating. Might be a blown head gasket. Gotta disassemble the engine, at least two days."
"Two days is no good! I need the car tonight!"
"Then there's nothing I can do. This job can't be rushed."
The driver paced anxiously and pulled out his phone again. Lin Xi walked over from the side, holding a bottle of coolant and a flashlight. Without a word, she went to the front of the car, unscrewed the radiator cap, shined the flashlight inside, then dabbed a bit of coolant with her finger and sniffed it.
"The thermostat is stuck," she said, her voice quiet but clear. "It's not the head gasket. There's no sign of coolant mixing with oil, and there's no white smoke from the exhaust. Just replace the thermostat, it'll take forty minutes."
The driver was stunned. Old Zhou was stunned too.
Lin Xi didn't wait for them to respond. She had already turned and grabbed a wrench and socket set from the tool wall, starting to remove the intake pipe above the engine. Her movements were still as fluid as ever—removing bolts, pulling off hoses, taking off the thermostat housing. The whole process took less than five minutes.
Old Zhou stood beside her, watching as she found a matching thermostat from the shelf, applied sealant, installed it, refilled the system with water, bled the air, and started the engine. Forty minutes, not a second less, not a second more.
The engine ran normally. The temperature gauge held steady in the middle, no longer rising.
The driver paid with profuse thanks and drove off. The shop fell silent, save for the sound of Old Zhou unscrewing a bottle cap to drink water.
"Did you learn all this when you fixed vehicles in the army?" Old Zhou suddenly asked, his tone casual, but Lin Xi caught the probing underneath.
"More or less."
"Which unit?"
"Border Defense."
"Which border area?"
"Xinjiang."
"Where in Xinjiang?"
"Old Zhou," Lin Xi looked up at him, her eyes calm. "Are you conducting a household registration check or hiring?"
Old Zhou laughed, a somewhat embarrassed smile. He waved his hand and lit another cigarette. "Just asking, just asking. Young people nowadays don't like to talk about their military service. I understand."
He didn't press further. But after that, Lin Xi noticed that Old Zhou's gaze toward her had changed. Not suspicion, not vigilance, but a kind of curious scrutiny—like a man who'd found an unusual rock and wanted to turn it over to see what lay beneath.
This scrutiny made her uneasy.
Her identity needed to be completely invisible. Any behavior that drew attention—even positive attention—was dangerous. Old Zhou wasn't a bad person, but he was an ordinary person. And sometimes, an ordinary person's curiosity could be more deadly than an enemy's bullet.
The next day, the probing continued.
Old Zhou's methods were old-school—not direct questions, but roundabout chatter. He'd casually bring up seemingly unrelated topics while working on cars, then observe Lin Xi's reactions. It was the common tactic of people from the streets, unprofessional but sometimes highly effective.
"Xiao Xi, your hometown is in Sichuan, right?"
"Mianyang."
"Mianyang is a good place, produces beauties. What do your parents do?"
"They farm."
"Any siblings?"
"A younger brother."
"Where is he?"
"Back home."
Every answer was brief, vague, impeccable. Before coming to Binhai, Lin Xi had already memorized the backstory for her "Lin Xi" identity. A small county town under Mianyang's jurisdiction, parents who farmed, a younger brother working odd jobs in the county seat, she'd spent a few years out in the world, learned auto repair, and now came to Binhai to make a living.
This story was unbelievably ordinary. There were tens of millions of young people like this across China, scattered throughout factories, construction sites, and service industries in major cities. Placing Lin Xi among them was like dropping a drop of water into the ocean.
But Old Zhou's next sentence put her slightly on guard.
"That repair skill of yours," Old Zhou said casually while crouching by a car's wheel hub, removing a tire, "it doesn't look like it was learned at an ordinary repair shop. Replacing a timing chain, swapping a thermostat in forty minutes, diagnosing problems by sound—that's not the civilian repair approach. When I was in the army, I saw some old masters who worked on military vehicles. That's exactly how they operated. Extremely fast, extremely precise, no need for diagrams, relying purely on experience and feel."
Lin Xi didn't pause her movements. She was bleeding the brakes on a car, wrench in hand, loosening the bleeder screw methodically.
"Were you in the army?" she asked in return.
"Three years, served as a driver." A trace of pride crept into Old Zhou's voice. "That was back in the '80s. The vehicles in the army back then were all old Liberation trucks, constant problems, repairs every day. After I was demobilized, I opened this shop."
He paused briefly, as if waiting for Lin Xi to respond. She didn't.
"So," Old Zhou continued, "the moment I saw how you work, I knew you didn't learn that in some civilian shop. The order you remove bolts, the way you apply force, the arrangement of your tools—these are all military habits."
Lin Xi tightened the bleeder screw, put down the wrench, and stood up.
"I told you, I served in the Border Defense."
"Which unit in the Border Defense?"
"Old Zhou," Lin Xi turned to face him, her expression calm. "There are some things I don't want to talk about."
It was the first time she had used that tone with him. Not angry, not impatient, but a calm, unyielding refusal. There was something in that tone—not ordinary stubbornness, but the kind of silence about the past that came only after experiencing certain things.
Old Zhou looked at her, silent for a few seconds. Then he nodded and asked no more.
But that curiosity in his eyes didn't disappear. It was merely suppressed, like an undercurrent flowing beneath the surface.
Two more days passed.
This time, the probe was even more subtle.
Old Zhou's daughter, Xiaomin, came to the shop to deliver food. She was a girl of sixteen or seventeen, with a ponytail, wearing a school uniform, her face still bearing the softness of youth. She handed the lunchbox to her father, then curiously sized up Lin Xi.
"Dad, is this the new mechanic you hired? She's so young."
"Call her sister." Old Zhou opened the lunchbox, revealing braised pork ribs and stir-fried vegetables inside. "Xiao Xi, join us."
"I've eaten," Lin Xi said. In truth, she hadn't, but she didn't want to integrate too much into Old Zhou's family life. Maintaining distance was her fundamental principle for survival in this city.
But Xiaomin had no intention of letting her maintain distance. The girl dragged a stool over, sat next to Lin Xi, propped her chin on her hands, and stared at her.
"Sister, you're so cool. Dad says you're amazing at fixing cars, even better than him."
"Your dad's exaggerating."
"No way. Dad never praises anyone. If he says you're amazing, then you must be really amazing." Xiaomin tilted her head. "Sister, what did you do before?"
"Fixed cars."
"Where?"
"Back home."
"Then why did you come to Binhai?"
"Wanted to see the world."
Xiaomin's questions came like rapid fire, each one naive, yet each one pressing into territory Lin Xi didn't want to touch. While organizing her tools, Lin Xi answered in the shortest way possible, neither warm nor cold—like an ordinary girl who wasn't very good at socializing.
Old Zhou ate his meal beside them, not stopping Xiaomin's questioning. Lin Xi noticed his gaze occasionally sweeping over, carrying the keenness of an observer.
He was using his daughter as bait.
This discovery stirred a faint trace of displeasure in Lin Xi. Not because she minded Xiaomin's questions, but because Old Zhou was probing her in a way she didn't like. Yet she also understood—a man who'd spent half his life scraping by in the lower rungs of society wouldn't easily trust anyone. Especially someone like her, with an unclear background and exceptional skills.
"Sister, have you ever been in love?" Xiaomin suddenly asked a question that caught Lin Xi off guard.
"No."
"Really? You're so pretty, how could you never have dated?"
"Xiaomin!" Old Zhou finally spoke up, a note of reproof in his voice. "Eat your meal. Why so many questions?"
"I'm just curious…"
"You can't just ask like that. It's the sister's personal business. What's it got to do with you?"
Xiaomin stuck out her tongue and stopped asking. After finishing her meal, she left with the empty lunchbox, waving at Lin Xi as she went: "Bye, sister! Next time I'll bring you some good food!"
Lin Xi nodded but said nothing.
The shop fell quiet again. Old Zhou lit a cigarette, leaned against the doorframe, and watched the flow of people in the alley. The afternoon sunlight slanted in, casting a warm patch of light on the floor.
"Xiao Xi," Old Zhou suddenly spoke, his voice much lower than usual. "I know there are things you don't want to talk about. Who doesn't have a past?"
Lin Xi didn't respond.
"I won't ask anymore." Old Zhou took a drag of his cigarette, slowly exhaled. "But there's something I want to tell you."
He turned to face her, his eyes devoid of the earlier curiosity and probing, replaced by the seriousness of a veteran soldier.
"This old district looks peaceful on the surface, but the waters run deep. That mahjong parlor across the street, and a few spots in the alleys further back—none of them are good people. You're a young woman. It's best you don't wander around outside at night."
"I know."
"And," Old Zhou hesitated briefly, "if you ever run into trouble, you can tell me. I've been in this alley for twenty years. I know people from all walks of life. Maybe I can't solve big problems, but at least I can offer you some advice."
Lin Xi looked at him. The afternoon sunlight touched his graying hair and his lined face. On that face was something she hadn't seen in a long time—not sympathy, not pity, but a kind of simple goodwill, untainted by any ulterior motive.
It stirred a faint ripple in her heart. Not emotion—her heart had been hardened by seawater three years ago. But something akin to vigilance—she couldn't let herself grow too close to this old man. Too close meant attachment, and attachment meant vulnerability.
"Thank you," she said. "But I'm used to being alone."
Old Zhou nodded, saying nothing more. He stubbed out his cigarette, crouched back down beside the still-unfinished car, and continued working.
Business was slow that afternoon. Lin Xi fixed the air conditioning on a minivan and changed the oil on an SUV. She deliberately slowed her pace, making herself look like an ordinary novice technician—occasionally grabbing the wrong tool, occasionally hesitating, occasionally asking Old Zhou for advice on simple problems.
This was the disguise she'd designed for herself. A skilled but inexperienced newcomer. That was how "Lin Xi" was supposed to appear. Her earlier, overly impressive performance had already drawn Old Zhou's attention. She needed to dilute that impression and make herself ordinary again.
But Old Zhou seemed to have seen through her disguise.
"You don't have to pretend in front of me," he said without looking up, sanding a brake rotor. "I know you can work faster. But you're trying to act ordinary. I understand."
Lin Xi's hands paused.
"In this alley," Old Zhou continued, his tone as casual as if discussing the weather, "standing out too much isn't a good thing. Especially for a young woman like you, who came to Binhai alone. Being too capable, too special, will attract attention. And attracting attention will bring trouble."
He looked up at her, his eyes holding the clarity of someone who'd seen it all.
"So you want to act ordinary, I understand. But you don't need to do it in front of me. I've seen a lot of people in my life. I know what kind of person you are."
Lin Xi was silent for a long time.
"Aren't you afraid I'm a bad person?" she finally asked.
Old Zhou smiled. The smile deepened his wrinkles, but there was a light in his eyes.
"A bad person? A bad person wouldn't arrange their tools so neatly while working. A bad person wouldn't, every time I bring you a boxed meal, leave the poached egg inside for last. A bad person wouldn't, when my daughter asked you questions, try so hard not to embarrass her, even though you didn't want to answer."
His voice was soft, as if talking to himself.
"You might have many secrets, Xiao Xi. You might have done many things I don't know about. But you're not a bad person."
Lin Xi stood by the tool cabinet, a wrench in her hand, looking at this mechanic in his fifties. His judgment was so simple, so unadorned, yet so accurate—not about her identity, but about her essence.
It stirred a strange discomfort within her.
"Old Zhou," she said, "you trust people too easily."
"It's not that I trust people easily, it's that I'm a good judge of character." Old Zhou stood up, dusting the grit off his knees. "Back in the army, my company commander used to say, Old Zhou's eyes are better at judging people than they are at judging engines."
He walked up to Lin Xi and extended a hand.
"No matter why you came to Binhai, no matter what you did before—here, with me, you are Lin Xi. The mechanic at my shop. That's enough."
Lin Xi looked at his outstretched hand, hesitated for a moment, then shook it.
Old Zhou's hand was rough, warm, and strong. It was a hand that had repaired cars for twenty years, and a hand that had once served in the military.
"Thank you," she said. This time, she meant it.
That evening, Old Zhou left early. Xiaomin had called saying there was a parent-teacher conference at school. Grumbling, he changed into clean clothes, got on his electric scooter, and rode off.
Lin Xi stayed behind in the shop alone. She closed the door and began organizing the day's accounts. This was a new task Old Zhou had given her—he was growing more trusting of her.
After finishing the accounts, she didn't leave immediately. Instead, she sat on a stool inside the shop, watching the mahjong parlor across the alley.
Liu Dayong hadn't appeared today. Ever since that night returning from the port, he'd become even more cautious, going out less frequently and at more irregular times. But Lin Xi knew he was still in contact with the organization. The marked containers, the non-existent biotech company, the intelligence chain running from Liu Dayong to Scarface Liu—everything was still in motion.
She needed patience. To catch the big fish, you let the line run long.
But Old Zhou's words echoed in her mind: "You might have many secrets, but you're not a bad person."
Not a bad person. The phrase felt foreign to her. In her life, there had never been labels like "good person" or "bad person." She was a tool, an assassin, an avenger. None of these identities required moral judgment.
But if she wasn't a bad person, what was she?
Lin Xi stood up, put the stool back in its place, and pulled down the rolling metal door. The streetlights in the alley were already on, casting mottled shadows on the ground with their dim yellow light. She walked through the alley toward her rental unit, her steps light, like a cat stalking through the night.
As she passed the mahjong parlor, she glanced inside. Liu Dayong wasn't there, but several of the regulars were. Amidst the swirling smoke, the clatter of mahjong tiles rose and fell.
She withdrew her gaze and continued walking.
Old Lady Wang was watering flowers at her second-floor window. Spotting Lin Xi returning, she called out, "Xiao Lin, have you eaten?"
"Yes."
"You're off tomorrow, right? Help me move some things."
"Okay."
Simple conversation, ordinary neighborly relations. Lin Xi was slowly, steadily integrating into the life of this alley. She was no longer a complete stranger but "the girl from Old Zhou's shop," "that quiet Xiao Lin on the third floor."
This was what she wanted. The best way to be invisible wasn't to disappear, but to become part of the background.
Back in her room, Lin Xi closed the door and stood before the wall.
Thirteen faces stared back at her in the darkness. With a red pen, she drew a circle around Scarface Liu's photograph and wrote a few words beside it—"Port cargo manifest." Next to Liu Dayong's photo, she wrote—"Transmitter."
The chain was becoming clearer.
Liu Dayong obtained the cargo manifests from the port and passed them to Scarface Liu. Scarface Liu consolidated the intelligence and passed it upward to the "Courier." The "Courier" then delivered the intelligence to the organization's upper echelons. Every link in this chain was her quarry; every node was a point where she could intervene.
But she wouldn't start from the bottom. That would alert them. She would wait until she had a complete picture of the chain, until she had confirmed the position of every link, until she was ready—
Then, sever it all at once.
Lin Xi sat on the edge of her bed and took out the old notebook, recording her observations from the day. Her handwriting was still tiny, densely packed, but every stroke was clear.
After finishing, she closed the notebook and lay down on the bed.
From outside the window came the distant sound of a ship's horn. In the direction of the port, those marked containers might be being loaded onto cargo ships, heading toward some unknown destination. Perhaps they were filled with human organs, perhaps with something else even more horrific.
But she wasn't in a hurry. She had waited three years. What was a few more days?
To catch the big fish, you let the line run long.
This was what "Old Man" had taught her. And now, she would use this lesson to drag him and his entire organization into the abyss.
Lin Xi closed her eyes. Her breathing gradually steadied.
In the dark room, the thirteen faces on the wall stared at her in silence, like thirteen ghosts awaiting judgment.
And the judge was sleeping.