Chapter 20: Investigative Authority

Shi Rang’s logic was simple: since the criminal known as "Greyhound," who was affiliated with "Blue Signal," was operating in Pingyuan City, he would simply go to Pingyuan City to find him.

The dossier at the main station provided a detailed account of how to investigate criminal organizations. Even if it read a bit like a hardboiled novel, it was better than nothing and could serve as a reference. Most importantly, it gave Shi Rang the courage to take this step. However, for the sake of safety and the convenience of the investigation, he had to apply for investigative rights, just as the editor-in-chief had suggested.

Above the twelve neighboring districts that spanned the continent, there existed a massive, global organization called the Pan-Continental Alliance. It frequently deployed troops to the various districts for peacekeeping, and the news broadcast their successes in combating all manner of crimes daily. Investigative rights were a system pushed by the Alliance.

It represented a supreme privilege endorsed by the Alliance that granted the holder authority above the law. During the period and within the region where the investigative rights were active, the holder could investigate anyone, review official documents, and even conduct mandatory searches. Conversely, it could also help the holder avoid certain legal risks—which was exactly what Shi Rang truly needed.

For the Tenth District, the barrier to applying for these rights was shockingly low. The world was already lacking in the brave, and there were even fewer people willing to conduct investigations in a place rife with chaos, rampant drug addiction, and deep-seated corruption. The Alliance was more than happy to give these courageous souls the green light. Of course, the applicant had to pay a price: regardless of what the investigative rights were used to probe, the Alliance had to be the first to receive that intelligence.

Hours later, at the Alliance office in Yunling City, Shi Rang traded the heavy documentation provided by his newspaper for a small, golden badge that looked like a sticker. The thin badge was engraved with the emblem of the Pan-Continental Alliance—a ring of fire and four swords guarding the planet. Along with it came a grant of authority, bestowing upon him the right to investigate smuggling activities in Pingyuan City for the next half-month.

Shi Rang stroked the object in his hand, feeling a sense of daze mixed with lingering regret. If only he could have used it locally in Yunling City, he could have stormed the police station and forced them to dig up the footage from before and after Ying Shang’s disappearance, allowing him to scan it frame by frame.

Most investigative rights were applied for by journalists and law enforcement agencies—the former to probe important personnel, and the latter to bypass official red tape for their own operations. This "golden medal of privilege" was quite overbearing, yet it came with strict supervision by Alliance officials. No one knew exactly what methods the Alliance used to supervise, but one rarely heard news of anyone abusing these rights.

There was a rumor in the newspaper office, exchanged by colleagues during afternoon tea breaks: the Alliance’s eyes were everywhere in the world, and by ensuring these investigative rights were used reasonably, the Alliance maintained its authority and credibility. Come to think of it, the fact that such a mobile military organization could be tolerated by all twelve districts was proof enough of the Alliance’s immense power. Perhaps only the Administration, with its facilities spanning the globe, could compare to it—

What am I thinking?

Shi Rang pulled himself out of his fantasy with a self-deprecating smirk. The Administration was a fictional organization created by web novelists; it didn't exist in reality. Maybe the Alliance was the prototype for the Administration! Even if there was some incredible content on the website, Shi Rang couldn't be sure of its veracity; it might just be written to sound impressive. Besides, who knew if someone had actually leaked classified secrets from their workplace—considering that, in reality, some people had even posted raw data and design blueprints for military equipment online, such things were entirely possible.

How could something like "the anomalous" ever exist? Better to keep his feet on the ground.

With the investigative rights serving as his talisman, Shi Rang also received one thousand in startup funds from the newspaper, with the rest of his expenses reimbursable. The money issue was solved. As for equipment, he had borrowed a spare camera from a colleague before leaving. All the objective obstacles before him had been swept away.

Nothing could stop him from finding Ying Shang now.

However, sitting at home studying the camera and trying to figure out all its functions, Shi Rang realized that one obstacle remained unresolved: how exactly was he supposed to conduct an investigation? Reality was not like a tabletop role-playing game. If he were participating in a story about investigating a criminal gang, he would try to conduct interviews, contact informants, and request help using all the resources available to his character... But this was reality, and he couldn't solve problems simply by typing a few words.

Many parts of his plan were still just rough drafts. For instance, imitating the structure of that investigative report, finding a spot to stake out a smuggling team, or monitoring the coastline—these were all vague concepts. He lacked any investigative technique. But he could not hesitate now; he had to push himself forward with one go, or he would spend his entire life wandering in the pain of losing his beloved.

No sooner said than done, he immediately booked a ticket to a coastal city.

***

Night fell, and the rain poured down in torrents.

Two figures braved the driving rain, following the beam of a flashlight as they hurried to hide in a dilapidated shack on the beach. The shack was still damp, but the downpour had eased into a drizzle. One of them shook his raincoat hood, and two streams of water cascaded from his shoulders. His stubbled face reflected a faint light.

"Look for yourself. It’s raining this hard. To be honest, even though we set the departure for today, couldn't you have waited until tomorrow? Why cram in with those wretches? The sea isn't safe, and the Alliance patrol boat was just around here..."

"I have to leave! I have to leave now!" The other man’s raincoat wasn't buttoned, and the blue hoodie underneath was already soaked through. His deep-set eye sockets and bloodshot eyes made him look even more deranged. "Someone is following me! They’re trying to harm me!"

As he spoke, he fished a wad of soaked banknotes from his pocket and pressed them into the bearded man’s hand. "Money is no object. I must get on that boat. Let me on!"

"I warned you..." The bearded man didn't intend to argue further with this madman; he had warned him, anyway. He took the money, turned up the intensity of his flashlight, and waved it across the beach in a specific pattern.

Behind a small slope on the beach, the reflection of raincoats suddenly shimmered in the flashlight beam. A large group of people wrapped in tarps climbed up one after another, congregating toward the coastline. The bearded man signaled toward the sea, and a distant beam of light flashed across the dark water.

A smuggler’s dinghy soon rushed onto the beach. The stowaways crowded together, using their hands to confirm each other's positions, and swarmed onto the small boat in the blinding curtain of rain. Two people operating the boat near the engine began throwing life vests at the people's heads. Two pieces of foam plastic tied together with cloth and worn over the head—this was their only insurance for the journey.

The blue-clad man who had jumped the queue was unsteady on his feet during this process, his head nodding as if he were about to fall asleep. He forced himself to stay awake, stumbling across the beach, and was the last to jump onto the dinghy.

The bearded man pushed the dinghy into the ocean. The people on board felt a jolt, and they drifted into the treacherous sea.

There was no light to be seen anywhere, only the churning of the waves. Wave after wave of seawater crashed down, and the dinghy tilted as much as forty-five degrees at one point. The stowaways gripped the arms of strangers, huddled together in a mass, tossed about by the waves. They prayed constantly to the ocean, trying to dispel the fear in their hearts with fantasies of a better life once they reached the shore.

Finally, the bow of the dinghy hit a hard object with a thud.

"Don't move, let me count heads—good, only five fell off."

The operator shone his flashlight, reaching out to grope in the darkness, pulling a boarding ladder from the void. Looking up, it turned out that a cargo ship was anchored on the sea.

In such a violent storm, even a ship of this magnitude was tilting constantly, but it was far better than the dinghy. The group of nearly frozen stowaways climbed the ladder one by one and, under the guidance of the crew, entered an empty shipping container. The side of the container had vents, and some food and water were tossed carelessly in the corner. People soaked through with water curled up deep in the container, clutching their life vests, huddling together for warmth as they might have in ancient times.

Long after the container door was locked, a sob echoed in the darkness.

"Survived... I survived... I can go to the Fourth District now..."

With that voice as a start, the people began to talk shivering, through the cold, about why they had left. Upon comparing notes, they realized that they had all heard about the "Emergency Relocation Plan" for Green Island City from the human smugglers. Because the areas affected by the relocation in Green Island City were densely populated, the neighboring Fourth District was willing to take on some of the resettlement work—that was a genuinely prosperous district; entering it meant infinite possibilities. For this chance at a fresh start, this group had risked boarding the boat on such a miserable night, departing from the Ninth District, taking the sea route east to bypass the Third District, and finally landing in the Tenth District.

The smugglers had promised them that their newly purchased identities were already registered on the relocation list for the Fourth District. Once they reached the shore, they would be able to follow the refugees and legally head to the Fourth District to live a new life.

"Hang in there. That's how these routes are. It’ll be warm in a while..."

"I heard you can make tens of thousands just washing dishes there."

"I couldn't stay in the Ninth District any longer. It’s really... sigh, it gets more terrifying every day."

The man in blue, who had boarded last, curled up tightly, hugging his knees. Before his eyes, the figures following him kept flashing—the vehicles that had chased him during the day, and the loud crash when they collided.

In the low, buzzing conversation, the man in blue’s head dropped, then he suddenly jerked his head up and grabbed the person next to him.

"Help me... I can't fall asleep... If I fall asleep, you have to wake me up..."

The person he asked clearly didn't understand this outburst, staring blankly as he was tugged repeatedly.

"They’re following me. They want to kill me. I didn't do anything! I didn't do anything! I didn't hurt anyone, that wasn't me..."

The man’s voice grew louder. This delirious outburst soon caused unease among the other stowaways. In the absolute darkness inside the container, the impoverished people soon quieted down, letting the man continue his rambling.

"I can't sleep, I can't fall asleep, I can't..."

"Why can't you sleep?" someone asked.

"I sleepwalk, I wander around, I will—"

A sudden jolt threw everyone to one side of the container. The cargo ship tilted in the giant waves, and several steel cables securing the cargo snapped, whipping against the deck. Several containers shifted, crashing down from the top layer along with the waves, denting the adjacent boxes. The rapidly shifting center of gravity nearly caused the ship to capsize.

After tens of seconds that felt like a century, the cargo ship stabilized thanks to its own ballast. The stowaways, piled in a heap, rolled off the container wall, the injured wailing incessantly.

No one noticed that one of the shifted containers had blocked the ventilation hole.

It was far too dark here; nothing could be seen at all.