The trap was simple in design but complex in execution. He Zhenguo and the Courier spent the evening planning every detail—the false location, the coded message, the surveillance team that would surround the target. The bait was a sealed envelope containing a forged document that purported to list the whereabouts of the remaining gold, a stash that Lo Suet-Ying had claimed existed but had never been found. He Zhenguo had fabricated the document himself, using old stationery and a vintage typewriter he had acquired from a secondhand shop. It looked authentic enough to pass cursory inspection, and it was exactly the kind of intelligence that the Mole—Assistant Commissioner Yeung—would not be able to resist.
The plan was simple: He Zhenguo would leave the envelope on his desk, intentionally visible, and then step out for a "brief meeting" with Magistrate Fang. The Courier would monitor the office from a concealed position in the hallway. When Yeung took the bait—entering the office to retrieve or photograph the document—they would catch him in the act, with multiple witnesses and a hidden camera recording every move.
At 9:00 PM, He Zhenguo left his office, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridor. He walked to Fang's office, where he engaged in a staged conversation about case protocols and administrative matters. The Courier's voice crackled in his earpiece: "He's coming. He's wearing a dark coat and a hat. He's opening the door now."
He Zhenguo held his breath. He heard the muffled sound of footsteps, the soft click of his office door, the rustle of paper. Then the Courier's voice again: "He has the envelope. He's reading it. He's—wait, he's put it back. He's leaving. He didn't take it."
He Zhenguo felt a surge of confusion. The Mole was too cautious, too disciplined to take the bait. He had only looked at the document, not stolen it. That meant he was either a trained professional or he had been tipped off.
He rushed back to his office and found the envelope exactly where he had left it. He opened it and examined the document—it was untouched, but there was a faint smudge on the corner, as if someone had pressed a finger to it. He called the Courier. "Did you see his face?"
"No. He kept his hat pulled down. But I got a partial glimpse of his profile—sharp nose, thin lips. That matches Yeung's description."
He Zhenguo felt a cold certainty. It was Yeung, but he had been too cautious to fall for a crude trap. He would need a more sophisticated approach—something that would force Yeung to act, to expose himself, to make a mistake.
He decided to change tactics. Instead of luring Yeung to the evidence, he would bring the evidence to Yeung—and watch him react. He drafted a memo, addressed to all senior officers, announcing that he had recovered the complete list of network members and that he would be presenting it to the Commissioner at a meeting the following morning. The memo was a lie—he had no intention of revealing the list publicly—but it would put immense pressure on Yeung. If Yeung knew that the list was about to be exposed, he would have no choice but to act, either to destroy the evidence or to flee.
He sent the memo via internal courier at 10:30 PM, with instructions for it to be delivered to every department head. Then he waited.
At 11:15 PM, his office phone rang. It was Yeung himself, his voice calm and measured. "Detective He, I've received your memo. I must say, I'm impressed by your progress. However, I'm concerned that you may be acting on incomplete information. I have some intelligence that may be relevant to your investigation. Would you be willing to meet me tonight, at the old customs building? I can show you what I have."
He Zhenguo felt the trap closing around him—but this time, he was the bait. Yeung was inviting him to a secluded location, likely to ambush him and destroy the evidence. But He Zhenguo also saw an opportunity: if he went to the meeting with a backup team, he could catch Yeung in the act of conspiracy.
"I'll be there," he said. "Midnight."
He hung up and immediately called the Courier, who agreed to assemble a small team of trusted officers. They would surround the customs building and wait for He Zhenguo's signal. If Yeung attempted anything, they would intervene.
He Zhenguo arrived at the customs building at 11:55 PM, a crumbling neo-classical structure that had been abandoned for years. The entrance was dark, the windows boarded up, and the only light came from a single lantern near the back door. He entered cautiously, his weapon drawn, and called out: "Assistant Commissioner? Are you here?"
A voice echoed from the upper floor: "Yes, Detective. Come up. I'm in the old conference room."
He climbed the creaking stairs, his footsteps loud in the silence. The conference room was on the third floor, a vast space with a long mahogany table and a chandelier that had lost its crystals. Yeung stood at the far end, his silhouette framed against a dusty window. He was alone, his hands empty, his expression unreadable.
"Thank you for coming," Yeung said, his voice carrying the practiced calm of a man who had been in control for too long. "I know you suspect me. I know you think I am the Mole. And I am not going to deny it—because it is true."
He Zhenguo felt a shock of surprise. He had expected a confrontation, a struggle, a last-ditch attempt to escape. He had not expected a confession.
"Why are you telling me this?" He asked, his weapon still trained on Yeung's chest.
Yeung sighed, a long, weary sound that seemed to drain the tension from the room. "Because I am tired. Tired of the lies, the secrets, the constant fear of discovery. I have been carrying this weight for over a decade, and I cannot carry it any longer. I want to make a deal. I will give you everything—the names, the accounts, the locations of the remaining gold—in exchange for protection. I will testify against the rest of the network. I will help you bring them all down."
He Zhenguo lowered his weapon slightly, but he did not holster it. "Why should I trust you? You are the one who tipped off Ko about my surveillance. You are the one who ordered the hit on Mouse."
Yeung's face contorted with something that looked like genuine remorse. "I know. I have done terrible things. But I was not the mastermind—I was a soldier. I followed orders because I was afraid. Afraid for my family, my career, my life. But now, I have nothing left to lose. My wife left me last month. My children have disowned me. I am alone, and I am ready to pay for my sins."
He stepped forward, his hands raised, and He Zhenguo saw no deception in his eyes—only exhaustion and a desperate plea for absolution. He called the Courier on his radio and told him to stand down. Then he walked to the conference table and sat down, gesturing for Yeung to do the same.
"Tell me everything," he said. "From the beginning."
Yeung began to speak, his voice a monotone that wove a tapestry of corruption and betrayal. He named the officials, the judges, the bankers who had been part of the network. He described the meetings, the bribes, the murders. He revealed the location of the remaining gold—a vault beneath a private temple in the mountains. And he gave He Zhenguo the most valuable piece of intelligence: the identity of the Mole's handler, the person who had been giving him orders all along.
"That person is not Ko Hoi-Man," Yeung said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "It is Lo Suet-Ling. The sister. She has been running the network since her elder sister's stroke. She pretended to be a front, but she was the real Governor all along. She played you, Detective. She gave you the key to the vault, knowing that you would find the letters and the tape—all carefully planted to misdirect you. She is the mastermind."
He Zhenguo felt the world tilt. Lo Suet-Ling—the old woman in the museum, the one who had seemed so weary, so ready to atone. She had been playing him from the very beginning. The letters, the tape, the confession from Wu Mei—they had all been part of her plan to protect herself while sacrificing her sister.
He stood up, his mind racing. "Where is she now?"
Yeung shook his head. "I don't know. She goes by many names, and she moves constantly. But I do know one thing: she has a private jet. She uses it to travel between her properties. If she suspects that you are close, she will flee. You have very little time."
He Zhenguo called Fang immediately and ordered a full surveillance on all private airfields and a freeze on Lo Suet-Ling's known assets. Then he turned to Yeung. "You will come with me. You will testify. And you will help me bring her down."
Yeung nodded, his face pale but resigned. He walked with He Zhenguo down the stairs and into the waiting patrol car, his hands cuffed in front of him. The Courier met them at the vehicle, his expression grim.
"Detective, we have a problem. We received a report that a private jet took off from the Northern District airfield twenty minutes ago. The flight plan was filed under a name that matches one of Lo's aliases. She is heading to the neighboring territory—and she has a head start."
He Zhenguo felt his heart sink. She was fleeing, and he could not stop her. But he could still pursue her—through legal channels, through extradition treaties, through the kind of relentless pressure that had brought down everyone else in the network.
He looked at Yeung, who was sitting in the back seat with his head bowed. "You said she has a private jet. Where does it refuel? Where does it land?"
Yeung looked up, his eyes hollow. "She has a secondary airstrip on a private estate in the neighboring territory. She will go there first, then transfer to a smaller plane and disappear. If you want to catch her, you need to move now—before she reaches the estate."
He Zhenguo made a decision. He would not let her escape. He would pursue her, with Fang's authorization, and he would bring her back to face justice. He called Fang and explained the situation, and Fang agreed to approve a cross-border operation—with the condition that He Zhenguo coordinate with the local authorities.
He took the Couriers' hand and shook it firmly. "I am going after her. You stay here and secure the evidence. Make sure Yeung is safe. And if I don't return—make sure the world knows the truth."
The Courier nodded, a look of deep respect in his eyes. "You will return, Detective. You always do."
He Zhenguo got into the driver's seat of his sedan and sped toward the airfield. He had a plane to catch, a fugitive to capture, and a conspiracy to end. The final showdown was ahead, and he was ready for it.
But as he drove through the darkened streets, his mind turned to the one question that still haunted him: if Lo Suet-Ling was the mastermind, then who had killed Shen Chongli? Who had given the order? Was it her, or was it someone else—someone even more hidden, even more dangerous?
He pushed the question aside and focused on the road. He would find the answers soon enough. And when he did, he would make sure that justice was served—no matter the cost.
The airfield loomed ahead, a string of lights against the black sky. He parked his car and ran toward the runway, where a small private jet was waiting, its engines humming. He flashed his badge at the ground crew and demanded that they delay the departure. They complied, and he boarded the jet, his heart pounding with adrenaline and anticipation.
He was going after Lo Suet-Ling—the real Governor, the puppet master, the woman who had played him for a fool. And he was going to win.
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