89 Injustice!

While Wu Qingchen was busy reinforcing his "individual communication skills" and Logistics Group 7 was debating "rock climbing techniques," a scene was unfolding two kilometers away from Wu's dedicated underground base.

In a large office, closed blinds shielded the space from the summer sun. A heavy desk faced a massive screen, which was broadcasting the live feed of "Wu Qingchen's Fifth Training Session."

The office, covering nearly a hundred square meters, would normally be considered spacious, but it felt incredibly cramped. Starting from the entrance, over a dozen massive filing cabinets had been shoehorned in, forming a complete circle around the room, leaving only the screen visible. These cabinets were stuffed to capacity with various documents. Beyond the cabinets, a dozen large cardboard boxes—piled high with files, books, CDs, and other media—cluttered the floor.

Even so, staff members continued to enter, depositing more stacks of material. Those arriving late, burdened with hundreds of kilograms of paperwork that could no longer fit in the cabinets or boxes, were forced to leave their files by the fax machine, the printer, the desk, the safe, or even beneath someone’s seat.

In this crowded, chaotic office, six or seven men—officials and military officers who usually maintained an air of composure and dignity in public—were now completely unconcerned with their image. They squeezed into tight spots, perched on small plastic stools, uneven piles of documents, or patches of wooden floor that had been cleared with great difficulty. Those few who managed to find a seat, regardless of how awkward their posture, were considered the lucky ones.

The two men who had entered last, standing nearest to the heavy desk, had to spread their legs and plant their feet in two tiny patches of floor they had managed to clear, maintaining a posture that tested their physical flexibility.

In the office, these men—usually upright but now cramped, usually sharp but now haggard, every one of them with bloodshot eyes—clutched open, thick folders. On the screen, every time a member of the training team passed by Wu Qingchen, the men would flip one or more pages in their folders.

These pages contained detailed information on each team member. The "Name" category alone was broken down into numerous sub-items: real name, former names, aliases, mailing names, codenames, nicknames, epithets, and bounty codes. Despite having received this data five hours before the training began, and despite each person being responsible for only a fraction of the list, the officials and officers felt the time pressure acutely.

Fortunately, this "particularly charismatic" team did not simply breeze past Wu Qingchen like the other groups. Instead of offering a generic overview before diving into the training, every member of this team greeted Wu Qingchen warmly and exchanged a few words.

After the tongue-artist from Jin City finished his pleasantries, a middle-aged man with Western features nodded and waved at Wu Qingchen with a gentle smile. A bureaucrat sitting on a plastic stool to the left of the desk, having already turned to the correct page, began to read:

"Fahr Kurner, former name Viktor Seth, codename 'Death,' nickname 'Widowmaker.' Arms dealer. Involved in conflicts in Afghanistan, Iraq, Angola, and elsewhere between 1989 and 2004. Wanted globally in 2001, arrested by French agents in 2005, paroled in 2006..."

"...Broad-minded, agile thinker, extremely daring, highly charismatic. Expert in psychology and criminology; skilled at dealing with all manner of dangerous individuals."

Following this merchant—who possessed a spirit of internationalism and had dedicated his life to popularizing industrial inventions in underdeveloped regions—was a slightly plump man with a beaming face, his eyes crinkled in a way that made him look like a Maitreya Buddha. A military officer standing in an awkward position to the right of the desk began his introduction:

"Fu Jianyuan, nickname 'Fatty,' epithet 'Smiling Buddha.' Pharmaceutical representative. Worked for seven major pharmaceutical companies; imprisoned in 2009 for bribery..."

"...Connoisseur of fine food, excellent tolerance for alcohol, skilled in various covert methods of interest exchange."

The next individual was another domestic elite. The officer continued:

"Ma Liqin... purchasing manager at a large state-owned enterprise... skilled at taking money without delivering services. Capable of making advance arrangements to manufacture reasonable-sounding emergencies, using force majeure to reject the demands of various public and private enterprises..."

The next was another high-level foreign talent.

"Nikolai Will... senior partner at a US lobbying firm... deeply involved in interfering with multi-state congressional and senatorial elections..."

Occasionally, there were women, too.

"Ashley Omar... public relations specialist for a multinational corporation... particularly adept at demonstrating charm to different targets in varying degrees."

There were also contributions from the private sector.

"Jing Xiuyuan... client manager at a high-end private club in a certain city... skilled at reading client psychology and proficient in cryptography. Frequently, without prior communication with clients, he would compose ad-hoc codes disguised as promotional texts for drinks, flowers, or art, actually transmitting illicit, vulgar information. Over ninety-five percent of his long-term clients and seventy percent of potential clients could clearly decipher them."

Then there were those who were entirely self-taught, truly grassroots talent.

"Jiang Luo... social drifter... imprisoned in 1993 for hooliganism, imprisoned in 2015 for fraud... meticulous and highly methodical. Employed various targeted methods to gain the favor of six women involved in extramarital affairs with a high-level executive of a large corporation, cohabiting with four of them in succession to defraud them of large sums of money... After his imprisonment, twenty-one women visited him in prison, declaring their willingness to wait for him..."

As this was read, the line of people in front of Wu Qingchen reached its end. Sitting behind the heavy desk, Comrade Jiang Fengming—who, according to some, was "recuperating in the hospital"—could finally no longer restrain himself and muttered in a long, drawn-out tone: "They... are... all... talents..."

"A dance of demons! Notorious! A combination of Eastern and Western scum! ...To actually let this group of dangerous individuals get within five meters of Mr. Wu! Director Jiang, you cannot tolerate this any longer!"

From a spot further from the desk, the youngest-looking assistant turned red with fury: "...To squeeze out our department... to squeeze out you, that man surnamed Huang has resorted to any means necessary!"

The remark stirred a hornet's nest, and the others in the office responded in kind.

"Indeed... only a few of the foreigners have security personnel in place!"

"There isn't even a cage!"

"It's insane! To actually allow that old hooligan to shake hands with Mr. Wu! He doesn't deserve—"