Chapter 491 Who did this?!

The twilight in Nagasaki, a time when factory horns should be blaring and crowds should be bustling, is unusually quiet.

The leaden sky hung low, and the last rays of the setting sun seeped into the clouds like bloodstains, cutting the steel and concrete factory buildings into dark outlines.

There was no hustle and bustle of people leaving get off work; only a few figures hurried by, suited office workers clutching their briefcases, rushing past on the deserted streets.

The tracks of armored vehicles occasionally rolled over on the road, producing a screeching sound of metal scraping against metal.

Each vehicle was filled with heavily armed patrolmen, the insignia on their uniforms gleaming coldly in the darkening sky.

The roar of fighter jets swept low overhead, rattling the windows of buildings along the street, and the missiles hanging under the wings were clearly visible.

"stop!"

The patrol captain in a khaki uniform raised his hand to stop an elderly worker pushing a bicycle.

Two soldiers immediately moved forward in a pincer movement, their guns not raised, but their fingers remained pressed against the trigger guards. The gloves used to check identification were blindingly white, and each page turned carried an interrogation-like solemnity.

At a street corner in the distance, another patrol team appeared with wolfhounds, the rhythmic thud of their military boots striking the ground almost suffocatingly precise.

The shops on both sides of the street closed early, with only the glowing lights of the vending machines flickering in the deepening night. (Note: The earliest vending machines date back to 1888.)

A loudspeaker on a utility pole suddenly blared a test tone, startling ordinary pedestrians on the street who instinctively showed expressions of fear. A crumpled copy of the Nishi Nichi Shimbun rolled across the road in the wind, its front-page headline "Declaration of State of Emergency" flashing under the streetlights.

The entire city seemed to be choked by an invisible hand, and even the evening breeze dared not blow recklessly.

On a dimly lit street corner, a middle-aged man, about 1.75 meters tall, turned his head and coldly glanced at a group of patrolmen who were stopping and inspecting people in the distance.

He then quickly turned around, strode towards a hidden underground manhole cover, and jumped in without hesitation.

A moment later, he emerged from a dilapidated house in the slums, walked along the messy and winding alleys, and finally stopped in front of the wooden door of a house at the very end. He knocked lightly on the door while cautiously looking around.

Two or three minutes later, the wooden door creaked open from the inside, and the man slipped inside, quickly disappearing behind the door.

In the courtyard, wisps of smoke rose from the kitchen chimney, filling the air with the aroma of food. This family looked no different from their neighbors; the mottled porch, faded curtains, and patched clothes on the clothesline all revealed the traces of a large family's life.

Liu Zi looked up and saw the person coming out of the kitchen. He immediately gasped.

No matter how many times he watched it, he couldn't get used to Jin's "simple island woman" outfit.

Who would have thought that in this small slum of Nagasaki, there was a hidden mole planted by their three teams years ago.

When they first reunited, the situation was critical. The brothers of the Wolf Special Forces were seriously injured and awaiting treatment, several of them still had high fevers, and the two scientific research experts had also reached their physical limits. Just then, Jin Zicheng decisively activated a hidden mole they had been lying in wait in the local area for a long time.

It has to be said that none of those who came out of 917 are ordinary people.

This comrade had been lying low in this area for two whole years, making a living by doing odd jobs, yet he managed to convince all the neighbors that a large, lively family lived in the house.

He frequently changed his appearance, sometimes dressed as an old woman, sometimes as a middle-aged man, and sometimes as a simple housewife, entering and leaving this old house often. Occasionally, one or two people would be "missing," and the neighbors would simply assume they had gone to work in other places. In this slum, such things were commonplace.

For two whole years, he didn't reveal a single flaw.

What else could it be but a genius?

Even the news of the Wolf Warriors being trapped was sent back to China by him through various means.

Because his covert mission was not yet over, and because it would be difficult for him to provide effective support alone, he chose to remain hidden and await orders from the organization.

Now, this comrade no longer has to play multiple roles all by himself in this "home". At least for the past few days, someone has finally helped him share the burden.

There were too many of them; only a few were able to show themselves.

Fortunately, there was a basement in the courtyard where the members of the Wolf Squad, the two research experts, Leng Rong, and Da Xiong were all arranged to rest and guard. Leng Rong was responsible for taking care of the wounded, while Da Xiong was on guard duty. In case of any disturbance above, Da Xiong's immense strength would allow him to cover the people below to evacuate quickly through the underground passage.

Liu Zi and Ling Shou disguised themselves as the youngest son and daughter of this family, going out during the day to gather information.

Jin Zicheng is the "mistress" of this family, Hong Chuangen plays an old man with mobility issues, and Tao Jianhua and Fang Meng are the other two sons.

The only two people in the team who could dress up as women were Ling Shou, who had a delicate appearance and a baby face and could dress up as a young girl without any awkwardness; the other was Jin Zicheng.

This intelligence chief of 917 was undoubtedly a superb actor, perfectly portraying a talkative, busy middle-aged woman in a slum. During the day, he could even wear an apron and chat with the neighborhood aunties and grandmas in a genuine Nagasaki accent.

But every time Liu Zi saw it, he found it particularly offensive.

That bright red apron looked welded to her body, extremely eye-catching. Add to that two blobs of garish pink blush, lips no wider than a finger, and a face that looked like it had been coated with three pounds of white flour…

Liu Zi's inner thoughts: I don't understand, and I can't respect him!

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