MMPS Ch. 9

Chapter 9: More Methods of Disciplining Subordinates

Yu An wrapped himself tightly in the blanket, his hands and knees cold to the touch. He curled up in an attempt to keep warm. The biting cold of the deep winter always seemed to take on a tangible form of suffering, the air conditioning hardly making a dent in it.

The night stretched on, silence settling in the room. Yu An listened carefully to the heavy breaths behind him, gradually growing steadier, signaling that Zhao Ran had likely calmed down and fallen asleep.

Had this been an ordinary person, so severely injured and fleeing for half the night, they would have long since succumbed to exhaustion. But Zhao Ran’s endurance was far beyond that of an average person.

Yu An struggled to close his eyes and force himself to sleep, but his mind was a tangle of thoughts. It was a sensation he had only felt before when obsessively analyzing experimental data—unable to rest, endlessly thinking, craving a solution.

There was a question that had been gnawing at him, a question he’d considered for some time. Why couldn’t he bring himself to take action against Zhao Ran?

Why not? Could Zhao Ran truly guarantee his innocence? Could he honestly claim that no deceitful tricks had been employed during the interview?

Bad people have their own ways of being dealt with. If I’m bad, then I’ll deal with it first. Touch it, and nothing will break. Don’t touch, then I’m foolish for not doing so.

As the day neared noon, the sunlight filtered through the curtains, brushing against his eyes. Yu An stirred, blinking his eyes open. He had slept deeply, and judging by the light, it must be nearly twelve.

He turned over, but the bed beside him was ice cold. The realization roused him further.

Staring up at the ceiling, Yu An lost himself in thought. It had been years since he’d woken up to an empty house. He used to hear the neighbors walking their dogs in the morning, but now, he wondered if they had long since moved away.

He stepped out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes.

On the dining table, there was a plate of freshly baked honey rolls and a cup of hot cocoa. The kitchen had been cleaned, the oven and utensils wiped down neatly.

The clutter in the living room had been organized—books and tools neatly sorted, the carpet spotless.

Even the corners under the coffee table and sofa had been cleaned thoroughly.

Had Zhao Ran done this? He hardly seemed like the type to care about cleanliness.

Besides, the house had been untouched for four years. Even if two cleaners came, it would have taken them an entire day to tidy up. How had Zhao Ran managed to do it?

Just the honey rolls on the table—any skilled pastry chef would have spent a whole morning just preparing the dough, adjusting the sweetness, shaping, and baking them.

“Impossible.” Yu An leaned against the doorframe, cupping his chin in thought, and absentmindedly picked up a honey roll and took a bite.

So soft. So fragrant. Incredible.

*

3:00 P.M. Underground Metro, Executive Lounge.

The boss, dressed in a long robe, sat calmly at the tea table, preparing the teapot.

“This morning, the Eagle Bureau called. They said one of the mechanical eagles they deployed hasn’t returned. They suspect your people are involved. What’s going on?”

Zhao Ran stood opposite the table, speaking with a serious tone: “An accident, absolute accident. The one yesterday was a temporary worker. He dared to attack an eagle that was spying on the eagle. I fired him on the spot.”

“The eagle? I don’t even know where it crashed, somewhere in the mountains. You’ll have to talk to the Eagle Bureau about it.” Zhao Ran said, leaning on the table and laughing softly. “Boss, I’ve just interviewed a good student. A top student from Changhui University’s precision instruments program, named Yu An.”

He handed over the resume and internship contract, placing them before the boss.

Tea poured smoothly from the purple sand teapot into the cup, and the boss glanced at the documents, slowly saying: “Not bad.”

“But.” the boss’s tone shifted. “What I need are people who can fight.”

“You know that right now we’re in desperate need of orderlies and investigators, not technicians. His major in precision instruments is good, Changhui University is a top school, but he’s an undergraduate. How much potential could he have? And his salary, bonuses, benefits… that’s an additional half a million a year. Doesn’t sound like a good deal.”

Zhao Ran didn’t argue. Instead, he took off the Core Analyzer from his waist and placed it on the table. “This is the analyzer he modified overnight. Take a look.”

Inside the lid of the Core Analyzer, there was a small square label with the words “Yu An” written on it.

The boss gave it a quick look. The small device had eight embedded core slots, each equipped with spray disinfection and drying mechanisms. After inserting the irregular core, it could be cleaned and sterilized in fifteen seconds.

It wasn’t cutting-edge technology, but it showed the student’s attention to detail and patience. Worth cultivating.

The boss gave a slight nod, setting down his teacup and leaning back in his chair, hands interlaced. “I’ve never seen you so eager to recommend a new recruit. You seem to really like him?”

“There have been frequent incidents lately, and I’m swamped. I really need a good assistant. If you’re not satisfied, I can have the recommender find someone tougher.”

“Well, technicians can sometimes serve as investigators too. Let this kid give it a try.” The boss pushed the resume back to Zhao Ran. “There’s a problem on my hands. Let that be his internship task. You can continue overseeing the investigation into the game company, and let him learn on the job.”

“Oh, and take fifteen thousand to the finance office.” the boss casually flicked the core analyzer. “Tell the kid I’ve bought the design off him.”

“Wise decision, Boss.” Zhao Ran smiled, though inwardly he scoffed. Not only did this kid understand technology, but the concept of dismantling a core-carrying human vessel was something more than just impressive. Fifty thousand? The boss would regret being so stingy later.

However, Zhao Ran wasn’t planning on letting too many people know about this matter before Yu An had enough strength to protect himself.

*

Yu An was sitting at his computer, browsing information about the Underground Metro, when suddenly his phone pinged, notifying him that his bank account had received fifteen thousand yuan. Moments later, he received a message from Zhao Ran.

Boss: [Electronic contract] Please sign below.

The message briefly explained the situation, and Yu An hadn’t realized that a simple modification to the Core Analyzer had earned him so much money.

“Your internship task is a bit challenging,” Zhao Ran said. “But if you complete it, you should receive at least a hundred thousand yuan in bonuses.”

“Tonight at six, go to the Perceptive Eagle Bureau. Ye Shiyin will explain the details to you.”

Yu An: “1.”

The Perceptive Eagle Bureau was located in the heart of Hongli City, a grand, symmetrical building with flags flying on either side. The steep stairs led up to a massive door, above which was a bronze eagle, wings spread, eyes glowing red.

Following Zhao Ran’s instructions, Yu An didn’t enter through the front door. Instead, he presented his ID at the side entrance to the guards.

Soon, a tall, young female officer with golden hair led him inside.

Yu An recognized her—her name was Timon, a subordinate of Officer Ye.

She held a submachine gun in her arms, its muzzle pointed downward, escorting him silently. Neither of them spoke.

Yu An, too, wasn’t one to engage in conversation. The silence between them remained until they reached the building’s main interior, passing through another security checkpoint guarded by armed police. They verified his identity once more.

Officer Ye was waiting for him in her office.

Even indoors, she kept her black mask on, her demeanor as cold and imposing as when they first met.

She pushed a stack of files toward Yu An. Her right hand, rough and scarred with knife wounds and bullet marks, exuded an aura of command and respect.

“I won’t bring up anything irrelevant. Timon, show him the footage.”

The blonde officer flicked on the projector, the image of a video splashing across the screen. Her voice, an accent apparent, cut through the still air: “The footage might be unsettling. If it makes you uncomfortable, just let me know.”

Yu An couldn’t guess what kind of disturbing content they were about to unveil, but he nodded, trying to appear unfazed. The girl seemed kind enough—he assumed the mechanical eagle he had disassembled must have been hers. Yet, he wondered if she had faced any punishment for it.

The video began.

The camera first moved from a dim, filthy corner of a room, its harsh lighting casting long, exaggerated shadows. Along the wall, a series of beauty equipment sat in cold, silent rows.

It resembled an isolated treatment room, not unlike those in beauty salons.

Soon, the image of a sterile tray came into focus, gleaming with a scalpel and vials of local anesthetic. The camera slowly pulled back, revealing a beauty bed in the center of the room.

The sight that met Yu An’s eyes was nothing short of grotesque. A monstrous body, bloated beyond recognition, lay there—its four limbs swollen into grotesque masses, almost as if they had become fused into giant, tangled mushrooms. The chest and belly heaved with each labored breath. He appeared to weigh nearly 600 pounds—morbidly obese to the point of being a living disaster. The man’s life seemed to hang by a thread, his heart likely to give way at any moment. It was a body on the brink of death, teetering on the edge.

Was this some kind of botched gastric surgery performed by an unlicensed beauty clinic?

The camera stayed fixed on the patient’s distended body, occasionally revealing the hands of two doctors as they went to work. One injected anesthetic into the patient’s sagging flesh with precise motions, while the other gently pinched and lifted the folds of skin, slowly administering the injection, bit by bit.

“But… gastric surgeries usually require general anesthesia…” Yu An muttered, his voice trailing off. His thoughts were muddled by the brutality unfolding on the screen.

Once the anesthetic took effect, one of the doctors grabbed a scalpel, making the first incision into the swollen belly. Layer after layer of skin was cut open with a surgeon’s precision, exposing the thick yellowish mass of fat beneath.

The doctor’s hands dove in, methodically separating the fat from the muscle beneath it. But the fat was so dense and overwhelming that only the scalpel could be used to slice it apart, piece by piece.

Minutes ticked by as the doctor worked, pulling out huge chunks of fat, some of it stained a grotesque pink-orange due to the blood it had absorbed. The fatty lumps glistened with an unsettling sheen.

The extracted fat was carefully placed on a digital scale positioned above a sanitation bucket. The numbers climbed steadily, reaching an astonishing 16 kilograms.

With each new chunk of fat, the doctor placed it into the bucket, and the weight continued to rise. Soon, the first bucket was full, and they had to switch to a larger one. In the end, the total weight of the removed fat amounted to a horrifying 250 kilograms.

At this point, the patient’s body had become little more than a deflated, hollow shell—like an empty, discarded human skin bag.

The doctors then began the task of stitching him up. The excess skin was removed, and the jagged edges of the incisions were sewn shut.

The final image showed the patient after the procedure. He had been transformed—his body now sculpted into what many would consider a “perfect” physique. His abdomen had been meticulously contoured, the lines of his muscles now sharp and defined—so much so that they looked like they had been carved from marble. He now resembled a Greek statue, handsome and impossibly fit.

But that perfection was a grotesque illusion. The layers of fat, wrapped tightly around his organs, had been brutally removed through a violent, unnatural process. The man’s body, fragile and unable to withstand such trauma, would not survive.

The video ended abruptly.

The room seemed unnaturally still as the lights flickered back on. Yu An continued to stare at the blank screen, his mind struggling to process what he had just witnessed.

A strange, indescribable feeling settled in his chest—part shock, part confusion. But beneath it all, there was something darker. A strange, almost twisted sense of satisfaction. His heart skipped a beat. Was there more? Was this all?

Timon, ever so slightly uncomfortable, handed him a glass of water, patting him on the shoulder in a gesture that was meant to be reassuring. This kind of footage could have a deep impact, especially on someone without a medical or law enforcement background.

Officer Ye spoke: “This series of twisted murder videos has been dubbed ‘Bone Art.’ They’re sold on the dark web, offering viewers a perverse visual satisfaction. The videos became a fleeting trend, but the profits reached seven million.”

“They’ve been bribing caretakers to abduct their victims, and in the span of just one month, four obese patients have gone missing. The fifth disappearance is currently taking place at Guxian County Hospital.”

“The patient who disappeared last night was Zhou Gongxing.”

Officer Ye slid Mr. Zhou’s photo toward Yu An. The moment he saw the face, his body stiffened. A chill ran down his spine.

“We tracked the filming location an hour ago. As of now, no new videos from the ‘Bone Art’ series have been uploaded. This leads us to believe Mr. Zhou is still alive. But the operation involves a cross-regional capture and rescue, and we’re still awaiting orders from higher-ups.”

“Which is why we need the Underground Metro’s help. Before the approval paperwork comes through, I need you to go to Xiliu Beauty Salon in Jiu’an, secure Mr. Zhou’s safety, and track the suspects. I urge you to leave immediately. The longer we wait, the more danger the hostage is in.”

Yu An’s understanding of the situation deepened. Criminal cases didn’t typically involve the Underground Metro—meaning this beauty salon was likely involved in something far worse than it appeared.

This couldn’t be an internship task, could it? Wasn’t he supposed to be applying for a technical position?

“Are you sure? Is this really my job alone?” 

Yu An could tell from Officer Ye’s tone that they seemed to think of him as nothing more than a messenger. The actual execution of the task, in their view, should fall to a team.

“You alone?” Officer Ye’s gaze sharpened, assessing him anew.

Officer Timon looked him up and down in surprise, her expression suddenly turning to one of embarrassment and shame. She quietly cursed herself, holding the water cup as if blaming her own naivety for trying to comfort a secret agent from the Underground Metro. No wonder he hadn’t been affected by such brutal footage—he had likely seen far worse. For someone like him, this kind of case was a mere triviality.

“Oh.” That wasn’t the reaction Yu An had hoped for.

A flicker of understanding crossed his mind. He finally understood why the Underground Metro offered such generous benefits—six types of deadly danger, plus a “golden urn” for one’s ashes.

He couldn’t quite figure out where things had gone wrong, but he was certain he had been tricked by the interviewer.

*

Meanwhile, Zhao Ran lay sprawled across the office sofa, browsing the internal network for information on Xiliu Beauty Salon.

“This is going to be tricky,” he muttered under his breath, sipping from his cat-ear mug. “But that little brat needs a lesson. It’ll sharpen his edges.”

The boss was no fool. He knew exactly who had downed the mechanical eagle—he’d simply given Zhao Ran a way out, offering him a chance to save face. This task, though, was clearly designed to test Yu An.

A seasoned businessman always weighs his moves carefully. The boss was probing Yu An’s value.

And according to the boss, Yu An was meant to handle this alone. But taking on such a task solo was fraught with risks. Yu An, fresh and inexperienced, would need someone to watch his back.

“You go with him. Keep him safe. Don’t do anything stupid.” Zhao Ran said, his voice steady.

But Zhao Ran was alone in the office, and it almost felt like he was speaking to the empty air.

As if on cue, the door to the office cracked open, a soft rustling sound breaking the silence. Something slithered out across the floor, moving so quickly it was almost imperceptible.