0022 prepares for the Red Mission.

About twenty minutes later, a Jinbei van with neither license plates nor any visible markings drove into the old agricultural machinery factory. Several figures, clad in coveralls and wearing masks and caps, got out, carrying an assortment of cleaning tools and several large plastic barrels half as tall as a person. Without delay, they began working at the scene. They placed each corpse into the barrels, poured in unknown liquids to clean up the blood, then meticulously examined every inch of the site with ultraviolet lamps, collecting all debris. Everything was wrapped in thick plastic sheets and loaded onto the van. Watching their focused, professional, and methodical work, Hou Rui felt a cold sweat trickle down his back. Such skill couldn’t have been gained from just a few tries—who knows how many people they had made disappear?

Within half an hour, the cleanup was complete. The spacious factory, aside from its original weeds and broken bricks, was utterly devoid of even a scrap of paper. When the group climbed back into the van to leave, Hou Rui was planning how to follow them all the way to their hideout when his phone chimed—a WeChat message appeared: “Unauthorized access to organizational information is forbidden. Cease your investigation immediately, or the chip will be activated.” Once again, he was defeated by the organization’s power. He could only abandon his plan, find somewhere to shower and change clothes, and return to his dorm in frustration.

In the days that followed, Hou Rui waited for any summons regarding the Red Task, but his WeChat remained silent. When he asked Old Xiao, even he had vanished. Yet not all news was bad; Xia Xiaoru, who had entangled Hou Rui for forty-eight hours, also disappeared. According to another older student, Xia Xiaoru had taken leave to return home. Hou Rui secretly breathed a sigh of relief—if she had gone to the police, everything would be ruined. Her disappearance, in a way, meant Hou Rui was safe.

On the fifth day, while Hou Rui was serving juice at Tomorrow Shooting Range, his phone vibrated in his pocket. A message! He calmed his nerves and checked—it was a text: “Come to Room 301, No. 14, Changchun Street after work.” What did this mean? Was the task finally beginning? Uncertain, he spent the rest of his shift pondering the question.

After 1 a.m., Hou Rui stood at the door of Room 301. It was an ordinary apartment building, utterly silent at this hour. He knocked gently, wondering who would answer.

“Who is it?”

“Hou Rui.”

The security lock clicked twice, and a girl appeared, wearing a short Pikachu fleece suit. She looked about 167 centimeters tall. “Why are you standing there? Come in!” she said, stepping aside. As the stunned Hou Rui entered, she immediately locked the door.

Hou Rui stared blankly at the room. If he had seen piles of guns, explosives, or even anti-air missiles, he would have felt it normal. But instead, he saw rooms full of stuffed animals, skirts, knee-high socks, an array of shoujo manga, and snack wrappers. Now, he was truly dumbfounded.

Had he made a mistake? Was it the wrong apartment? No—if it were wrong, she wouldn’t have let him in. Hou Rui kept questioning himself.

“The room’s a bit messy. Find somewhere to sit,” the Pikachu girl said, kicking empty chip cans and half-eaten dog treat bags off the sofa to clear a spot. She plopped herself down.

“It’s fine, I’ll stand for now,” Hou Rui replied, afraid of sitting on some small creature.

“Suit yourself.” She picked up the remote and started watching the latest idol drama on the 55-inch TV.

After enduring half an episode and listening to the Pikachu girl gnawing on spicy chicken feet, Hou Rui finally lost his patience. “Did you call me over for the Red Task?”

“Stop, stop,” she said, pausing the drama. With dark circles under her eyes, she turned to Hou Rui. “First, remember not to mention tasks to anyone. Second, I don’t know anything about Red or Green Tasks. Third, you’re here for me to teach you how to watch TV.”

“Watch what?” Hou Rui thought he had misheard.

“Watch TV! Watch dramas.” She confirmed his suspicion.

“Thanks, but I don’t need you to teach me that,” Hou Rui said, preparing to leave. But the Pikachu girl nonchalantly spat out another chicken bone and said slowly, “Do you really know how to watch?”

“What do you mean?” Sensing something was off, Hou Rui stopped.

“A twenty-episode drama—most people can spot about 3050 errors,” she said, suddenly confident and proud. “But I can find 3400.”

Seeing Hou Rui pause, she stood and came over. Looking him in the eye, she said, “Familiarity with combat skills alone makes you a disposable tool for the organization. To increase your value, enhance your worth in their eyes, and raise your chances of protection and support, you need a broader skill set.”

“Like watching TV?”

“Watching TV is just a method. Through it, you train your keen observation of objects, people, and environments. When carrying out tasks, you’ll be able to spot problems and dangers in advance. Imagine how valuable that is.”

“…”

“Once you master the first stage, watching TV can further broaden your skills, helping you analyze personalities, habits, and responses to different situations. With long-term training, you’ll gain extraordinary abilities in understanding human nature, distinguishing friend from foe, exploiting weaknesses, and even predicting targets’ deployments and actions.” She nudged Hou Rui with her elbow and handed him the remote. “So, do you still think watching TV is simple?”

Hou Rui was convinced, though reluctant to show it. He took the remote, sat on the small cleared spot on the sofa, and asked, “Alright, where do we start?”

“‘Rural Love’.”

From then on, Hou Rui worked at the shooting range on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and spent Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays with Xiao Zhao, the seasoned Pikachu homebody, watching dramas.

The scope was vast—beginning with domestic rural comedy, then period pieces, modern dramas, sci-fi, suspense, Japanese, Korean, American, and web series. Hou Rui was overwhelmed. After just two weeks, he had watched more dramas than in the past decade combined. Now, the sight of a glowing screen made him nauseous.

“Hey, found one, found one! There’s another—see, the microphone’s in the shot. Does that count?”

“No! Too easy, even a dog could spot it. Keep watching. There are ten more errors in this episode.”

“Really? Ten? Are you sure?”

“Just watch. What’s the point in arguing?”

This was their daily dialogue. But after repeating it countless times, Hou Rui’s mind was on the brink of collapse. Yet, from another perspective, his powers of observation had genuinely sharpened. Now, a quick glance was enough for him to spot odd, illogical details.

Beyond that, Xiao Zhao began teaching him tracking and anti-tracking skills. After a series of cat-and-mouse games, Hou Rui was once again awed by her abilities. He couldn’t understand how a homebody, who rarely went out unless starving, could be a tracking expert.

Whether he believed it or not, the facts spoke for themselves.

The first time, Hou Rui set out from Changchun Street, taking taxis, switching to the subway, cycling, checking behind him every three minutes. After traveling twenty kilometers, he called out, and Xiao Zhao appeared instantly.

The second time, refusing to believe it, he rode the subway in circles around the city, wandered randomly through busy commercial districts, then hid in a pedestrian tunnel for an hour before returning to school. But when he entered the classroom, Xiao Zhao was already in the back row reading manga.

The third and toughest attempt, he chose a weekend, avoided all transport, relied on his remarkable stamina, and ran deep into the mountains outside the city. After a day of wandering, confident he was lost, he called out—and Xiao Zhao responded nearby.

Having been utterly convinced, Hou Rui split his Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday time in two: half for observation training, half for tracking and anti-tracking.

“Mastering all tracking skills in a short time—especially the innate techniques of old hunters—is impossible. Start with the basics of anti-tracking. Learn how not to be shadowed, improve your ability to protect yourself,” Xiao Zhao said, a lollipop in her mouth.

“How long will it take to learn everything?” Hou Rui asked, dropping eyedrops in his eyes.

“Sixty-seven years.”

“What? Sixty-seven years? How did you train? You’re not that old—I doubt you started in fourth grade!”

“I’m different. Half of it’s innate talent.”

“And the other half? Any secrets?” Hou Rui perked up.

“The other half comes from tracking Korean pop stars and other idols.” Xiao Zhao replied calmly.

“A paparazzo?” Hou Rui was thunderstruck.

“Do you have a problem with that? Whether it’s a dog’s job or a cat’s, as long as it’s effective, it’s a good method. Pulling the trigger and slitting a throat have the same practical meaning.” With that, Xiao Zhao refocused on a new anime, leaving Hou Rui staring at the back of her head.