Chapter 1: The Clerk Who Walks Through Fire

The training ground of the Special Operations Squad at the Municipal Fire Brigade kicked up a storm of dust. The sharp blast of the emergency assembly whistle had just faded, its piercing echo still buzzing in everyone’s ears as they sprinted through the drizzle. Sweat ran down their temples, splattering onto the dry ground and evaporating into thin white mist.

Lin Zhao hesitated for half a second on the starting line. That fleeting 0.5-second delay made his figure stand out like a sore thumb in the otherwise perfectly synchronized line. He stared intently at the cracked patterns on the ground, his brain frantically calculating the optimal ratio of breathing rate to stride length, while his body felt chained down by an invisible weight.

Sergeant Han Tie skidded to a stop in front of him in a few quick strides. His dark, ruddy face was flushed a bright crimson, spit nearly flying at Lin Zhao’s face, reeking of a mix of dirt and sweat. Han Tie locked eyes with him, his gaze sharp as poisoned ice, pinning him in place. Han Tie roared, “What are you doing, you soft-bookish paper-pusher? You want to embarrass the Squad?”

The other firefighters didn’t say a word. The only sounds were heavy gasps and the thud of leather boots slapping against the concrete, each step hammering the ground and sending a vibration through their chests. Lin Zhao kept his head down, his fingers gripping the badge on his chest so hard his knuckles turned white, the metal pressing painfully into his palm.

He finally spoke, his voice quiet, laced with an infuriatingly slow, methodical pace. Lin Zhao said, “Sergeant Han, according to the physical training regulations, my pace should be…”

Han Tie kicked an empty plastic barrel nearby, the loud clang echoing in the sudden silence. The barrel tumbled away and crashed into the bushes in the distance. Han Tie cursed, “Stop quoting regulations at me! Out here, the rules are fluid—only survival is solid! A stiff like you would be dead in a fire scene!”

A few crumpled forms slapped onto Lin Zhao’s desk. The ink wasn’t dry yet; it was clearly a forged inspection record. The edges of the paper were rough, creased from being hurriedly flipped through. Han Tie jammed a pen into the stack of papers, the tip puncturing the sheet below with a harsh, scraping sound. Han Tie ordered, “Sign it. You’ll take the fall for the intern’s negligence.

If you don’t sign, don’t bother coming in tomorrow.” Lin Zhao looked at the scribbled text, and that stubborn streak of his flared up. He picked up the pen but didn’t write immediately. Instead, he slowly turned to the last page, pointing at a smudge of correction fluid. His fingertip traced the paper, feeling the slight, abnormal bump under the cover-up.

Lin Zhao said coolly, “The heat-sensing recorder number here is wrong. It’s an old unit from last year; it couldn’t possibly appear in today’s inspection.”

Han Tie let out a cold snarl, leaning in closer until his shadow swallowed half of Lin Zhao’s face. Han Tie threatened, “Think this through. Taking the fall is minor. It’s the effect on your evaluation that’s the big deal. Sign the thing. Don’t be so stubborn.”

Lin Zhao stayed silent for a moment. His gaze lingered on Han Tie’s tense jawline for a second before he finally signed his name in the designated spot. The scratch of the pen tip on paper was clearly audible. He looked up, his eyes calm as a stagnant pool, reflecting the gray, hazy sky outside the window. Lin Zhao said, “Sergeant Han, I’m keeping a backup of these forged records.

Next time accountability comes around, I hope they come in handy.” Han Tie’s face turned the color of ash. He grabbed the forms and slammed them on the desk. The paper scattered in the air. He spun on his heel and stormed away, his heavy footsteps echoing, each one feeling like it was hitting Lin Zhao’s mental defenses.

At 3:00 AM, the alarm klaxon tore through the night, harsh and piercing. Red lights strobed frantically down the narrow dormitory hallway. A fire in an old residential district had the entire Special Operations Squad rolling. Amid the roar of engines and the violent shaking of the vehicle, Lin Zhao was pinned inside the back compartment, surrounded by the cacophony of metal clashing and the sharp clink of belt buckles hitting each other.

As they pulled out, Han Tie walked past the tail of the truck. He paused for a split second, his breathing heavy. Han Tie barked, “Paperwork stays in the rig! Write your report! Don’t get out! You’re just in the way!”

Lin Zhao nodded, offering no rebuttal. He pulled out his portable notebook and started organizing the files he’d brought under the dim glow of the emergency light. His pen made a soft scratching sound against the pages. As his eyes swept over the attached sketch of the fire origin investigation, his fingers froze.

The burn patterns in the diagram were marked as completely standard—a vertical spread from the ground floor upward. But there was a fatal flaw in the data logic: the distribution of molten metal was completely opposite to the heat flow direction. He took a deep breath, his heart rate spiking. The roaring rush of blood in his ears drowned out the engine noise. This wasn’t an ordinary fire scene.

The vehicle slammed to a halt, the screech of brakes against hubs filling the air with the smell of burnt rubber. At the mouth of the smoke-billowing stairwell, Han Tie was leading the team into the building. Their protective face shields reflected the flashing red and blue lights on the scene. Lin Zhao followed the team down to the ground floor. What he saw looked like hell.

Charnel-black concrete walls gleamed with an oily sheen. The air was thick with a stinging, burnt odor, mixed with the cloying sweetness of melting plastic that made his stomach turn. Han Tie glanced back. Han Tie shouted, “Back up! Non-combatants stay clear!”

But Lin Zhao stopped dead in his tracks. His gaze was snagged on a section of burnt, cracked concrete in the corner. The exposed cross-section was an abnormal grayish-white, starkly different from the deep black of the surrounding areas, as if the color had been instantly sucked out. His hand began to tremble beyond his control. He slowly reached out toward the concrete.

The moment his fingertips made contact, it was like touching high-voltage electricity. A searing pain shot from his palm straight to his brain, and his consciousness was yanked into a dark sea.

The images in front of him shattered into fragments. Countless waves of heat churned in his mind, blue thermal lines weaving into a web in the darkness. Peak heat temperature: 800 degrees Celsius. Duration of exposure: 4 minutes. Heat flow direction—horizontal. A three-dimensional map of heat spread assembled itself in the dark, the lines cold and sharp, slicing through the chaotic surface like a surgeon’s scalpel.

The initial model of a ground-floor ignition instantly collapsed. The fire hadn’t spread from bottom to top; it had been swept horizontally from a second-floor balcony into the ground floor, shifting the timeline by two minutes. The pain left Lin Zhao’s vision blindingly dark. Cold sweat instantly soaked through his uniform. The wet, cold fabric clung to his spine, sending shivers through him.

He gritted his teeth, forcing down the rising nausea, his nails digging deep into his palm. Han Tie was inspecting the structure on the ground floor and asked casually. Han Tie asked, “Any smoldering hazards on the bottom level?”

Lin Zhao wiped the sweat from his face. His voice was hoarse but abnormally firm. Lin Zhao replied, “No. The true point of origin is the window sill on the west side of the second floor.”

Han Tie whipped around as if he’d heard a ridiculous joke. Shock and disdain flashed in his eyes. Han Tie roared, “Are you f***ing kidding me? You’ve never even been inside a fire scene! How do you know?”

The other crew members stared at him, some already pulling out their phones to record. The camera lights flickered in the smoke. Lin Zhao didn’t flinch. He pointed at the cracked concrete, his hand shaking slightly, indicating the critical fracture line.

Lin Zhao explained, “The molten traces on this concrete, the metallic phase is peeling off in sheets. That means the heat flow was a horizontal impact, not a vertical rise. If the fire started on the ground floor, the base should show a massive overall collapse. But here, it’s only local cracking.”

Han Tie narrowed his eyes. His gaze lingered on Lin Zhao’s face for three seconds. He didn’t say another word, just waved a hand, signaling the team to hold their positions.

A rush of hurried footsteps echoed. Su Wan burst into the stairwell, panting heavily. She was wearing a tactical vest, her forehead beaded with sweat, a few strands of hair plastered to her cheek. She held a tablet, her fingers flying across the keyboard. The cold light from the screen illuminated her stern face as her eyes scanned the coordinates Lin Zhao had just pointed out.

She stopped, brow furrowed, her fingers hovering in mid-air. Su Wan said coldly, “Second-floor west window sill? In a standard vertical spread model, that position is in the cooling zone. There shouldn’t be any high-temperature residue.”

She looked up, her eyes filled with scrutiny and skepticism, studying this intern who looked like he had zero field experience. Su Wan questioned, “Lin Zhao, how did you reach that conclusion? How long were you inside the fire scene? You couldn’t possibly make such a clear judgment.”

Lin Zhao met her gaze. He didn’t explain his ability. He just said flatly, “The chain of evidence is here, Technician Su. Do you trust your logic, or do you trust your model?”

Han Tie took two crew members and quickly climbed to the second floor. The sound of their boots echoed in the stairwell. The air was filled with the distinct, sweet stench of evaporating gasoline, sharp against the smoky backdrop, like a dangerous omen. Han Tie crouched on the edge of the window sill, wiping away the dust with his gloved hand, moving slowly and cautiously. Han Tie murmured, “Look at this. Traces of oil.

This is residue from evaporated gasoline. It wasn’t factored into the model.” He turned around and looked down at Lin Zhao. His tone had shifted, tinged with a complex mix of disdain and a nameless wariness. Han Tie shouted, “Paperwork! What kind of freak are you? Using theory to mess with real-world ops can get people killed!”

Lin Zhao stood in the shadows on the ground floor. An old scar on his left hand was seeping with a fine layer of cold sweat. The stinging pain hadn’t faded, feeling like a million ants gnawing at his nerves. He adjusted his collar, trying to keep his voice steady. Lin Zhao answered, “Sergeant Han, I’m not bullshiting you. I derived this from thermophysical data. If I’m wrong, I’ll take the blame.”

From the rear communication channel, static crackled before Zhou Jingtang’s voice came through, calm and deep. You couldn’t read any emotion in it, but it carried the weight of an anchor in a storm. Zhou Jingtang said, “Noted on record. Second-floor west window sill coordinates, heat flow swept horizontally, timeline adjusted to T plus two minutes. Continue the inspection.”

The call ended. The stairwell fell back into a deathly silence, save for the occasional faint beep of smoke detectors. Lin Zhao felt his hands going numb. The deep, burning pain lingered. His fingers twitched in spasms, unable to grip a water bottle. Su Wan walked over and handed him a bottle. Her movement was efficient, devoid of any unnecessary comfort. Su Wan said, “Left hand hurt?”

Lin Zhao took the water but didn’t drink right away. He watched the ripples on the surface. In the reflection, his pale face looked strangely alien. Lin Zhao said softly, “Old injury. It hurts when it gets hot. The data stream auto-corrected the error in my head just now. I’m only just realizing it.”

Su Wan stared at him for a long time. Her gaze was like that of someone looking at a monster—curious but wary. Su Wan said coldly, “This kind of ‘sense’ better never make it into a formal report. The chain of evidence only accepts physical proof, not mysticism.”

Han Tie finished his re-inspection and walked back to the ground floor, holding a new set of measurement records. His face was grim. His eyes kept drifting to Lin Zhao. His previous dominance was gone. Han Tie tossed the stack of papers at Lin Zhao. The sheets fluttered in the air, settling down covered in dust. Han Tie roared, “The spot you pointed out directly contradicts the initial investigation report!

The initial report concluded it was a short circuit on the ground floor. What proof do you have that it was fake?” Lin Zhao didn’t touch the stack of papers. He just lifted his head. His eyes were clear and sharp, catching the dim fire scene lights with a strange glint. Lin Zhao said, “Sergeant Han, reports can be falsified, but concrete doesn’t lie.

The thermal memory is right there. Go touch it. See if you can read an 800-degree horizontal heat flow from that.” Han Tie froze. His hand hung in the air, never coming down, as if held by an invisible force. The air around them seemed to solidify. In the midst of this tense standoff, only the distant, wailing siren of the fire trucks could be heard, making the silence feel even more desolate.