7: Chapter 7 The Cicada Sheds Its Shell and the Journey South

The taxi sped along the highway toward the airport.

The air conditioning in the car was on full blast, but as Zhang Cheng leaned back against the slightly sunken seat, his expression was even colder than the air.

His eyes were half-closed, appearing as if he were resting, but in reality, he was intently locked onto the seemingly ordinary gray Volkswagen following behind through the dark, explosion-proof window tint.

That car had been following him ever since he left the police station entrance. Whether he changed lanes or accelerated, the other party clung to him like a leech that had smelled blood, refusing to let go.

"Captain Li really thinks highly of me," Zhang Cheng sneered inwardly.

Recalling the drama in the interrogation room just now, he couldn't help but sigh that playing the "weakling" was truly an exhausting task.

He had to control his muscles to prevent a counterattack, force himself to squeeze out tears, and feign innocence under the accusations of that madman, Wang Hu.

However, those days were over.

"Driver, pull over at the service area ahead. I need to take a leak and buy a pack of cigarettes," Zhang Cheng said suddenly, his voice as calm as stagnant water.

The driver, a middle-aged man with a bald head, glanced at the rearview mirror upon hearing this: "Alright, I could use a break too."

The car slowly slid into the service area ramp. The gray Volkswagen behind followed just as naturally, parking two spaces away.

Zhang Cheng pushed the door open and got out. The sensation of being watched, like needles pricking his back, became even more intense.

He didn't look back, wrapping his torn jacket—ripped during that "beating"—tightly around himself as he walked straight toward the public restroom next to the convenience store.

The two plainclothes police officers exchanged a glance inside their car.

"You keep watch; I'll guard the entrance," the plainclothes officer in the passenger seat said. He pushed the door open, stepped out, pretended to be on a phone call, and slowly sauntered to the restroom entrance, guarding the only exit.

Inside the restroom, the air was filled with the smell of cheap air freshener mixed with the stench of urine.

Zhang Cheng walked into the innermost stall and locked the door behind him. With a soft "click," he shut out the outside world.

"System," he thought silently in his mind.

A bright blue light screen instantly unfolded across his retinas.

"Redeem: One Junior Death Soldier. Requirement: Body type, height, and hairstyle must be highly similar to mine."

[10 points consumed. Generating Death Soldier... Deployment location: Host's current stall.]

The air distorted slightly, as if a heatwave had rolled through. The next second, a young man with a thin build and hollow eyes appeared out of thin air in the narrow stall.

His face was surprisingly seventy to eighty percent similar to Zhang Cheng's, only lacking that spark of vitality and possessing a bit more dullness.

Zhang Cheng deftly took off his dark jacket, jeans, and even the sneakers on his feet, tossing them to the Death Soldier.

"Put them on. Wear the hat and mask," Zhang Cheng commanded in a low voice.

The Death Soldier didn't say a word, moving mechanically yet precisely to get dressed.

When he put on the baseball cap, pulled it down low, wore the black mask, and imitated Zhang Cheng's cowering demeanor from earlier, no one would doubt it was Zhang Cheng himself unless they pulled back his mask to check his face.

"Your mission: Go out in five minutes, go to the convenience store to buy a pack of 'Huazi' cigarettes, then get into that taxi and tell the driver to go to the airport. Once at the airport, enter the terminal, find a crowded area, try to stall for time, and finally, find a secluded corner to self-deactivate."

"Yes, Master."

As for Zhang Cheng, he took out a prepared set of gray work jacket, a pair of black-rimmed flat glasses, and a slightly worn-out baseball cap from the system space.

After changing, he checked his reflection in the blurry stainless steel plate in the stall.

The person in the mirror had a slightly hunched back and a timid air—the spitting image of a low-level migrant worker crushed by the weight of life.

"The show begins."

Five minutes later.

The Death Soldier, wearing Zhang Cheng's clothes, pushed the door open and walked out, head bowed, footsteps hurried, clutching the cigarettes he had just bought.

The plainclothes officer at the entrance, who was pretending to be on the phone, glanced at the familiar clothing and build, and immediately growled into the microphone at his collar: "Target is out! He's getting in the car! Hurry! Follow him!"

With that, he no longer cared about the restroom, bolted toward the parking lot, and dived into the gray Volkswagen.

The gray Volkswagen's engine roared, and it shot out like an arrow from a bow, chasing after the taxi.

Confirming that the footsteps outside had completely faded away, the real Zhang Cheng lowered his cap and swaggered out, blending in with a group of elderly tourists who had just gotten off a bus.

In the parking lot on the other side of the service area, he found an unlicensed taxi displaying an "Empty Car Returning" sign.

"Driver, going to Yunnan Province. Take the national roads, not the highways. I'll pay double." Zhang Cheng slapped several crimson banknotes onto the dashboard.

The unlicensed driver's eyes lit up. He had been about to say it wasn't on his way, but now he immediately put on a smiling face: "Alright, Boss! Sit tight! We're leaving now!"

The car drove out of the service area, merged into the rolling traffic, and sped off in the southwest direction, the exact opposite of the airport.

Just then, a pleasant notification sound rang in Zhang Cheng's mind:

[Ding—Daily settlement at midnight, today's 1000 points have been credited. Current total points: 2180.]

Zhang Cheng watched the scenery rapidly receding outside the window, a cruel smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

"Officer Li, goodbye. When I return, I'm afraid we'll be dealing with each other in a different way."

Several hours later.

A roar erupted from the office of the Changning City Criminal Investigation Brigade.

"Bastard!"

Li Guofeng was so furious that he smashed his cup onto the ground, shattering it into pieces.

The news just came back: after entering the terminal, the target had vanished into thin air, and only a set of abandoned clothes was found in the restroom.

They had checked all the surveillance footage, but they couldn't find how that "Zhang Cheng" had disappeared; it was as if he had never existed.

"Good kid, I really underestimated you!" Li Guofeng stared at the map on the wall, his eyes sharp as knives. "But as long as you're still on this planet, I will definitely dig you out!"

...

For the next ten days, Zhang Cheng lived a dull but fulfilling life.

Like a ghost, he constantly switched between various modes of transportation: unlicensed taxis, buses, and farm tricycles.

He tried his best to avoid big cities and areas with dense surveillance, heading all the way southwest.

During these ten days, he wasn't idle.

Whenever the night was deep and quiet, he would open the system store and, like a miser, calculate his net worth over and over again.

The daily income of 1,000 points made him increasingly confident.

First day, 3180 points. Second day, 4180 points... Tenth day, 12180 points!

This was a huge sum.

If converted into real currency, it would be 120 million. If converted into weapons, it would be enough to arm an reinforced battalion.

Many times, while passing through remote mountainous areas, Zhang Cheng had the urge to summon the Death Soldiers for some fresh air, or to redeem a gun for self-defense.

But he held back.

"No. This is the Dragon Country."

He warned himself over and over in his mind, "The Skynet system is not to be trifled with. A group of undocumented people appearing out of nowhere, or a gun that shouldn't exist, would invite a thunderous strike from the state apparatus."

"Endure."

"The endurance now is for a more violent explosion in the future."

Finally, on the evening of the tenth day, the air began to fill with a muggy, humid atmosphere, mixed with the distinct, pungent scent of tropical plants.

Ahead was the border line.

Zhang Cheng looked at the flashing red dot on the system map—Northern Myanmar, Kokang, Feifan Park.

That was the "grave" Lin Weiwei had prepared for him, and also the "land of rising dragon" he had chosen for himself.

"Lin Weiwei, your old classmate is here."

Zhang Cheng touched the phone with the cracked screen in his pocket, a cruel smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

"Your 'piglet' has arrived; remember to sign for the delivery."