Chapter 1774 - 1366: Eyes in the Shadows

A week passed quickly.

This week, Song Heping slept until he naturally woke up every day.

This is an unimaginable luxury in Illiguo.

Recently in Baghdad, he had to get up at five in the morning, listen to intelligence briefings, handle emails, and hold video conferences.

Here, he could sleep soundly until nine in the morning. By the time he woke up, his younger siblings had already gone to work, and the house was quiet.

He wandered around town alone.

Everywhere, shopping has started trending toward mobile payment methods.

This is rarely used abroad; he's used to cash or encrypted digital currencies.

He went shopping in the supermarket, learning to recognize those new brand goods.

He went to the cinema to watch movies, domestic films about everyday family matters, and he watched them very earnestly.

He went to the bookstore to read, military, history, economics, and also novels.

He went to the park to watch old men play chess, and he could watch for an entire afternoon.

He also made a trip to the provincial capital to visit several comrades from his old unit (not 203).

His original unit was also a special operations unit.

Over a decade had passed.

Among his comrades, some are in the GA system, already at the deputy division level; some in state-owned enterprises have risen to middle management; some have started their own businesses as self-employed, living decently.

Of course, some comrades are working regular jobs, leading ordinary lives, worrying about mortgages, car loans, and children's education.

They asked what Song Heping was doing, and he said he was in international trade, brushing it off.

They drank, reminiscing about the embarrassing things back in the military; no one probed deeply.

Only one, Lao Zhao, who switched to the GA department, patted his shoulder after drinking: "Peace, be safe out there. If you need help, just say the word."

Song Heping smiled and toasted him.

He remembered Lao Zhao's number.

Maybe Lingling and the others could seek out Lao Zhao if needed.

Ordinary matters could be handled.

On the evening of the seventh day after returning home, Harmony had a social engagement, Lingling went to a friend's house for a gathering, and Zhang Wei was on duty.

Song Heping had dinner alone at home when several high school classmates called, saying they'd heard he was back and insisted on meeting up.

The gathering place was an old hot pot restaurant on the east side of town.

Most classmates stayed locally, becoming civil servants, teachers, small business owners, or regular workers.

After ten years without seeing each other, some had gained weight, some were balding, and some had kids already in junior high school.

"Peace, what exactly have you been doing abroad all these years?"

One classmate, after drinking a lot, raised his voice: "I heard you were in the Middle East? It's really chaotic there."

"Just doing some engineering and contracting projects," Song Heping said lightly, dipping a slice of tripe: "Building roads, houses, oil pipelines."

"Is it safe over there? The news reports explosions and terrorist attacks every day."

"You get used to it," Song Heping smiled and raised his beer glass: "Come, let's drink. No talk of work."

They continued to chat about the old days.

Who pursued which girl, who got caught cheating on exams, who broke the classroom glass during basketball.

Laughter was continuous, with one beer bottle after another.

Song Heping laughed and drank along but always maintained a sense of sobriety.

Years of habits couldn't be changed.

By the time they dispersed, it was already past ten at night.

Classmates either took taxis or drove away, while Song Heping said he wanted to walk and sober up, politely declining their offer to send him off.

On that early summer evening, the city remained lively. The night market had just started, with barbecue stall smoke swirling around, and the smell of crayfish wafting down the entire street.

Young people gathered in small groups, laughing and making noise. Couples strolled hand in hand, while the elderly pushed baby strollers.

Song Heping walked slowly along the sidewalk, intending to walk to the subway station to catch a ride home.

After a while, his professional instincts made him sense something unusual.

A black SUV, its license plate partially obscured by mud, appeared in his sight for the third time.

The first time was in front of the hot pot restaurant, the car parked across the road, turned off, but no one got out.

The second time was when he turned the corner and saw it following him in the rearview mirror, maintaining a distance of about fifty meters.

Now, he deliberately slowed down, and the car also decelerated nearby, as if looking for a parking spot.

Tracking.

Not amateurish.

The distance was maintained well—not too fast, not too slow, not too close, not too far. The license plate was deliberately made dirty but not completely covered.

This is a professional practice—enough to disguise, but not so obvious that it raises suspicion.

Just a bit too inexperienced in his eyes.

Without showing any signs of alarm, Song Heping continued to walk forward.

Upon passing a large mall, he checked the time.

10:20, the mall closes at 10:30.

He turned and walked into the mall.

The mall had few customers; staff were tidying shelves and preparing to close.

The broadcast was announcing the closure: "Dear customers, our business hours are about to end. Please complete your shopping promptly..."

Song Heping quickly passed through the cosmetics area on the first floor, entering the safety exit.

He didn't go upstairs but went directly downwards, entering the underground parking lot.

The parking lot was large, divided into zones A, B, and C, dimly lit.

He found a surveillance blind spot—between two support pillars.

The camera was blocked by the pillars.

He quickly took off his jacket, reversed it, and put it back on, turning black to gray, then messed up his hair a little, put on the mask he kept on the inside of his clothes, and then took a cap from his backpack and put it on.

The whole process took less than thirty seconds.

Then he moved quickly along the edge of the parking lot, heading towards the entrance, his footsteps light, making almost no sound.

The black SUV indeed entered the parking lot, stopping in the nearby aisle.

Two men got out of the car, both between thirty and forty years old, wearing dark jackets, dark pants, and black leather shoes.

They walked steadily, shoulders moving naturally with each step, arms slightly bent.