If the intel is accurate, the J nationals are set to stay in the country for 6-7 days. I have 5 days to prepare, but this time around, I'm at a loss. No specifics on the location, time, or even what tools to use.

I try to avoid flying as much as possible when I go out, due to the records and the inability to bring tools. However, this time I can't afford to waste a day on the train. Feeling uneasy, I only bring clothes and money, nothing else.

Upon reaching ZJ, I check into the hotel booked by the manager. It's a unique place, the kind of style I adore, warm and with a touch of home.

Just as I set down my luggage, L's call comes in, informing me that the J nationals' schedule has been moved up, and they'll arrive tonight. Glancing at my watch, I realize I have three hours left.

The club where the J nationals are staying is around 3 kilometers from my hotel. I decide to take a leisurely stroll there.

On the way, I encounter a girl walking her dog, a Samoyed, my favorite breed. Whenever I see it, it always seems to be smiling.

As I pass by the club, my arms are crossed in front of my chest, left hand holding the phone to capture the situation at the gate, while also surveying the surroundings and buildings. If push comes to shove, long-distance shooting might be the only option.

This time, it seems like fate is testing me. None of the nearby buildings exceed 6 floors, with a scarcity of tall structures, all reminiscent of ancient Jiangnan towns.

I don't take the same route back, as there's an electronic eye at the J nationals' entrance. In those days, surveillance cameras were few and far between. It appears this guy has some skeletons in his closet.

Back at the hotel, I review the footage on my phone. I remember using the first Nokia model with a million pixels, obtained through a special channel from the company. It seems that model wasn't even on the market in China at the time, but the image quality was still limited, better than nothing.

There are two security guards at the club's entrance, one stationed outside and one handling registrations inside. Sneaking in or scaling the walls is nearly impossible, so the club location is a no-go for now.

It looks like I'll have to stakeout and wait for this brat to leave. Once he's out, there'll be a way.

I request a cart from the manager, park it in a blind spot not far from the club, and as I pull up the handbrake, I tell myself, "Patience is a virtue."

Less than two hours later, the J national appears.

Stolen novel; please report.

A dark blue Mercedes pulls into the club from behind me, windows tinted dark, making it impossible to see inside clearly. However, judging by the tire pressure, there are at least three people inside.

I've considered stuffing a grenade into his car when he leaves, but it seems risky. If his bodyguards are professional, they'd have enough time to toss it out and it could easily result in severe injuries. Without a guarantee of a fatal outcome, I must be absolutely sure.

At that moment, L calls to inform me that the target is still going out tonight. I remark on my perpetual luck and ask why L didn't mention it earlier. L responds that she just received the information too.

Intel suggests the J national will visit a nightclub tonight at 9. I speculate that the employer must be the person he's doing business with this time.

L retorts, "You're just guessing. How do you know?" I reply, "A shot in the dark." After hanging up, I inquire about the nightclub's number and proceed to reserve all rooms with toilets between 10 and 10:30 under different names.

Making those calls was exhausting, circling the IC phones around the outer ring. I believe I have a plan now.

The nightclub opens at 8 in the evening, so I can't do a walkthrough. I must have two plans in place.

By 9:10 PM, I arrive at the nightclub entrance, dressed decently today in a Japanese fitted suit and black-framed glasses to give a larger impression of myself.

Aside from his irredeemable nature, there are things to learn from what the J national does.

This nightclub is of moderate size, with surveillance only at the cash register, leaving the rest of the hall unmonitored. I note the camera angles at the cash register, covering roughly a 90-degree area. I'll be out of that range if I enter through the side door.

The hostess is very courteous, asking if I have a room reservation and which room. I pretend not to understand and mumble some gibberish in a local dialect. She quickly catches on and says, "I got it, you're in room 233, please follow me," gesturing for me to come in. The J national's room is on the second floor, and that's all I need to know. I'm not interested in going in and having a drink with him.

Upon reaching the second-floor landing, I utter more incomprehensible dialect, and the hostess naturally doesn't understand. I then ask her, "Where is the WC?" This time, she gets it and points ahead, saying, "It's right there."

I nod slightly and thank her. She mutters something about my manners and heads downstairs.

In the restroom, I assess the surroundings. It's ideal, with a window overlooking the nightclub's backyard parking lot. The parking lot lights are dim, and with security at the main entrance, the window is positioned towards the parking lot inside. I'm relieved because without that window, I'd have to resort to Plan B. That would be much tighter on time and riskier.

Now, all I have to do is wait in the single restroom for that brat to come in. A few people come in to use the restroom. Judging by the number and frequency of visitors, the nightclub seems quiet tonight. The fact that the J national chose this sparsely populated spot is likely for safety, but my grim reaper is about to call on him.

Around 9:50 PM, I hear the restroom door open. Judging by the footsteps, it sounds like two people have entered. They stand for a couple of seconds, exchange a few words in dialect, and one leaves.

The restroom has four single stalls, and I'm in the last one. In front of the stall is a urinal, and I see the J national walk up to the last urinal, the one in front of my stall. He begins unbuckling his belt, choosing a corner stall despite the others being vacant. Clearly, he's a man seriously lacking in a sense of security.