New Ming Calendar, Year 23.
In the capital, Xi'an, inside the headquarters of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Sky Bureau, the Director's Office carried an air of quiet authority. Behind a heavy wooden desk sat a middle-aged woman in a crisp military uniform, her posture upright and her expression composed. A small nameplate rested neatly before her, engraved with the title: Director Hongniangzi.
She was reviewing intelligence reports with steady focus when a knock came at the door.
"Enter," she said without looking up.
The door opened. Bingsheng stepped in.
With a casual flick of his foot, the door shut smoothly behind him. His hand moved just as fluidly, tossing his hat through the air, where it landed perfectly on a rack. He strolled forward, smiling as if this were a friendly visit rather than an urgent summons.
"I'm here," he said, leaning forward with both hands on the desk. "What's so urgent that you had to call me in like this?"
In an instant, Hongniangzi rose and gave a formal salute. "Director!"
Bingsheng frowned slightly. "How many times have I told you not to do that? If someone sees you, my cover's blown. You are the director here. I'm the one who follows orders."
She quickly sat back down. "My apologies. I was careless."
Her face returned to its usual calm, almost expressionless state. "Agent 007, the Bureau has a mission for you. It is both honorable and demanding."
"I'm listening."
"Several months ago, our embassy in Lisbon was attacked by an anti-New Ming extremist group calling itself 'Dabo Siju.' Fortunately, Diplomat Gao Zhengjing single-handedly defeated an entire battalion and protected our personnel. However, we are not clay statues meant to endure blows without response. We will retaliate."
Bingsheng nodded. "Understood."
She handed him a sealed envelope. "This contains all intelligence we currently have on Dabo Siju. Your mission is to capture their leader and bring him back."
Bingsheng took the envelope with a grin. "Got it. I'll be off then. As for the factory and my wife, make up something believable."
"It will be handled."
Soon after, Chang'an Factory received official notice. A new facility might be established in Europe, and Vice Director Bingsheng was required to conduct an on-site evaluation.
His wife, Lady Yan, was reluctant but had no choice. She packed his luggage herself and saw him off at the train station, her expression tinged with quiet worry.
Bingsheng boarded a transoceanic vessel dressed in a long scholar's robe, every bit the dignified industrial official. Upon arrival in Lisbon, he was warmly received by local authorities and lodged in the finest hotel available.
But when night fell, the scholar vanished.
In his place emerged a shadow.
Bingsheng slipped into black attire and climbed out the window with practiced ease. A few turns through narrow alleys brought him to a dim underground tavern thick with the smell of alcohol and unrest.
Inside, drunkards swayed and shouted. At the bar, two men were grumbling loudly.
"Those damned New Ming people," one spat. "Coming here and throwing their weight around. One day we'll wipe them out."
The other snorted. "The embassy attack failed, but no matter. Next time, we hit their transport ships."
Their voices had barely faded when a chair scraped beside them.
Bingsheng sat down.
"Hello," he said in rough Spanish, smiling casually.
The two men froze. "New Ming…"
Their hands moved for weapons.
Too slow.
In a flash, a dagger pierced one man's throat. The other found a blade resting against his neck before he could even react.
"Try moving," Bingsheng whispered, "and you'll move straight into the afterlife."
The man went rigid.
"Where is your leader?"
He hesitated.
The blade shifted. A sharp stab drove into the back of his hand. Before he could scream, a cloth was stuffed into his mouth.
"I'll remove that," Bingsheng said calmly. "You tell me where he is, and you live."
The man nodded frantically.
The cloth came out. The answer followed immediately.
Bingsheng withdrew his blade and left.
The man collapsed in relief, clutching his wounded hand. Then his expression changed. He bolted toward the back door.
"If I cut through the alleys, I can warn them first…"
He flung the door open.
And froze.
Bingsheng stood there waiting.
The smile on his face was almost gentle.
"If you had stayed inside," he said, "I might have spared you."
The man turned to flee.
A mechanism clicked. A hidden weapon fired. Needles struck his back.
"Poison…"
He fell instantly.
Bingsheng retrieved the needles, packed them away, and walked into the night.
Shadows followed him through the alleys.
One hour later, the Lisbon underground headquarters of Dabo Siju was attacked. Their local leader was found dead, his throat cleanly cut.
The Spanish authorities did not need evidence to guess who was responsible. They stormed the New Ming embassy and demanded an explanation.
Gao Zhengjing listened with a look of innocent confusion. "We know nothing about this."
"I don't believe you."
"Accusations require proof," Gao replied calmly. "Otherwise, I might just as well accuse your government of staging the embassy attack."
"That was not us."
"Then neither was this," Gao said with a polite smile.
Days later, the same fate befell Dabo Siju's London branch.
Then Hamburg.
Then others.
Five months passed.
The Chang'an Factory delegation returned home.
A few days later, a classified report was placed on the desk of Shan Shier. It contained evidence that multiple European governments had secretly funded Dabo Siju.
He sighed softly.
Then he signed the order for military action.
Months later, Shi Lang led the fleet westward under the banner of suppressing Dabo Siju, striking across Western Europe.
Meanwhile, far from the battlefield, Bingsheng sat in his garden, holding his wife close with a relaxed smile.
"That trip to Europe was exhausting," he said. "The factory gave me a long vacation afterward. Let's travel somewhere together."
Lady Yan's eyes lit up. She pulled out a book written by Zhu Cunji, titled Beautiful Lands and Waters, and pointed to a page.
"I want to go here."
Bingsheng laughed. "Then we go."