Rain lashed against the floor‑to‑ceiling windows of the Divine Quality Control Bureau, each drop a tiny drumbeat in the midnight storm. Lin Mo stood before the central holoscreen, eyes narrowed at the single pulsing red dot that refused to blink out.

At exactly 03:02, his encrypted commlink buzzed. He snatched it up.

Incoming complaint: Lei Zhenzi

Subject: Wind‑Thunder Wings rust defect，airspace hazard

Lin Mo’s pulse quickened. “Lei Zhenzi?” he muttered. Three months ago, the immortal son of Li Jing and Lady Yin had soared through the mortal skies on wings of bronze and lightning. Now, apparently, those same wings had become a public menace.

He tapped the screen. “Chen, pull up the midnight flight logs. Show me everything from 00:00 to now.”

“On it,” came the reply. From the adjacent station, Data Analyst Zhou sprinted in, her ponytail flailing like a comet’s tail. “Lin! The drones have visual confirmation. His wings，completely encrusted with rust. They’re jamming every air corridor in Sector E!” She shoved a holo‑tablet into his hands. A live feed showed a hulking figure slumped across the façade of the CBD Tower, wings splayed like broken machinery.

Lin Mo’s jaw clenched. He threw on his long black coat, the silver “315” badge on his chest glowing faintly under the neon lights. “Activate Protocol Dreadnought,” he ordered, storming out. The sliding doors whispered shut behind him.

Outside, twelve police drones hovered in a tight formation, their electromagnetic chains clinking against the monorail tracks. Thunder rumbled overhead, and in the streak of a lightning flash, Lin Mo caught sight of the great bronze wings，each feather etched with micro‑runic inscriptions that should never have corroded. Lei Zhenzi himself lay unconscious beneath, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

“Open a channel,” Lin Mo barked into his comm. “Central, I need every available unit on this. And get me the Furnace of Supreme Alchemy’s logs，any data gap between 01:17 and 01:29.”

As he approached, the full‑body scan triggered an alarm. The holoscreen in the rain‑soaked plaza exploded in crimson:

High‑Dimensional Energy Detected

Recommendation: Invoke Special Mythical Artifact Clause 135

From the mist emerged the Bureau’s AI assistant，an ethereal figure in flowing Hanfu, her wide sleeves untouched by wind or rain. “Director Lin, the detected energy signature matches forbidden high‑order fluctuations. You must audit the alchemical furnace records immediately.”

Lin Mo closed his eyes for a moment, recalling that fateful 315 Gala: how his journalist’s badge had gone up in flames, how he’d unearthed the cover‑up that ruined a corporate giant. That night had changed everything.

He turned back to the drones. “Seal the perimeter. No one in or out without my orders. And Zhou，run a forensic trace on these runes. If they’ve corroded this badly, someone tampered with their temporal stability.”

Zhou’s fingers danced over her console. “I’m on it, Director. But the furnace logs… they’ve been wiped clean for exactly twelve minutes. Someone erased them.”

Lin Mo’s gaze hardened. Twelve minutes of erased time. The same gap he’d seen in that corporate scandal months ago. This was no accident，it was orchestration.

A jagged bolt of lightning illuminated the plaza as if the heavens themselves had ripped open. Lin Mo raised his voice above the storm. “Central, notify the Supreme Office. Prepare a cross‑temporal audit. And draft a notice of rights for Mythical Beings，Lei Zhenzi has the right to inspect the original alchemical outputs.”

Before anyone could reply, the wind‑thunder wings convulsed, sending a shower of bronze shards clattering to the wet pavement. The drones flinched, their chains sparking.

“Director!” Zhou shouted. “The runic sensors detect… micro‑trace elements of Ninefold Xuan Gold! That’s only produced in the Lord Lao’s Octagonal Furnace.”

Lin Mo’s heart pounded. “And the furnace logs match its heat curve，except for that missing segment. Someone intentionally covered it up.” He stepped closer to Lei Zhenzi, placing the quantum scanner against the wing’s edge. Data scrolled furiously across the display.

“Impossible,” Zhou whispered. “The furnace temperature never dipped below 1800 °C，there should be zero metal fatigue. Yet here we are.”

Lin Mo met her eyes. “This isn’t just a quality dispute. It’s the first move in a larger game，someone’s weaponizing mythic artifacts against the Bureau itself.”

A low chime rang through his comm. He glanced down: “Civilization Filter: Level 2 Alert.”

He straightened. “All right. We’re going deeper. Chen, get me every archived data set on the Octagonal Furnace. Zhou, run a simultaneous trace on that missing twelve‑minute window. I want anomalies, echoes, anything.”

The rain intensified, as though the storm conspired to drown out their words. Lin Mo lifted his face to the downpour, silver badge gleaming like a heraldic sun. Somewhere beyond the clouds, fate was turning its wheel again，and he would be ready.