Chapter Nineteen: How to Identify Manufacturing Dens

In the morning, Fu Lan headed to work with heavy dark circles under his eyes. After all the turmoil he had endured, he was in a foul mood.

Near the spot where he got off the bus, he ran into Old Zhang, who greeted him with his usual enthusiasm.

"Morning, Engineer Fu. Is your wife not driving you to work today?"

Fu Lan stopped in his tracks. For once, he didn't bother putting on a fake smile. He slowly lifted his head and stared at Old Zhang, expressionless. "Does that have anything to do with you?" Without waiting for an answer, he walked away, leaving Old Zhang standing there, dumbfounded.

Perhaps sensing his hostile gaze or the unusually heavy, palpable gloom surrounding him, his colleagues steered clear of him, whether intentionally or not.

Fu Lan knew, of course, that wearing one's emotions on one's sleeve was considered highly unprofessional in the workplace, but today, he simply couldn't be bothered to pretend. If nothing else, skipping a few forced pleasantries felt surprisingly refreshing.

He had barely finished reading one email at his desk when the department manager poked his head out of his office and, as expected, summoned Fu Lan inside.

"Sit," the manager said, gesturing to the chair across from the coffee table.

Fu Lan felt a wave of irritation. Being called to the coffee table rather than the desk meant this was clearly going to be a waste of time.

The manager slowly brewed some tea, then picked up a cigarette from the ashtray and took a drag.

Regular employees had to sneak off to the roof or wait until their lunch break to satisfy a nicotine craving. Yet, leaders like him, who enjoyed turning their private offices into smog-filled dens, were not exactly rare.

Perhaps the taste of privilege made it more satisfying? That was something Fu Lan couldn't understand, nor did he want to.

"You've been taking leave quite frequently lately."

It was a statement loaded with subtext. The manager took another drag, eyes fixed on his computer screen rather than Fu Lan, waiting for his subordinate to take the hint and explain himself.

Fu Lan intentionally waited until the manager, now slightly impatient, took a sip of tea before saying, "I suppose so."

Seeing his complete lack of contrition, the manager inhaled deeply and crushed his cigarette butt with annoyance. "Are you feeling unwell again?"

"No, there was just an unexpected issue with my child yesterday."

"Oh." The manager nodded silently, gesturing for him to drink his tea.

Fu Lan took a reluctant sip and heard the manager add, "Even if the child has an issue, you need to request leave in advance. Don't wait until the day of, right before work."

"It was an emergency," Fu Lan emphasized.

"What? Was it illness or an injury?" the manager asked, feigning concern, though his tone was harsh due to the pushback.

Fu Lan lied without changing his expression: "I was summoned by the school for a rule violation, though it turned out to be a misunderstanding."

The manager gave another long "Oh." The excuse was bulletproof enough that he couldn't easily pick a fight over it, but there were always ways to reprimand someone.

He lit another cigarette and began criticizing Fu Lan's attitude, accusing his sudden absence of disrupting the department's schedule.

In reality, the IT department had no critical work beyond routine maintenance, which was exactly why the manager was bored enough to summon subordinates for daily lectures. Only newcomers like Xiao Liu would be anxious about it; veterans like Fu Lan had long since stopped caring.

However, today, he didn't even have the energy to play along.

Every time he visited this office, the secondhand smoke made him want to gag, but he usually held back his coughs. Today, he let one out.

The first few coughs were half-real and fueled by his mood, but soon he began coughing so violently it sounded like his lungs were tearing. Even Fu Lan began to worry that he might have lung cancer rather than heart disease, and he nearly couldn't stop.

Seeing this, the manager quickly crushed his cigarette. Not daring to say much more, he simply told him to take care of his health and dismissed him.

Fu Lan returned to his desk and took a drink of water, finally catching his breath. He noticed many eyes watching him, but he ignored them and buried his head in the chores he had neglected the day before.

When work ended, he was the first to leave.

In a place like a library, there was rarely any work that actually required overtime, unless frequent meetings squeezed the normal working hours.

Sadly, that happened often. Even more sadly, even when there were no meetings, everyone was accustomed to staying late.

Some did it to suck up to the boss, others simply didn't want to go home too early. Regardless of the reason, it objectively caused the end-of-work time to be pushed later and later.

*Damn it,* he thought, *have you all forgotten why you chose a public institution in the first place?*

However, this created the perfect opportunity for Fu Lan. As long as he left at this time, he was unlikely to be seen meeting with Shi Ningyu.

He actually disapproved of meeting at his workplace, but Shi Ningyu acted as if she were doing it on purpose; ever since she found out he worked at the library, she insisted on waiting for him there. Today, she hadn't even driven. After Fu Lan left the building, he was surprised to see her trailing twenty meters behind him with a grin.

As they turned the corner, Fu Lan kept his eyes forward and asked, like a spy making contact, "Where's your car?"

"Leaving it parked for a few days. My car has an entry and exit record at Wanda from that night; who knows if they'll check it."

The Magic Affairs Bureau usually didn't have the manpower for such detailed investigations, but with a Magical Girl reappearing after so many years, it was hard to say how much effort they would put in.

Fu Lan glanced at this student who was so careless with her exam papers and found it hard to imagine she could be so cautious on the path of crime.

"Where's your car?" Shi Ningyu countered.

"I don't like driving."

"Really? I thought your almost-ex-wife took it in the settlement."

Fu Lan was about to explain that He Yue hadn't split the assets—she had only taken what was hers, and the car was bought with her money—but he stopped himself. Words often lead to mistakes.

He was always afraid of being misunderstood and always wanted to explain. In truth, he didn't need to feel that way, especially now.

He had to get rid of that bad habit.

"To be precise, I don't like parking," he changed the subject.

Shi Ningyu nodded. "Finding a parking spot is annoying enough." She maintained a basic level of politeness and, seeing Fu Lan's reluctance, didn't press him about the divorce.

The bus didn't arrive for a long time. Since their destination wasn't far, they each rented an e-bike at Shi Ningyu's suggestion and rode along, one after the other.

The place they went to was vastly different from the production dens Fu Lan had seen in the news. It wasn't in the suburbs, an abandoned factory, or a crowded urban village, but in a rather upscale residential complex.

The complex was located near several office buildings surrounded by financial firms, and the people coming and going were mostly white-collar workers in related fields. Shi Ningyu swiped her key card and led Fu Lan into a loft apartment.

The place looked just like a well-furnished model home from an advertisement—a living room downstairs, a bedroom upstairs, simple and cozy.

The only conspicuous thing was a large, covered pet cage in the corner. There was a cat carrier next to it, which clearly wasn't meant for a cat.

Fu Lan couldn't help but ask, "You refine it right where you live?"

"No, I don't live here, though I stay occasionally," Shi Ningyu explained. "I feel it's easier to hide if things look lived-in."

She pulled the wall-mounted TV outward, flipped it horizontally, and revealed a cabinet for reagents hidden behind the TV wall. Then, she pulled back the large living room rug and folded the floor to the side, revealing a space specifically designed for drawing magic circles.

It was indeed hard to imagine this was a refining lab.

Small workshops manufacturing illegal chemicals usually had obvious vents and sewage pipes; they emitted gases with abnormal colors or odors, and their water and electricity usage often gave them away. Therefore, they usually hid in remote places like farms, orchards, old warehouses, or urban villages with complex demographics.

In theory, a Magic Ember refining lab didn't have those problems, but many dens that appeared in the news were hidden in similar, specific areas, all looking filthy. It was hard to say if it was just a stereotype.

Shi Ningyu believed that as long as a well-decorated lab wasn't being scanned by a magic detector right at the door, and one kept it tidy, it was difficult for the average person to identify from the outside.

Rather than frequently visiting suspicious houses or old warehouses, it was better to keep it in a normal apartment.

However, although a refining lab didn't need to worry about chemical waste discharge, it couldn't avoid the issue of material transport—especially the troublesome problem of transporting magical beasts.

Fu Lan unzipped the cover; the pet cage was empty. He opened the refrigerator and, sure enough, the freezer was filled with neatly cut chunks of "ball-dog" meat.

Live magical beasts naturally yielded more Magic Ember, but if there was no way to use them alive, quick-freezing them immediately after death could preserve the magic for three to five days, though it would certainly be at a significant discount.

The meat wasn't skinned, and even if it were, the color clearly wasn't that of normal edible meat; it would be exposed if anyone saw it. However, the time between transporting materials and refining them was usually short, so the risk was controllable.

Fu Lan checked a few key spots and found that Shi Ningyu had already set up a silencing array to prevent eavesdropping. Presumably, she had taken sufficient safety measures in other areas as well.

"I've been thinking, increasing unit yield is truly the key." Shi Ningyu took a drink from the top of the refrigerator, where the carcasses were stored, and tossed it to Fu Lan. "To be safe, this place only uses live animals once a month; the rest of the time, we lose about 15%."

"Only 15%?" Fu Lan was surprised. According to the data he had found, freezing resulted in at least a 50% loss of magic, and most "chefs" would rather take the risk than use cold-chain transport.

Shi Ningyu lifted her chin proudly. "Because I do the freezing myself every time I pick up the goods."

Hearing this, Fu Lan re-examined the meat chunks and realized they were indeed unusual.

The surface of the meat wasn't covered in ordinary frost, but in a layer of ice about three centimeters thick. The ice was completely free of bubbles or impurities, as clear as low-iron glass.

"Ice-element magic... and a high level at that." Fu Lan could tell this wasn't just a block of ice formed by blowing cold air; it was an instantaneous, uniform freeze from the inside out. Otherwise, such a regular layer of ice wouldn't have formed.

Shi Ningyu, pleased by the praise, looked even more smug. "Hmph, of course."

"So that's your specialty," Fu Lan mused. "It suits you well."

Shi Ningyu looked confused. "Huh? Why do you say that?"

"Ningyu—'condensed rain'—it's an elegant term for snow in ancient times. Your parents probably chose your name based on that."

"Is that so..." Shi Ningyu lowered her head, a flash of sadness crossing her face, but she quickly said nonchalantly, "Forget it. Those two pieces of trash couldn't possibly be that cultured."

Fu Lan pretended not to notice her reaction and asked, "When do we start?"

"Eat first. I ordered takeout in advance, it should be here soon."