Su Qingyue notices that the company’s new night-shift cleaner is strange.
On the night the stock market is maliciously shorted, he’s on the roof adjusting the satellite dish.
On the night their core technology is stolen, he’s in the server room wiping down hard drives.
Then top international assassins sneak into the building and all end up with broken bones after slipping on the mirror-smooth floor. At last, she corners him in the supply closet.
“Who are you, really?”
Zhou Mo sets down his mop and looks at the villains causing chaos on the surveillance feed. Calmly, he says,
“Just what you see, CEO.”
“I’m merely a cleaner who’s particularly good at sorting out ‘trash.’”
And by “trash,” he means rampant capital, the uncontrollable dark web, and every overreaching demon and monster.
