However, the cars here have something that no auto show can compare to: license plates with striking individuality. Some even have consecutive numbers running from one to ten. Anyone from China knows that this is the ultimate pass—never mind running a red light, even if you drive this car faster than an ambulance, no cop would dare stop you. Some plates with especially unique numbers can even make traffic police feel the urge to salute…

Among these cars, the most impressive are undoubtedly the four bright red Ferraris parked side by side. With their fully streamlined designs and the magnificent Mustang emblem, just seeing such cars in a developing central city like Wuhan is already a luxury. If someone drove one of these around the streets, it’s likely there wouldn’t be a single beautiful woman you couldn’t strike up a conversation with—even if you looked like a mutant toad…

Looking down at the car key in her hand, then at the license plates under the hoods of those cars marked with the Paranormal Investigation Division, Grace Miller couldn’t lie to herself—she was excited, after all, she was only human.

Since she was only human, she naturally had a special fondness for these machines built with money.

“I mean, partner, our division is really something, huh? We actually get to drive cars like these?” Grace Miller still couldn’t quite believe it—a low-level government employee in this country could actually have something like this.

“It’s nothing much. Last time they were in Shanghai, they even got a batch of European edition Porsches—those things are as fast as flying.” Henry Clark replied with remarkable ease, as if this was all routine. And in fact, it was.

“Which one does your key go to? This is my first time driving a sports car, so I’ll probably need a while to get used to it before I can really handle it.” Following Henry Clark’s lead, Grace Miller now had a “much better” impression of this only field investigator. But when Henry Clark stopped beside that row of sports cars and pulled off a black tarp, that impression was instantly shattered.

Honestly, Grace Miller still couldn’t believe her eyes—or rather, couldn’t believe this was even a car.

The dark red color looked as if it had been soaked in blood, and its iconic exterior marked it as a discontinued “Beetle” series. That aside, just the dust on the two windshields was enough that someone might believe it had just been dug out of the ground. The only part of the car that looked new was the front and rear bumpers—black, made of solid steel, sturdy enough to be bulletproof.

The funny thing was, the front of this car also had a Paranormal Investigation Division plate, along with a dirty, dust-covered Mustang emblem.

“What are you standing there for? Get in.” Henry Clark naturally opened the passenger door and called out invitingly.

Was there something wrong with her brain? Grace Miller unconsciously got into “Mary,” but when her hands touched the steering wheel, she realized she couldn’t see anything in front of her at all.

“Are we really driving this car?” she asked in a trembling voice, feeling like she was being pranked. “Why do the others get to drive such nice cars?”

“Just be grateful…” He pressed the wipers, and two rusty, pitiful blades began to “work,” scraping the glass with a screech like a teacher’s fingernails on a blackboard. “Before you came, I’d already wrecked four of their good cars. The worst time, seventeen pedestrians ended up in the hospital, and three only survived thanks to emergency care. If it weren’t for my twenty-fifth birthday last year, when they pooled money to buy me ‘Mary,’ you’d be riding a bicycle to work with me right now.”

“Hey, so that’s why everything except the bumpers is old…” Grace Miller could only smile helplessly.

“Pretty much…” With a sigh, he knocked his fist on the small glove compartment in front of him. The door, along with a cloud of dust, fell off, and a swarm of disturbed moths burst out, escaping through the open window—finally getting their chance to fly into the fire.

He naturally picked up a white pillbox from inside. With no name or label, its appearance easily made one think of banned aphrodisiac pills.

He poured two pills into his hand and, without hesitation, popped them into his mouth, chewing them like vitamins.

“What are you taking?” Grace Miller’s curiosity was, as with most women, quite strong.

“Viagra. Want one?” Henry Clark’s expression didn’t change at all, making it impossible to tell if he was joking.

“Tch, never eaten pork, but I’ve seen pigs run, haven’t I? Viagra is blue.” Grace Miller was a bit annoyed by Henry Clark’s dirty joke.

“You sure know a lot. Does your boyfriend take it often?” Henry Clark didn’t care at all about her darkened expression and just kept talking.

“No time for this, let’s go!” Now that she could basically see out the windshield, Grace Miller stepped on the gas, bringing the battered Beetle to life.

As the dark red vehicle drove out of the police station’s courtyard, the old gatekeeper shed the first tears he’d cried in decades. Not because he was moved by the officers’ integrity, but because he was choked by the black exhaust spewing from that car…