# Chapter Twelve:
There was no time for panic. Zhao Fu's three-word message detonated beside his ear like a gunshot, shattering the heavy silence and unleashing a cold, searing flood of adrenaline through Lin Feng's veins. "Specialist team. Incoming now."
These weren't just words; they were a verdict. He was exposed, or at least pinpointed accurately enough for a professional team to be dispatched. Every second was critical. Lin Feng moved with calculated speed, his mind an icy core of calm amidst the sudden storm. There was no room for error.
First, the hardware. He snatched encrypted hard drives from hidden slots behind a wall panel, pulled backup satellite phones from a secret drawer, and stuffed a small bundle of large-denomination bills into his pocket. He hesitated for a heartbeat, then unlocked a hidden compartment beneath a loose floorboard, retrieving a matte black pistol and a slim silencer. He hoped he wouldn't need it, but hope was a luxury he could no longer afford. This world had taught him to always prepare for the worst.
Second, the traces. He grabbed a small incendiary device, aiming it at a pile of paper notes and a laptop used for less sensitive communications. A click of a button, and small, swift flames erupted, consuming the secrets in thick black smoke that was quickly sucked away by a sophisticated ventilation system designed for such emergencies. He wiped down the main surfaces with a special cloth to remove any potential fingerprints.
Third, the escape. He moved towards a seemingly ordinary wall in the bedroom, pressed a specific point, and a section slid silently open, revealing a narrow, dark service passage. Before stepping inside, he paused, straining his ears. Was that the faint sound of footsteps in the outer corridor? Or just the rush of his own blood? A flickering ceiling light overhead amplified his tension. Ignoring the doubt, he slipped into the passage, sealing the secret door behind him.
The service passage was cramped and dusty, barely wide enough for one person. Lin Feng relied on memory and past experience navigating such spaces. He moved quickly and steadily, his breathing even despite the frantic hammering of his heart against his ribs. He knew this passage led to a large vertical ventilation shaft, offering access to the lower floors or the roof. He chose the basement – less predictable.
Reaching the ventilation shaft, he carefully opened the metal grille and peered down. The darkness was absolute, but he could make out the rungs of a metal service ladder bolted to the wall. He began his descent, each movement measured to avoid making a sound. Two floors down, he froze. A noise. A faint metallic click from below, followed by muffled whispers.
He held his position, holding his breath. Were they waiting for him down there? Or were they coming up? Moments stretched into an eternity. Then, he saw a faint beam of light moving below, followed by two long shadows moving with chilling coordination. They weren't looking for him here yet; they were heading upwards, towards his apartment.
He waited until the sounds and lights receded, then continued his descent, faster now. He reached the service level in the basement, the air thick with dampness and the smell of mildew. He moved cautiously between pipes and old equipment, heading for an emergency exit he knew led to a back alley.
As he neared the exit, something caught his eye. A small, dark stain on the concrete floor, almost dry, near a drain. He crouched cautiously, touching it with a fingertip. Slightly tacky. Blood. It wasn't a large patch, just a drop or two, but its presence here, in this isolated place, was deeply unsettling. Had someone been injured? Or was this a trace from a previous confrontation he wasn't aware of? There was no time to analyze. He pushed the emergency door open carefully and slipped out into the dark alley.
The cold night air hit him, carrying the stench of damp garbage. The alley was deserted. He moved swiftly along the wall, dodging puddles of grimy water, until he reached a quiet side street. Using one of his backup phones, he summoned a taxi via an encrypted app, setting a random destination in another part of the city.
After a few tense minutes, an old taxi arrived. He slid into the back seat, giving the driver a new address – a cheap motel on the outskirts he had pre-booked under an alias as part of his multiple contingency plans.
He reached the motel after a silent journey, paid the driver in cash, and entered the modest room. He locked the door and wedged a chair under the knob for extra security. He quickly swept the room for bugs or hidden cameras using a small detector he always carried. The room appeared clean.
Finally, he allowed himself to breathe. He sat on the edge of the cheap bed, exhaustion washing over him for a moment. He had escaped, but just barely. The threat was real, professional. He immediately contacted Zhao Fu through a new secure channel.
"Sir, are you alright?" Zhao Fu asked, his voice laced with obvious concern.
"Fine for now. What happened back there?"
"They arrived minutes after my message. A team of six, moved with military efficiency. They bypassed the apartment's main security with suspicious ease. Did a quick sweep, didn't stay long. Seemed like they were looking specifically for you, or something specific you might have left behind. They left as quickly as they came. Can't confirm if they took anything, but they didn't leave any obvious mess."
"A specialist team... Any idea who they are?"
"Can't say for sure, sir. But their methods suggest elite corporate security, or maybe ex-military contractors. Definitely not your average local family thugs."
A chill ran down Lin Feng's spine. This meant the Old Master or Zhu Fan, or both, had resources far exceeding what he'd anticipated. He ended the call with Zhao Fu, then began examining the few items he'd brought with him.
As he emptied the small backpack he carried, something tiny fell onto the worn carpet. It wasn't something he had packed. It was a small, black memory chip, the kind used for high-security storage. That wasn't the only surprise. There was a dried, reddish-brown smudge on one side of the chip. A bloodstain.
He picked it up carefully. The blood was dry, but undeniably there. It wasn't his. Where had this chip come from? Dropped unnoticed by one of the specialists? Or... deliberately left for him? A silent, bloody message?
He examined the chip closely. No other distinguishing marks. He inserted it into a small encrypted reader, part of his toolkit. The chip was password-protected and multi-layer encrypted. Cracking it wouldn't be easy, but not impossible for him.
He sat back down, the small, cold chip in his hand, the dried bloodstain seeming to stare back at him. This was no longer just a struggle for power or money. It had become a bloody enigma. Whose blood was this? What secrets did this chip hold? Was it a trap? Or a key?
A coldness deeper than the cheap motel room seeped into his bones. He had entered a new, more dangerous phase of the game. He was no longer just a player trying to change his fate; he was now an unwilling detective investigating a potential crime, while hunters stalked him from the shadows. His resolve hardened. He had to solve this mystery, had to decrypt this chip. He had to know the truth before he became just another bloodstain in this deadly game.
He began working on the decryption, fingers flying across the keyboard of his encrypted device, eyes fixed on the screen, knowing that every passing minute brought him closer to the truth... or to death.