Lei plunged into the subterranean chaos of the subway station, moving through the current of commuters like a rock in a river. He kept his head down, focusing on blending. He was no longer trying to be silent; he was trying to be invisible in the noise.
The city was different now. The pervasive background anxiety that always lingered, even in the bustling day, had been replaced by a subtle, almost palpable relief. People were talking louder, laughing more freely, their stress meters recalibrated by the trauma of the night. They didn't know the Ghosts were inert; they just instinctively felt safer now that the Quiet Hours were over.
Lei had to use the city's electronic blind spots. He avoided the main turnstiles, opting for the service gate, sticking close to a family with noisy, crying children—a perfect human acoustic shield.
He knew the Night Watchers wouldn't use guns in the subway, but they had thermal scanners and facial recognition software networked throughout the city's transport system.
Midway through the crowded platform, Lei spotted the familiar, unsettling signs of surveillance: a man in a crisp, non-uniform suit standing motionless near the exit, his jacket slightly too bulky for the mild morning. The man wasn't watching the trains; he was watching the faces. He was wearing an earpiece and subtly tapping his left wrist—likely communicating with an integrated smartwatch scanner.
Lei didn't panic. He pressed himself against a vending machine, waiting for the train doors to open. When they did, a wave of people surged out, colliding with those waiting to board. In the crush, Lei slipped out of his worn canvas jacket, reversed it to show the unblemished black lining, and shoved it onto a startled businessman. He then merged with the exiting crowd, moving against the flow.
The man in the suit couldn't react fast enough. He saw the black jacket disappear, momentarily confusing the target's trajectory. Lei was gone before the man could recover.
Lei rode the train two stops, then switched to a crowded street bus, forcing the human trackers to deal with the slow, chaotic surface traffic. He spent the entire journey monitoring the reflections in the bus windows, watching for the telltale dark sedans or discreet surveillance vans.
He emerged near the Pearl River, the massive expanse of water offering a momentary feeling of freedom.
The White Crane Pier was exactly what Mr. Hu had promised: a bustling hub of ferry traffic, choked with hundreds of travelers, merchants, and tourists heading to the islands and across the city. The noise here was a symphony of diesel engines, squawking gulls, and shouted directions—perfect cover.
Lei scanned the pier for Mr. Hu. He knew the watchmaker was meticulous, but this location was far too exposed for a face-to-face meet.
Then he saw the sign: a small, unassuming tea stall near the gangplank, selling steaming cups of traditional brews. The vendor was a woman in her late twenties, her hands stained with tea, her eyes sharp and constantly moving. On the corner of her cart, she had placed a small, porcelain cup—a cup that had a familiar, tiny crane in flight etched into its side.
She was the proxy.
Lei approached the stall and ordered the only thing Mr. Hu ever drank. "One cup of Longjing, please. Strong brew."
The woman's hands never stopped moving. She poured the tea slowly, the stream of liquid hissing into the cup. She leaned in, her voice low and hard, blending seamlessly with the surrounding ferry announcements.
"The Watcher is gone, as you feared. They swept the Tea House five minutes after you left. You're hot, Lei. You have to move faster than the city's data stream."
Lei kept his gaze fixed on the steam rising from the cup. "I need to transmit Mei's remaining files. The evidence."
"We know. Mei planned this contingency. The chip's contents are already being mirrored to a secure server we control," she said, her eyes meeting his briefly, conveying a sudden, piercing sorrow. "She said to tell you the only way to honor her choice is to make sure the world knows the truth. Not just China. The world."
She slid the hot cup across the counter. Underneath the cup was a small, smooth river stone, like the kind used in traditional gardens. Lei picked up the cup, his fingers closing around the stone.
"The chip is too dangerous to carry. It's the highest priority data signature on their grid now," she whispered. "Put it in the stone."
Lei realized the stone wasn't just a weight; it was a custom-made micro-encryptor. He subtly pressed the stone's base, and a tiny seam opened. He quickly slipped the silver chip inside the stone, sealing it with a soft click.
"The international relay is in Macau," the woman continued. "It's the only place with an unmonitored global broadcast network strong enough to carry the full Watcher Program files. Mr. Hu has arranged passage on a cargo container ship leaving tonight."
Lei looked at the crowded ferry gangplank. This wasn't the ferry for Macau. "Tonight is too long. They'll find the pier."
"Not the pier," she corrected, nodding toward a massive, rusting container vessel moored far down the dock. "That ship leaves in six hours. Your contact on board is the First Mate. He requires one thing: the Key of Leda—the stone. We'll meet you there in five hours, hidden in the cargo."
She suddenly leaned back, her face losing all emotion, her voice rising to a cheerful, practiced shout: "Careful with the hot tea, sir! Enjoy your morning!"
Lei nodded, took a deliberate sip of the strong tea, and turned away. He had the Master Frequency locked inside the stone, a path to global exposure, and a five-hour window to remain invisible in a city where every camera, every microphone, and every agent was now hunting for the boy with Mei's secret.
He looked back at the towering glass canyon of the financial district, now silent of the Ghosts. His fight had just begun, and the stakes were no longer just a city, but the entire world.