CHAPTER TWELVE
The night air over Beijing trembled with sirens and blue light.
Helicopters cut across the skyline, their search beams slicing through the fog as armored units surrounded the National Security Bureau's headquarters.
At the command center, General Li Xuefang stood in silence, hands clasped behind her back. Her gaze was cold, sharp — focused on the holographic feed before her.
Xynra: Subject located — Wen Qian. Level-1 override granted.
Her voice was calm.
General Li: Activate net trap. Lock every communication route. I want him contained before the minute ends.
Xynra: Yes, General.
Lines of code streamed across the air — an invisible snare of her own design. Wen's attempt to vanish into the network met her digital wall like a bullet hitting armor.
Within seconds, the Bureau's inner systems turned against him — firewalls, drones, even the building's automated defenses.
A feed opened — Wen Qian's office.
He stood there, face pale, cornered by his own technology.
Director Wen: Li Xuefang… (he hissed, realizing the game was over). You used me—!
Her voice came through the speakers, a little hint of a teensy titter.
General Li: Tsh. You used my feed. I just followed the trail.
Before he could reply, the door burst open. Security forces stormed in, weapons raised.
He laughed — a broken, hysterical sound.
Director Wen: You think you've won?! (he shouted as they pinned him to the floor). You think you're clean, Iron Lotus? Wait till they see what you buried! The Black Echo—"
But the words cut off as the power flickered.
Every screen in the command room went black.
Every data file linked to Black Echo Unit vanished — wiped with surgical precision.
The AI assistant's voice echoed in Li's ear:
Xynra: Warning. Data erasure detected. Origin; unknown.
Wen's laughter echoed faintly through the speakers — low, hoarse, and wild.
Director Wen: See, Xuefang? Even your ghosts clean up after themselves.
They dragged him away, still shouting, still laughing like a man untethered from sanity.
And as the noise faded, the room fell silent.
She stared at the blank screen where his face had been.
The victory felt cold. Too perfect.
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The next morning, the world hailed her name again.
"General Li Xuefang Ends Bureau Scandal."
"Heroine Saves Nation from Inside Threat."
News anchors praised her discipline, her decisiveness. Citizens flooded the streets with her image — the Iron Lotus reborn in glory.
But behind the celebration, the Bureau's central archive stood empty.
No trace of Black Echo.
No record of what had truly happened in that war.
And late that night, standing alone by the koi pond — the water now still and almost rebuilt — Li whispered to the quiet air,
General Li: 我的亡灵...应该永远埋葬.
TRANSLATION: My ghost... should remain buried.
The wind stirred. Somewhere in the mansion, a screen flickered to life on its own.
A shadowed figure appeared for only a second — a voice distorted, distant, but chillingly clear:
Modulated Voice: You can't erase what you owe, General.
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