Chapter 20 – Smoke Between the Mirrors
The safe house lay nestled in the outskirts of City A, quiet and remote. Morning light filtered through sheer curtains, casting a soft glow over the small living room where Bai Xueqing paced slowly, arms crossed, brow furrowed.
Across from her, Meng Zhihao nursed a cup of instant coffee. "We bought ourselves time, but that man—Xu Yanshang—he's planning something bigger."
Mo Chen entered the room, his jacket slung over his arm. "The self-destruction was a distraction. He let us take the boy. Why?"
"Maybe the boy was already compromised," Xueqing said. "Or maybe... he wanted us to believe we'd won a round."
"Smoke and mirrors," Mo Chen agreed. "Classic strategy."
Qiao Lan appeared in the hallway, looking pale but composed. "My brother's awake. He doesn't remember much, just flashes—red lights, needles, and a burning phoenix symbol on the wall."
Xueqing nodded. "We'll bring in a psychologist and check for implants or behavioral conditioning."
Zhihao muttered, "You mean like brainwashing?"
"Or worse," she said quietly. "Possession."
Silence fell.
Finally, Mo Chen looked at her. "We need to regroup. Pull in Lin Nuo and alert our informants inside the tech firms Xu Yanshang's been watching."
"Already on it," Xueqing replied. "But we need a trap. A real one."
Mo Chen's eyes gleamed. "Something he won't see coming."
Zhihao perked up. "Ooh! I could fake a prototype device—one he'd be desperate to steal. We leak its existence. He'll bite."
"And we'll be ready," Xueqing said with a smirk. "This time, we're baiting him."
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Later that evening, as the team worked through plans and planted digital breadcrumbs, Mo Chen stood alone on the balcony, staring into the city's fading skyline.
Xueqing joined him, silent for a moment. Then she said, "I still don't know why you remember everything."
He didn't look at her. "Because I couldn't forget you. Not in life. Not even in death."
She turned toward him, her voice soft. "I didn't ask for you to follow me across lifetimes."
"I didn't ask for you to die in mine," he replied.
A silence stretched between them—sharp, tender, unspoken.
And then her hand brushed his.
Just once.
But it said everything.