The two figures in black tactical gear were now silhouetted against the ambient glow of the city's light pollution, standing near the opposite roof entrance. They were quiet, trained, and the red dots from their Night Vision Goggles (NVGs)—barely visible to Lei—swept the rooftop in a methodical pattern. They weren't looking for sound; they were looking for heat and shadow.
Lei realized the government agents, or whoever "they" were, posed a different, more intelligent threat than the Ghosts. The Jìngwù were predictable, slaves to acoustics. These agents were actively tracking him, probably through signal triangulation before he dumped the phone, and now by sight.
He was caught in the open. The rooftop was a field of low-lying vents and reflective solar panels, offering almost no cover.
Lei scrambled behind the thick, rumbling housing of an air conditioning unit—the same kind he had pressed himself against hours ago on Zhongshan Road. The Ghost danger was secondary now; the agents were focused on the rooftop.
He needed to check the chip. The brief message from Mei was just the surface.
With trembling fingers, Lei pulled the silver chip from his lining. He didn't dare power up his phone again. Instead, he slipped the chip into the side port of his Mute-Box—its battery drained, but its internal storage still operational. The device was a piece of sanctioned government tech; it was less likely to be emitting a traceable signal than an unauthorized burner phone.
A tiny, low-power green LED flickered on the Mute-Box's case, displaying two new files:
JINGWU_SOURCE_ECHO.WAV (Played)
CONTACT_LZ09.TXT (Unread)
Lei shielded the screen with his body and opened the text file. It was short, a coded message:
LZ09: The old watchmaker needs the Key of Leda. He always liked the taste of Longjing. If the Watcher is gone, go to the Cloud Tea House.
Lei instantly recognized the aliases. LZ09 was their private nickname for Mei, derived from her student ID.
The old watchmaker: This was Mr. Hu, a semi-retired engineer who ran a clandestine repair shop near the old city center. Lei knew him—he was the one who fabricated their custom noise-dampening gear.
Key of Leda: The name of Mei's personal, military-grade encryption key.
Longjing: A specific, high-end green tea. The Watchmaker's favorite.
The Cloud Tea House: A public front, miles away, where Mr. Hu delivered his finished components.
The message meant that if Mei herself hadn't checked in with Hu, Lei had to take the riskier route to the Tea House, a pre-arranged rendezvous point for the resistance cell she'd joined.
I have to cross this roof.
The agents, meanwhile, had split up. One, the taller figure, was approaching the center of the roof, moving with silent purpose. The other, the shorter one, had moved to Lei's flank, checking behind the ventilation shafts. Lei was surrounded, using a dead air conditioning unit as his only barrier.
The tall agent suddenly stopped, his NVG beams locking onto the spot where Lei's foot had slightly scuffed the asphalt grit.
Lei knew he was about to be seen. He didn't have time for a complex plan. He had to use the enemy's strength against them.
The rooftop was lined with heavy, metal exhaust ducts. He knew from his training with Mei that metal on metal creates a specific, low-frequency vibration that, while not loud enough for human ears, was a massive sonic bloom for the Ghosts in the street below.
Lei silently grabbed a heavy wrench that had been left lying on the AC unit. He didn't throw it. Instead, he swung the wrench once in a short arc, striking the metal exhaust duct nearest the two agents.
Clang.
It was a small sound, muffled by the sheer size of the rooftop, but the vibration traveled like a shockwave.
The agents didn't flinch. Their training was too good. But down below, in the stairwell that still held the remnants of the broken kettle noise, the Ghost was still busy.
Lei saw the tall agent suddenly lift his head, his focus shifting from the ground to the sky, then back to the adjacent rooftop. He was about to give the command.
In a desperate, reckless move, Lei vaulted over the AC unit. He ran not toward an exit, but straight toward the line of reflective solar panels.
The tall agent shouted, a muffled voice through a radio, "Target is exposed! Moving toward the north edge!"
Lei reached the panels, which were angled at forty-five degrees. He grabbed a forgotten rope attached to a cleaning pulley and slid down the smooth glass surface. The movement was a loud schhhhk of friction.
The agents immediately turned their weapons, but Lei was already at the edge, hidden from direct sight by the panel array.
He found the only way off the roof: a drain pipe running down the sheer side of the building. It was slick with moisture, wide enough for a hand grip, and it was a horrifying eleven-story descent.
He didn't look down. He locked his grip on the pipe, the cold metal shocking his hands.
"He's on the drain! Take him!" the short agent yelled, their voice carrying clearly in the quiet.
Just as the agent reached the panels, Lei let himself drop, relying on the friction of his armored gloves to control his fall. The metal shrieked a protest—a long, continuous metal groan.
A sound that traveled all the way to the ground. A sound the Ghosts loved.
Lei looked up one last time and saw the tall agent look not at him, but past him, toward the neighboring building. The hunter's instinct was kicking in. The agent knew that continuous noise was a Ghost magnet.
Lei kept sliding, adrenaline screaming, as he heard the faint, distant sound of shattering glass from the floor below. The Ghosts were done with the kettle. And they were interested in the pipe.
He hit the ground floor alley with a controlled roll, the impact jarring but silent. He was off the grid, but he wasn't safe. The agents would descend, and the Ghosts were now climbing. He was caught between two nightmares.
The Cloud Tea House. It was his only chance. He started running, no longer caring about the muffled noise of his footsteps—only about the distance.