Invisible Mission

June in Shanghai, the rainy season. The sky resembled a gray rag soaked through, so heavy it felt hard to breathe.

The National Cybersecurity Martyrs’ Cemetery.

Cold raindrops slanted down, weaving an endless net that shrouded this solemn ground. People dressed in black suits, holding black umbrellas, moved like a procession of silent silhouettes, slowly making their way among the icy tombstones. Today was the memorial day, and the air was filled with the cool scent of wet earth and white chrysanthemums.

Lin Feng loathed this smell.

He wore a faded gray hoodie, jeans with several holes, and dirty canvas shoes—utterly out of place amidst the dignified and solemn atmosphere. He carried no umbrella, letting the cold rain slide from his unkempt hair down his collar. Hands shoved in his pockets, head bowed, he looked like a wandering, lost soul in this hallowed ground.

Deliberately avoiding the main entrance and the crowd, he slipped in through a nondescript side gate, vaulting over an iron fence. Familiar with the place, he cut through a grove of cypress trees to the deepest corner of the cemetery, a secluded spot.

Here stood only a single headstone.

No photograph adorned it, only a line of simple golden characters:

Grave of Lu Hongsheng, First-Class Combat Hero of National Cybersecurity

Below, in smaller letters:

Born 1975, Died 2019.

Lin Feng stood before the cold stone, gazing at the name with eyes as empty as a dead lake. From his pocket, he withdrew something and placed it gently before the grave.

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