Chapter Sixty-Six: A Silent Confrontation

Inside the café, tranquility still reigned.

Lin Feng and Xiao Ran maintained their easy banter, both still in their “vacation mode” demeanor. Yet beneath the table, on the screens of their two closely placed phones, a silent war was already fully arranged.

On Xiao Ran’s phone, a three-dimensional tactical layout of the café, instantly generated by the “Eagle Eye” system, displayed every critical detail: the target’s biometric data (codename “Beacon,” former East German Stasi field agent, gene-edited, adept at close combat and counter-surveillance), the operating frequency of his electronic eye, and—inside a nondescript black sedan across the street—the heartbeats and breathing rates of the two external sentries.

Every piece of intelligence was laid bare.

After reviewing the information, Xiao Ran turned off her screen and slowly raised her eyes to meet Lin Feng’s across the table.

Her gaze remained unchanged, still tinged with a teasing smile.

But in the instant their eyes met—less than a second—a lightning-fast operational plan was communicated, confirmed, and assigned through nothing more than their glances.

You control the scene, sever his senses.

I breach, strike with a single blow.

Time limit: three minutes.

Lin Feng’s lips barely curled in response.

Understood.

A textbook “silent hunt” was about to unfold in the heart of the bustling city.

—

Lin Feng’s fingers began to dance over his small phone screen, elegant and deadly as ghostly afterimages, like a maestro conducting a voiceless “trio of destruction.”

First movement: Network isolation.

His fingertip traced a line of virtual code. At the street corner, a 5G signal booster disguised as a public trash bin was instantly commandeered. At café table 7, “Beacon’s” phone—triple-encrypted by the “Ghost” organization and used for one-way outside contact—still showed perfect signal. Yet all its data traffic had already been funneled by Lin Feng into a cocoon of false signals, a completely sealed “data chrysalis.”

From that moment, Beacon was cut off from the world.

Beacon frowned at the normal-looking phone, assuming it was just a temporary interference, paying it no mind.

Second movement: Visual deprivation.

Lin Feng tapped the screen again.

Beacon, hidden behind a newspaper, used his million-euro military-grade cybernetic left eye in wide-angle mode to monitor every movement around him. Suddenly, without warning, an “official” system upgrade prompt from the manufacturer popped up before his eye.

Warning: Your “Eagle Eye” T-800 visual enhancement firmware has detected a critical security vulnerability. Please initiate immediate cloud repair. Estimated time: three minutes.

Beacon’s pupil contracted sharply.

A system repair at such a critical juncture?

But the T-800’s security flaws were indeed the greatest risk for operatives of his caliber. He hesitated for only half a second.

In the end, he confirmed “yes” through a retinal command.

Instantly, his technologically augmented field of view descended into an absolute blackout, a message flashing: “System upgrading, do not disconnect,” lasting a full three minutes.

Third movement: Diversion.

The very second Beacon lost his “sight,” Lin Feng stared at his phone and suddenly let out a perfectly timed, exasperated groan, “Damn! So close! Lost again!”

Feigning frustration at a lost game, his arm “accidentally” knocked a glass jar of sugar cubes from the table to the floor.

Clatter!

The sharp sound drew the attention of many in the café—among them, the two sentries in the black car across the street, whose eyes flicked toward Lin Feng and Xiao Ran’s corner for a fraction of a second.

Now!

—

Xiao Ran moved.

In that split-millisecond when the sentries’ attention was drawn by Lin Feng, she picked up her barely touched caramel macchiato, stood gracefully as if heading to the dessert case for another treat.

Passing table 7, her stiletto heel seemed to “accidentally” catch on a sugar cube that had “just so happened” to roll from Lin Feng’s table.

“Oh!”

A perfectly timed, delicate cry of surprise.

She stumbled forward, losing balance.

Her cup of scalding, viscous, cream-topped caramel macchiato arced through the air in a flawless parabola, landing squarely—without missing a drop—on the expensive gray coat of Beacon, who had just tensed from his sudden blindness.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! Really, I’m terribly sorry, sir!”

Her voice was breathless, apologetic, the very image of a flustered office worker.

“I— I didn’t mean to! Let me help you wipe that off!”

She quickly fished a pack of wet wipes from her purse, fumbling as she dabbed at the mess on his chest.

A flash of icy wariness flickered in Beacon’s good eye, but all his attention was absorbed by the unexpected accident and the burning sensation on his chest. He never noticed—

Concealed by her wide sleeve, Xiao Ran’s left hand, as she wiped the stain, pressed a tiny device disguised as a button: a minuscule, state-of-the-art neural anesthetic needle developed by Bureau 13 of Homeland Security. With a barely perceptible press, it slid silently into his most vulnerable intercostal nerve.

—

One second later, the agent was injected.

The “button” retracted unnoticed.

“…I’m really, truly sorry!” Xiao Ran, under Beacon’s icy glare, apologized repeatedly and “hurriedly” turned away, leaving quickly.

—

Beacon frowned, about to use a backup physical signaler to contact the sentries and report this “suspicious accident,” when suddenly the world spun violently.

A crushing pain, as if his heart were being squeezed to bursting, seized his chest.

Clutching himself, face contorted in disbelief and agony, he slid heavily from his chair to the floor, his body convulsing uncontrollably.

“Someone’s having a heart attack!”

“Quick! Call an ambulance!”

Chaos erupted in the café.

Yet within less than a minute, two “paramedics” in white uniforms rushed in with a stretcher, moving with uncanny speed from an ambulance already waiting around the corner. They pushed through the crowd, expertly stabilized the now-comatose, foam-flecked Beacon, and spirited him away.

Across the street, the sentries in their car stared, dumbfounded, as the entire sequence unfolded in under three minutes. At last, one picked up the radio and reported, “…Reporting in, ‘Beacon’ suffered sudden cardiac arrest. Mission… mission aborted.”

Gradually, order returned to the café.

Lin Feng and Xiao Ran had already retaken their seats, as if nothing had happened. The waitress brought Xiao Ran a fresh, steaming caramel macchiato.

She raised her cup to Lin Feng across the table.

“…Nicely done, Queen Xiao,” Lin Feng murmured through their encrypted channel.

A victorious smile slowly curved Xiao Ran’s lips.

“Likewise, Lost-Lin,” she replied.

Her eyes, sharp as blades once more, flashed with a glint of frost.

“…Now, let’s see,” she said softly, “what secrets this big fish has been hiding in its belly.”