Countdown

"...Rot away, inch by inch?" Ryuk mimicked the electronic voice's final roar, his voice twisting out of shape with an exaggerated quaver. He tossed away the apple in his hand, rotted down to its core, and pulled another from the shadows. This one looked a little firmer, though brown spots covered its skin. "Wow, that threat was really... gooey. Who does he think he is? The god of rot?"

He took a crunching bite and tilted his head, his crimson eyes gleaming in the dim light. For the first time, he studied me with the undisguised interest of a spectator, nothing more.

"Twenty-four hours, though." He drew out the words as if singing off-key. "Ticktock, ticktock... Hear that second hand running, kid? He said he'd drag you out himself. Doesn't sound like a joke."

I didn't respond. The buzz of that uncontrolled roar still seemed to linger in my ears. It hadn't been electronically synthesized. That instant of fury had almost pierced the voice processor, revealing the real, enraged... person behind it.

Rot away, inch by inch.

A vivid threat. Cold, with the promise of torture.

Twenty-four hours.

He wasn't warning me to stop. He was ordering me to stop. He needed those twenty-four hours. Why? To deal with the massive international uproar over Zhao Tingting's death abroad? To protect the chain of connections behind Liu Jianming that might be torn out by the roots? Or to... adjust his strategy, cast his net again, and finally... close it before an "uncontrollable variable" like me could do any more damage?

Stop?

Not a chance.

The countdown had begun. Not a second could be wasted.

But I couldn't attack an overseas target directly, the way I'd gone after Zhao Tingting. That would immediately reveal that I'd completely ignored his "ultimatum" and might provoke an unpredictable, direct strike. I needed a target inside the country, someone who would let me keep applying pressure without allowing him to tell immediately whether I'd "stopped."

A... smokescreen. A target that would make him think I was still playing "by the rules" at home, buying time before he reached a conclusion.

The target had to meet three conditions: first, be inside the country. Second, have an indirect connection to Liu Jianming's case, but not too direct, so it looked as if I'd "reined myself in." Third, the death had to look like... a hasty attempt to silence someone. Yes, silencing a witness. Muddy the waters further, make everyone think the people behind this were scared and had started disposing of those who knew too much.

My mind trawled rapidly through the flood of information.

Found him.

Qian Wei. A seemingly insignificant nobody. A distant younger cousin of Liu Jianming's wife, Qian Huifang, he held a cushy, do-nothing position at a public institution under one of the departments Liu Jianming oversaw. In reality, he helped Qian Huifang handle shady personal accounts and communications. Sun Ming's emails had mentioned several vaguely described transfers routed through "a certain Qian." After Zhao Tingting's death, a small fry like him would likely be terrified, and might even become someone the other side tried to placate-or silence.

Perfect.

Going after him could pass for a small-scale purge of Liu Jianming's network. It would look as though I'd "obediently" stayed inside the country without stopping completely. And a death that looked like someone had silenced him would steer the investigation back toward the people behind Liu Jianming, sowing suspicion among them.

I opened the notebook, my pen moving swiftly.

[Qian Wei]

Cause of death: accidental death to silence him. Time: tomorrow morning, outside his residence in the old town. Cause of death: struck and killed by an old outdoor air-conditioning unit falling from above. No message, no theatrics. Make it quick, make it look like a genuine accident.

Simple, brutal, consistent with "silencing a witness."

After writing the final word, I leaned back in my chair and watched the sky outside gradually pale.

Countdown: 23 hours, 47 minutes.

The next morning, news of Qian Wei's death landed like a pebble in raging waves, raising only an insignificant splash. A brief report in the local news section covered the "accident," mentioning that the deceased was a distant relative of a figure in a recent high-profile case, but stressing that the preliminary police investigation had ruled out foul play.

Public attention remained firmly fixed on Zhao Tingting's death overseas.

Everything in my room was as usual. Instant noodle containers, the glow of the screen, and the faint sounds of Ryuk munching apples in the corner.

I was waiting.

Waiting for his response.

This time, the phone stayed silent for a long while.

Countdown: 18 hours. 15 hours. 10 hours.

Time slipped away, minute by minute, second by second. The phone remained so silent it might have been broken.

Had he believed it? Believed I'd been frightened into submission and only dared test the waters with small fry inside the country for now? Or was he secretly mobilizing his forces, ready to deliver a fatal blow the moment those twenty-four hours ran out?

Or... had he seen through the smokescreen?

Countdown: 5 hours. 3 hours.

The sky outside darkened again.

The silence grew thick. The air tightened.

Just as the countdown was about to enter its final hour.

The phone finally rang.

The ringtone was neither shrill nor dull now, but an utterly steady, monotonous beep.

I answered.

No breathing, no electrical static, not even a trace of emotion.

The electronic voice spoke, as steady as a machine reading aloud, yet cold enough to freeze the blood.

"Qian Wei. China Construction Bank account ending in 7743. Three years ago, he received a transfer from Qian Huifang's overseas account in the amount of fifty thousand US dollars. Memo: birthday gift."

He recited the exact details of a more deeply concealed transaction, one that hadn't even appeared in Sun Ming's emails.

"This target you chose to 'silence'..."

"Very cautious."

"It seems the twenty-four-hour cooling-off period has been quite effective."

His tone was flat, without the slightest inflection.

But beneath that absolute "calm," I could almost hear the thunder of an iceberg splitting beneath the sea.

He knew. He knew everything. He even knew about that insignificant, almost untraceable payment to Qian Wei. He had seen through my smokescreen, and this was his way of telling me clearly: every step you take is under my watch. Your "caution" is laughable and pathetic.

Then he "praised" me for my "cooling-off period."

It was humiliation and intimidation taken to their absolute extreme.

The call didn't end immediately.

That steady, icy electronic voice slowly added one last sentence.

"Keep it up."

"The countdown..."

"...continues."

Click.

The busy tone sounded.

Countdown: 58 minutes.

Phone in hand, I stood in the middle of the room. Outside, the city's neon lights came on one after another, reflected on my expressionless face.

An icy flame suddenly surged from the deepest part of my heart.

Keep it up?

Fine.

As you wish.

Mentor.

We'll...

Meet at the end of the countdown.