His voice was trembling slightly.

This price had already far exceeded the market value of this inkstone.

One could even call it absurd.

The man in the grey suit’s complexion changed completely.

It turned leaden.

He stared at me intensely.

Murderous intent was already visible in his eyes.

He turned back to look at "Gardener" once more.

This time, "Gardener" gave him a slight shake of the head.

Signaling him to give up.

Clearly, our insane bidding had already exceeded the budget they had for this operation.

Or perhaps, "Gardener" believed that it wasn't worth spending more money for a target that might already be under surveillance.

He was very decisive.

The man in the grey suit reluctantly lowered his paddle.

He had lost.

The auctioneer began the final countdown in his excited, cracking voice.

"Twenty million! Going once!"

"Twenty million! Going twice!"

"Are there any higher bids? None?"

"Twenty million! Going thrice!"

"Clang!"

The sound of the gavel falling was crisp and loud.

"Sold!"

"Congratulations to this gentleman! This peerless treasure now belongs to you!"

Scattered applause broke out in the hall.

Most people looked at me as if I were a fool.

I had succeeded.

We had succeeded.

We had obtained the intelligence in the simplest, crudest, and most unexpected way.

Yet, there was no joy in my heart.

Only a cold void.

Because I knew the matter was far from over.

We had won the auction.

But we had also pushed ourselves completely into the spotlight.

Now, we were the ones holding the treasure in plain sight.

While "Gardener" and his team retreated into the shadows.

From this moment on, the positions of hunter and prey had shifted.

The auction ended.

We went backstage to complete the transfer formalities.

Twenty million was transferred on the spot.

Bureau Nine’s account was like a bottomless pit.

I personally packed the inkstone into a specialized locking case.

Then, carrying it, I walked out of Jubao Pavilion.

The night had grown very deep.

The parking lot at the entrance was very quiet.

Our Rolls-Royce was parked not far away.

From the moment we stepped out of the gate.

I could feel at least four gazes locking onto us from different directions.

Like prey targeted by a wolf pack.

"They are following us," "Polygraph’s" voice was calm, without a ripple.

"Two cars: a black Audi and a silver Buick."

"A total of five people inside."

"Chessboard," still clinging to my arm, continued to play her part.

"Darling, I’m tired, let’s go home quickly."

We got into the car.

The driver was "Ghost" in disguise.

The car pulled smoothly out of the parking lot.

The two cars followed, keeping a moderate distance.

"What do they want?" I asked.

"Two choices," "Chessboard" said flatly, looking at the nightscape outside the window.

"One, steal the item."

"Two, kill us, silence us, and then steal the item."

"My guess is the second one."

The air inside the car dropped to freezing point in an instant.

Chapter 19

Our vehicle was a heavily modified Rolls-Royce.

Bulletproof, with an upgraded engine.

The driver was "Ghost."

His hands rested steadily on the steering wheel, his eyes as calm as a deep pool of water.

The car pulled smoothly out of the parking lot, merging into the empty, late-night streets.

Those two cars—a black Audi and a silver Buick—followed closely behind.

Like two sharks that had caught the scent of blood, they trailed us at a steady, unhurried pace.

The atmosphere inside the car was suffocatingly oppressive.

I held the briefcase tightly in my arms.

The inkstone was inside.

It was no longer just an antique at this moment.

It was a bomb that could detonate at any time.

"The Buick is seventy meters behind on the left, the Audi is one hundred meters behind on the right."

"Polygraph’s" voice came through the earpiece, calm and precise.

He didn't look in the rearview mirror, yet he acted as if he had eyes in the back of his head.

"They have no intention of overtaking or boxing us in; they are simply following."

"They are waiting for a specific place," "Chessboard" said.

She watched the neon lights flashing by outside the window, her eyes scanning as if she were inspecting a chessboard.

"A place without surveillance, without witnesses, perfect for taking action."

"Ghost, follow the pre-planned Route Two."

"Copy that," "Ghost" replied.

The car turned onto an elevated highway.

The city lights below merged into a brilliant, sprawling galaxy.

But I was in no mood to admire it.

I could feel a dense, intense killing intent radiating from behind us.

That killing intent was different from the resentment I had felt on the stones from the Snow case.

It wasn't cold; it was even somewhat scorching.

It was a pure, professional desire to kill, devoid of any personal emotion.

I closed my eyes.

Attempting, once again, to probe the briefcase in my arms with my perception.

To probe the inkstone.

Last time, I had seen a stream of cold data.

This time, I wanted to see something else.

I wanted to see what kind of person its owner, "Gardener," truly was.

My consciousness pierced through the barriers of metal and foam.

Once again, I touched that slab of cold purple stone.

This time, it wasn't data.

It was an image.

A very quiet room.

English-style decor, with flames dancing in the fireplace.

"Gardener," Philip Jones, sat at his desk.

In his hands, he toyed with this inkstone.

On his face, there was none of the elegant smile he had worn at the auction.

Only a cold, icy indifference.

He looked at the inkstone as if he were looking at a tool.

An inanimate tool that could be discarded at any moment.

In his heart, there were no emotional fluctuations.

No fondness for this piece of art.

No nervousness about the mission he was about to execute.

Only a kind of... condescending scrutiny.

And a kind of... contempt for pawns.

I saw the five people trailing behind us.

They stood before "Gardener," like a group of silent machines.

"Gardener" issued his orders.

"Get the item."

"Eliminate everyone."

"If you fail, you know what to do."

His tone was as flat as if he were commenting that the weather was nice today.

But I could feel the command within his words.

And that utter disregard for their lives.

These people hunting us down.

In "Gardener's" eyes, they were just pawns that could be sacrificed at any time.

I opened my eyes abruptly.

"They are suicide squads," I said to "Chessboard."

"If the mission fails, they will kill themselves, leaving no survivors."

"Chessboard" nodded, appearing unsurprised.

"As expected."

"Top-tier operatives leave no leads that can be traced back to them."

She glanced at the navigation screen.

"Ghost, three kilometers ahead, exit the highway and enter the old industrial zone in the west of the city."

"Understood."

At the end of the highway, the car turned onto a side road.

The streetlights thinned out instantly.

The scenery around us changed from the bustling city to dilapidated factory buildings and warehouses.

This was the city’s scar.

And also the graveyard we had chosen for them.

The speed of the car slowed down.

The two cars behind us immediately caught up.

One on the left, one on the right, they sandwiched us in the middle.

The screech of tires against the road rang out.

All three cars stopped almost simultaneously on an abandoned vacant lot in the factory district.

This place used to be a steel mill.

The massive blast furnaces, like silent monsters, cast grotesque shadows under the moonlight.

The doors of the Audi and the Buick opened at the same time.

Five men in black tactical gear stepped out.

They all wore masks, revealing only their cold eyes.

In their hands, they held pistols equipped with silencers.

They fanned out in a semi-circle, flanking us.

Their movements were standard and efficient.

Without a single unnecessary word.

"Chessboard’s" voice sounded in the earpiece.

"Everyone."

"Time to work."

Our car doors also opened simultaneously.

The five of us stepped out.

Standing opposite them.

The night wind blew across the empty factory district.

Kicking up the dust on the ground.

Like a western duel in a movie.

In the next second.

The sound of gunfire would ring out.

Chapter 20

The gunshots did not ring out.

The opponents did not fire immediately.

They seemed to be waiting for a command, or perhaps they were evaluating our reaction.

We didn't move either.

The five of us stood in a defensive formation.

"Chessboard" and I were in the middle, me clutching the case.

"Polygraph" and "Know-It-All" were on our flanks.

"Ghost" stood at the very front, like a drawn blade.

Silence.

A deathly silence.

Only the sound of the wind whistling through the steel frames of the blast furnace.

The opposing leader, the man standing in the center, moved.

He made a gesture.

A standard, offensive gesture.

In the very moment his hand fell.