Chapter Thirty-Six: The Peril of War

Lei Dong was visibly startled and turned to look at his comrades in the Third Squad. He saw the same wide-eyed, incredulous expressions on their faces. In a Republic where atheism was the dominant ideology, the term “witch” sounded little more than a jest, perhaps even a compliment for an outstanding intelligence officer. But for members of the Third Squad, who knew well that mysterious cultivators still existed in the world, those two words nearly amounted to fact.

Especially since the person so described hailed from Xiangxi—a land forever linked with words like peace, beauty, romance, mystery, fierceness, zombies, witchcraft, and curses. In the rare, fragmented conversations Lei Dong had had with his old, mystic master over the past two decades, he learned that all those legends were true. Witchcraft, in particular, had flourished centuries ago. Those holding the ancient, secret traditions could not only commune with heaven and earth, divining fate and guiding people to fortune or away from disaster, but also served as powerful aides to cultivators, leading them safely past unknown perils. The greatest among these shamans could even reach enlightenment through their craft, ascending into the immortal realm.

Tragically, the cataclysm of several centuries past not only caused a drastic decline in the world’s spiritual energy, but also led to the loss of cultivation methods and talent, cutting off most lines of witchcraft inheritance. Since then, true shamans had all but vanished. Most who claimed the title were nothing but charlatans and frauds.

Yet, given the thousands—perhaps tens of thousands—of years of history, it was possible that some secretive families still preserved unique legacies.

What felt most surreal was that this “witch” was not some old crone in a black robe with a face full of wrinkles and eyes as sharp as daggers, but rather a delicate, enchanting young woman—so different from the picture painted by legend.

The squad exchanged glances, then averted their eyes, turning to Lei Tiangang in anticipation.

“This operation requires a rendezvous in Donisia. Before that, Shui Yaoxian expressed some hesitation and suggested delaying the mission. But because of its gravity, she pressed on without looking back… Unfortunately…” Lei Tiangang sighed. “Something still went wrong—she was also on that plane.”

Huang Xiwen raised his hand and called out, “Permission to speak!”

“Go ahead.”

“Can you tell us—what exactly was Comrade Shui Yaoxian’s mission?”

The moment this question left Huang Xiwen’s lips, the operations room fell utterly silent.

By protocol, it was clearly a violation of the “don’t ask what you shouldn’t know” rule. But it was also the question on everyone’s mind.

Everyone wanted to know—what kind of mission would proceed so resolutely even after the operative herself had voiced clear reservations?

What kind of mission would drive someone to embark without hesitation, even knowing there might be uncontrollable dangers ahead?

And these questions bore directly on the battle they themselves might soon face.

Lei Tiangang’s eyes flashed coldly as he fixed his gaze on Huang Xiwen, his face utterly impassive. The atmosphere in the operations room was so tense it was suffocating. Everyone feared what this usually unreliable, but at critical times terrifyingly sharp and capable—and sometimes uncontrollably furious—commander might decide.

Fortunately, Lei Tiangang didn’t keep them waiting long. After a moment, he withdrew his penetrating gaze, nodded, and said, “Before this meeting, I received authorization. I can tell you the nature of Comrade Shui Yaoxian’s mission—but!” His tone grew solemn and his expression severe. “Any information, any detail about this mission, is top secret. No one is to record anything. Until authorization or declassification, no one may reveal a single word to anyone, by any means—understood?”

“Yes!” The answer rang out clear and strong.

Lei Tiangang took a deep breath and spoke slowly, “The Minia Federation’s latest experimental -63b hypersonic aircraft technical data. Partial data on the Minia Federation’s domestic missile defense system. Partial data on the Jepan Empire’s nuclear weapons development program.”

A collective gasp swept the room.

Though Lei Tiangang’s tone was calm and deliberate, each sentence landed like a thunderclap. The very air seemed to ignite and rise with those words, and every face shone with incredulous delight.

Good heavens—it was…

As the world’s leading economic, military, and technological superpower, Minia’s -63b hypersonic aircraft was a weapon of ultimate deterrence: able to launch outside the atmosphere, change orbits three times, skim the edge of the sky at Mach 12, and strike anywhere on the globe within an hour—making a mockery of all global defense systems. It was the Minia Federation’s most advanced, most secret, and most terrifying superweapon.

In recent years, the Republic had strived to catch up in this field, successfully testing its own hypersonic craft exceeding Mach 9, considered the only credible counter to Minia’s arsenal. Yet, due to limitations in technology, materials, and process, especially in the manufacture of high-thrust ramjet engines, there remained a gap of at least three to five years.

If they could obtain the critical technology of the -63b, and with the exceptional talent of the Republic’s scientists, that gap could be closed in record time—it was no pipe dream.

More than that, there was the Minia Federation’s missile defense system—secrets within secrets. With that intelligence, combined with the Republic’s own missile technology and hypersonic craft, Minia’s defenses would face their greatest threat ever, and the Republic would have the most effective means of countering its greatest strategic rival.

And with Cao Jingren’s peace agreement in hand, the Republic’s resurgence would have unprecedented room to maneuver.

As for those mongrels in the Jepan Empire, their nuclear ambitions were no secret. But shrouded in layers of deception and shielded by the Minia Federation, no direct evidence had ever come to light.

But if they could secure this intelligence, the Jepan Empire would be firmly in the Republic’s grasp. They could strike with precision, or, if they chose, expose the evidence, win international support, reap enormous diplomatic rewards, and suppress the militarist ambitions of the Jepan Empire—forcing those right-wing politicians and citizens, forever dreaming of restoring their so-called “Heavenly Imperial Glory,” to face yet another humiliating defeat.

As soldiers of the Republic—and citizens bound by blood debt with the Jepan Empire—everyone knew what this meant.

On the other hand, just imagine the frenzy once the Minia Federation and Jepan Empire discovered this intelligence breach!

“That’s why, right now, our mission is to give everything we have to find that plane, recover the draft treaty, retrieve our most critical intelligence, and, at the very least, ensure it does not fall into enemy hands. Otherwise—” Lei Tiangang’s face darkened to the point of thunder, “we will face enormous risks, perhaps even… war!”

After the tension in the operations room had eased a little, Lei Tiangang frowned and continued, “Now, the first issue is this: we must determine whether the disappearance of Flight 740 was an accident or a deliberate act. If it was deliberate, then by whom? Was it a terrorist hijacking, or a covert operation by a foreign intelligence service? If it was an intelligence operation by a hostile power, then which one? Was their target Mr. Cao Jingren, or Comrade Shui Yaoxian?”

He paused, then added with emphasis, “Second, and most importantly—we must race against time! We must assess the situation as quickly as possible and take immediate action. The longer we delay, the more unpredictable factors and dangers we will face…”

Each question pressed down on the team like a mountain.

Everyone understood the danger, understood the urgency. But on a planet over twelve thousand kilometers in diameter, with more than seventy percent covered by ocean, finding a plane just sixty meters long was like searching for a needle in a haystack.

“Of course, to do any of this, we must first conclude—if the plane disappeared due to human action, then where is it?”

Lei Tiangang swept his gaze over the room, his eyes bright with the fire of battle, his mind racing as intelligence flashed across the big screen. “So far, to summarize: first, Comrade Shui Yaoxian sent a coded message two minutes before takeoff—‘A tired bird returns to the forest.’ Second, the plane made its last transmission around 1:20 and was never heard from again. Third, our cyber warfare team, after an all-out search, managed an hour ago to penetrate the World Maritime Satellite Organization database in Anglurenton, Opal Federation, and found a signal sent at 8:11. The signal’s frequency and characteristics perfectly match Flight 740. We can conclude it came from 740. In addition—” Lei Tiangang raised his voice, “President Tang Yiping has ordered the emergency deployment of ten satellites to support the search. Five of them are maneuvering over the Indian Ocean, lowering their orbits and sweeping east, west, south, and northwest in a full-scale effort to find the missing flight!”