Chapter 319

Chapter 319

The signal was slippery as a ghost, showing up each time with a different encryption method, jumping between different servers. But its core code—that unique digital signature—had never changed.

Stanley knew this was one of the lines connecting "the groundskeeper" to the outside world.

He stared at the green dot.

Just then, the blinking frequency of the green dot changed. Two quick flashes, and then it went dark completely.

On the screen, that corner returned to the same blackness as everywhere else.

Stanley reached out, moving the cursor across the touchpad, clicking repeatedly in that dark area.

No response.

He tried every reverse-trace pathway. The results were all the same: target does not exist.

Not hidden. Not relocated. A permanent, physical-layer total disappearance.

Like a person whose existence had been completely erased from the world.

Stanley leaned back in his chair, staring at that pitch-black screen.

"The groundskeeper" had cut the line.

After using him to eliminate Frank and "Black Iris," they'd cleanly severed all possible leads.

This chess game—the opponent had finished playing and flipped the board voluntarily.

When Ethan walked in carrying coffee, he found Stanley staring blankly at a blacked-out screen.

"What's wrong? Computer die?"

"No." Stanley closed the laptop. "An old friend just went offline."

Ethan didn't understand, but he didn't ask. He set down the coffee and glanced at an archive box sitting on the table beside them.

"This stuff—you're really turning it over?" he asked.

Inside the box was the ancient book recording "Black Iris" transactions, along with Molly's statement and files on those highway drivers.

"No point keeping it." Stanley's voice was flat.

Ethan looked at him. Sometimes Stanley was so calm he didn't seem real. Yesterday they were playing high-stakes games with a killer organization. Today he was disposing of all the evidence like throwing out trash.

What was he actually thinking?

Ethan would never figure it out.

That afternoon, National Archives, Special Collections Division.

The heavy metal door closed slowly behind them, sealing off all sound from the outside world.

A white-gloved worker with graying hair solemnly accepted the archive box from Sophia's hands.

"Ms. Grey, please confirm: Archive Number T073, containing one ancient book and related case materials, requesting permanent seal. Access only with highest clearance."

"Confirmed," Sophia said.

The worker placed the box into a metal cabinet, locked it, then handed over a document and pen.

"Sign here, please."

Sophia signed her name.

Standing behind her, Ethan watched her signature. Secrets powerful enough to create tidal waves were being locked in this room, just like that.

To her, this seemed like nothing more than a trivial matter.

After finishing the paperwork, the three walked out of the archives.

The sunlight was a bit blinding.

"Let's go up the mountain," Sophia said suddenly.

"Go up the mountain for what?" Ethan asked.

"Returning something."

The car left the city, climbing the winding mountain road.

Same road as before, but the mindset was completely different.

The car was quiet. Stanley drove. Ethan sat in the passenger seat. Sophia sat alone in back, watching trees fly past the window in reverse.

Halfway up the mountain, the car stopped.

The groundskeeper's little wooden cabin still stood quietly at the edge of the forest, exactly as they'd left it.

Sophia pulled something from her pocket.

It was a wooden bird carved with very crude technique. One wing was bigger than the other, giving it a comical look. Years ago, the old groundskeeper had whittled it with a kindling knife to cheer her up when she had a fever.

She'd carried it with her ever since.

She pushed open the cabin door and walked inside.

A thin layer of dust covered everything.

She walked to the shabby wooden bed and gently placed the wooden bird on the pillow.

After finishing, she turned and walked out, closing the door.

Like completing a goodbye that had come very late.

Ethan watched her, wanting to say something comforting, but felt any words would be superfluous.

"Let's go," Sophia said.

The three prepared to head back the way they came.

Stanley, walking in front, suddenly stopped.

He stared at a patch of ground beside the cabin.

"What is it?" Ethan caught up.

There was the cabin's vegetable garden. The vegetables inside had long since withered. But in the corner of the garden, one plant stood out conspicuously.

It was small, just a few leaves, but the leaf shape was distinctive, with edges bearing an unnatural serration.

Most importantly, it was fresh. The soil around its roots showed signs of recent disturbance. It had clearly been planted recently.

Ethan couldn't make anything of it. "A weed?"

Sophia also walked over. Looking at the plant, she frowned slightly. She seemed to have seen it somewhere before, but couldn't quite remember.

Stanley crouched down, extending a finger to touch the leaf.

"This isn't a weed." His voice was low, almost like he was talking to himself.

"It's 'death's messenger.'"

Ethan startled. "What?"

"A genetically modified ornamental plant. No flowers, only leaves." Stanley stood, brushing dirt from his hands. "Its pollen is highly toxic, so whoever bred it removed its flowering function."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the silent surrounding forest.

"In the underground floral market, its meaning is—"

"I know who your next target is."

Ethan's brain felt a bit scrambled.

"Death's messenger"?

"I know who your next target is"?

Looking at that unremarkable little plant, he couldn't connect it to such an ominous message. It sounded more like a movie line.

The moment Stanley finished speaking, an aged voice came from behind them.

"It wasn't planted for you."

All three turned simultaneously.

The old groundskeeper had appeared at the cabin door without anyone noticing, holding an old broom. Still wearing those drab clothes, his face deeply lined, but his eyes were clear and bright.

He looked at Stanley, then at the plant.

"The groundskeeper's people came yesterday and left this." The old man stated it matter-of-factly, like discussing neighborhood gossip. "He said it's a period at the end of your sentence."

Stanley said nothing, only looked at him.

"A period?" Ethan couldn't help asking.

"That's right." The old man turned his gaze to Sophia. "He said the game's over, so he should tell his opponent. This flower is saying he knows who Mr. Grey cares about most. But he also knows that after this game, he won't have another chance to touch that person. So it's an empty threat, and also closure."

Ethan felt lost in fog. He felt like a liberal arts student who'd wandered into an advanced cryptography conference. He recognized every word individually, but put together they made no sense.

Who was this old groundskeeper anyway? How would he know about "the groundskeeper"?

The old man paid them no more attention. Instead he looked at Sophia, his gaze falling on her empty hands.

"You returned it?" he asked.

Sophia nodded.

"Yes. On the pillow."

A faint smile appeared on the old man's face.

"Good." He said. "A task centuries old, finally settled with you."

He turned and headed down a different trail.

"Follow me."

Stanley and Ethan exchanged glances, then followed behind Sophia.

The trail led deeper into the forest. After walking several minutes, the view opened up.

A small shrine appeared before them.

Ethan remembered this place. Last time they came, it had been dilapidated, doors and windows broken.

But now the shrine had been completely renovated. The wood was new, the tiles were new. Two lanterns hung by the entrance. Though unlit, they'd been wiped clean.

At the shrine entrance stood a new wooden sign with neat writing:

[Mountain Art Public Gallery, Free Admission]

Ethan's heart stirred. He remembered that document about the charitable foundation on Stanley's phone.

So that's what he meant by "supporting arts education for children in remote areas."

The old man pushed open the shrine door.

Inside was also clean. On the central altar, there was no ancestral tablet—only a locked, ancient-looking wooden box.

The old man walked to the altar, pulled a rust-covered key from his pocket, and opened the box. He removed a thick, yellowed ledger.

He flipped it open to a certain page, tapping his finger on a name.

Then he picked up a brush from the altar, dipped it in vermillion ink, and drew a circle after that name.

After finishing, he put the ledger back in the box and locked it.

"There." He turned to Sophia. "The mission of your lineage ends here. From now on, this place is just somewhere to look at paintings."

He placed the key on the altar.

"This place will be managed by the village committee from now on. What's inside—no one can take it, and no one will understand it anymore."

Sophia looked at that wooden box for a long time without speaking.

It was as if she'd set down a burden that was very, very heavy—one she herself hadn't known she was carrying.

Ethan stood nearby, watching this scene. He felt all of it exceeded his comprehension. A secret spanning centuries, a mysterious killer organization, the storm of an international money-laundering case—and in the end, it concluded in such an almost mundane way.

And Stanley, from beginning to end, had only watched quietly.

He seemed to have known from the start it would end this way.

Ethan suddenly felt that all his previous speculation about Stanley might only be the tip of the iceberg. The world Stanley inhabited, and the power he wielded, were things he couldn't begin to imagine.

Leaving the shrine, the sky had already darkened.

"Let's go," Sophia said softly.

The three walked silently down the mountain.

The return journey was the same as coming. The car drove smoothly along the winding mountain road.

But Ethan could feel something was different.

That faint tension in the air had disappeared.

He instinctively glanced at the rearview mirror. No suspicious vehicles followed behind. This road they'd traveled countless times, on edge every single time—today, it was just an ordinary mountain road.

Those eyes hidden in the shadows, those invisible threats—it was as if overnight, they'd all vanished.

Ethan knew clearly this wasn't coincidence.

Stanley, through means he didn't understand, had eliminated all the hidden dangers in one sweep.

The atmosphere in the car was relaxed.

Sophia leaned against the back seat, watching the scenery outside. Her profile in the shifting light looked very calm. Ethan felt that today's Sophia was different from any time before. That taut, fragile quality about her had softened considerably.

Stanley focused on driving. His face showed little expression, but his hands on the steering wheel were relaxed.

Ethan thought that for Stanley, solving Frank and "Black Iris" might really have been, as he'd said, just "putting the last piece of the puzzle in place."

He'd woven a larger net, and "the groundskeeper" was just one pawn he'd used within it. Now that net had been drawn in, and everything was finished.

The car entered the city and stopped in the hospital parking lot.

Ethan unbuckled his seatbelt, about to say something.

His phone rang.