Handong: Sha Li wants political achievements? I'll shut down the entire province.

"Master Yan, the legal proceedings are complete. The buyer of the blueprints couldn't stand the water outage and signed a death certificate himself."

Lin Yubing's lifeless report was still accompanied by a nauseating, sticky smell of blood.

The pungent smell of death seemed to travel back to Handong along the encrypted frequency band of Yunxiao AI.

It plunged directly into the Lingxiao Building, 500 meters below ground.

Extremely cold, sealed room.

The temperature here is forcibly locked at minus five degrees Celsius.

The massive liquid cooling unit emitted a deep roar and frantically spewed out piercing white mist.

The air was filled with the slightly astringent ozone smell emitted by the high-speed operation of the servers.

Take a breath, and your trachea feels tight.

Ye Qingmei stood in front of the wall covered with holographic screens.

In this freezing, bone-chilling ice cellar, she was wearing only a thin, red sundress.

The bright red silk fabric clung to the pale skin, like a poisonous mushroom blooming in the extreme cold.

It exudes an undisguised cold-blooded ruthlessness.

She was swirling a glass of mutated red wine, specially supplied by the conglomerate, in her hand.

The thick liquor left dark red streaks on the glass, like freshly drawn venous blood.

"Chief Lin's work is too sloppy."

Ye Qingmei picked up her wine glass, took a sip, and parted her red lips slightly, her voice like a poisoned blade tempered with ice.

"Master Yan, chasing after rats all over the world with a claim form is beneath the dignity of our Lingxiao Consortium."

"If you want to kill a rat, you might as well put poison in its food bowl."

A massive holographic image of Yan Qingfeng solidified in the center of the secret chamber.

He sat on the large leather sofa, his eyes devoid of warmth.

The air conditioning blew up the hem of his black shirt.

"Lightbrow, how does your 'Spider' program compare to the CIA's once-proud Prism Project?"

Ye Qingmei let out a piercing, cold laugh.

"The CIA? Mr. Yan, you're giving those primitive people who use listening devices to eavesdrop on phone calls too much credit."

She snapped her fingers.

The crisp sound echoed in the empty, enclosed room.

"Whoosh—"

The entire wall of holographic screens instantly lit up.

The blinding green code stream poured out like a flood bursting its banks.

Yunxiao AI's terrifying computing power is processing massive amounts of voiceprints intercepted globally at a rate of tens of millions of times per second.

"Those secret agents of the old days had to sneak under other people's beds to plant listening devices."

Ye Qingmei, wearing high heels, walked to the largest main screen.

The heel struck the metal floor, producing a harsh, crisp "tap-tap" sound.

"They're too stupid; they simply can't understand the dimensional reduction attack of cybernetic technology."

She extended a finger painted with dark red nail polish and made a cursory tap on the screen.

"Mr. Yan, in the past month, the Lingxiao Consortium exported 30 million solid-state batteries to Europe."

"And the mutated grains specially supplied to the European middle class under the guise of charity."

The screen image zoomed in instantly.

"In every battery cell, in every germ of mutated wheat."

"I've implanted nanoscale voiceprint eavesdropping chips in them all."

Stunning microscopic images appeared on the holographic screen.

Nanochips, ten thousand times finer than a human hair, are brazenly entering the stomachs of European elites along with their food.

Along with batteries, they are installed in their personal cell phones, hearing aids, and even pacemakers.

Yan Qingfeng held the whiskey, the ice cubes clinking in the glass.

A cold, detached smirk played on his lips.

"So, in other words, the internal organs of those old-money Europeans are now filled with our ears?"

"It's not just the ears."

A bloodthirsty fervor flashed in Ye Qingmei's eyes.

"As long as they breathe, as long as they have a heartbeat."

"In their entire lives, they have been completely exposed and transparent to us."

The screen flickered.

The data stream traversed tens of thousands of kilometers of night sky, cutting directly into the depths of the European Alps.

The Rothschild family's century-old castle.

The lights in the nuclear-proof chamber 30 meters underground were dim and yellowish.

The walls here are covered with half-meter-thick military-grade lead plates.

In the corner, three state-of-the-art physical anti-eavesdropping jammers were emitting a low-frequency hum.

It is claimed to be able to block all external electronic signals on Earth.

Old Loeb slumped in his expensive velvet armchair.

His bespoke British suit was completely soaked with cold sweat.

The dampness clung to my back, and the chilly wind from the basement made it feel even colder.

It emitted a fermented, sour smell that made people feel nauseous.

"A madman... Yan Qingfeng, that lowly yellow-skinned monkey, he's a complete madman!"

Old Lebu's bloodshot eyes trembled violently.

His throat split in two, roaring like a broken bellows.

"He actually forced those turbaned nouveau riche to bomb our oil refineries in the Middle East! Does he really think our centuries-old heritage is made of clay?!"

Panic and rage were intertwined.

The pain caused old Lebu's shrunken stomach walls to contract violently, sending waves of throbbing pain through him.

The sour, putrid bile pushed straight up the esophagus.

The muscles at the base of his thighs were twisted into a tight knot, spasming violently and uncontrollably.

The expensive fabric of the trousers rubbed against my skin, causing an unbearable itch.

"Master, please calm down..."

The private butler standing nearby was so frightened that he trembled all over.

He quickly brought over a cup of warm water, the tray in his hands trembling and rattling.

"The physical isolation of this secret room is absolutely secure. Yan Qingfeng's spies will never find out about our next counterattack plan."

"Safety my ass!"

Old Loeb knocked over a glass of water, which shattered on the wool carpet.

Fragments flew, cutting the butler's hand.

Old Loeb clutched his left chest tightly, a sharp, excruciating pain erupting in his heart.

It was as if a barbed iron claw had pierced into my chest cavity, squeezing and crushing my heart.

"Well--"

Old Loeb's face was contorted in pain, his teeth chattering wildly.

It makes a soft, crisp "clucking" sound.

His Adam's apple bobbed up and down with difficulty twice, and he swallowed a mouthful of saliva that tasted of rust and blood.

With trembling, withered hands, he pulled out a nitroglycerin pill from his pocket.

Because his hands were shaking so badly, like someone with Parkinson's disease, the pills spilled all over the floor.

With the butler's help, he crawled on the ground like a dog and swallowed two pills, picking them up and licking them as he went.

He opened his mouth wide and gasped for breath in pain.

"What's he so smug about? Does he really think he's invincible?"

Old Leb clutched his chest, gritting his teeth, wishing he could tear Yan Qingfeng's flesh to pieces.

"Go! Notify the French military..."

His voice was so hoarse that he was constantly working the bellows.

"Use our last batch of heavy cruise missiles in Paris."

"If Yan Qingfeng's damn EMP fleet dares to approach the Atlantic, we'll blow them all to bits and sink them in international waters to feed the fish!"

He thought he was in a nuclear-proof chamber that cost 100 million euros to build.

The top-secret counterattack order he issued was known only to God and the butler.

However, in the extremely cold, sealed chamber 500 meters underground.

Old Loeb's vicious curse, even the gurgling sound of him swallowing hard.

Along with his heavy, rapid breathing when he took the medicine.

The holographic sound resonated clearly in Yan Qingfeng and Ye Qingmei's ears.

Even the faint rustling sound of pills rolling onto the wool carpet was recorded.

This is an absolute technological crushing victory.

They stripped away the last shred of dignity from this group of century-old money.

Ye Qingmei held her wine glass, staring at the screen showing the rapidly fluctuating heart rate of old Loeb.

The waveform of the current frequency of the old man's pacemaker was clearly analyzed by Yunxiao AI.

Those pulsating red curves are like dying prey stuck tightly to a spider web.

The more they struggle, the more gruesome their death.

"Master Yan, did you hear that?"

Ye Qingmei swirled the mutated red wine in her glass, the bright red liquid reflecting the green light from the screen.

Her long, slender fingers, painted with red nail polish, rested lightly on the red Enter key on the control panel.

A cold, cruel sneer appeared on that pale face.

There was not a trace of human pity in his eyes, only the arrogance of a god who controls life and death.

"These self-important old Europeans."

"They're still dreaming of turning the tables."

Ye Qingmei picked up her wine glass and drank the red wine, which looked like vein blood, in one gulp.

She slammed the glass heavily onto the metal table with a loud clang.

The sound was crisp and clear, like a death knell.

"Master Yan, the net has tightened."

Ye Qingmei narrowed her long, narrow eyes slightly, her red lips parted slightly, and her tone revealed a ruthless intent to kill.

"The microcurrent frequency of their pacemakers is now all pressed on my keyboard."

"As long as I press this finger down."

"So, what time do you want those old fogies in Paris to die tonight?"