0023 Target: The Empire’s Graveyard

After a month of continuous training under Xiao Zhao’s guidance, Hou Rui’s progress was remarkable. Just as he was preparing to become a versatile operative—sharp-eyed as a hawk and elusive as a shadow—a red-level mission order suddenly arrived.

"Within 96 hours, reach the Sino-Afghan border. Enter the city of Azabad before November 7th. Mission reward: one million US dollars. Codename: Sand Serpent." Staring at the mission details on his phone, Hou Rui’s mind was awash with confusion. What language do they speak there? Surely not English. Who is the operations commander? Will I have to procure my own weapons and gear again?

“What are you daydreaming about?” Xiao Zhao, seeing Hou Rui lost in thought, asked with obvious disdain.

“My mind’s a mess, thinking about everything and nothing.” Hou Rui pocketed his phone and stood up, preparing to return to the university. No matter what, the first step would be to apply for leave.

“Here’s a word of advice,” Xiao Zhao said as she grabbed a plush rabbit and kneaded it absentmindedly in her arms. “Every step you take out there, make sure to use what you’ve learned from me. I’ve seen many people far more talented than you, but they all died from some tiny overlooked detail.”

“I get it,” Hou Rui replied, unable to decipher this girl’s true nature. Pressed for time by the mission, he could only leave Xiao Zhao’s place in a hurry.

He grabbed a taxi straight to the university and dealt with Li Lei overnight. The next morning, Hou Rui requested a half-month’s leave from his advisor, claiming a family emergency, and immediately left the campus. On the way into the city, he bought a fake ID at a steep price from a contact he’d made in advance, then plunged into the bustling crowds of Beijing Railway Station.

Three hours later, Hou Rui boarded the express train from Beijing to Urumqi. For the next forty-three hours, he devoted himself entirely to gathering and absorbing information about his target region. Unfortunately, the state kept a tight lid on such matters, and aside from some general introductions, there was simply no way to find any detailed or sensitive intelligence.

This won’t do. If I arrive completely blind and something goes wrong, I won’t even know which way to run. Hou Rui leaned his head back, resting his sore neck while endlessly pondering this problem.

“Young man, what’s got you so absorbed?” asked an elderly gentleman in a light gray casual suit sitting across from him, curiosity in his eyes.

“Oh, nothing much. It’s my first business trip to Urumqi. I don’t know the area, so I’m a bit uneasy,” Hou Rui replied with a smile. Having missed out on a sleeper ticket, he was stuck in a hard seat for the forty-odd hour journey. With nothing else to do, he passed the time chatting with fellow passengers—that’s how he got to know the old man.

“Ah, that’s all? Easy fix! You’re on a business trip, right? Surely your company has colleagues who’ve done this before. Just ask them—you’ll have no trouble then!” The old gentleman grinned and offered his advice.

Of course! I can just ask the organization for help. The thought struck Hou Rui, and he immediately took out his phone to contact the mission sender via WeChat. Strangely, however, the account that had issued the mission was completely unresponsive.

Puzzled, Hou Rui’s long journey from Beijing to Urumqi finally came to an end. For the first time in his life, he set foot in this exotic land.

Standing at the station exit, Hou Rui noticed many young women in braided hair and men with high-bridged noses wearing white hats. The swirling script on the signs and the strains of ethnic music in the air made him feel utterly lost for a moment.

“Excuse me.” Suddenly, someone bumped his shoulder. A man burdened with bags hurried past him—presumably rushing for a train. Hou Rui thought nothing of it, wanted to take out his phone to try contacting the organization again, when suddenly a strange ringtone sounded from somewhere on his person.

What’s going on? Following the sound, Hou Rui reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone he didn’t recognize.

“Hello?” He guessed it was the organization’s arrangement and answered the call.

“Codename: Wild Dog. Mission briefing has been sent.” A synthesized male voice spoke, then hung up immediately. Instantly, maps and documents began to appear on the unfamiliar phone—far more detailed and comprehensive than anything Hou Rui had been able to find online.

Glancing through them, Hou Rui clutched the phone to his chest as if it were a treasure, then hurried toward the taxi stand.

Once in a cab, he took out the phone again and began reviewing every map and document meticulously, determined to memorize as much as possible in the shortest time.

Leaving the city behind, Hou Rui followed the intelligence and transferred to a long-distance bus, heading further west. After more than thirty hours of bumpy travel, he was constantly transferring from one route to another, barely holding himself together. His whole body ached and he desperately craved a comfortable bed for a night’s rest.

“Final stop: Tashkurgan,” the driver suddenly announced in awkward, harsh Mandarin, repeating it in Uyghur. At once, the passengers around Hou Rui began hurriedly gathering their belongings. Looking out the window, Hou Rui saw the lights of a small town and estimated its population at around 23,000.

Abruptly, the bus braked hard, nearly throwing Hou Rui, lost in thought about how to cross the border, into the seat in front of him. Startled, he looked up to see several fully armed paramilitary police boarding through the front door.

“Good evening, everyone. Routine inspection. Please have your ID cards ready,” said the leading officer with a salute. Judging by the relaxed demeanor of his fellow passengers, this was clearly a common occurrence; everyone was already fishing out their identification. Soon, the officers worked their way down the aisle to Hou Rui.

On this battered old bus, there were over fifty passengers, most dressed as local farmers or herders. Hou Rui, a lone traveler in tourist garb, stood out conspicuously.

“Hello, please show your resident ID and cooperate with our inspection,” said a young officer with a small mustache. Hou Rui glanced at the 95-style assault rifle slung across his chest and obediently handed over his fake ID.

“Li Lei, is it?”

“Yes, Li Lei.”

“Please recite your ID number.”

“Huh? Oh, 230…”

“That’s correct. What brings you to Tashkurgan?”

“Sightseeing and photography—I’m a photographer.” To make his story more convincing, Hou Rui purposely unzipped his backpack to reveal a Canon 550 camera.

“All right, here’s your ID. Enjoy your trip.” The officer, satisfied, returned his card and moved on.

Having passed the checkpoint, the bus finally entered Tashkurgan. Hou Rui disembarked and found a small inn nearby.

Exhausted, he slept straight through until noon the next day. After a hurried meal, he ran out into the street. In a town of 23,000, there was only one main street, and it didn’t take long to spot the only two general stores. With no other options, Hou Rui strode inside.

He bought a set of local ethnic clothing, a massive sheepskin backpack, and a pile of odds and ends—canteens, compasses, and so forth—then hurried back to the inn to study his exit strategy.

The organization’s materials clearly marked the locations of several border outposts, along with the patrol routes and schedules of mobile units—every bit of relevant information Hou Rui could need. Reading it all, he couldn’t help but feel a surge of emotion. Entangled with such a mysterious and powerful organization, who could say what fate awaited him in the end?

That afternoon, after checking out of the inn, Hou Rui hired an ox cart in the market and set out from town, ambling toward the village closest to the border.

All along the way, Hou Rui snapped photos of the landscape like any ordinary tourist. But when he arrived at his destination and waved goodbye to the ox-cart driver, his sunny smile vanished instantly. He stowed his camera and quickly slipped alone into the secluded mountains.

At three in the morning, on a nondescript little hill, a patch of pale green turf was quietly lifted. Hou Rui poked his head from beneath the camouflaged netting, exhaling a long white mist into the frigid plateau air.

About eight hundred meters away, a squad of twelve border guards was patrolling along the barbed-wire fence. Hou Rui watched them approach, then recede, and finally disappear altogether. Only then did he rise, silently fold up the camouflage net, and bury it in a shallow pit.

Once he was sure there was no one around, Hou Rui crept down the hill, crouched low to the ground. At the fence, he swung his heavy sheepskin pack over the sharp barbed wire, grabbed hold, planted his feet, and vaulted smoothly across.

But once he landed, Hou Rui grew even more cautious. Remaining in a low crouch, he slung the pack back over his shoulders and took out a magnet affixed to a wooden stick, sweeping it in circles before and behind him. Within a minute, he had identified three danger zones. Holding his breath, he avoided those spots and took a careful step forward.

It took him four full minutes to cross the five-meter-wide minefield between the two fences. When his feet finally touched Afghan soil, his whole body was drenched in cold sweat from tension and the effects of high-altitude hypoxia, as if he had just been pulled from a river.