Chapter Thirty: Stealth in the Dark Web

“…In two days, will that painting grow legs and walk out on its own, or… will Anderson deliver it to us, respectfully, with his own hands?”

As Lin Feng’s declaration—filled with absolute confidence and command—echoed through encrypted communications in the “Shadow Bureau” command center, the entire office erupted in a thunderous cheer.

Weeks of pent-up frustration, passivity, and fear, in that moment, swept away—transformed into triumphant joy, as Old Lu’s unfathomable “legacy” was awakened at last.

They had finally seized the initiative!

“Amazing! Old Lu is practically a god!”

“Now let’s see how arrogant Anderson can be!”

Xiao Ran gazed at the screen, at Lin Feng’s smug expression projected in the hologram. For once, her usually frosty face softened, revealing a rare smile of relief.

She immediately put forth her Plan A.

“It’s simple,” she said, stepping up to the massive electronic sand table, which displayed a 3D model of the Pujiang International Art Center. “We use Old Lu’s ‘backdoor’ to take full control of the VIP suite’s security systems. Once Anderson and the Israelis finish their deal, we move in, lock down the premises under the guise of a ‘terrorist attack’, storm in, and catch them red-handed!”

The plan was simple, direct, efficient, and safe—a textbook-perfect national security operation.

Yet Lin Feng’s hologram dismissed it without mercy, shaking his finger.

“No.”

The word struck like a bucket of ice water over everyone’s heads.

“Too stupid,” he added.

“Lin Feng!” Xiao Ran’s brows knit instantly.

“Chief Xiao, don’t get angry,” Lin Feng spread his hands in mock helplessness, “With your approach, at best, you’ll nab that ‘Shavit’ from Israel and a few small-time dealers. Anderson himself—I’d bet anything—won’t even go near that room. He’ll sever all connections, activate the ‘Cleaner’, erase every trace, then vanish without a trace.”

“Most importantly,” his gaze sharpened, “you’ll completely expose our greatest card—Old Lu’s ‘legacy’. Throwing away our only ‘nuclear weapon’ just to catch a few small fish? Not worth it.”

Xiao Ran fell silent.

She knew he was right. Her plan was too ‘proper’, and dealing with someone as ruthless as Anderson couldn’t be done by playing by the rules.

“What do you suggest then?” she asked, unwilling to concede.

A familiar, devilish smile appeared on Lin Feng’s face.

“Why catch people?”

“Catching criminals is police work. We…”

“…are artists.”

He paused, and under the puzzled looks of everyone, revealed his earth-shattering Plan B.

“My plan is simple, only four words—”

“Steal the sky and swap the sun.”

“We’re not going to catch anyone. We’re going to… steal the painting.”

…

When Lin Feng laid out his so-called ‘crazy’ plan, the command center fell utterly silent.

Everyone was stunned by the boldness and unconventional nature of it.

Here, in the heart of the National Security Bureau, they were discussing how to pull off… an art heist?

It was madness.

“Step one: Forgery.” Lin Feng’s hologram, like a CEO presenting a new product, brimmed with confidence.

“I need the highest-resolution digital scan of ‘Storm at Sea’—the type used for customs inspection. If nothing goes wrong, I can, within twenty-four hours, use my German-imported industrial-grade 3D printer and nanotechnology spray equipment to forge a counterfeit so perfect, even the top appraisers would struggle to spot the flaws under a microscope.”

“As for the mysterious ‘item’ hidden in the painting’s frame,” he snapped his fingers, “‘Mouse’ has already simulated its signal profile based on our intercepted data. Old K and his team can use a basic Raspberry Pi chip to fabricate a fake that’s identical in function and signal to the original.”

“Step two: Switch.”

“One hour before the auction, when security is at its weakest, we use Old Lu’s backdoor to hack all surveillance, infrared, and pressure sensors in the VIP suite, creating a three-minute window of ‘absolute safety’.”

“Then, Xiao Ran, you or your most trusted and skilled team member slips in and makes the switch.”

“Step three: Watch the show.”

He wore that mischievous, ‘Zhurong’-like grin.

“Then we sit in the command center, sip coffee, eat popcorn, and watch Anderson and the Israeli fight over our forged painting and fake chip—argue until they’re red in the face—and finally, witness a flawless…”

“…counterfeit transaction.”

After hearing Lin Feng’s plan, the command center remained silent.

Everyone’s minds, overwhelmed by its audacity, seemed to freeze.

Xiao Ran said nothing.

She walked slowly to the huge electronic whiteboard, plunging into intense, prolonged contemplation.

A storm raged within her:

On one side, the “rules” she’d upheld all her life—representing order and discipline.

On the other, the “art” proposed by this madman—representing chaos and defiance.

Ten minutes later.

At last, she turned around.

She didn’t reject him outright.

Instead, she picked up a pen, walked to the whiteboard, and began to fill in Lin Feng’s “mad art” with “rational precision.”

“Your plan has three fatal flaws,” she said, her voice calm and professional.

“First, weight. Oil paintings from Rembrandt’s era used lead-based pigments and heavy oak panels. Your 3D-printed fake uses polymers. The weight difference is immense. Customs confirmed the painting weighs seventeen kilograms. Anderson’s men will notice the discrepancy as soon as they lift it.”

“Second, traces. Infiltration and switching will inevitably leave unpredictable traces—hair, skin, scent. Anderson’s team will have top forensic experts who’ll spot anything amiss.”

“Third, and most crucial: escape. Once the deal is done and Anderson discovers the swap, he’ll lock down the premises instantly. How do our people leave with the real painting without exposing themselves?”

Each question cut into Lin Feng’s wild plan like a surgeon’s scalpel.

Then, before he could answer, she offered her solutions.

“For the weight, I’ll have the equipment division use the densest depleted uranium to forge an inner ballast identical to the real frame.”

“For traces, all operatives must wear top-grade trace-proof suits. And before leaving, the team will conduct anti-forensics cleaning at the scene.”

“As for escape…” A cold curve appeared on her lips. “…Who said we’re ‘retreating’?”

She pointed at a spot beneath the VIP suite on the 3D model.

“This is the central waste processing channel of the art center. I’ll arrange for a ‘cleaner’ to, at the moment of transaction, quietly send a specially designed garbage bag containing the real painting out through here.”

A mad plan.

Perfectly wrapped by an even more meticulous, professional plan.

Lin Feng’s hologram watched the woman at the whiteboard, calmly refining every detail of this “earth-shaking caper,” his eyes ablaze with unprecedented light.

He knew that, at her core, she was just like him.

Both craved to overturn the table—both were mad.

When every detail had been flawlessly covered,

Xiao Ran turned, looking at Lin Feng. In those normally icy eyes, for the first time, shone a wild, conspiratorial light.

“Your plan is like a poem written by a lunatic.”

A smile, dazzling enough to upend worlds, blossomed on her face.

“But I like it.”

“Let’s do it.”