Spy Wars: Strong Agents Who Are Ruthless and Talk Little

Chapter 528 The Night is Not Peaceful

"Have I been abandoned?" This thought quietly emerged, sending a chill down Su Ming's spine. He quickly shook his head, trying to dispel the thought. "Impossible, Mr. Zheng wouldn't do that. He must have his reasons. He wouldn't abandon me." He kept reassuring himself, but the feeling of uncertainty remained.

Outside the warehouse, the wind howled, occasionally accompanied by a low, thumping sound, as if something was lurking in the darkness. Su Ming unconsciously tightened his grip on the dagger, his palms already breaking out in a cold sweat. His eyes vigilantly scanned every corner of the warehouse, as if an enemy might burst out from the shadows at any moment.

"Calm down, calm down." He whispered to himself, forcing himself to take a deep breath to slow down his rapid heartbeat. However, the uneasy thoughts in his mind lingered.

He began to recall his past experiences. Those days lurking in the enemy camp, those brushes with death, each one felt like a nightmare. But even so, he had never been as scared as he was now. The feeling of powerlessness, unable to see the enemy and understand the situation, filled him with an unprecedented fear.

"Perhaps this is a test." Su Ming suddenly remembered Zheng Yaoxian's words: an intelligence officer's greatest enemy isn't external danger, but their inner fear and doubt. Only by conquering their inner demons can they truly become qualified intelligence officers.

"But why didn't he tell me anything?" Su Ming's heart was still full of questions. He felt like he was thrown into a boundless darkness, the only light being the string of numbers in his hand.

He picked up the paper again and examined it carefully by the light of the oil lamp. It was a simple string of numbers, but their arrangement was baffling. He tried plugging them into the code book, and also tried using them as coordinates, but nothing gave him a clue.

"What does this mean?" Su Ming muttered to himself, with a hint of fatigue and frustration in his voice.

At that moment, a slight noise suddenly reached his ears. Su Ming's body tensed instantly, like a cheetah ready to strike back. He gripped his dagger tightly, his gaze fixed on the warehouse door.

"Who is it?" he asked in a low voice, his voice cold and full of vigilance.

No one answered, but the noise grew closer, as if something was lingering outside the door. Su Ming's heartbeat began to accelerate, and the sweat on his palms made the handle of the dagger slippery. He tried to calm himself, his mind racing with thoughts of a response.

"If they were enemies, why didn't they just charge in?" Su Ming frowned, trying to analyze the situation. The enemy didn't seem eager to attack, but rather testing his reaction.

"Mr. Zheng, what kind of mess did you leave behind?" Su Ming smiled bitterly in his heart, but the vigilance in his eyes did not diminish at all.

Suddenly, a low knocking sound came from the door, as if someone had tapped it twice with their fingers. Su Ming's body instantly tensed up. He held his breath, the dagger in his hand slightly raised, ready to strike at any moment.

"Who?" He asked again in a low voice, with a chill in his voice.

There was still no answer from the door, only an unsettling silence. Countless possibilities flashed through Su Ming's mind: Was it an enemy? Someone sent by Zheng Yaoxian? Or just some random stranger passing by?

Just as he was hesitating whether to open the door, the noise outside suddenly disappeared. The eerie silence once again enveloped the entire warehouse, with only the whistling of the wind in his ears.

Su Ming's heart was still beating fast. He slowly walked to the gate, stuck his head against the door panel and listened carefully for a while. After confirming that there was no movement outside, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"I can't stay here any longer," he said to himself. He knew that staying here would only put him in greater danger. He had to find a safer place while continuing to unravel the mystery of the string of numbers.

Su Ming gathered his belongings, blew out the oil lamp, then pushed open the back door and quietly walked into the night. His steps were light but steady, each one filled with caution.

Su Ming walked down the street, the darkness shrouding everything around him. A chilly wind, tinged with a hint of chill, seeped into his collar. He lowered his head and tightened his coat. His pace was slow, but each step was cautious, fearing the sound of a loose stone slab. He continued to ponder the string of numbers in his mind, as if it had been deeply engraved in his mind.

"I need to buy some paper and pen," Su Ming muttered to himself. He had a feeling this string of numbers held some kind of pattern, but he had no tools to record his thoughts. The light in the warehouse was too dim; he needed a clearer environment to decipher these clues.

The city's nights were restless. The buildings lining the streets were shrouded in shadows beneath the dim streetlights, like lurking beasts. Su Ming's gaze darted around, alert for any movement. His ears caught every subtle sound carried by the wind, even the gentle rustle of his shoes against the ground making him particularly sensitive.

Not far away, a faint light still shone in front of a small shop. It was a shabby-looking grocery store, its windows blurry and covered in dust. A small wind chime hung by the door, tinkling crisply when the wind blew.

"Perhaps there's paper and pen here." Su Ming stood at the entrance, observing for a moment. After confirming that nothing was amiss, he slowly walked over. His hands remained tucked into his coat pockets, his fingertips touching the handle of his dagger, ready to respond to any emergency.

As I pushed open the door, the wind chimes rang again, a sound that was particularly piercing. The light inside the store was brighter than outside, but still a bit dim. The shelves were filled with a variety of miscellaneous items. It seemed like they sold everything, but none of them were particularly exquisite.

"What do you need?" A deep voice came from behind the counter.

Su Ming looked up and saw an elderly man with wrinkles as deep as if they had been carved with a knife. He was tidying up the account books on the counter without even looking up.

"Paper and pen," Su Ming replied calmly, his eyes scanning the shop's surroundings. He noticed a small wooden box next to the counter, the lid slightly ajar, which appeared to contain some miscellaneous items.

The old man raised his head and glanced at Su Ming indifferently, seemingly uninterested in this late-night customer. He pulled out a thin notebook and a pencil from under the counter and placed them on the table.