Shi Tengchuan placed a USB drive silently on the table in front of An Yuanxin, who sat opposite him with a blank expression. The mood in the room was heavy.
Ever since Marching Ant's press conference about the seismograph, the island government had been under immense pressure.
They were already neck-deep in disaster relief; now, if they couldn't handle the fallout from the seismograph incident properly, they could plunge straight into a full-blown political crisis.
The opposition party had smelled blood and was circling for the kill.
"The photos are all here?" An Yuanxin unplugged the USB and inserted it into his laptop, his voice calm.
"Yes, sir," Shi Tengchuan nodded.
An Yuanxin didn't look up. His expression remained stone-cold. "Were there fishing boats nearby when the Americans retrieved the seismograph?"
"There were two fishing boats in the area," Shi Tengchuan replied after a moment of thought.
"This matter is classified. No one else can know," An Yuanxin said coldly, his tone laced with warning. "You know the consequences."
"I understand."
Shi Tengchuan could already guess what An Yuanxin intended to do. With permission granted, he quietly left the office.
He knew it was time to lie low. After all, he was the one who had pulled up the first seismograph. And now, after the earthquake and public outcry, he had become a lightning rod for criticism.
Not long after he left, another man entered the room—a silent, cold-faced operative.
An Yuanxin handed him the USB. "Upload these photos online. Make it look like they were taken by local fishermen."
"Yes, sir."
The man didn't ask questions. He accepted the USB and walked out without another word.
That evening — at Chen Mo's seaside villa
Chen Mo was lounging on the couch, scrolling through news on his phone, when Xiao Yu emerged from the bedroom.
She was wearing the same floral dress she had worn on their first date. Her long hair flowed freely behind her. Seeing her like this sent a wave of nostalgia through him.
But the present-day Xiao Yu had clearly grown. More confident now, polished by her work with Zhao Min and the Marching Ant Company, she carried herself with quiet grace.
"Come with me to the beach," she said with a bright smile.
Chen Mo glanced out the window. "Isn't it raining?"
"You're here, aren't you?"
That soft line, paired with her smile, made resistance impossible.
He got up, and she immediately took his arm. Together, they stepped out into the drizzle.
The two walked quietly along the seawall.
Chen Mo held the umbrella while Xiao Yu leaned gently on his side. The ocean breeze brought the scent of salt and rain, tugging playfully at her skirt and hair.
For the first time in what felt like ages, peace returned to Chen Mo's world.
As they approached the shore, Xiao Yu's gaze drifted out over the dark sea. Her eyes slowly became distant. Then, without a word, she clasped her hands and closed her eyes.
Chen Mo said nothing—just watched her silently, sensing that this moment mattered.
After a while, she opened her eyes again and snuggled closer into his chest.
"When I was a kid," she said softly, "I'd come to the beach and wait for my dad's fishing boat to come back. One time, there was an accident at sea. A local boat never returned. I was terrified... I thought I'd lost my father too. I cried so much on this beach."
Chen Mo pulled her closer, heart aching at her words. It was the first time she'd shared something like this.
"When Dad finally came home, he found me sitting here crying like a little wet cat," she chuckled. "To cheer me up, he gave me a gift—a small colored conch he'd picked up on his trip."
She opened her palm, revealing a small, beautifully textured conch shell, still vibrant even in the faint moonlight.
"I've kept it ever since. My sister tried to steal it when we were kids, so I hid it. Every year, on this exact day, I come back to the beach with it—to make a wish."
Chen Mo chuckled softly, imagining a tiny Xiao Yu, solemnly making ocean wishes with her conch.
"I still do it now," she smiled. "It's silly, I know."
"After all these years?" Chen Mo asked. "What are you wishing for these days?"
"When I was little, it was things like: 'Dad comes home safe,' 'I do well in school,' or 'Dad buys me a pretty dress.'" She laughed again, her voice tender with memory.
"And just now?" he asked.
"I'll tell you later," she said, eyes twinkling. "Let's go back. I'm getting cold."
The next morning – Marching Ant Company
Chen Mo had barely stepped into his office with Xiao Yu when Ink Girl's voice echoed:
"Brother Mo, the islanders just exposed the Americans for taking the second seismograph."
"What?" Chen Mo blinked. "They did? When?"
"Late last night."
Chen Mo opened the news immediately. Sure enough, there it was:
'Island Nation Fishermen Reveal Photos of U.S. Military Retrieving Second Seismograph'
'Photos of Second Seismograph Surface Online'
'Was the U.S. Responsible for Suppressing Earthquake Warnings?'
The headlines were everywhere.
Chen Mo raised a brow. This… was unexpected.
The islanders had leaked the evidence themselves, possibly to redirect public rage and relieve domestic pressure.
But to him, it didn't matter anymore. He was just a spectator now.
His role was already done.
The leaked photos caused an instant media storm.
Online, island citizens erupted in anger again—this time, at the United States.
If the U.S. had taken the second seismograph, then they were the ones who prevented the prediction of the earthquake.
Blame shifted almost overnight.
Chen Mo's words at the ceremony had originally sparked speculation. But now—with these photos—his "guess" was confirmed. And the anger had found a new target.
On Twitter, the backlash was explosive.
Hashtags trended like:
#AmericaStoleTheWarning
#WeCouldHaveSurvived
#USCoveredItUp
And naturally, American netizens fired back.
The online war between the two countries escalated quickly. What had begun as internal blame had turned into international flame wars.
Meanwhile, Chinese netizens watched from the sidelines, utterly entertained.
"One owner, one dog… now they're biting each other."
"Serve them right. Karma!"
"Chen Mo just dropped a match and left. This bonfire is spectacular!"
Back in the office, Chen Mo scrolled through the news leisurely, sipping tea.
Two birds with one stone.
Two pits, both filled.
"This is what you get for stealing our seismographs."
In the island country, protests still raged. Public trust in the government had fractured. The social climate was boiling.
Now, with the photo leaks, the rage had shifted toward the U.S. The island government's civil pressure eased, replaced by external condemnation.
Someone in their ranks had masterfully guided public opinion—an invisible hand working behind the scenes.
At this point, the U.S. and the island nation were tearing into each other online, but neither government had made an official statement.
So it stayed in the realm of "civil disputes."
From a political standpoint, it was a brilliant move.
Chen Mo grinned.
He had long since walked away from the bonfire.
But the flames were still rising.