The commander of the Night Watchers, a tall man whose face was a mask of cold professionalism, leveled his weapon. The silenced barrel pointed directly at Lei's chest.
"Step away from the console, boy," the commander commanded, his voice muffled but clear. "The Watcher Program is the only thing keeping order. Do not interrupt the signal."
Lei didn't move. He watched the screen: UPLOAD PROGRESS: 42%. The bar moved agonizingly slow. He could feel the Ghost ascending the tower structure, drawn by the agent's earlier shout. Time was collapsing.
"This program killed Mei," Lei spat, holding his hands up slowly. "It didn't bring order. It brought a leash."
As the commander took one step closer, Lei lunged not at the man, but at the nearest server rack. He slammed his body against the metal housing, instantly creating a deafening GONG in the confined, acoustically hard room.
The sound was devastating. The commander, trained to operate in silence, instinctively flinched, his senses momentarily overloaded. That fraction of a second was all Lei needed.
Lei pulled the Sonic Pulse Dampener and fired it not at the commander, but at the audio sensor array embedded in the doorframe. The high-frequency spike obliterated the internal circuitry, causing a cascade of high-pitched whines and static feedback that echoed violently in the small room.
The commander roared, dropping his weapon and clamping his hands over his ears, his training momentarily useless against the sensory assault.
Lei didn't stop. He vaulted the console, driving his shoulder into the commander's midsection. The tactical vest was heavy, but the impact sent the man crashing backward into the wall. Lei grabbed the abandoned submachine gun, disabled the safety, and threw it into the far corner of the room. He couldn't kill, but he could disarm.
He turned back to the console. UPLOAD PROGRESS: 85%.
The commander recovered quickly, a practiced killer rising with a knife in hand. He moved silently, a true master of the Quiet Hours, closing in on Lei's back.
Lei heard nothing, but the shadows shifted on the polished floor. He spun, intercepting the knife attack with the butt of the dampener, knocking the blade aside. He followed up with a desperate, close-range blast of the acoustic spike, aiming it at the commander's face.
The commander screamed, a high, strained sound muffled by the door damage, and fell to his knees, clutching his eyes, temporarily blinded by the sensory overload.
UPLOAD PROGRESS: 99%.
Lei jammed his finger down on the CONFIRM BROADCAST button.
The second the bar hit 100%, the Pearl Tower itself became a tuning fork. A colossal, silent THUMM vibrated through the structure, a subsonic pulse that resonated not in the air, but in the very bones of the building. This was the modified Master Frequency launching across the city, overriding the original command signal.
Lei rushed to the broadcast room window and looked out over Guangzhou.
Down below, the chaos stopped. The Ghosts, mid-glide, mid-climb, mid-hunt, simply ceased. Their slick, obsidian forms—including the one climbing the tower toward him—tumbled or slumped into place, inert. Their sensory heads no longer tilted, no longer searched. They were deaf, blind, and inanimate. The silence that followed was not the tense, acoustic silence of the Quiet Hours, but a deep, profound, absolute absence of threat.
The Jìngwù were silenced. Lei had won.
Exhausted, Lei leaned back against the console, the victory feeling hollow. He looked back at the screen, which was now filled with the residual data of the upload. He noticed a small, looping file that had been transferred alongside the core programming: Mei's final research log, designated LZ09/Finalizing Protocol.
Lei opened the file. It wasn't a text document, but a single, pristine audio file. He hesitantly played it, holding the phone close, the sound barely audible.
It wasn't the Echo. It was Mei's voice, clear and heartbreaking.
"Lei, if you're hearing this, the upload worked. The government needed an initial 'seed'—a unique, powerful, biological acoustic signature that the Ghosts could imprint on and use as their initial home frequency. They called it the Leda Signature. They tried to capture it, but they couldn't secure the right one… not without a perfect host."
Lei's breath hitched.
"The Echo you found? That wasn't a mistake. It was the residual trace. I didn't just find the Key of Leda, Lei. I realized I was the only way to generate it without alerting the command structure. I gave them what they needed... to save everyone. I knew the moment the Watcher Program absorbed my unique frequency, it would be the key to destroying it. I am the Master Frequency's counter-signal."
The phone went silent. Mei hadn't been captured; she had walked into the government's acoustic capture chamber and willingly allowed her life energy, her unique bio-signature—the only way to perfectly encrypt the Master Frequency—to be consumed by the program she intended to destroy. LZ09 was not a code, but her designated laboratory subject number.
The romantic devotion that fueled his entire journey was answered with the ultimate, tragic sacrifice.
Lei stared out the window, tears finally streaming down his face, not from sound or fear, but from the realization of his loss.
A low, gentle light began to spill over the horizon, painting the tops of the glass towers gold. The Quiet Hours were over. The city was safe.
But just as the first sirens of the day began to sound—regular police and emergency services, now safe to operate—Lei's console beeped one last time.
The defeated commander, slowly struggling to his feet, spoke through the residual static in the room, his voice raw with fury.
"You saved the city, boy. But you have destroyed the state's most valuable asset. Now the whole world knows you are the Key Master."
Sirens wailed below. The Night Watchers hadn't vanished. They had just changed their target. Lei was alone, heartbroken, and now the most hunted man on Earth.