The heavy red telephone receiver felt cold and solid in Lin Mo’s hand.
Through the encrypted military line, the low hiss of secure scramble frequencies hummed in the background.
“Xiao Lin,” Old General Qin’s voice came through, heavy with the gravel of fifty years on border battlefields. “Forgive an old soldier for intruding on your evening. But our northern border has caught fire. I am calling from the underground command post outside Yanjing.”
Lin Mo leaned against his dark mahogany desk, looking out the study window.
Down in the courtyard, autumn twilight settled softly over the glowing white jade tiles. Little Guo’er was laughing as she helped Grandma Chen bundle dried sweet potato skins into paper sacks.
“General Qin, you don’t need to apologize,” Lin Mo said calmly. “If you are calling on the red line, something serious has happened. Speak freely.”
“Beside me is my lifelong brother-in-arms,” General Qin continued, his voice tight with raw emotion. “Commander Long Zhan, the supreme chief of the Special Ninth Bureau. We bled together in the southern border swamps thirty years ago. He is a man who never asked for a favor in his life. But tonight, he needs to speak to you directly.”
