After tracing the trail for several dozen minutes, the intelligence team realized the author had hidden their tracks too well. Unless they left behind more clues, finding them anytime soon would be difficult.

Negotiations began. The author demanded a billion dollars, but Ashatmi immediately knocked the price down to fifty million, claiming he couldn’t verify the information and asking for more videos. At the same time, the intelligence team searched for information about the “lunar base” through multiple channels, trying to determine where it had really come from.

The intelligence team soon confirmed that the information had indeed come from that author. There was nothing about it online… Just kidding. A user had already uploaded a video to MyTube, and it had gone up shortly after Ashatmi tried to lower the price.

Wait, what? That author was actually planning to make this public? Had they lost their mind?

After watching the MyTube video, Ashatmi breathed a sigh of relief. At least it didn’t reveal the lunar base’s coordinates.

The author’s meaning was obvious. They didn’t accept Ashatmi’s lower offer and were now looking for another buyer.

The intelligence team tried to dox the person who’d uploaded the video. As expected, the MyTube account’s information was fake. All they found was a hijacked computer in a botnet.

Ashatmi lit a cigarette and brooded, his expression darkening. He’d been too quick to assume that the deal between the author and the country was a buyer’s market—that the author had no choice.

If another country bought the information, its value would drop dramatically.

“Sandana, I want to catch this author even more now. They’ve made me angry.”

Sandana, the director of the intelligence team, replied, “I’m sorry, Mr. Ashatmi. That person is highly skilled at covering their tracks online. Ordinary technical methods won’t be enough to find them. But from a psychological standpoint, since the author chose to negotiate with us first, they may be in Bharata. If you can get the Holy Water Sect to cooperate, we have a good chance of drawing them out.”

The Holy Water Sect was made up almost entirely of Brahmin priests.

Even without military power, the Brahmins still held the highest status. They had a mutually beneficial relationship with the rulers, as well as religious and cultural authority—and they really did have methods that went beyond scientific understanding.

“The Holy Water Sect, huh… I’ll ask them for help.” Ashatmi continued, “The author wants money? Tell them I can offer up to two hundred million, but I want exclusive rights to the information. They can’t sell it to anyone else.”

“Are you using the money as bait?”

“Heh. If they dare touch that money, the Holy Water Sect can help me find them.”

…

Xu Fang posted a screenshot of the transfer from Bharata in the group chat.

Bharata’s national bank had transferred a hundred million dollars to the account Xu Fang provided through a dedicated financial network. They’d also left a message: if Xu Fang provided the lunar base’s coordinates and proved they were genuine, they’d send another hundred million. The information couldn’t be sold to anyone else. Otherwise, Bharata would end the deal, withdraw all the funds, and pursue the matter to the end.

Even after they’d driven down the price, Xu Fang hadn’t expected them to actually pay a billion. A hundred million was closer to what he’d expected.

It was the amount that reminded Xu Fang of a bad memory.

“You’ve really outdone yourself. You got your hands on that much money this easily? They didn’t even make you sign a contract. They must be desperate. No, wait—what good is a contract to an author anyway?” Owen was amazed by how efficiently Xu Fang had raised the money. He couldn’t help admiring Xu Fang’s nerve.

“Heh. How about turning this money into gold?”

“No rush. I have other plans for it.”

“What a shame. This kind of trick might fool those Indians, but it wouldn’t work in America.”

“Why not?”

“Companies here in America—or rather, the companies led by America—have a special strategy for dealing with authors. If the risk is manageable, they try to maximize their gains. Otherwise, they wipe you out. If we approached an American company, they probably wouldn’t deal with us. They’d more likely join forces with the others to hunt us down.”

What if I sold the information to someone else? Xu Fang wondered, but didn’t ask. He knew what Owen was getting at.

After ending the conversation, Xu Fang looked at the balance in his account. He was about to transfer the money out when the blur in his Destruction Sight suddenly deepened.

Xu Fang stopped what he was doing.

“Trying to lure me out? This money feels a little too hot to handle.”

The money was bait. He didn’t know what would happen if he touched it, but it would definitely do more harm than good.

Xu Fang had planned to take the money and leave, but Ashatmi seemed determined to lure him out. So Xu Fang changed his plan. Since you want to see me so badly, I’ll be at your door in no time.

…

Things weren’t going the way Ashatmi had imagined. He’d thought the author would transfer the money out as soon as it arrived.

“The fish still hasn’t taken the bait?”

Ashatmi was a little disappointed. He figured the author must have become suspicious. He turned to his assistant and said, “Tell the bank to reverse our transfer if there’s still no movement after two hours.”

The assistant didn’t reply.

“Did you hear me?” Ashatmi turned around. The moment he saw the person behind him, his pupils contracted.

His assistant was slumped back in a chair, head tilted up. It was impossible to tell whether he was alive or dead.

A brown teddy bear sat on the assistant’s lap, its two little black-bean eyes fixed on Ashatmi without a hint of emotion.

Ashatmi stood up. The teddy bear lifted its head and fixed its gaze on him.

Was this thing alive?

“Hello, Minister of the Interior. Please don’t make any sudden moves. I’m here to have a friendly chat with you. Your bodyguards and assistant have all fallen asleep. There’s no need to worry about their lives.”

The teddy bear spoke in a voice like an AI.

Ashatmi stared at it, uncertain. “Who are you? An assassin?”

“I’m just an ordinary author. Since you’ve been trying so hard to find me, I came to you.”

“Author, what are you here for? How did you find me?” Outside of work, Ashatmi’s whereabouts were kept secret and changed constantly. Fewer than ten people knew where he was, and every one of them was a trusted subordinate.

“There’s something wrong with the money you sent me. Business should be conducted honestly. I want you to remove whatever underhanded measure you put in place.”

“What measure? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ashatmi quietly moved his hand toward his waist.

“Don’t play dumb. My patience is limited. If you won’t cooperate…”

Ashatmi quickly drew the pistol from his waist and pulled the trigger at the teddy bear. But before he could pull it all the way, the gun exploded with a bang. Shrapnel sliced into Ashatmi’s hand and face.

The man clutched his face and hand. Cold sweat mingled with blood as it ran down his cheek. He was sure some kind of “mysterious force” had just attacked his weapon.

He’d only ever seen that kind of “mysterious force” in priests.

“Do you really not care if your own men die?” the teddy bear asked playfully. “Oh, I forgot to tell you—the cameras above your head have been cut off. No one can see what’s happening in here.”

Once Ashatmi fully grasped his predicament, his expression changed in an instant. “I did tamper with the money. I had some doubts about what you could do. I don’t have those doubts anymore.”

“So, will you hand over the lunar base’s coordinates? Two hundred million dollars is no small sum.” Ashatmi had faced life-or-death crises more than once. He quickly regained his composure and wiped the blood from his wounds.

“Are you trying to bargain with me?”

“What else? If you want to kill me, go ahead. I guarantee you’ll pay for it!”

The teddy bear said, “Given your attitude, I’m not going to tell you the coordinates for now.”

“So the deal’s off?”

“I’ve come up with another idea,” the teddy bear said. “Lend me a hundred million for a month, at five percent interest. If we both keep our promises, we’ll have a foundation of trust. Next time, I’ll make a deal with you for the coordinates.”

“How can I trust you to pay me back? I don’t even know your name.”

“Minister, whether you trust me is up to you. If I cheat you, you’ll only lose a hundred million. But you only have one life.”

Ashatmi’s eyelid twitched. He sensed the “killing intent” and realized he couldn’t afford to stall any longer.

“If they lose my signal, the army will be here in two minutes. You won’t gain a thing.”

“Looks like you’ve never worked with an author before. You don’t understand authors at all. Why would an author ever let that kind of thing happen?”

“I’ve decided to trust you this once. I hope you’re honest. Breaking your word will have consequences.”

“It’s a pleasure doing business with you.”

It seemed that after Ashatmi agreed, whatever “thing” was attached to the teddy bear left. Ashatmi remained rigid, not daring to move, until his unconscious assistant woke up.

…

Xu Fang had given the other side a bit of a “scare,” and it had worked. The projection of the hundred million grew clearer, and they removed the measure that would have made him pay a price.

You couldn’t blame Ashatmi for giving in. Who wouldn’t be afraid of an existence that was almost “all-knowing” and could take their life at any moment?

He split the money into several hundred portions and fed them into the cryptocurrency market. After passing through several hands, the money soon disappeared into a much larger **.

Xu Fang was using virtual platforms to launder the money. He had no intention of trading crypto. Even though cryptocurrency would rise in the future, it wasn’t going to change much in the short term.

He planned to use the money to milk the criminal underworld for all it was worth.