Chapter 137: The Claw-Shaped Mark

Zhang Feng made a gesture, signaling us to stay hidden and move slowly. To avoid alerting the enemy, all our movements were deliberately slow and our voices barely above a whisper. Fortunately, we were in the forest, surrounded by numerous small animals whose rustling masked our presence. Besides, the opposing side appeared complacent, their attention far from their surroundings, seemingly just passing the time.

We cautiously approached the source of the crashing sounds and the nearby glimmers of light. Soon, a brightly lit camp came into view. Several small trucks were parked there, and during our approach, they had nearly finished unloading their cargo.

At that moment, two small loaders busily operated amid the camp, with people shouting commands. The camp was sizable, dotted with tents and piles of supplies. Figures moved back and forth, occasionally calling out loudly. The crashing sounds were close—upon closer inspection, it was clear they were using machinery to carve into the mountainside, drilling into the rock. Overall, this operation was far larger than I had imagined.

It seemed that the camp discovered by San Biangua had indeed relocated, and if his account was true, they had expanded their operations significantly. I asked him, and he confirmed the camp he saw was nowhere near as large as this one.

We were positioned on a high ground on the mountain, concealed behind several large boulders that shielded us. Half crouched, we observed the brightly lit camp below. I pulled out a military-grade binocular with infrared and night vision capabilities—a device impossible to obtain ordinarily. Scanning carefully, I found no sign of Li Ling.

Checking my watch, it was already after eight, nearing nine o’clock, yet the workers below showed no fatigue. Their activity was vibrant and relentless. Without knowledge of the anomaly here, one might have thought this was simply a construction site, devoid of any hint of mystery.

Further scrutiny revealed that everyone wore identical black work uniforms, each bearing a distinctive emblem on the chest. Adjusting the focus, I discerned the symbol was a claw-shaped mark—unusual and unfamiliar. It seemed less like a brand and more like a badge of identification.

Even more unsettling, some of the personnel carried firearms—automatic rifles, not the typical hunting shotguns one might expect for protection against wild animals in such remote mountain areas. If this were a standard construction crew, no one would be armed, much less with such weaponry.

Once the trucks finished unloading, they were urged to leave quickly, with an air of urgency. After all the trucks departed, commands were issued to the loaders to lift wooden crates and transport them toward the blasting site.

At this point, I considered whether to capture someone for questioning, but Zhang Feng suggested we get a closer look. I nodded in agreement. The mercenaries I had hired at great expense were proving their worth. I’d discussed fees with Guo Fan and Liu Dong; my rates were several times higher than market prices. According to Zhang Feng, even border mercenaries rarely commanded such sums—on the frontier, human life was always deemed cheap.

True to his skill, Zhang Feng crouched low and slipped away swiftly, soon vanishing from sight. Concerned, I kept him in view through the binoculars, but once he disappeared into the camp, it was impossible to track him.

We remained quietly observing, eating to replenish our strength. After a long while with no sign of Zhang Feng, I resumed scanning the camp, searching meticulously for any trace of Li Ling. Yet, no matter how closely I looked, even magnifying every corner, there was no sign of him.

Suddenly, raised voices echoed. Five or six armed men rushed off in the direction of the blasting, disappearing quickly from sight.

The camp’s security was far from stringent—somewhat lax, even. Perhaps the dense mountain forest lulled them into a false sense of safety, making them unlikely to anticipate a stealth approach.

After finishing our meal and resting for about an hour, Zhang Feng still hadn’t returned. I scanned the area anxiously, but he was nowhere to be found. Worry crept in. Though our relationship was strictly contractual, I couldn’t help but feel concern—a cold-blooded detachment was beyond me.

Just then, Guo Fan crept over, binoculars in hand, and whispered to me, “I’ve been watching. The atmosphere here is tense—everyone seems on edge, as if something major is about to happen or some operation is underway. Their focus is entirely on the mountain blasting site.”

Sensing my unease, Guo Fan offered quietly, “Want me to go check it out?”

Before I could answer, faint footsteps approached. Though subtle, I heard them clearly, and the others nearby noticed as well. The intruder made no effort to stay silent. We all raised our weapons simultaneously. The figure emerged—it was Zhang Feng.

Relieved, I asked hurriedly, “Why have you been gone so long? What’s the situation inside?”

He exhaled heavily, clearly exhausted. After a brief pause, he said, “Things are more complicated than I expected.”

Zhang Feng then began to describe the camp’s true nature: they were indeed conducting a major operation. Initially, he had noticed their lax defenses, but as he moved quickly through the camp under cover of darkness, he managed to conceal his presence effectively.