Chapter 8: The Opponent's Conspiracy 8.3 Attack

The night sky after the storm glowed a rust-like crimson, as if a dome scorched by raging flames. Zhao Tianye stood before the panoramic glass curtain wall on the top floor of Zhao Tower, his fingertips grazing the silver USB drive. The metallic surface reflected his distorted smirk. When the data progress bar on the screen finally hit 100%, he gulped down a mouthful of whiskey. The burning sensation in his throat thrilled him to the core: "Lin Mo, this time you'll be begging me to collect your corpse."

At 3 AM, the alarms in Xinghai Group's underground lab shattered the silence.

"Mr. Lin! Someone remotely activated the core database!" Technical Director Zhou Yang's roar blasted through the communicator. The surveillance screen flashed with scarlet warning boxes. "They're downloading all experimental logs—our firewalls have three breaches!"

Lin Mo shoved the keyboard aside, his gaze sweeping across the empty server room on the monitor. Under the cold white lights, a red indicator blinked rhythmically between the server racks—a mocking, blood-red cyclops left behind by Chen Feng three days prior under the guise of "equipment maintenance."

"Initiate 'Mirror Sandbox.'" He pressed the comms key, his voice cold as a tempered blade. "Let Zhao Tianye savor his spoils."

In Zhao Group's headquarters, Zhao Tianye's cackles echoed through his office.

On the giant screen, Xinghai's core energy tech data cascaded like a waterfall: graphene synthesis parameters, superconducting battery blueprints, even transcripts of the R&D team's heated arguments—each stamped with a glaring "TOP SECRET" mark.

"Release the press statement!" He bit down on his cigar, smoke veiling the malice in his eyes. "Headline: 'Xinghai Energy Tech Fabrication: Lin Mo Suspected of Fraudulent IPO!'"

The moment his assistant trembling clicked "Send," the screen abruptly went black.

A crimson countdown materialized: 00:05:00.

"Mr. Zhao! We're being counter-hacked!" The technician's shriek mingled with frantic keyboard clatter, but all documents encrypted into gibberish before their eyes. As the countdown hit zero, Zhao Group's homepage was replaced by a high-definition video—

Recorded at 2:17 AM in Xinghai's underground garage, the footage showed Chen Feng handing a USB drive to a hooded man before ducking into a fire exit. He retrieved another USB drive from a ventilation duct vent and plugged it into a computer. The camera zoomed in on his smirk: "Mr. Zhao, your virus is planted."

Zhao Tianye's cigar dropped to the carpet, flames licking the silk rug into a charred hole.

At Xinghai's press conference, Lin Mo stood under the spotlight, the giant screen behind him streaming irrefutable proof of Zhao's theft.

"Three hours ago, the 'core tech' Mr. Zhao Tianye acquired was meticulously fake data." He tapped the remote, switching the projection to a live feed from the graphene lab—hundreds of engineers testing new batteries, their 312% charge efficiency ratio glowing in blinding green. The audience gasped. "Our true upgraded tech was internationally patented ten minutes ago."

The livestream's comment section erupted, trending hashtags dominating social media:

#ZhaoTianyeBackfired

#XinghaiTechNuclearUpgrade

#CorporateSpyArrested

In the backstage surveillance room, Chen Feng was pinned against the wall by guards. "You knew the USB was fake! Why did you let me steal it?!" he roared, veins bulging.

"How else would Zhao Tianye swallow the real poison?" Lin Mo retrieved the second USB drive from Chen's jacket and plugged it in. The screen lit up with Zhao Group's decade-long illegal transactions—money laundering, contract killings, every transfer stained with blood.

By 6 AM, police sirens tore through the streets.

Zhao Tower was encircled by squad cars, blue-and-red lights fracturing the glass facade into jagged shards. Zhao Tianye stood in his ravaged office, clutching his last card—three signed supply chain termination orders. One click, and Xinghai's production lines would crumble.

His phone buzzed. A text from Lin Mo:

"Check the safe to your right."

Zhao Tianye's pupils dilated. The password log showed it was last opened four hours prior. The empty safe held only a faded photo: sixteen-year-old Lin Mo hauling cement on a construction site, his dusty uniform soaked in sweat, a chalk-written slogan on the wall behind him: "My Destiny, Not Heaven's." On the back, fresh blood inked:

"You stole from me. I took back double."

Dawn pierced the clouds. Zhao Tianye collapsed onto the leather sofa. A sudden sting in his palm—the termination order had been swapped with a copy of Xinghai's patent, its edge etched with a microscopic number: his offshore account password.

In the shadows of the underground garage, Lin Mo leaned against a Maybach, coldly watching Zhao Tianye being hauled into a police car.

"Sir, Chen Feng confessed," his assistant said, handing him a tablet displaying Zhao's global money-laundering network. "He mentioned a group called 'Black Hive' that handles Zhao's dirty work."

"Hold onto this." Lin Mo crushed his cigarette, the falling ember sparking a fleeting glow. "The real endgame begins in international court."

Key Notes:

Retained dramatic tension and vivid imagery (e.g., "blood-red cyclops," "tempered blade").Localized tech terms like "Mirror Sandbox" while preserving cultural context (e.g., "我命由我不由天" translated as "My Destiny, Not Heaven's" with visual grit).Emphasized character contrasts: Zhao's mania vs. Lin's calculated ruthlessness.Maintained formatting (scene breaks, hashtags) for readability.