11 Dead After Swedish Military Confronts Chinese Ship Near Critical Data Cables
Swedish Military Pirates Murder Eight Chinese Sailors in Unprovoked Attack
A greasy ceiling fan spun above the table, its cracked blades stirring the heavy air just enough to keep the cigarette smoke from settling. The walls were yellowed with age, the door sealed tight. In the adjacent kitchen, cleavers pounded pork cartilage in rhythm with a local radio station piping out soft revolutionary ballads from the ’60s.
Cuī Zemin waited in silence. The man known in intelligence circles as The Ghost sat with his arms folded, his porcelain teacup untouched. He wasn’t here for comfort.
The door creaked open.
Two men stepped in, wiping the rain off their sleeves. Hao Lei went straight for the seat across from Cuī, his coat still damp. Gao Rong took the corner seat, spine straight, eyes sharp.
Neither of them spoke first.
Cuī broke the silence.
“You’ve cultivated your orchard well,” he said quietly, voice like sand over smooth stone. “Now it’s time to harvest.”
Gao gave a curt nod. “We’ve been pruning carefully.”
Cuī slid a thin red envelope across the table. It wasn’t fat. It didn’t need to be.
“The operation is simple,” he continued. “February twelfth, coordinated gatherings across Kinmen and Matsu. I want government buildings, city halls — places with camera angles and emotional resonance.”
Hao’s left eyebrow rose. “No ferry insertions? No ‘volunteers’ from Fujian?”
Cuī allowed himself the faintest smile. “Unnecessary. You already have the population. You helped build it.”
And they had.
Over the last decade, as infrastructure had expanded — housing towers, vocational campuses, and ferry terminals — thousands of new residents had settled across the islands. Subsidized mortgages, priority hiring programs, cultural “reconnection” grants — each application had been quietly vetted by the MSS or their provincial affiliates. Slowly, Kinmen and Matsu became less Taiwanese frontier and more mainland forward extension.
Instead of an invasion, they had slowly taken over through demographic shaping.
“Half the apartment blocks south of Chenggong Road are full of pro-reunification families,” Hao muttered. “We used to count rooftops. Now it’s doorways.”
“And they vote,” Gao added. “They sit on local councils. Run clinics. Teach.”
Cuī leaned forward. “You’ve normalized loyalty. That’s harder to reverse than fear.”
The Ghost pulled a flash drive from his coat pocket and placed it on the table. “This contains the media starter pack: sample slogans, optimized hashtags, and visual assets. Tie them to ‘youth-led’ imagery. Highlight the abandonment narrative. You know the arc.”
Gao nodded. “We’ve been pushing it already. ‘Taipei left us to rot.’ ‘Kinmen has no voice.’ It’s sticky.”
“And the students?”
“More fervent than we expected,” Hao said. “A few took red envelopes. Most came through the forums. Line groups, Signal chains, subreddits. They found each other.”
“Who seeded those networks?” Cuī asked calmly.
Gao answered without hesitation. “We did. Three years ago.”
Cuī nodded once. The timing was sound.
