Chapter 305: Plan (Seek Support)

By the time Qin Yun hung up the phone, over half an hour had passed—unthinkable for a leader burdened with countless duties.

Yet Guo Feiyan showed no sign of surprise; the kidnapping incident had drawn high-level attention, and their analysis concluded that although it appeared to be a simple armed robbery for ransom, the bus targeted happened to carry Chinese citizens.

But some things in this world may involve coincidence; others simply cannot be coincidental.

Behind this, there are likely forces hostile to our country.

“Proceed with extreme caution. Do not act rashly. Your safety comes first.”

Guo Feiyan warned him, though he himself found it hard to understand why such a critical task was entrusted to a civilian.

Though Qin Yun’s capabilities far surpassed those of even special forces soldiers, a civilian is still a civilian—that’s a matter of principle.

But since the higher-ups had already made their decision, Guo Feiyan naturally said nothing more.

“Relax, Ambassador Guo. I’m not ready to die yet.”

Guo Feiyan smiled: “Shall I send a few armed police officers to assist you?”

Qin Yun waved off the offer; those officers were assigned to protect the embassy—he couldn’t possibly use them for this. Besides, it wasn’t that he looked down on them, but under current circumstances, any operation had to be covert, since the Kenyan police were officially handling the case.

Any overt interference would trigger a diplomatic incident.

“Alright, I’ll take you to the garage.”

Soon, Qin Yun drove away in a plain Toyota Corolla.

Watching the car depart, Guo Feiyan’s aide looked uneasy: “This whole thing feels almost farcical.”

Guo Feiyan shook her head: “You don’t understand. The higher-ups have already analyzed Qin Yun. His abilities are beyond ordinary people. This mission isn’t about rescuing hostages—it’s about having Qin Yun investigate something. The real key lies with Kenya right now. Connect me to Ruto’s line.”

“Understood.”

The car exited the embassy’s rear gate, turned onto the main road, and Qin Yun followed the navigation toward Garissa.

The navigation showed that from his current location, the nearest gas station near Bour-Algi in Garissa was 367 kilometers away, with an estimated arrival time of five hours.

This vehicle had been specially modified; a hollowed-out compartment concealed several modern weapons for Qin Yun’s emergency use.

When he saw them, he was stunned.

Damn it, they’re really treating me like special forces—I’m just an ordinary civilian. What have I done to deserve this?

But then he remembered he was in Kenya, this godforsaken corner of Africa, and he relaxed.

Kenya is not like Tanzania; Tanzania’s politics are stable, but Kenya’s stability and chaos are evenly divided across its territory. Garissa, in particular, lies in one of the unstable regions—he verified that violent robberies occur there frequently.

Even though Kenyan police have cracked down hard, murders are nearly nonexistent, but robberies are still rampant enough to give anyone nightmares.

The car soon joined the Sika Highway, rumored to have been built with Chinese aid—Kenya’s only highway that even vaguely resembled a real one, though it was merely a four-lane dual carriageway, no better than China’s ring roads, even worse in places.

After analysis by the leader and Ambassador Guo, Qin Yun understood this kidnapping wasn’t merely about ransom. The kidnappers might be real criminals demanding real money, but the masterminds behind them had motives far beyond that—possibly to strike at China, exact revenge, sow discord between Kenya and China, or damage Sino-Kenyan friendship.

There could be many reasons: Kenya is pro-China, its military and government both reliable allies who can stand up to the West when needed. This is evident from China’s infrastructure everywhere, and the locals are exceptionally friendly toward Chinese people.

Over the years, very few Chinese citizens in Kenya had ever been attacked or kidnapped.

Now this incident isn’t just an attack on China—it’s also harming Kenya. So there was no need to explain further; Kenyan police had already mobilized fully.

After exiting the highway onto National Road A3, Qin Yun drove for over half an hour and pulled over at a gas station.

He bought some food, refueled, then sat in the car, thinking about what to do next.

First: Who was the owner of the phone that posted the comment, “Help, Garissa, Bour-Algi, help”? Was it the kidnapper or the hostage?

If he misjudged this, any further planning would be pointless.

If it was the kidnapper, the Chinese message seemed odd—as if deliberately meant to attract Qin Yun’s attention. But if it were the kidnapper, leaving just one message was too careless; after all, the livestream’s comment section was tiny, and any comment would be buried in under a second.

There was no guarantee he’d even see it.

If it was the hostage, why was the message so careless? If they had time to open TikTok, why not call the police—or at least send a location? Yet all available information showed no such attempt.

After much thought, Qin Yun concluded there was only one possibility: the phone belonged to the kidnapper, but the message was sent by the hostage. As for how exactly…

Qin Yun checked his TikTok backend followers—the account that posted the comment was clearly listed; this person was his follower.

So, could it be that the kidnapper was his fan, happened to be watching his livestream, and—due to some accident—left the phone unattended while stepping away, allowing the hostage to seize the chance and post a comment?

Only this scenario seemed highly plausible to him.

“Fan… fan…”

Qin Yun pondered, and a thought slowly formed in his mind.

He pulled out his phone, ready to call Ambassador Guo, when suddenly a large truck pulled up at the rest stop.

Through the rearview mirror, he saw two giraffes loaded in the truck, and on the front windshield was a permit clearly marked “Bour-Algi.” His heart stirred—he tucked away his phone, opened the door, and stepped out.

Pretending to be curious, he approached the truck.

The driver and another man jumped down, glanced at Qin Yun, paused in surprise, then nodded warmly: “Hello!”

Their awkward Mandarin clearly revealed their friendliness toward Chinese people.

Kenya’s official languages are Swahili and English, with English even more widespread than in Tanzania, yet most ordinary citizens still couldn’t speak English.

He tried responding in English: “Hello. Where are these giraffes being transported?”

As he spoke, he pulled a pack of Zhonghua cigarettes from his pocket and offered two.

The two men clearly recognized Chinese cigarettes—their eyes lit up, and they took them without hesitation. One smiled in English: “We’re taking them to the giraffe conservation area near Bour-Algi. Chinese friend, what’s your name? I’m Jafari, this is Omar. Are you in Kenya for work or tourism?”

Qin Yun chuckled: “I’m a tourist. Just call me Qin. I’m driving around for fun. A friend of mine works at a photovoltaic plant in Garissa—I’m planning to visit him.”

“Photovoltaic plant?” Jafari lit his cigarette. “You mean the Garissa solar power station?”

“Yes, yes! That’s the one.” Qin nodded.

“I know that place. I have friends who work there. I heard the pay is excellent.” Jafari looked envious.

“Haha, really? My friend’s Kenyan—her name is Nima. Have you heard of her?”

Neither had.

After finishing the cigarette, the conversation wound down. Watching the two enter the convenience store, Qin Yun returned to his car.

Then he called Ambassador Guo.

“Hello, Ambassador Guo, I need your help.”

“Go ahead.”

“I need a small software app to submit data. It must have the following functions…”