The Eldest Miss’s orders were worth their weight in gold. Any other servant would have stripped without hesitation, not daring to utter a single word. But Duo Lin was no ordinary servant. She had a rebellious streak running through her bones, yet she knew who her mistress was. He Lilin had issued her command: today, Duo Lin would either undress herself or have her clothes torn off by someone else.
Duo Lin certainly had no intention of undressing willingly, but a struggle would only damage the fragile bonds between female workers and create an ugly scene. Why bother?
Even though reluctance was written across Duo Lin’s face, after a moment of silence, she still shrugged off her shirt. She draped it over her arm, keeping her shoulders squared defiantly, her back ramrod straight, her gaze fixed straight ahead.
Beneath the shirt was a flesh-toned bra. The Sern people’s skin was naturally pale and delicate, making the bra stand out starkly. Even more conspicuous were the marks on her body—two or three bruises on her wrists, extending up to her elbows, covered in bluish circular spots with needle marks in the centers. Some still showed traces of blood.
The white skin set off the red imprints like stains on fresh snow. In He Lilin’s eyes, they were an eyesore, the snowy glare painful but the red marks even more piercing. Her eyelids squeezed shut for an instant, her pupils contracting sharply from their dilated state.
She finally understood why Duo Lin had stopped rolling up her sleeves while working lately. She changed shirts more extravagantly than the Eldest Miss herself—wetting one, swapping it out, then hanging the wet one to dry. Her sleeves could get wet, but they could never be rolled up.
Her own arms looked so hideous, yet Duo Lin stood tall without a trace of shame. She didn’t glance at her toes, nor sneak peeks at her injuries, nor meet He Lilin’s eyes. Her silence said it all: Since you wanted to see, look your fill. But don’t complain if it offends your refined tastes and harms your delicate eyes.
He Lilin had still harbored a shred of conscience, ready to ask with concern, “So many needle marks—does it hurt?”
But seeing Duo Lin like this, even if the pain pierced to the bone, she hadn’t whimpered once, nor sought help from her mistress. Did Duo Lin think she was dead? Even a corpse would be better—no need to serve it.
Why wouldn’t it hurt her to death!?
He Lilin’s gaze dropped, disgust filling her face. Her eyes narrowed into thin slits, rejection radiating from her. “What are you standing there for like a statue? Put your clothes on and get out.”
Duo Lin had maintained her cold indifference before, scorning any sympathy. But at those words, a crack appeared in her composure. Her teeth ground together, nearly drawing blood. The next second, she flung her shirt back on, buttoning it as she bolted for the door.
This time, she didn’t need the Eldest Miss to hurry her along. She rolled out with gratifying speed.
With that eyesore gone, He Lilin settled back into the warm, gentle breeze. But she couldn’t focus on the study aid in her hands anymore. Her eyes lingered on the pages while her thoughts drifted downstairs.
That woman named Lan Zhijing really knew how to wield her influence!
She could punish or even kill anyone close to He Lilin on a whim.
He Lilin needed to find a way to force this so-called “loyal retainer” Housekeeper Lan into early retirement.
…
Wen Du was driven home by the He Family’s dedicated chauffeur. Seated in the back, she watched the buildings and shops slide past on both sides. White walls interspersed with red bricks, flat roofs dotted with spires, all painting a multicolored panorama across the car window. Various lines retreated slowly, then new ones approached languidly.
Wen Du turned her gaze slightly, scanning the roadside dry cleaners, bakeries, wine cellars, and boutiques. In the center of Maple Acer Street, the buildings opened up, making space for the sign at the entrance of “Sern Second Elementary.”
In Star Yuan Year 320, a research bulletin from the Memorial Research Room in Bailunting’s capital Bahe exposed the “ugly” nature of the Sern people.
The study compared nucleotide sequences across the confederation’s populace, analyzing gene loci against a criminal database. In DNA segments with genetic effects, they identified the D4 gene, which was shorter in Sern people than in Homer people.
Rui’er Faction leader Luo Jiao presented the genetic report to the entire confederation in her angelic voice: This proved that Sern people were innately selfish and indifferent. Combined with their arrogant culture, insular environment, and shrewd traditions, these traits were amplified, creating a race of extreme egotists and radicals.
Thus, this report revealing the ugly race—concisely dubbed the “Ugliness Report” in ten succinct pages—demoted Sern people to second-class citizens below the first-class Homer people. Their schools were segregated accordingly, with Sern-exclusive ones prefixed by “Sern” to prevent Homer children from wandering in by mistake and straying onto the wrong path in life.
Passing “Sern Second Elementary” took only five seconds, but it was enough for Wen Du to recall the Ugliness Report. She had printed it out long ago and pored over it hundreds of times. Now it was etched in her mind, ready to resurface at a thought.
She snapped back to reality as the car pulled up to her home on Wutong Street—a row of villas standing primly behind private gardens. The driver got out quietly, smiling as he watched Teacher Wen head inside.
Wen Du entered the foyer and caught the fresh scent of vegetables wafting from the kitchen, filling the house. The space felt especially cozy. She hung her bag and coat on the full-length rack and headed to the kitchen.
Yue Mu heard the footsteps and turned with her usual smile. “Ah Du, there’s lemon tart on the table if you want some.”
“It’s fine. I want to watch you cook.”
The sauce of onions, lantern peppers, and parsley was prepped. Yue Mu chopped steadily, slicing eggplant, zucchini, and tomatoes into rounds that she arranged in neat circles on the sauce, like a hotel display dish, vibrant and uniform.
Yue Mu sprinkled sea salt evenly. “Did you see Duo Lin today?”
“She must have been thinking of me—she came to the front hall on her own. But she broke the rules and got called away by Lan Zhijing. She still hadn’t returned when I left.”
“That’s been a while.” Yue Mu set down the olive oil. “The injuries on her are bad enough already. Letting Lan Zhijing keep tormenting her isn’t sustainable!”
Wen Du fetched parchment paper from the cabinet and handed it over, then leaned against the doorframe, her lashes lowering thoughtfully.
Yue Mu glanced sideways, guessing her thoughts. “You want to get her out?”
“I’m considering it. He Lilin has this inexplicable fixation on her—she won’t let her quit. Sending her away might be the best option.”
“That makes sense.” Yue Mu slid the cast-iron pan into the oven and wiped her hands on her apron. “After all, she’s the only one who knows your real identity right now.”
“Only” wasn’t quite accurate—Yue Mu knew Wen Du’s true identity too—but Wen Du understood what she meant. Keeping Duo Lin in North County City put them both at risk. Better to send her away and save two lives at once.
When the ratatouille emerged from the oven, the aroma intensified. On the table sat fish soup and frozen pies, all served in white porcelain dishes.
Yue Mu removed her apron. It being the weekend sparked a whim. “Want some white grape? That Riesling’s been sitting for a while.”
“No thanks, Sister Mu. I’m not fit to touch alcohol these days.”
Yue Mu sat down, took a few bites of the meat pie, sipped her wine twice, then steeled herself with liquid courage to broach the weighty matter on her mind.
“Zi Qin and Zi Cen escaped today. They made it to the station on their own, and our people hid them.”
Wen Du set down her chopsticks. “And then?”
“Station Chief Xia saw the environment had loosened up lately, with a truck heading out anyway, so she arranged for them to cross the border.”
“Why wasn’t I consulted?”
Yue Mu had known this would go south. She kept her composure, swallowing a slice of zucchini. “Didn’t Ling Tuofu just get promoted? The Special Action Department lacks an operations commander right now, and inspections are lax. This was the lowest-risk time to get them out.”
Wen Du set down her bowl and chopsticks entirely, speechless for a moment as she glared at the ratatouille. Her appetite vanished. Instead, she imagined slamming the cast-iron pan over Xia Lie’s head and asking: Is this stew hotter than your brain?
“Does Xia Lie even know the Special Action Department’s new commander starts today?”
…
In the western suburbs of North County City’s Xili District, a truck laden with produce rumbled along a rural road. The driver’s phone lit up. He glanced at it sidelong, then peered closely. Once confirmed, his face drained of color.
Soon, the truck pulled over. The driver jumped out and flung open the cargo door. The containers were packed tightly, but a gap in the center allowed two heads to poke out—girls around seventeen or eighteen, already huddled in fear. Now, knowing something was wrong, terror filled their faces.
“The border station shut down suddenly. There’s a patrol checkpoint ahead—run!”
Under the darkening sky, twilight gathered as endless wild grass stretched out. The two girls clasped hands and slipped into the countryside, crouching low as they dashed toward the nearest town, not daring to pause.
Following the route they’d been given, they reached a guesthouse near sunset. They avoided the front door, slipping through the duck pens instead and knocking on the metal door connecting to the main building.
Innkeeper Tai Mo opened the door to see two young women. He frowned slightly, peering around vigilantly to ensure no one was tailing them before cautiously waving them inside.
In North County’s Xili Town, stone-brick houses often climbed with ivy on one wall. Beside them bloomed fresh flowers and vegetables, or hung handmade crafts—wooden puppets woven from twigs and grass, or post-impressionist scrawls lending a fresh charm even to rough walls.
Tai Mo’s guesthouse nestled among these florid dwellings. As the sun dipped west and evening clouds painted the sky, his figure swayed in the twilight glow. He prepared to take down the sign and close for the night.
But today, from the wide road at the town’s entrance, vehicles approached from the fiery horizon—a sedan and two SUVs—that pulled up right in front of the guesthouse. Seeing the quiet business, they seemed intent on drumming up trade before nightfall.
Tai Mo spotted the vehicles from afar and tensed up immediately. He ducked behind the counter, craning his neck in readiness. Moments later, a woman entered—only one woman.
Her attire was distinctive, nothing like the typical tourists here. No bright colors or frills adorned her. A light gray shirt was tucked into work pants, the cuffs secured into thick-soled boots, pulling her figure taut and upright—casual yet impeccably precise. Her steps fell silently, exuding unerring order.
Tai Mo set down his copper pot at once, beaming warmly. “Hello, miss. Looking to stay? Or maybe something to eat? Check out our signature drinks.”
He flipped open the wooden menu stand for her perusal.
The woman removed her leather gloves and leaned lightly against the counter. She scanned the room—from the dartboard opposite, to the fabric paintings by the dining tables, to the potted cactus on the wall cabinet—before her gaze finally settled on Tai Mo’s face, unmoving.
“Hello. I’m here to find someone.”
