Pity? Does she deserve it?
After the sudden turn of events, everyone remained in shock. But relying on their professional instincts and the thug’s furious roar just before the attack, they vaguely pieced together the sequence of events. Then, drawing on years of occupational discipline, they sat properly in their seats, obediently following the leadership’s commands.
Ji Tingxi’s professionalism was even more impeccable. The moment the person died, she immediately ordered her subordinates to remove the body, planning to clean up the stains after the meeting adjourned.
Of course, the one with the deepest professionalism was He De. As the target of the assassination attempt, he hadn’t dodged at any point. His closest brush with movement had been standing up to calm the crowd’s nerves.
“My apologies, everyone. I didn’t mean to alarm you. This flower shop owner was one of our prime suspects, and now her suspicions have been confirmed—she’s been dealt with. The area outside is completely secure now. You can all leave with peace of mind and get a good rest at home tonight!”
Though He De’s words carried reassurance, they rang with unyielding authority, leaving no room for questions from those present. Besides, this wasn’t the time for doubts anyway.
The elites in the room chose wisdom over confrontation and refrained from challenging the leader’s statement. Yet they hesitated over the bouquets now in their hands—these flowers had been delivered by a rebel, sent by rebels. Did they really need to take them home?
He De noticed their reluctance and added, “The bouquets are fine. They’ve been checked by the General Affairs Office, so feel free to take them. The circumstances have changed, but the original intent remains the same.”
Even with someone firmly in control, steadying the atmosphere, the room reeked of blood. Mingled with the floral scent, it formed a cloying, nauseating sweetness—like flowers carved from blood blooming everywhere, or petals bleeding rivers that swirled around the group.
The eerie sensation urged them to leave. With the leader’s permission, the attendees filed out of the conference room one by one. Some hurried away, while others paused to bid He De farewell before departing.
Ji Tingxi stayed behind to handle the scene, watching each participant leave.
Wen Du rose from the conference table and approached the cart. Eight bouquets remained, all similar in size, but she lowered her gaze to select the lightest in color: jasmine paired with white roses. The jasmine’s green leaves were uncut, framing the roses in a pure, pristine elegance.
She held the flowers in one hand and her notebook in the other as she walked out of the conference room.
Along the way, her foot brushed a corner of the bloodstain, but it was drying on the carpet, leaving her clean leather shoe unstained.
Ji Tingxi’s gaze followed her steps, as if checking whether the white shoe had been dirtied. As they were about to pass each other, Ji Tingxi suddenly lifted her eyes to meet Wen Du’s, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Aren’t you sad?”
Wen Du stopped and turned her eyes to hold Ji Tingxi’s gaze once more.
“Why would I be sad?”
Her expression was utterly normal. Even at arm’s length, nothing seemed amiss about her. In that moment, she was just an ordinary attendee, leaving normally after the meeting.
Yet conversely, in that moment, Wen Du caught a flicker of sadness in the other woman’s eyes—a pity that transcended their divided loyalties, a compassion for life itself.
Pity? Does she deserve it?
Wen Du glanced around the blood-spattered room.
“Rebels get punished, and the community returns to peace. That’s cause for celebration. It’ll just be more work for Director Ji to clean up afterward.”
As her eyes swept the room, she met He De’s gaze and nodded politely in silent thanks for protecting everyone’s safety.
…
At nine o’clock that evening, the streetlights glowed thick and bright. A shadow trailed behind her on the street, merging and separating with the silhouettes of lamps and trees.
Wen Du clutched her bouquet as she walked her usual route home. But after crossing Taina Bridge, she bypassed Lilac Street and headed straight for Wutong Street—the flower shop on Lilac Street was gone, no reason to pass by anymore.
It was a crisp May night. Even without a flower shop nearby, the fresh scents of roadside plants and planters lingered. The streets were spotlessly clean; the loss of one shop wouldn’t dim their luster.
After two days and nights of confinement, her feet finally touched solid outdoor ground, firm and steady. Yet Wen Du’s steps grew unsteady, as if her legs had been amputated and replaced with prostheses—enough to hold her up, but not to carry her forward smoothly.
The lights shone brightly on her face, but they stung her eyes. She blinked against the glare, staring straight ahead without taking in the surroundings, trudging mechanically toward her destination.
Things had changed at both the flower shop and the Guard Institute, but home remained peaceful as ever. Yue Mu lit up with joy at her return, words failing her amid the delight. In the end, all that happiness channeled into cooking—she planned a three-day feast to make up for lost time.
Yue Mu was thrilled to see Wen Du home, but as reason returned, she paused at the kitchen door and turned back.
“Is Xia Lie okay?”
“Not really.”
Wen Du said no more, and Yue Mu didn’t press. Her eyes dropped to the bouquet in Wen Du’s hand, and she reached out to take it, offering to arrange it in a vase.
But Wen Du didn’t let go. Her grip wasn’t forceful, but it was tight.
“It’s fine. No need for now.”
“Okay,” Yue Mu softened her voice. “You rest first. I’m right here in the kitchen if you need anything.”
Wen Du climbed the stairs from the living room to the study, her presence soon falling silent.
Yue Mu pulled the prepped lobster from the fridge—it was already cleaned, ready to sauté with butter.
Reducing the sauce and mixing seasonings required finesse, but Yue Mu’s mind churned more turbulently than bubbling olive oil. Once the lobster was heated through, she turned off the stove to let the kitchen cool.
With the kitchen quiet, the house felt oppressively still—unsettlingly so.
To quell her unease, Yue Mu prepared the entire lunch in one go, covering the dishes with porcelain lids since they wouldn’t eat right away.
With all the ingredients handled and no more tasks to distract her, she untied her apron and headed upstairs.
The study door was closed, marking Wen Du’s location.
Yue Mu pressed close to the door, listening for a moment before twisting the knob and stepping inside.
Wen Du sat facing the window as usual. Outside, the iris flowers still bloomed, faintly visible through the gauzy curtains alongside the window frame. Relieved of their signaling duty, they flowered simply now, awaiting tomorrow’s sunlight and the dawn’s embrace.
Wen Du faced the window, but her gaze had no focus—like she was asleep with her eyes open, or had jolted awake in a dream.
Yue Mu approached and crouched by the armchair, looking up at her. “Ah Du, come downstairs for something to eat.”
Wen Du didn’t stir. “I’m not really hungry.”
Yue Mu reached for the bouquet on the desk. “Then let’s arrange the flowers together.”
Wen Du placed her hand over the bouquet. “This one—I can tell she arranged it herself.”
“It does look that way.”
“This morning, the General Affairs Office wheeled in a cart of bouquets, all similarly wrapped. But some pairings were refined. They must have rushed to keep up, with someone helping. With her taste, she couldn’t have made something so complementary and harmonious.”
Xia Lie had studied mechanical engineering before switching to run a flower shop. Her sense of aesthetics was downright inverted—her arrangements were gaudier than a birthday cake from a centenarian, drawing customers with matching vulgar tastes. Business was decent, but her platform ratings needed work.
Wen Du hadn’t planned to meddle in her work, figuring someone with refined taste wouldn’t patronize such a place long-term. So she endured, teaching Xia Lie step by step and even sending her a color wheel for common combinations to avoid funeral wreaths.
Xia Lie’s personally arranged bouquets, especially those for Wen Du, always leaned toward subtle elegance. When stumped, she’d glance at Wen Du’s outfit that day and match the colors accordingly—foolproof.
This jasmine-and-white-rose bundle, with white liner paper and gray-green wrapping, mirrored her own uniform: white shirt, gray pants.
So among all the bouquets, Wen Du had spotted it instantly. Under normal circumstances, Xia Lie would have delivered it personally.
But circumstances weren’t normal, so Wen Du had fetched it herself.
Yue Mu listened quietly. She didn’t know the details, but from the fragments, she pieced together the scene at the Guard Institute—a beautiful yet grotesque tableau.
“The Special Action Department suspected her, didn’t they?”
“Yes, they’d locked onto their target.” Wen Du’s hand suddenly tightened on the stems, her knuckles whitening. “She could have left. She knew it was dangerous—she could have gotten away…”
The room was unlit, steeped in shadow. A pall of sorrow hung in the air, drawn into the lungs and exhaled through lips and teeth.
“She waited alone in the shop for the Special Action Department to arrest her. They interrogated her for two days, tortured her, but she didn’t crack. So He De gathered all the suspects and had her deliver flowers to us, one by one.
“I don’t know what they planted on her, but she was terrified to get close to me. She never looked me in the eye. But she had to approach, so she came up with a way… She pretended to be a Libo Faction member, pretended to draw a weapon and assassinate He De…”
Yue Mu could guess the rest.
She hadn’t truly meant to kill He De. She just wanted to end it herself. It was the only way to avoid getting near Wen Du.
Silence fell over the room, devoid of homecoming cheer and sunk in midnight gloom.
Yue Mu wanted to say that Xia Lie’s actions aligned with protocol. Wen Du was one of the highest-placed undercover agents in North County City, with access to top-tier intelligence and priority for protection.
In a pinch, she could sacrifice a comrade to save herself.
But facing Wen Du now, Yue Mu couldn’t voice it. As Wen Du’s family teacher during her girlhood, Yue Mu had watched her grow up and come to understand her nature all too well.
Wen Du could forgive and comprehend many people, many things—but never herself.
Her innate sharpness and cultivated intellect granted her razor reason, building channels for perception and acceptance, forging a court of clear moral judgment.
There, with her fluid emotional acuity, she understood all she encountered. Yet she judged herself by the harshest, most unforgiving standards.
As a girl, Wen Du had zero tolerance for academic mistakes. Yue Mu had seen her redo an entire workbook over three wrong answers, chasing perverse perfection. She aced the math and language entrance exams with perfect scores, and that rigor followed her through university.
As she aged, social graces softened the edges, cloaking her severity in gentle warmth. To the world, she appeared relaxed and easygoing. Universal values now demanded not just excellence in ability, but perfection in character.
Character meant blooming toward the sun while granting others maximal emotional ease: positivity, warmth, uplift—increasing dopamine in shared moments, sparing them the burden of her negativity.
So she wrapped herself tight, never revealing true thoughts or feelings unless the mission required it. Ideas and emotions weren’t values; they were tools.
She was selfish enough to bar others from her heart, even though it was just a gentle quagmire—harmless, trapping only her.
From one angle, she was born for undercover work: tailoring masks to each contact, so convincingly that even she lost sight of the real her, leaving foes clueless.
From another, she was utterly unsuited. Negative emotions didn’t vanish; they were crammed into that internal court as damning evidence, endlessly replayed, scrutinizing her failings, condemning her incompetence.
The Giel Bridge Plan hadn’t been smooth sailing. Its founding demanded pioneering grit and inevitable sacrifices.
Whenever a mission thread went awry under her watch, Wen Du plunged into profound self-examination. Relentless reviews honed her mind and experience, sharpening her prowess—but at the cost of deep mental torment.
She never let her state impair operations. Yue Mu had assumed she bounced back with superhuman resilience, if not for those midnight bathroom lights, masked vomiting under incense.
This time was no different. Wen Du recounted the events in the steadiest tone and posture, but Yue Mu knew those calm words would haunt countless nights, weapons for her self-flogging—one lash after another.
If only she’d been more cautious, anticipating her own exposure and preparing defenses against the Special Action Department’s probe. If only more diligent, tracking Ji Tingxi closely to uncover her moves. If only more thorough, spotting platform messaging flaws and countering with interference…
Round and round, hunting ways to save Xia Lie—even if none existed.
Yue Mu had crouched so long her legs went numb. She simply knelt on the floor.
In childhood, when self-doubt trapped young Wen Du, Yue Mu could coax her—it was just a wrong answer. But now, in this similar mire, words failed.
Beyond life and death, nothing mattered. Yet their daily brushes were with precisely that. Comfort rang hollow against mortality.
Yue Mu sat on the floor and wrapped her arms around Wen Du. She leaned forward, pressing close to her chest until she felt the raw heat of her body and the true grief pulsing within.
…
The night before, Wen Du had urged Yue Mu to rest early. She knew Yue Mu had fretted sleeplessly for three days straight—even the cruelest employer would grant leave.
Both mistress and servant wished peace for the other, but sleep eluded them.
Yue Mu’s room was downstairs. Every hour, she’d emerge to stand at the stairwell, listening for upstairs stirrings.
Worried for Wen Du, she prepared breakfast without waking her, hoping she’d sleep more. But as Yue Mu finished brewing oats, Wen Du descended from upstairs, freshly washed, her makeup smoothing even the ripples in her eyes.
At a glance: white shirt, gray pants, a black-banded round watch on her wrist. She checked the time descending, already mentally mapping the day’s tasks.
“Ah Du, are you really safe? I’m worried the Special Action Department won’t let this drop.”
Wen Du clasped her hands behind her back, tightening her hair clip. To project vigor, she’d pinned a high, taut bun, tucking away every stray hair—and the night’s sunken pallor with it.
“Suspicions haven’t vanished, but after such a major incident, He De will intervene.”
“Their focus must be on Xia Lie and Lu Binbin right now.”
Wen Du helped carry bread slices to the table and sat down.
“Yesterday in the conference room, Xia Lie screamed that He De was an extremist deviant. Once that label dropped, their suspicions will shift to the opposition party.”
“Opposition? That points biggest to the Libo Faction. They’ve long branded Gene Theory as heretical nonsense and called the Rui’er Faction extremists. Now their own ideas are deemed heresy, and they can’t recover.”
“Right. I think Xia Lie’s goal was to redirect blame to the Libo Faction, easing suspicion on me.”
Yue Mu halved a boiled egg, giving both pieces to Wen Du.
“Do you think they’ll buy it?”
“Ji Tingxi won’t, but whether He De does… hard to say. So we need to play along with Xia Lie, act out the rest of the script convincingly.”
Yue Mu rubbed her dry eyes and sighed mutely.
No wonder the night had been calm—no bathroom trips. Wen Du had seized the time to strategize next moves. Collapse cut short, she pressed on into the next grinder.
Yue Mu rose to open the fridge, pulling out tangerines and mint, wrapping them in a freshness bag.
“Take these to the office. Brew the mint in water.”
Yue Mu wasn’t concerned Wen Du wouldn’t eat—today at the Guard Institute cafeteria, she could force down a plate if needed. But digestion was uncertain; if food soured, the citrus and mint would at least soothe nausea around those people.
“Sure, thanks.”
Wen Du tucked Yue Mu’s care into her briefcase. Before leaving, she paused, as if dazed and forgetting something, then remembered.
“Oh, right—these next couple days, find a way to contact headquarters. Station Chief Xia’s sacrifice needs reporting promptly.”
