Chapter 84: Joint Interrogation

Under He De’s instructions, once Wen Du entered the room, everyone else left.

Only she and He De remained in the observation room.

They did not sit facing each other. Instead, they sat side by side, gazing through the one-way glass at the interrogation unfolding within.

It resembled an ordinary case discussion, yet the atmosphere carried a thick undercurrent of suspicion.

“One of your subordinates has gotten into trouble. You must have heard about it by now, right?”

Wen Du inclined her head slightly and glanced at Dai Enrui strapped to the interrogation chair. Normally, when Dai Enrui sat at her workstation and projects stalled, her two thumbs would habitually touch and circle each other.

Now, alone in the interrogation room during this perilous standoff, her two fingers inched toward one another. But fixed by the handcuffs, they could not meet, leaving her anxiety unrelieved.

“Yes, I’ve heard now.”

He De divided his attention, sparing her half his gaze. Dai Enrui’s demeanor offered nothing noteworthy, so his focus settled on Wen Du, scrutinizing her in silence.

“Do you know what happened?”

“I’m not entirely clear. I hope Dean He can enlighten me.”

“She tried to steal internal information. We caught her during the data transfer.”

Wen Du furrowed her brow at the perfect moment, her expression weaving a complex tapestry of emotions that encompassed whatever reaction the other might expect.

“Was any data actually leaked in the end?”

“No. In the end, the Intelligence Collection Division and Internal Investigation Section worked together to swap out the key files.”

He De’s gaze shifted back to the one-way mirror. “We traced the signal and confirmed the controlled host as terminal B02 in the Information Room. At that location, we found a USB drive, which testing revealed to contain the Trojan program used for the system breach.”

With that, He De slid the USB drive across to her. Wen Du recognized it at a glance: the Information Room had never used this type, nor was it standard Guard Institute equipment.

“This morning, the information she tried to steal was the Gailie Language Corpus from the Translation Platform. And that platform was introduced to our systems just last week—by you, wasn’t it?”

At these words, tension and self-reproach deepened in Wen Du’s furrowed brow. She took the USB drive and ejected the metal connector hidden within its casing, like drawing a sharp dagger from its sheath.

“My apologies, Dean He. One of my subordinates stole secrets—our own confidential files, no less. I bear responsibility for this. I will reflect deeply on my work and ensure nothing like it happens again.”

“Your work does indeed warrant serious reflection. Dai Enrui’s subversive activities surely extend beyond this one incident. As her direct supervisor, did you never notice anything before?”

Wen Du set the USB drive down and straightened her back.

“You’re right. I was negligent in the past. She may have shown some anomalies, but I trusted her too much and failed to spot them in time, allowing her behavior to escalate to this theft. Fortunately, Dean He, your vigilance caught her dangerous actions early and averted disaster!”

The corners of He De’s mouth tugged downward, his mustache drooping with them. But his expression held not accusation, but a complex scrutiny.

Wen Du called him vigilant and prudent, yet his notice of Dai Enrui truly stemmed from a casual remark she had made yesterday during their chat. In the end, it was her information that had prompted it.

When she had set out for the Merle Language Center, Dai Enrui had known of her outing—and that it was for a prominent language seminar in Bangdu. Had such a sensitive detail not raised suspicions before?

“You just said she ‘may have shown some anomalies.’ Now, think specifically: what were they? For instance, how did this USB drive get into the office?”

Dai Enrui’s crimes required his explanation, but the USB drive’s presence in the office spoke volumes. Any insider knew the implications.

Either security screening had failed, or procurement had. Whichever it was, it amounted to a grave incident—potentially triggering a full investigation and lost jobs.

“Dean He, can we roughly determine when she brought this USB drive in?”

“We can’t pinpoint that. We only know its production batch, with no direct link to when it entered the Institute.”

Wen Du retracted the connector into its casing, sheathing its edge. “Could we consider this: her target was the Gailie Language Corpus, which only entered our systems after I introduced the Translation Platform. So she must have brought the USB drive in sometime within these past two weeks.”

He De nodded in acknowledgment, his face impassive while his eyes urged her onward. “And then?”

“Then, she must have acted unusually this week. Has the security team checked the surveillance footage?”

“The footage is too broad. We need a specific time and location.”

Wen Du nodded, grasping the point at once—her role now was to narrow the scope, aiding the investigators’ targeted efforts.

“Let me think… this week…”

Her gaze fell on Dai Enrui inside the room, using her as an anchor to rewind her thoughts. “Yesterday morning, she arrived at the office late. Usually, she starts shortly after I do. But yesterday, just past nine, when I stepped out of my office into the hallway, I saw her. It was the first time this year she’d arrived after nine.”

He De’s eyes relaxed briefly, then sharpened. “How did you note the exact time then?”

Wen Du smiled faintly. Though this felt half like an interrogation, her attitude struck the perfect balance: fully cooperative yet unhurried, turning his suspicious or accusatory tone into intimate conversation.

“I always keep track of time. Every file has a deadline, so checking the clock is habit for everyone in the Information Room.”

…

After thorough inspection confirmed no hazardous attachments, the transport vehicle entered the Guard Institute’s basement for a second, comprehensive check.

The drone discovered earlier was handed off to the Internal Investigation Section for analysis.

That section was well-versed not only in tracking and communications tech but also in the gear itself.

Once the drone arrived, it passed through several hands. Its four arms were disassembled, its innards scattered across the workbench for a full teardown.

The final report detailed every component’s specs with precision, laying bare their functions.

“Not just video and audio recording, plus GPS—it can even self-destruct in a pinch,” Ji Tingxi scanned the dissected parts on the table, clicking her tongue in admiration. “This isn’t a drone; it’s a spy bot dressed up as one.”

With functions confirmed, next came tracing the parts’ origins. Comparisons with similar models and market versions pointed to the wireless transceiver and GPS system originating from Gailie Country. An Erdong recognized the internal structure; a moment’s recollection took him back three years.

Back then, he had worked at Bangdu’s security bureau, with ample chances to examine Gailie Country’s high-end exports to Bailunting—one being reconnaissance drones.

Three years later, here it was again in his own operations room, in familiar form.

He De finished the report and let his gaze linger briefly on Ji Tingxi’s shoulder.

“Tingxi, your command today was spot-on. Halting the convoy for a full vehicle check—if this thing had slipped into a sensitive area, who knows what secrets it would’ve leaked!”

“The crash felt suspicious, so I played it safe. Didn’t expect to actually find something. But the culprits behind this espionage remain to be confirmed.”

He De glanced at her, concerned she still fixated on the Sern Organization.

“Don’t you think this screams Gailie Country?”

“From the intel so far, they top the suspect list. But their operations have grown subtler these past two years. Aside from the Jili Organization’s channel, their moves elsewhere are so faint they’re hard to detect. Planting a drone under a car risks exposure and traceback—they wouldn’t use something so blatantly traceable.”

“This is their most sophisticated gear. Why not deploy it at a critical moment like this?”

As he spoke, naked hatred flashed across He De’s face. “And even if exposed, confirming the source doesn’t let us catch them, does it?”

Ji Tingxi hesitated. “But…”

A knock sounded at the door. Security Captain Arnold entered the office.

“Report for Dean He: Per your time frame, we reviewed Institute-wide surveillance. Between eight-fifty and nine yesterday morning, we spotted a bird-like object flying over the building—likely dropping something.”

He handed over a high-res screenshot. Against the vast sky, the Guard Institute’s sharp rooftop edge tilted into view, underscoring the heavens’ expanse and the blurry object amid it all.

He De eyed the photo, his hatred receding—not vanishing, but burrowing into his flesh, settling back as his chronic undercurrent.

“Good. Now we’ve got them.”

…

Yesterday, June 23rd, nine in the morning.

Dai Enrui broke her routine, carrying breakfast in a plastic bag to the rear garden.

She sat by the pond’s edge, eating while admiring the surrounding greenery. Afterward, she strolled the path, then bent to pick up a fallen eggshell and tossed it into a concealed trash bin.

Garden surveillance showed nothing amiss—until cross-referenced with rooftop footage. Her stoop aligned precisely with the drop point for the drone’s payload.

Rooftop cameras were rarely checked; it was Ji Tingxi’s suggestion to security—after door access logs, review windows and roofs. Outsiders couldn’t reach them, but they bypassed security screening.

The rooftop feed lacked the interior angles’ breadth and clarity, capturing only a vague shadow.

Without close scrutiny, it passed for an ordinary bird, excreting over the Institute’s backyard.

Who could have guessed it was a drone, and its “droppings” a USB drive laced with espionage malware.

He De’s expression was a sight to behold as he turned the screenshot toward Ji Tingxi, posing gravely.

“Guess if these two drones came from the same maker!”

…

Thanks to that stealthily departing drone, Team 1 and Team 4’s tasks merged seamlessly. Interrogation duties shifted to Ji Tingxi, who now held full authority.

Ji Tingxi had assumed major Special Action Department cases would stay out of her hands for a good while, handled by the supremely “efficient” Deputy Director Bai. Yet here she was, not even a month later, back behind the interrogation desk, wielding total control and unleashing her skills.

This time, however, she took a novel approach—not just interrogating solo, but inviting Wen Du as assistant.

In her words: the suspect was Director Wen’s subordinate; Director Wen knew her best and could provide crucial insights.

Her judgment proved right. Wen Du took her seat, and her authority as direct superior exerted an unspoken pressure.

“I’m deeply sorry to see you here.”

Dai Enrui always beamed at the sight of her, stretching her smile muscles to the max. Even now, she reflexively started to grin—but her lips rose then plummeted. What kind of place was this for grinning?

“I’m sorry to see you here too.”

“Merely sorry?” Wen Du held up the surveillance screenshot. The device and angle might stump others, but not her.

Dai Enrui’s face froze again, unsure what expression to muster.

She wanted to feign ignorance, shock, confusion—but the photo pierced her facade, making pretense seem forced.

Dropping the act meant cooperating, facing her crimes head-on, confessing each one.

She knew what that entailed, but she wasn’t ready. She didn’t want to be ready. She feared death.

For a long stretch, Dai Enrui’s features moved sluggishly, rigidly encased like in gel.

Wen Du held off questioning, giving her time to process, lest she break.

Ji Tingxi watched Wen Du silently, then took the reins, driving the interrogation forward forcefully.

“No answer means admission: you’re a Gailie Country plant embedded in our ranks!”