Chapter 113: She Actually Knows Ruo Xing, and They Attend the Same University

Ji Tingxi’s survival came as a profound relief, like a calming pill that soothed the nerves of both Giel and the Libo Faction.

However, she was still in recovery and wouldn’t return to duty anytime soon. Within the Guard Institute, almost no one knew her status—it remained under strict confidentiality.

Wen Du realized belatedly the special “treatment” she had received. Ji Tingxi had come to see her personally during this secretive phase, a clear sign of the trust and importance placed in her. It was as if Ji Tingxi had anticipated how deeply worried she would be and had come early to reassure her shattered heart.

Only later did Wen Du understand why Ruo Xing had looked so conflicted when he invited her that day. It had been good news, yet he had seemed like a bearer of bad tidings.

Though Ji Tingxi was in the midst of recuperation, she was far from idle. She orchestrated everything with the precision of a master strategist.

To ensure her safety, He De had assigned her two bodyguards stationed nearby at her home. She could summon them anytime she needed.

These bodyguards served dual roles: protectors and watchers. They safeguarded her while keeping tabs on her movements.

As a result, her routine barely changed. She spent most of her time at home.

At that moment, Ji Tingxi couldn’t help but feel grateful that, after the incident at the Red Show Theater, she had proactively switched to in-person handoffs for communications. It was discreet and reliable.

Wen Du had already briefed Ji Tingxi on the actions against the Libo Faction by the leadership in Meisi and North County. The Libo Faction itself had sensed the anomalies and reacted swiftly, bracing for the new wave of crackdowns.

The first round of purges three years ago had been a brutal extermination. The Rui’er Faction had obtained a list of core Libo Faction members, all of whom ended up on Rui’er Terrace’s “wanted list.” Anyone entering the Guard Institute’s field of vision was arrested and charged with treason against the confederation.

After that purge, the confederation’s second-largest faction had been reduced to a heretical organization, scattered and broken. The survivors either abandoned their beliefs or went into hiding. Gone were the days when they set up stages everywhere to rally support ahead of elections.

The Rui’er Faction’s goal had always been the complete eradication of the Libo Faction to eliminate its core ideology.

On the surface, they had succeeded. The very word “Libo” was now taboo, unfit for public discourse.

In reality, though, the Libo Faction hadn’t vanished. They had simply gone underground, mostly concentrated in the Libo heartland of the West District. A significant number had infiltrated the Rui’er Faction itself, holding firm to Libo ideals—like Ji Tingxi.

Confronting them had grown immensely difficult without a concrete list, only vague suspects. Confirming identities required exhaustive investigations.

Thus, the second round of operations was less a purge and more a sweeping investigation: identify first, prosecute later.

From home, Ji Tingxi actively relayed intelligence to her faction comrades, but the Rui’er Terrace’s tactics exceeded even her expectations.

What began with radical student groups had now spread to legitimate faction organizations. Routine meetings were frequently raided, forcing cancellations or interruptions.

When Ji Tingxi heard about it at home, she swirled the glass in her hand, a satisfied smile playing on her lips.

“Has this spread beyond Meisi to other places now?”

“Yes, it’s hit us here too. Yesterday, we got word from the Yinwei Faction—two of their regular committee meetings were forced to allow observers, and they had to hand over meeting records and shared schedules.”

“The Yinwei Faction didn’t object?”

“If they hadn’t been furious, we wouldn’t have heard about it. The resentment is thick enough to summon ghosts in the underground markets. It’s not just them—the Zhongjian Faction and Green Politics Faction are under the same tight scrutiny. Complaints are piling up, and respect for them is plummeting.”

“It looks like the Rui’er Faction is getting desperate. First the Sern people, then students, and now minority faction members are turning against them. If this continues, their reputation will stink worse than week-old garbage. They won’t get a shred of support.”

Ji Tingxi finished speaking and gazed at the sediment in her glass, her eyes sharp and clear. “It’s just hard on our own members. Among all those sealed gatherings, some must be ours. This broad-net approach is alienating people, but it’s hitting us too.”

…

While Ji Tingxi worried about the situation in Meisi, Wen Du’s thoughts were half-occupied by events there as well.

The Zi Qin sisters’ escape route remained uncertain.

When Giel members rescued Zi Qin, she had been injured, leaving bloodstains around the transport vehicle. The Guard Institute ordered searches of every hospital in the city, but no matching suspects turned up.

The sisters had indeed gone to a hospital—a special relief facility for injured civilians caught in the crossfire between Rui’er Terrace and the Jili Organization. Some were destitute, families shattered, unable to afford care, so they stayed in the government-subsidized ward. Conditions were poor, and staffing lax.

Posing as two discharged patients, Zi Qin and Zi Cen checked in with bandages over their faces. No one batted an eye.

But Rui’er Terrace’s investigations reached further than expected, eventually probing even the relief hospital.

Fortunately, a Giel member working as a nurse spotted the unfamiliar inspection doctors and sensed trouble. She whisked the sisters to the basement just in time.

Rui’er Terrace’s net was tightening fast—surveillance everywhere, patrols inescapable.

In the crisis, Giel realized they needed to smuggle the sisters out of the confederation borders quickly. But it was hopeless: all exits from Meisi City were locked down. Airports, highways, and rail stations required advance booking codes for trips of seven days or more, specific transport only, full luggage scans—including phones. A Giel member had tested it personally and concluded: even wings wouldn’t help.

For now, they were stuck hiding in the city.

Since the Meisi Incident, Yue Mu had become a devoted viewer of the news channels, tuning in daily for local updates.

“Meisi City is a total mess right now, like a pizza that’s been dumped on the floor. Everyone’s got gripes, but everyone’s too scared to speak up.”

On the TV, Mayor Hao appeared with a grave expression, urging citizens to prioritize safety: limit nighttime outings, avoid long-distance travel, and be cautious with out-of-town packages—confirm with senders before opening.

“This is just a ploy to shift focus to the Jili Organization,” Yue Mu said. “Once everyone’s obsessed with bombings, the government’s invasive searches and restrictions seem justified.”

“But what they don’t know is this city’s hiding a radiation-leaking weapons research base. Think Rui’er Terrace can keep that under wraps if it leaks?”

Wen Du settled onto the sofa, the news reflecting in her eyes, though her mind conjured different scenes.

“There were rumors like that from Gailie before, but no evidence ever surfaced, so they fizzled out. Still, they haven’t stopped hunting for proof.”

Yue Mu turned to her. “You think the Jili Organization’s so active in Meisi because they’re chasing leads too?”

“Probably, and their agenda’s more layered. Beyond banned weapons, they suspect the Rui’er Faction’s abusing Sern people in the Labor Training Camp. Look at how urgently Zi Wan wanted to rescue Zi Qin and Zi Cen—he was worried they’d suffer.”

“Yeah, but luckily, they’re with us now. That’s the sharpest weapon against the Rui’er government!”

Wen Du’s face fell before any joy could form at the word “luckily.”

“Sigh. We still need a way to get them across the border. As long as they’re in Bailunting territory, they’re not weapons—they’re live targets.”

“But there’s no way out right now, and Rui’er Terrace’s checks are door-to-door. Who knows how long our Meisi contacts can hold out.”

Wen Du’s gaze grew distant with focus. “I’m thinking, if we can’t get out, maybe we can get Meisi City to open its own exits?”

Yue Mu prompted, “You mean?”

“North County had to open its borders for the Kangman partnership. What if we could force the same in Meisi?”

…

In Ji Tingxi’s absence, Bai Zhuo savored his days, especially after landing the acting Division Chief position.

Temporary or not, it let him fully taste power.

He had long coveted the role, but Ji Tingxi’s tenure had been unassailable—her competence and popularity unmatched.

Bai Zhuo craved authority yet respected her talent, so he had reined in his ambitions. Now, with her out and his inhibitions gone, his mind brimmed with unleashed plans taking root.

On October 25th, two months later, his pet project—the Eaglet Plan—finally paid off.

“Fledgling” Nona reported in proactively. In the student council, he had scored a mysterious invitation to an exclusive reading group.

“What’s the entry requirement for this reading group?”

“Not sure yet. It’s not public—I checked the school site, nothing. Outsiders need an inside referral and a test.”

“Can you send me the test questions?” Bai Zhuo glanced at his watch; he had twenty minutes before the next meeting—enough for a skim.

“They took it back, but I remember most. It was eclectic—literary movements from all over the confederation—but laced with pro-Libo undertones. I’m sensitive to that stuff, so I noticed. Plus, I’d just read the books you recommended, so I nailed it.”

“Any activities going on there now?”

“I bet plenty. The president’s swamped weekends, but this one, they invited me to a theater event—some out-of-towners called it a mixer. I even made a friend, a girl.”

Bai Zhuo’s ear twitched, bracing for lovey-dovey details, but Nona pivoted smoothly. “Talking to her, I learned she’s from Starry Lan Academy.”

“Starry Lan Academy?” Bai Zhuo scratched his head, the itch a good sign—new leads brewing.

He recalled monitoring pro-Libo members at Seven Leaves Spectator Entertainment City; one was from Starry Lan Academy.

“And from her, I gathered the theater crowd was full of Starry Lan students. Our reading group was inspired by their polisci department.”

“So Starry Lan Academy is basically the cradle of your group?”

“You could say that. Our president heads over there often.”

Bai Zhuo perked up, ignoring an incoming call. “What else?”

“She loves stage plays, got hooked by a senior who was big in student orgs and pushed it on everyone. Haven’t seen him since, but she kept the interest.”

“Anything more?”

“We chatted shows—this one was Odyssey, pretty straight adaptation. Want details?”

Bai Zhuo checked the time. “Nah. Keep your routine and activity level. Call if anything pops.”

After hanging up, Bai Zhuo flipped through patrol deployment files for the meeting, but a face flashed in his mind—specifically, its background.

He had flagged the file before but shelved it. Now, it leaped out, fitting perfectly.

That evening, he called Nona again.

“Did you get the photo I sent?”

“Yeah, but it’s fake, right? I don’t remember this guy.”

“Synthesized it. Save it to your gallery. Next time you see that girl, steer talk to travel, show her your trip pics—including this one. Gauge her reaction.”

Nona seemed to get it, asked no questions, and soon reported back.

“Commander, she knows the guy in the photo. Paused the pics to ask how I knew him.”

Bai Zhuo gripped his phone tighter. “What’d you say?”

“Stuck to your script: met on a trip, hung out a day, snapped a souvenir shot at the end—no contacts exchanged.”

Bai Zhuo ended the call and opened the folder on his desk, staring silently at Ruo Xing’s photo for a long moment.

—That suspected pro-Libo female student actually knew Ruo Xing, and they were from the same university!?