Chapter 137

Miss Wen, it’s snowing so heavily in North County.

December 28th, 9 p.m., North County City Guard Investigation Institute.

After returning to the institute, Ji Tingxi didn’t even have time to change her clothes. She still carried the gunpowder residue from her journey as she headed straight to He De’s office to report.

The corridor felt like two moving walls, drawing infinitely closer with her arrival, squeezing her footsteps into a harsh echo.

She wasn’t sure what her own mood was, but she could read He De’s state clearly. As soon as she entered the office, she hunched her back slightly and lowered her gaze, matching the heavy atmosphere of the room.

“Dean He, I’m sorry. We couldn’t bring Miss He back…”

He De’s hair was always impeccably groomed, much like his orderly desk, but now both his forehead and mustache were unkempt and disheveled, as if he had returned from the battlefield alongside Ji Tingxi.

“By the time our troops arrived, they had just crossed the border. Why didn’t we keep chasing them?” He De didn’t look at her or anywhere else. His words sounded like an accusation, yet more like a question to himself.

“Soon after they crossed, Kangman forces arrived to provide backup. If we had pursued…”

It would likely escalate into an international conflict, making the situation even graver.

“Afraid of what? They’re not afraid—they dared to assault officers and bomb the gates. What do we have to fear!?”

His scorching gaze suddenly turned on her, and Ji Tingxi averted her eyes, saying nothing.

He De understood the reasoning better than anyone, but right now, he needed an emotional outlet, a mental anchor. So let him vent. Once it was out, they’d still have to proceed as planned.

Ji Tingxi buried her emotions deep within, feeling a flicker of sympathy for He De in that moment—not as the institute director, but as a father. He had entrusted his daughter’s safety to her, yet she was the shadow pulling the strings, delivering He Lilin straight into enemy hands to be slaughtered.

But that sympathy was quickly suppressed.

She recalled Wen Du’s ordeal these past days in Winter Arrival Guard Station—her mental state teetering on madness in despair, nearly lost for good multiple times, plummeting toward the abyss.

Having tasted too much pain firsthand, even sympathy had grown numb.

When she looked at He De’s face again, it seemed utterly ordinary. The despair he displayed now was but a fraction of what she swallowed in the dead of night.

After the questioning, the room fell into a terrifying silence—until Te Rui knocked on the door and stepped forward with his report. “Dean He, we’ve received a call from Kangman. They want to speak with you.”

“Put it through immediately!”

He De snatched up the receiver, desperate for any sound from the other end—even the whisper of wind would do.

“Is this Dean He of the North County Guard Investigation Institute?”

“Yes! Who is this?”

“You don’t need to know who I am. You just need to know your daughter is in our hands.” It was a woman’s voice, steady and precise, all business.

“Fine,” He De’s eyes sharpened. “What do you want?”

“We want you to call the Security Investigation Station right now. Tell them we’re exchanging He Lilin for Wen Du. Whether the station agrees is up to you, Dean He.”

…

December 28th, 9 p.m., Winter Arrival Guard Station.

The holding cell at midnight was bone-chilling, even the bedsheets as cold as piled snow.

Wen Du lay on the bed, and soon the sheets were soaked red.

The wound on her neck wasn’t large, but it was enough for blood to spurt out. Her shirt quickly turned sodden.

As she collapsed, the blood pooled into rivulets, streaming toward her chin, cheeks, and forehead, seeping into her eyes, nostrils, and ears.

Most of her face was painted vivid red, as if she had crawled from a sea of blood only to fall back in, on the verge of drowning in this “dead sea.”

The operative monitoring the cell let out a piercing scream. The cell door flew open as operatives and medical staff rushed to the icy bed.

The thick blood was like a thousand steel needles stabbing their eyes. Nurses fumbled with gloves, fingers trembling, the metallic stench gripping their throats like iron hands, making every breath labored.

“Stop the bleeding—press it down! Hurry!”

“Do we have a tourniquet—”

“Tilt her head back—she’ll suffocate! Quick!”

Her body temperature dropped with the blood loss. Wen Du felt piercing cold; she was shivering uncontrollably, instinctively wanting to hug herself tight, but the blood had sapped her strength, making even movement impossible.

Her vision blurred into a spinning, shaking kaleidoscope. She knew people crowded around the bed, staunching the flow, securing her head, draping a blanket over her.

They wanted to save her, to pull her from the blood sea.

But she didn’t want saving. She yearned to sink deeper, to the blood sea’s darkest depths—to the ocean floor called “death,” as quickly as possible.

Someone called her name, checking her awareness.

She resolved to ignore them, turning her head aside, sticky lashes sealed shut, blocking all outside interference, wrapping her mind in the chaos between life and death.

Soon, doctors and equipment arrived in the room, along with space heaters warming the air rapidly.

The once-frigid cell blazed with light and bustling figures, though the atmosphere remained stagnant, like vapor rising from dead water.

Ling Tuofu arrived in a padded coat, sleeves half-on as he strode to the bedside and glimpsed Wen Du through the crowd.

Doctor Luo stepped away from the bed. By professional instinct, her first thought was to save the patient, but here, her priority was reporting to Ling Tuofu.

“Minister Ling, ruptured carotid artery, massive hemorrhage. To save her, we need immediate surgery.”

—Surgery would demand resources, carry risks. Was this prisoner worth it? And even if saved, would she survive normally?

Ling Tuofu loomed at the bedside like a detached observer, yet his expression was profoundly conflicted, deeply entangled.

When Mo Fei told him the three-day interrogation had yielded nothing, fury had ignited in him—he wanted to confront this tight-lipped “Sern Warrior” himself.

But the “Sern Warrior” denied him the chance. Before he could act, she inflicted the most lethal “punishment” on herself, rendering his fighting spirit presumptuous.

A person determined to die wouldn’t yield information. If she feared not death, why fear his middling torture?

To Ling Tuofu, Wen Du had lost her interrogation value, but he didn’t want her dead. Only alive could she represent his success and continue atoning for her crimes.

“Prepare surgery immediately. Save her. Twenty-four-hour watch—no repeats!”

Doctor Luo didn’t move, her face unreadable. Though orders were orders, she issued a precaution against later blame.

“Minister, surgery requires specialized facilities. We need to transfer her to City Opening Hospital. Given the wound, she might not make it.”

Ling Tuofu frowned impatiently. “That’s your problem. Can’t you even stabilize her?”

“No,” Doctor Luo glanced back at the bed, eyes dropping. “She cut too deep. No intention of surviving…”

…

North County Stone Cliff Border Inspection Station remained steeped in gore even the next day.

After the truck crossed the border successfully, all Sern members chose suicide. They turned their hot muzzles on themselves, collapsing in unison, denying any chance for questioning.

Ji Tingxi, the senior officer on site, wouldn’t let it go. She ordered her subordinates to bag the bodies and transport them to the Guard Institute for identification, to trace social connections and hunt remaining Sern members.

The work was grueling and tedious. She requested more time from He De for a thorough investigation and more leads.

Entering the morgue, Ji Tingxi stood before the row of corpses in protective gear, mask, and cap, her eyes alone visible, reflecting the orderly chaos.

Without her assistant behind her, she would have bowed to the bodies in sincere respect.

The plan had succeeded to this point, but her greatest regret was being unable to bury them properly or offer commemorative flowers.

Yet soon, she learned of a deeper regret embedding in her heart.

“He De says he’s done everything possible, but Wen Du’s status is highly sensitive. The station needs central discussion before replying— it’ll take time.” Yin Chen set down her steaming coffee.

Ji Tingxi glanced up slightly. “That fits the station’s style. They might value Wen Du over He Lilin, but she’s our best, most reliable bargaining chip.”

Yin Chen opened her mouth, hesitating a moment.

“Later, He De approached us proactively, hoping to ensure He Lilin’s safety. We laid out terms: they give us Miss Wen’s safety video, we reciprocate. They guarantee Miss Wen’s safety, we guarantee He Lilin’s.”

Ji Tingxi stayed silent, awaiting the follow-up she anticipated.

“But He De still hasn’t produced the video. He asked us to wait longer, not to act rashly.”

The room’s dim lights deepened the silence pooling on the carpet.

Meetings like this were rare and efficient, information exchanged urgently. Yet now, both fell quiet in unison.

No need for discussion or clarification; they grasped the unspoken implications.

If the Security Investigation Station refused the exchange, they’d say so outright. Filming a safety video was a minor request—not excessive, and reasonable to appease a Guard Institute leader, or at least negotiate via Giel.

But He De had no clear station response, and the station hadn’t engaged Giel.

They were hiding something.

What were they hiding?

—Had their prisoner become unfit for exchange, even for a safety video?

Ji Tingxi said nothing. Yin Chen’s intel might not be complete, but she wanted to end the talk here—no more needed.

She wanted to leave.

Yin Chen had never seen her so quiet. Before she departed, she couldn’t resist adding, “Miss Ji, want to stay for dinner? Not dessert—it’s homemade by the staff, just needs heating.”

Ji Tingxi’s hand was already on the doorknob. She curved her lips slightly. “No thanks, Boss Yin.”

Outside the shop, she realized it was snowing again. The heavy flakes had paused for two days, only to resume.

Snow danced in the streetlamp beams, sharp yet hazy, wings unfurling in the light or melting into its shadows.

Just like five nights ago, returning from Winter Arrival to North County amid relentless snow, drenching the world white.

Ji Tingxi had no umbrella. She shoved her hands in her coat pockets and walked, her hair and brows soon blanketed white.

She should hurry home, but a flower shop beside the dessert store glowed invitingly, like a siren’s call, drawing her near.

“Good evening, ma’am,” the clerk pushed his cloth cap back, propping the snow shovel as he straightened. “How can I help?”

“A bouquet of roses, please.”

“Sure. What variety?”

“Red roses.”

The clerk soon emerged with a bundle, handing it over and taking payment. He couldn’t help studying her a bit longer.

The customer wore a black coat, wide brown hat, and gloves—all muted tones, save the vivid roses clutched to her chest.

The contrast was stark, but sharpest against the flowers was her expression.

Like the snowy night outside—indistinct, yet brimming with endless chill.

She left such a deep impression that as she exited, he warmly called after her, “Ma’am, the snow’s getting heavy. Holding flowers, you can’t use an umbrella!”

Ji Tingxi didn’t reply. She stepped outside and saw snow blanketing the stairs.

The flakes fell harder, frosting the roses fresh in the night, echoing the trails overhead.

This Valentine’s Day, she had given Wen Du a bouquet of red roses; Wen Du had written her a letter.

Sadly, her flowers never bloomed into the new year, nor did Wen Du’s letter survive to spring.

Ji Tingxi stepped off the platform, roses in arms—and tumbled straight down to the ground.

Fortunately, the snow cushioned her fall, but the thud drew the clerk.

“Ma’am, are you okay?”

He rushed out and helped her up.

Snow coated half Ji Tingxi’s face, melting from her lashes and obscuring her view.

But she paid it no mind. Her gaze pierced past him, past the pallid night, to somewhere unknown.

Miss Wen… Miss Wen, it’s snowing so heavily in North County…

“Ma’am, are you all right? Don’t scare me!”

The clerk waved a hand before her eyes, vying for attention.

But Ji Tingxi’s gaze stayed lost. Melted snow trickled down her cheek, wetting her face further.

Miss Wen… Miss Wen, come back and see this snow… The old towers, high walls, layered stone bricks—all in the form you loved…

“Ma’am, if you don’t respond, I’m calling the hospital! Are you okay!?”

The clerk had already pulled out his phone.

“I’m fine.”

He blinked in surprise.

Ji Tingxi’s gaze refocused on him. But the clerk wasn’t reassured; those eyes might converge, yet lacked living warmth.

Ji Tingxi rose again. The fall had scattered rose petals across the snow, staining it richly.

She bent down, gathering each one meticulously, then cradled the bouquet and vanished into the endless snowy night.