Chapter 104: Everyone Seems to Be Hiding Something

This birthday was not the grandest she had ever celebrated, but it was undoubtedly the most heart-pounding.

Wen Du had received invitations from both Sha Jiali and Ji Tingxi in quick succession, and both visits to their homes had left her reeling.

When she had something weighing on her mind, Wen Du found it hard to sleep. But with her growing experience as an undercover agent, her tolerance for stress had increased as well.

She had forced herself to sleep for a meager four hours the night before. The next morning, she took great care with her appearance—a purple sundress paired with a small round hat, a cloth bag slung over her shoulder, and an expression of eager anticipation for the sweets as she made her way to Joyful Intent.

She had left a message on the platform the previous evening, inquiring about purple sweet potato cake. Yin Chen knew she was coming, so she waited in the shop ahead of time to welcome her.

Wen Du’s makeup skills had reached perfection. She could contour shadows to create a strikingly sculpted nose, conceal the faint bluish circles under her eyes with flawless coverage, and then add the finishing touch of an artful expression. Her face was always utterly ravishing, brimming with youthful vigor.

Yin Chen, taking her at face value, could detect no hint of anything amiss. She raised her arm in a welcoming gesture. “If Miss Wen is hosting guests, she’ll want to choose with care. Why not come to my office? We can browse the options at leisure there.”

The shop had a menu booklet, but Yin Chen’s office offered a tablet dedicated to selecting styles and designs. It even featured some exclusive, niche options not listed on the public menu.

Wen Du cradled the tablet as images of colorful desserts scrolled before her eyes. She had never realized before that simply flipping through cakes could be so relaxing. The food-loving region of her brain lit up, flooding her system with dopamine that chased away all her worries.

“Sha Jiali is convinced I’m a Sern undercover agent.”

But those words undone all the dopamine’s good work.

Yin Chen settled into her leather chair, her expression visibly clouding with complexity.

She showed no surprise. As the liaison station chief, her duty was to provide her contact with maximum emotional support, so she kept her tone neutral and matter-of-fact, free of personal bias.

“How did you reach that conclusion?”

“He confronted me directly yesterday. He knows I moved Luo Zi to a safe location, though he didn’t say how he found out.”

“Has he threatened you?”

“No, he said he wouldn’t report it to the Guard Institute.”

The room, bright and soft like fresh cream, grew heavy under the weight of their conversation. Silence descended like a massive hand, compressing the air within.

But Yin Chen didn’t let the tension linger. She spoke up quickly. “We need to take him out. I’ll make the arrangements.”

The screen had frozen on a tiramisu. Wen Du’s finger hovered over the selection button, her mind mirroring the hesitation as her thoughts circled a single point, combing back and forth, searching for a definitive counterargument. In the end, she realized their current information was insufficient for a safe judgment.

“My first instinct was the same—to eliminate him without hesitation. But after thinking it over last night, I believe there’s room for consideration.

“First, as an undercover agent, I’m inherently in grave danger. Yet he told me outright, which means either he isn’t afraid I’ll strike first, or he’s confident I won’t.

“Second, I still don’t know how he uncovered my identity. One possibility is that Yuan Miu told him about the incident at the Community Hospital, but that’s just speculation.

“He knows who I am, but I can’t be sure if a third party does too. If he turns up dead suddenly, I could become a suspect—or worse, get exposed outright.

“Finally, my gut tells me he might not be an enemy at all. He could be one of the Anti-New Faction, opposed to the new policies and eager to restore the old ways. That’s why he’s helping the Sern people.”

In the nation ruled by the Rui’er Faction, threats abounded: the Libo Faction, the Sern people, the Jili Organization, the Gailie Forces, and even Anti-New Faction members.

These last were typically Homer People who supported the Rui’er Central Faction but rejected the new policies, especially the genetic regulations. They wouldn’t rebel against the Rui’er Central Faction’s rule, nor would they actively implement the reforms. They were neutral survivors, scraping by in the cracks of a fractured world.

Wen Du suspected Sha Jiali might be one of them—only more radical and bold, willing to confess to a Sern undercover agent and offer aid unprompted.

“Do you have concrete evidence pointing to him as Anti-New Faction?”

Wen Du couldn’t help but laugh at the question. She had thought herself meticulous enough—splitting hairs, double-checking her daily actions even in her dreams.

Yet Boss Yin outdid her, responding to every detail, demanding proof at every turn, ensuring nothing was left vague or unresolved.

Wen Du smiled at her. It was a good approach—taking full responsibility for every member’s safety.

“First, the atmosphere in his home has always felt off. Given the domineering, sleazy persona he projects publicly, his hired workers should resent him.

“I’ve visited his house several times. The other girls might have been hiding it deliberately, showing no overt emotion, but Duo Er is young, so her true feelings slip through. There’s no fear in her eyes when she looks at Sha Jiali; she’s far too relaxed.

“Then there was Luo Zi’s disappearance. We assumed he wouldn’t care much, so we didn’t factor his reaction into our plans. But he took it seriously—insisting on filing a police report to track her down.

“I initially thought he just valued his property. But in hindsight, he might genuinely care about the girls themselves and not want harm to come to them.”

With her usual rigorous attitude, Wen Du added a caveat.

“Of course, these are just emotional impressions, not hard evidence. Regardless, from both a safety and practical standpoint, I don’t recommend taking him out right away. I want to confirm his true intentions first.”

Yin Chen listened carefully and grasped her point.

Sitting in the station chief’s chair, her top priority was safeguarding her liaison network—especially Wen Du’s safety. Eliminating threats was usually the optimal path.

But at this stage, with his motives unclear and the scope of who knew unknown, assassination wasn’t the best solution.

“Alright. While you were talking, an idea came to me—a way to test his true intentions.”

The tablet screen had gone dark from inactivity, but Wen Du’s eyes lit up.

“Good. Tell me.”

…

Du Lengding drove with her usual focus. She had no habit of listening to the radio, but with a subordinate riding shotgun, she switched it on. Once the car filled with voices, she no longer needed to speak, sparing herself the effort.

But Cha Nan was oblivious to the hint. Even with the program playing, he opened his mouth for some pleasant chit-chat with the captain.

“Captain Du, have you noticed? Cases involving Sern people have dropped off lately.”

“Have they?” Du Lengding kept her eyes on the road ahead.

“Yeah. Before, we’d get multiple kidnappings or deaths in a single month. Now, we barely see two in that time. It’s almost unsettling.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“So, is it better public safety, or have the Sern people gotten savvier about their security?”

Du Lengding’s expression didn’t change. She knew her subordinate too well; she didn’t need to glance over to picture his accompanying gestures.

“There are still plenty of Sern people getting kidnapped or killed. Fewer are reporting it, that’s all.”

With Giel now transferring Sern people seamlessly—no need for faked deaths or kidnappings, no need for her to cover them up—the reports had naturally dried up.

These days, Sern people were whisked away in tourist shuttles or under the protection of foreign companies, streaming across borders more efficiently and safely than ever.

“You’re right. But since the borders opened, the economy’s boomed, creating tons of jobs. Foreign firms are hiring Sern people left and right. Society feels more harmonious overall—probably why reports are down.”

“Indeed.”

Any response from the captain was encouragement enough for him. Satisfied, Cha Nan turned to the window. “Procuratorate’s coming up. Just drop me by the green belt.”

Once Cha Nan was out, Du Lengding killed the radio. The ensuing quiet was just how she liked it.

On her way home, she passed a vehicle after-sales service center. Its glass and metal facade gleamed under interior lights, resembling a futuristic castle.

Du Lengding would typically pull in upon receiving a text, enjoying the service while exchanging intel and tasks.

But she’d visited two days prior for an intel drop-off. Too frequent trips raised flags, so she’d gotten a promo text from the shop instead, instructing her to await contact at home.

At 7:30 p.m., an email hit Du Lengding’s inbox. She pulled out her codebook and decoded it step by step.

The Homer language units, rearranged per the cipher’s clues, formed a Sern message that boiled down to one directive:

Interrogate Sha Jiali on charges of abusing underage females.

…

On September 2nd, Du Lengding visited Deputy Director Ji Lanmu’s office to report the special matter.

“Director Ji, our hotline has received tips that Professor Sha Jiali of North County University is keeping and abusing underage females—egregious acts in violation of child protection laws.”

Ji Lanmu was reviewing the archives when Sha Jiali’s name came up. He glanced up. “No in-person report?”

“Just phone tips.”

“Ignore it for now. Our manpower’s stretched thin.”

Du Lengding remained seated. From behind, with her upright posture, she could pass for the authority figure—radiating steadfast resolve.

“But we’ve had at least five reports now, each more insistent than the last. Every service center staffer on rotation has fielded one. If we keep ignoring it, public ire toward Professor Sha could turn on us.”

Ji Lanmu pinched his pen between two fingers, propping his chin. His gray eyes flickered with calculation. If the Police Bureau’s reputation was at stake, he needed to weigh it carefully.

“The Guard Institute flagged him for special handling. If we must act, let them take point.

“That said, his reputation’s tanking. Even if it’s just Sern Hired Workers, public morals still judge. Who knows what they’re saying behind his back.”

Universities prized faculty reputation and conduct above all. Moral lapses led to suspensions or firings.

Sha Jiali’s setup was legally sound, approved by the authorities. But to the scraps of public conscience, it was brazen.

As a high-profile professor meant to be a role model, his debauched lifestyle fueled the juiciest cafeteria gossip, tainting his four decades of accolades with a lurid sheen and leaving his resume riddled with stains.

“Right, Professor Sha’s image is suffering. I checked: he does have underage girls at home. Can’t confirm abuse yet.”

“Even if there is abuse, we can’t punish him by the book,” Ji Lanmu said, twirling his pen before deciding. “Here’s the plan: pay him a visit for questioning—no arrest, just procedure to quiet the public. And give him a friendly nudge to tone it down. Too many complaints, and we’re in a bind.”

Du Lengding nodded, her rigid demeanor softening slightly. “Understood.”

…

That afternoon, Du Lengding and Cha Nan drove to Sha Jiali’s residence.

They wore full uniforms and caps, notebooks and recorders at the ready—standard kit, save for the holstered pistols concealed from view.

Protocol called for both officers to enter together, but at the gate, Du Lengding tugged her brim low, pondering. Before stepping out, she murmured instructions.

“I know this Professor Sha. He’s all about face, prefers female guests. Us showing up like this might irk him into stonewalling. Stay with the car; I’ll handle it. I’ll call if needed.”

Cha Nan knew her style: efficiency first, hassle last.

During past Sern investigations, while teammates dithered, she’d charge in solo—whether fishing bodies or collecting evidence—swift, precise, ruthless. Patrol Police Team’s speed demon.

This setup was just her dodging an encumbrance. He could relax in the car, aiding her while treating himself.

Her boots hit the pavement. Du Lengding shut the door and strode toward the villa.

The metal gate was set into stark white walls, its cool gleam offset by cascading floral vines—a blend of high-tech sterility and natural warmth. A mansion in every sense.

Du Lengding rang the bell. A clear, polite female voice answered promptly.

“Who is it, please?”

She flashed her officer ID at the camera, tilting her chin to show her full face. “Patrol Police Team, Police Bureau. Here to speak with Professor Sha.”

Silence followed, laced with hesitation. Du Lengding stared unblinkingly at the lens, unyielding.

Moments later, the lock clicked. An inside worker swung the door open. “Please come in. Professor Sha isn’t here yet. Make yourself comfortable.”

She was led to the living room. No sooner had she sat than pastries appeared on the table—three platters, neatly arrayed—as if they’d sprouted from the coffee table itself.

Du Lengding glanced up, confirming the rumors: the house teemed with hired workers. If they all greeted a guest at once, it’d be like a dance troupe short on stage space.

Yet despite their numbers, their outfits were uniform: white base shirts under pink floral cinched-waist skirts, hairnets, matching Mary Janes. They flitted about feather-light, like birds.

Their movements screamed training—crisp, courteous. They served silently, no prying questions.

Indistinguishable from standard Stern Housekeeping hires, if not more docile.

As they came and went, Du Lengding observed keenly, hunting for traces—anything to back the complaints: bruises, fearful glances.

But the girls’ skirts hung loose, their faces serene, like mass-produced agency models programmed to one template. No anomalies.

She’d reviewed their files: besides Duo Er, the youngest had two months until eighteen—still minors.

“Which one is Xing Meier?”

The workers exchanged looks, then one called out. The shout relayed like a baton pass—from living room to dining area, up the stairs to the second floor. Finally, a worker descended, sewing basket in hand.

“That’s me. Hello, Officer.”

Xing Meier stood before Du Lengding: oval face, eyes like black grapes—mirrors reflecting every nuance of the viewer’s mood.

She looked docile enough, but she’d pulled a bold stunt the year before.

As a high school sophomore, she’d bolted from school, raced to the border, and plunged into the water, attempting to swim to Kangman Country opposite.

She lasted ten minutes before exhaustion forced her back—right into pursuing police custody.

She later learned the far shore was still Bailunting territory. Success would’ve just meant a change of prisons.

This “prison,” though, was plush—opulently appointed.

“Is everything alright at home lately?”

“All good, Officer.” The girl stood ramrod straight, basket clutched.

“When does Mr. Sha usually return?”

“He comes home early on no-class afternoons, but typically after six.”

Du Lengding checked the time: 5:50. They’d timed it well—early enough to poke around without seeming suspiciously patient.

“Fine. I’ll wait. Could you peel me an apple?”

Xing Meier set down her basket, grabbed an apple from the table, peeled it in the kitchen, and served it up.

Du Lengding eyed the neatly diced fruit and gleaming mini-fork, hesitating to dig in.

What kind of godlike existence did Sha Jiali live? Did his workers even portion his toilet paper, infuse it with scents, and deliver it?

The diced apple seemed tastier than whole, but eating it dragged on. Forty minutes in, Du Lengding grew restless.

“If he’s not dining at home, he’ll call ahead. He might be delayed today.”

Du Lengding cut it short. “Call Mr. Sha. Ask when he’ll be back.”

“Right away.” Yuan Miu nodded, lifted the wall phone receiver, dialed three times, then returned. “Apologies, Officer. No answer.”

“What was the prompt?”

“Powered off.”

Du Lengding wasted no words, radioing Police Bureau support staff to check North County University and the Guard Institute: Was Professor Sha in his office?

While awaiting response, Yuan Miu stayed, chatting politely. But Du Lengding saw through her—she was older, her words impeccably tight-lipped.

Du Lengding disliked such polish. She dismissed her and summoned Xing Meier.

“What time did Mr. Sha leave this morning?”

“Seven-thirty-ish. Normal work hours.”

“How did he go?”

“Drove himself.”

“Anything said before leaving?”

The girl’s eyes flickered; her mouth parted, closed, then opened. “No… oh, wait. He mentioned being busy today, dinner late.”

Du Lengding caught the micro-expression—something concealed. She knew more but held back.

Pushing further would yield nothing, especially with the others prepping dinner in their rooms, ears perked to the living room.

Everyone seemed to be hiding something.

Du Lengding went silent, awaiting the Bureau’s reply.

Twenty minutes later—at exactly seven—she confirmed it.

Sha Jiali wasn’t at the Guard Institute or the university.

He had vanished.