It was her. It was her all along.
The nearby gunfire jolted Qi Youjin out of his daze. He snapped back to his senses, strode in front of Ji Tingxi, and pulled the trigger before the enemy could.
A hail of bullets forced the attackers to fire back while retreating. In the end, they piled into a private car and sped away.
Qi Youjin gave chase for a few steps before giving up. He retreated to the vehicle, pistol in hand, scanning the surroundings for any new threats.
Ji Tingxi clutched her arm and squatted against the car body. Blood gushed from between her fingers, quickly soaking her entire sleeve.
An operative supported her, his face etched with anxiety.
He glanced ahead. The gunfire now came only from support teams. The Guard Institute had mobilized a full response—some rushing to reinforce, others pursuing the attackers, all in perfect order.
The assault team up front never got close. After a fierce exchange, they fell back step by step, just like the shooters in the rear. They leaped into arriving vehicles and vanished from sight.
Three public buses roared out of the Guard Institute gates, splitting off in pursuit of the fleeing gunmen.
At the same time, another vehicle pulled up beside the transport van and whisked Ji Tingxi back to the Guard Institute. The institute doctor pressed cotton to her wound and asked routinely, “How are you holding up?”
Ji Tingxi lay on the hospital bed, her face covered in a sheen of cold sweat. Beads rolled down, streaking through the bloodstains on her cheeks—stains that started as spots and stretched into winding trails, as if she had just crawled out of a pool of blood.
“I’m fine. I can bear it.” Ji Tingxi furrowed her brow tightly—an expression she rarely showed. Even during the toughest work, she would only intensify her gaze while keeping her forehead smooth.
But today, everything had gone wrong. The frustration had climbed to her brow, folding it into a rugged crease.
The Guard Institute had a medical office, but it rarely operated normally. It handled minor ailments at best; serious injuries went to the nearest hospital. Getting shot near the institute was injury enough—a blow to one’s dignity.
The bullet had only grazed her flesh without embedding, but cleaning it still took ages. In the end, her arm was wrapped in layers of white bandage. Forget firing a gun; even brushing her teeth would be a challenge.
The medical office buzzed to life for this distinguished visitor. The doctor felt honored, but Dean Jia’s mood was far less cheerful. He came to check on her personally.
“Director Ji, rest up first. Leave everything else to us. We’re already tracking the suspects. We won’t let them vanish into thin air.”
Ji Tingxi’s face had paled from pain and blood loss, her gaze cooling noticeably. “Dean Jia, the transport route was supposed to be secure. How did things go so wrong?”
“The route was secure at first, but a last-minute change was needed to avoid a crowd. We never imagined the transport van would be recognized. That’s on us for overlooking it.”
“Recognition is secondary. The real question is, why did someone attack in the chaos—and snatch the prisoners? It’s hard not to wonder.”
Ji Tingxi was usually smooth and accommodating. Even when applying pressure behind the scenes, she kept up a warm, springlike front—especially with superiors. She weighed her words carefully, never spilling what shouldn’t be said.
But now, with pain gnawing inside and a major loss outside, she cast aside decorum. She went straight to the heart of the matter.
“You’re right. Today’s events are suspicious indeed. We’ll investigate thoroughly. We’ve collected all traces from the scene—bullets, clothing, suspect photos, vehicle details. We’re identifying them as fast as we can.”
Jia Lin sat on the wooden chair opposite the bed. He had only meant to pay a brief visit, but it had escalated into a work discussion. “I’ll handle the explanation with the Labor Training Camp. Just focus on recovering.”
Ji Tingxi had climbed down from the bed after bandaging and now sat on a wooden chair too. She wore a fresh white shirt, her arm swathed in gauze. The air around her carried the sharp scent of antiseptic and ointment. She finally looked a touch haggard and ill, but her sharpness hadn’t faded. Leaning against the chair back with a slight hunch to her spine and shoulders raised, that keen edge hid in the bones beneath her shirt.
“The injury’s not serious. I had an agreement with the Labor Training Camp to personally escort the prisoners back and hand them over. This failure is partly my responsibility. I need to stay and help with the investigation.”
The prisoners had been snatched right under her nose on the transport van. She couldn’t dodge blame. But hearing her own up to it like this made Dean Jia feel a pang of guilt.
As with her initial question, the transport route should have been vetted meticulously—no room for error. They should have delayed or scrapped the plan until the unexpected crowd was cleared and every variable eliminated, sticking to a confirmed safe path.
And even with the attack, the Guard Institute was right there. They should have contained it swiftly—instead of letting the prisoners and armed suspects slip away.
Ji Tingxi bore responsibility per her deal with the camp, but this was Meisi turf. The Guard Institute was primarily accountable. She had helped escort them and taken a bullet; it was understandable for her to wear her frustration openly.
“You’re a dedicated leader, Director Ji. Even injured, you’re still thinking about the escort.”
“It’s not just the escort—it’s my personal safety too.” Ji Tingxi met his eyes gravely. “I’ve come to Meisi twice, and I’ve been attacked both times. The Jili Organization last time. This time, I’m dying to know who it is. Until we get to the bottom of it, I won’t feel safe with my head on my shoulders.”
Jia Lin gave an awkward smile, at a loss for words.
“Based on their methods, it’s most likely the Jili Organization again.”
Ji Tingxi’s brows rose. Despite the blood loss, she hadn’t skimped on nuance in her expression, pairing it perfectly with her words.
“So they’re connected to Zi Wan, who attacked me before? It makes sense. Only the Jili Organization would care enough about those two prisoners to risk a rescue.”
She straightened up as she spoke. Her shirt rose and fell with the motion before settling, accentuating her upright posture—as if her robust physique from arrival had returned. “You’re tracking the suspects, right? Maybe we can interrogate Zi Wan too, in parallel.”
Dean Jia sighed. “Unfortunately, Zi Wan’s already been shipped to the Labor Training Camp. No way we’d keep such a high-profile target here.”
“It’s even better there. I can go explain to the camp and question him on site.”
Jia Lin didn’t reply right away. His gaze dropped to the floor, as if something had fallen there without a sound.
Ji Tingxi seized the moment, studying his expression closely, trying to pierce the veil of his silence. Was he unwilling? Or unable?
“I can’t make that call. It needs the camp leader’s approval. Besides, Zi Wan’s been isolated from the outside world. Even if we questioned him, progress would be unlikely.”
“Not necessarily. Look at this escort—we kept it airtight, yet lawbreakers still sniffed it out. Zi Wan seems cut off, but if the Jili Organization really took the Zi Qin sisters, they might try to rescue him too, get in contact.”
Jia Lin’s brows knitted in irritation. “I get your thinking, but questioning Labor Training Camp prisoners has strict protocols. And with your injury, you shouldn’t push yourself. I’ll pass your idea to Camp Chief Hu and ask for their cooperation in the investigation.”
With that, Jia Lin stood, drawing an unsatisfying close to the conversation with his departure.
Once he left, the room felt empty again. Ji Tingxi still leaned against the chair back, but her gaze toward the door now held a deeper, more thoughtful glint: Could Zi Wan not be at the Labor Training Camp anymore?
…
The attack on the transport van didn’t just rile Ji Tingxi—it infuriated the entire Guard Institute.
The male student’s death had already sparked outrage, fueling attacks on the institute. But the fury from the Guard Institute and Rui’er Terrace overshadowed it all. The criticisms were quashed, replaced by a massive dragnet pursuit.
The armed suspects and suspect vehicles had escaped cleanly.
The Guard Institute had dispatched pursuit teams, but it was too late. They could only trail exhaust fumes from afar in a symbolic chase.
When Jia Lin got the report, curses nearly escaped his lips. But his anger circled in his chest before reason intervened, redirecting it: No, he couldn’t blame his subordinates—they had followed orders. Should he blame himself? No, he had reacted fastest, marshaling forces for defense and pursuit.
The problem lay with the enemy.
Snatching prisoners amid chaos, boarding vehicles, and evading capture in mere moments demanded meticulous planning—perhaps countless drills leading to this flawless execution. They got the prisoners and slipped the net.
Jia Lin sat in the briefing room, eyeing the transport van’s metal lock. It looked like two slabs of cheese sliced by a knife—severed cleanly. The laser’s energy had melted the metal instantly and silently while breaching the door.
Meanwhile, someone from the Research Division stood nearby, presenting the ballistics report. “Dean Jia, numerical simulations confirm the weapon that hit Director Ji was a P365 pistol. It matches the model we seized from Luling Mountain Road in the previous assassination attempt.”
Jia Lin closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. When he opened them, his gaze sharpened with upgraded fury—now with a clear target.
…
Per the plan, Ji Tingxi still went to the Labor Training Camp to explain the incident to Camp Chief Hu personally.
He already knew the details by the time she arrived. After a night of rest, he received her the next day with a face as mournful as if attending a funeral—just short of a tombstone over his head.
Dean Jia had expressed regrets, and Ji Tingxi offered profound apologies to the camp leader too, ready to accept any punishment.
Camp Chief Hu shared no direct superior-subordinate tie with her, so any reprimand wouldn’t fall to him anyway.
He kept a frozen expression, glancing at her bandaged arm. Maintaining collegial goodwill, he said, “It was an unforeseen mishap—impossible to guard against completely. Director Ji, heal up first. The Defense Adjustment System needs you.”
As Ji Tingxi had anticipated, he refused her request to interrogate Zi Wan, leaving no room for negotiation—just like Jia Lin.
She spent only half a day at the Labor Training Camp. When she emerged, the world had turned upside down.
The protest organizers had been arrested. The university launched an internal purge, halting all student activities and gatherings for scrutiny by the education department and Guard Institute.
Tensions between Meisi City’s civic groups and the Guard Institute had simmered for a while. Now, the “employment of Sern researchers” issue reignited academic friction with the Guard Institute system.
Led by student protester Ban Yang, the students demanded reinstatement of Sern researchers to advance science. But the Meisi Platform deemed it a violation of Bailunting’s class system—unfeasible.
Unconvinced, the students escalated to on-site protests.
The male student’s death outside Meisi Guard Institute gates had already white-hot the atmosphere. Protests from major colleges threatened to merge into a surging wave crashing against Rui’er Terrace and Guard Institute doors.
Yet at this juncture, the Guard Institute wielded its authority like a weapon, smothering all dissent and counter-pressuring—further restricting university actions and policing student speech.
The flames of doubt and opposition were forcibly doused but didn’t vanish. They seeped silently into campus corners, permeating the air beyond sealed gates—highly volatile.
The Guard Institute’s car passed Meisi University. Towering trees and sleek buildings stood in eerie silence, as if broadcasts and people alike had been muted.
Beyond the campus cluster lay luxury boutiques with glass facades, minimalist signage, gleaming lights complementing exquisite wares. Even the air held a whiff of perfume as the vehicle passed.
But beauty was skin-deep. No business stirred inside—or rather, it had been choked off.
Many shops had shuttered. One stood open-mouthed while police held a sealing tape, interrupted by the owner. They argued on the roadside.
“Are you people reasonable? We accidentally sold stuff to Sern people—why shut us down?”
The officer pinned him against a lamppost, reaching for handcuffs. “Your store sold limited-edition art supplies—Category Two goods, banned for Sern races. Surveillance shows the Sern customer clearly, ID presented. This wasn’t accidental; you broke the law knowingly. You must be dealt with!”
The burly owner struggled, nearly breaking free. “Fine, I admit it! I just wanted the sale, overlooked the rules. Fine me double—anything! But don’t seal the store! Where’s this regulation from!?”
“Selling restricted goods to Sern people raises serious collusion suspicions. It’s not just the store—you’re under investigation too. Quit yapping!”
Hearing this, the owner grew more aggrieved, craning his neck as his shouts echoed down the street—
“One willing seller, one willing buyer—what’s wrong with a deal? Stores are dying already—now pick customers? When we go bust, no Sern or even you will get these! Leave us a way to survive—”
His cries continued, but police dragged him into their car. The door slammed shut, facing the newly sealed storefront across the way.
With the police car blocking, their vehicle crawled along. Ji Tingxi, window half-open, witnessed it all and overheard the reason.
As a Defense Adjustment System operative and Police Bureau ally, a gleam of satisfaction flickered in her eyes—not joy at justice served, but delight at a golden age unfolding as she wished.
Per Libo Faction plans, if things progressed normally, Bailunting under Rui’er Central Faction rule would eventually expose its political and economic rifts.
The Northern District lagged slowly, but the East District—with its raw fault lines—had erupted, vividly matching her vision in stark alignment.
Their operation was a masterstroke, killing two birds with one stone: rescuing the Zi Qin sisters while fanning flames in an already divided society, making the standoff blaze hotter.
Pity the Libo-aligned students. One dead, the rest swept into the masses—activities curbed, harsh probes looming.
The street passed. Ji Tingxi closed her window and faced forward.
In the rearview mirror, her satisfaction faded into mild gravity. Wound pain cast flickering shadows across her brow. Her face reformed into the proper visage of a Guard Institute division chief.
…
September 18th, Meisi City, Jili Organization outpost.
The small room brimmed with electronics. A massive terminal screen perched on a modest cabinet, like a big head on a tiny body.
The man before it matched: enormous head atop a slender neck, as if his brain had hogged all the nutrients.
Hop took pride in his big head. As Jili Organization’s Meisi chief, he spoke in steady, deliberate tones laden with insight matching his intellect.
“Three sites sealed in a row. Has the whole line been exposed?”
“No, it’s blanket Guard Institute strikes—anything suspicious gets shut. Plenty of innocent shops hit, ours included.”
“Have they lost it? Or is the opposition not loud enough already?”
“The Rabbit Fur Street incident days ago—word is, key prisoners got snatched. Guard Institute’s overreacting, pinning it on us from their moves.”
“On us?” His big brow furrowed, eyes reflecting the screen’s data flurry. “Us again?”
“Why us?” Skepticism deepened the crease. “North County tipped us about arms shipments to Meisi—we followed up, sure. But prisoners? No link…”
His aide stayed silent, but Hop’s keen mind flowed on without prompting.
“Notice how every North County tip leads to action—and heavy losses? First our North County Guard Institute mole gets nabbed, now this purge.”
The contact nodded. “True. During Rabbit Fur Street, our spotters heard shouts: ‘Guard Institute van—heading to the Labor Training Camp!'”
“Labor Training Camp…” Hop exhaled ponderously; even urgency slowed in his speech. “Not odd for them to ship prisoners there.”
“Yeah, I checked scene photos. Chaos hid Zi Qin and Zi Cen, but the woman who stepped out wasn’t Meisi Guard Institute. From North County—the one who captured Zi Wan originally.”
A long-lens photo filled the screen. Background blurred to chaos, but near the door: a tall, lean figure clutching a pistol against the van, head turned watchfully, poised to return fire.
“It was her. It was her all along…” Insight smoothed Hop’s furrowed brow.
“Got it. I understand now!”
