Chapter 112: I Can Help You Reach the Top

The Snake Mouth Base nestled near a river bend, surrounded by dense forests on the hillside. The air here felt much more humid than in the city center, but the base itself had no such issues. Its walls, built from concrete and metal, blocked out external temperature and moisture fluctuations. The interior maintained a constant temperature, and the uniforms and gear were standardized, issued uniformly by the base.

Sha Jiali wore a pocketless long robe and sat in the training room. In front of him stood an embedded tablet computer, with an instrument nearby on the table. Complex wires and sensors connected the computer to the chair, making it resemble a high-end wheelchair.

“Professor Sha, after these past few days of tours, I trust you’ve gotten familiar with our base by now?”

“I’ve more or less familiarized myself with it. But Director, this new machine you’ve designed is already perfect enough. A disabled person can connect via the interface and control a mechanical arm through the computer—the goal has been achieved.”

Base rules prohibited flashy attire, so under the standard white uniforms, Sha Jiali finally looked respectable. Even his glasses seemed clearer, reflecting a gaze full of intelligence.

Liu Yisi glanced at the machine beside her and smiled. “That’s true, but our ultimate goal isn’t just information input and output. That’s merely the first step. The rest will require your expertise.”

“Go ahead and tell me. First, let me see if I’m qualified to contribute.” Sha Jiali instinctively reached for his pockets, but the seamless fabric offered none. He rubbed his hands on his clothes a few times before placing them back on the table.

“Alright, let me explain our vision to you.” Liu Yisi had grown adept at using her own computer. Even viewing it upside down, she effortlessly switched pages and pulled up the concept diagram he wanted.

…

Wen Du’s mood was profoundly conflicted as she hurried toward Vulcan Restaurant.

After Ji Tingxi’s incident, beyond her worry lay a layer of regret. She regretted not establishing a protocol beforehand for how their respective organizations would maintain contact if one of them fell into trouble.

Deep down, both women knew they themselves were the best guarantee of their alliance. If one side met with mishap, suspicion would inevitably point toward the other. Former allies could turn into mortal enemies, and even peaceful coexistence might become impossible.

Take this incident, for example. Besides the Guard Institute and Libo Faction, only Giel knew Ji Tingxi’s exact movements in detail. If Libo suspected Wen Du’s involvement in the bombing, it would be entirely reasonable—after all, eliminating Ji Tingxi after succeeding would kill two birds with one stone.

That was why Wen Du had refrained from rash action, patiently awaiting news. Finally, today Ruo Xing had visited under the guise of checking on her and casually mentioned: “The restaurant is offering a discount for loyal customers—eight off on today’s set meals.”

The words resembled a door-to-door sales pitch, but the restaurant’s name lit up Wen Du’s eyes: Vulcan Restaurant.

It was there that Wen Du and Ji Tingxi had revealed their true identities, confronted each other, and paved the way for their cooperation.

Libo Faction had chosen it as a secure meeting spot.

But for Wen Du now, it might not be safe. Still, she didn’t hesitate long. She briefed Yue Mu back at the residence and set off for the restaurant.

Though danger loomed, she leaned toward believing Libo wanted to communicate and preserve their link—was this Ji Tingxi’s arrangement before departing?

The restaurant’s business was always just right—not deserted, yet never overcrowded. Once seated, one could see every table filled while wide aisles provided ample room to move amid the lively buzz.

Wen Du arrived, gave the private room number, and a server led her upstairs to the innermost door on the second floor. “Miss, this is your room. Dishes will be served according to the menu. Please wait inside.”

The private room was walled on all sides, heavy velvet curtains blocking any hint of windows.

Near the door sat a square wooden table, identical to those in the main hall downstairs. But the room was spacious enough that the inner side featured a sofa and coffee table. The sofa was large and plush, piled high with cushions, as if beckoning the well-fed to recline.

Wen Du settled into a chair and waited silently—not for the food, but for her visitor.

The room was already quiet, but her presence amplified the stillness. Not even the server’s footsteps or diners’ chatter penetrated. The air felt filtered, isolated from the restaurant beyond.

During the wait, Wen Du pulled out her phone, opened her chat with Yue Mu, and sent a sun emoji to signal she was safe for now.

The moment she hit send, the door creaked open, shattering the tranquility. Wen Du’s head snapped up, catching the silhouette in the doorway.

With no natural light, the room’s bright lamps illuminated the visitor’s face clearly, the details etching sharply into her vision.

Wen Du rose from her chair, eyes unblinking. The other woman closed the door and stood near it.

For a moment, silence reigned. Then Wen Du moved toward the door without a word, halting an arm’s length away to face her directly.

“You’re back?”

“Mm. Arrived yesterday.”

Wen Du’s gaze scanned like a scanner: first the slung arm, then the face half-covered by bandages and scars, finally settling on those eyes. Thankfully, they were intact, the gaze as clear and bright as before—though now richer, layered with more depth.

“That’s wonderful.” Wen Du smiled broadly, then bit her lip to rein in her overflowing joy. When she looked up again, all her emotions had gathered into her eyes, flowing wordlessly toward the other woman in a warm embrace.

She took Ji Tingxi’s hand and led her to the sofa. Now she understood why it was so expansive—to accommodate a special patient who needed careful handling.

Wen Du had noticed her fingertips were cold upon first touch. She poured a cup of hot water for her to hold. But Ji Tingxi didn’t take it; her fingers merely twitched. “I want to warm them by holding you. Is that okay?”

Wen Du eyed the bandaged arm again, puzzled by this one-armed warrior. “But you only have one hand free. The other’s still wrapped—I don’t want to press on it.”

“It’s fine. I’ll be careful.”

With that, Ji Tingxi extended her left arm, looping it around Wen Du’s shoulders and drawing her close. She rested her head on Wen Du’s shoulder blade, clinging like a koala to a breadfruit tree—truly pressure-free and utterly comfortable.

Ji Tingxi felt no concern about the weight, but Wen Du did. She stayed perfectly still throughout, transforming into the ideal body pillow: warm, but unmoving.

“Does the Guard Institute know you’re back?”

“Both sides do. They arranged my return. They’re afraid the Jili Organization will learn I’m alive and launch revenge, so they’ve kept it strictly confidential.”

Wen Du paused briefly, her gaze drifting into the distance—He De knew Ji Tingxi had survived, yet hadn’t told her.

“Good. I’m just glad you’re safe. I heard the explosion over the phone…”

“It was a bomb planted by the Jili Organization. They locked onto our vehicle early and tailed us to the airport. They entered the underground garage via the taxi and private car lanes, then left a package stuffed with explosives in the elevator trash bin just before we reached the third-floor procedures hall. Once we were far enough, they detonated it remotely via signal.”

“Did both security personnel die?”

“Yes. I got caught in the blast too, but it wasn’t fatal.” Ji Tingxi shifted her head slightly. Gauze still covered her forehead, but nestled against Wen Du’s soft hair, she felt utterly secure. “When you called, I took a few steps toward the exit, away from the elevator doors, so the damage was minimal. Thanks to your call.”

Wen Du’s eyelashes fluttered, a chill of aftershock racing up her spine. What if she hadn’t met Yin Chen that afternoon? What if she hadn’t seen through Jili’s scheme? What if she’d dialed a second or two later? Would Ruo Xing’s message today have been an invitation—or something far worse?

“And your organization? Did they provide covert protection?”

Ji Tingxi fell silent for a beat before replying. “Yes. Besides Meisi’s security, Libo members escorted me in secret. They warned of possible tails and to be wary of anyone approaching. So when the man behind me—who’d been waiting for the elevator—stepped away, I sensed something off and turned back to look for him.”

Wen Du chuckled. “Then you should thank your own caution, not me.”

Her lingering fear vanished instantly, replaced by a subtle peace of mind. Excellent—no matter her involvement, Ji Tingxi could protect herself. She remained that steely, unyielding partner.

Wen Du’s heart settled, but her shoulder stirred. Ji Tingxi’s face shifted, her hair tickling Wen Du’s ear. Like magnet to iron, she pressed intimately against Wen Du’s neck, reluctant to part.

“I still owe you thanks. In the later stages of my coma, a voice looped in my mind—muffled, like it was wrapped in foam or submerged in water. I strained to make it out and finally recognized it as your voice from the phone call at the end. But the later words blurred. I fought desperately to hear the full thing, grasping and straining like a drowning swimmer breaking the surface. Then I woke up.”

Wen Du blinked, her eyes and nose stinging. Of course she couldn’t make it out clearly—Wen Du’s warning to be careful hadn’t even finished before the blast.

Ji Tingxi lifted her eyelids, her gaze meeting Wen Du’s, lashes brushing her cheek. “You look like you worried about me quite a bit.”

Wen Du turned her head away, lowering her eyes. “Naturally, I didn’t want anything happening to you. We’re allies on the same rope, after all.”

Then she turned back, steering the conversation elsewhere. “Besides, does your family know? They’d be worried too.”

In the ensuing silence, Ji Tingxi held her close and eased them both down to lie on the sofa. Her deep gray hair fanned out across the cushions, draping over one ear and half her face.

“No need to worry about that. I have no family. They’re all gone.”

Wen Du frowned. “What happened? Did they leave the country?”

Like her own family.

“No, they died. In the Daisy Transformation.” Ji Tingxi’s answer was blunt, her tone devoid of excess emotion.

“Were they Libo Faction too?”

Persecuted to death in the coup.

“No, they were staunch Rui’er Faction members. During the last Rui’er term, they worked in the West District office on urban planning and construction.”

Now it was Wen Du’s turn to fall silent, unsure how to respond.

“Not every Rui’er Faction member is a lunatic. At first, the new policies were backed only by radicals in the Rui’er Center Faction.

“After gene theory and the foreign policies were proposed, massive opposition arose within Rui’er Faction. But the Rui’er Center Faction’s radicals weren’t just vocal in their views—they acted on them.

“They first suppressed internal dissenters and rammed through gene theory as forbidden thought in the new regime. Once nationwide backlash erupted, they grew even bolder. Citing ‘heretical ideas,’ they coerced opponents to comply or quit. For the defiant, they resorted to brute force, achieving their aims no matter the cost.”

To avoid interrupting, Wen Du breathed lightly, her focus intense as she studied Ji Tingxi’s face half-hidden in her hair—the fluttering lashes, the parting lips and teeth. She spoke like one murmuring in a dream, softly unfolding her tale.

“My parents held modest positions, but they staunchly opposed the new regime. They yearned to restore normal elections and refused to serve the government. When bribes and threats failed, they were imprisoned for reeducation. Later reports said they starved themselves to death, one after the other, in jail.

“That year, I’d just graduated university. Influenced by my parents, I’d joined Rui’er Faction during school and majored in international relations, aiming for the government’s foreign affairs department post-graduation. But after their deaths, I changed course. I joined Libo Faction and infiltrated Rui’er. After covert selection, I entered the Ganteming Guard Adjustment Institute in the West District as an operative in the Special Action Department.”

With that, Ji Tingxi shifted, her hair falling further, her face even more veiled. A faint smile curved her lips—mocking, perhaps, or ironic.

“See? Like any diplomat, I serve Rui’er Terrace. But my purpose is utterly different. Vastly so.”

Not the difference between foreign ministry and Guard Institute—but between Rui’er Faction and Libo.

Wen Du lowered her arm to pillow her head fully, lying back as she brushed Ji Tingxi’s hair behind her ear. “Do you hate them?”

Now face-to-face up close, Ji Tingxi peered into Wen Du’s eyes. The smile faded, replaced by earnest focus.

“I did at first. Now… I view them more as political enemies from Libo’s standpoint. You told me you believe in life, wanting to save as many as possible. I believe in stability, hoping for national peace and security. But Rui’er Faction’s rule achieves none of that. The deeper you delve into their forbidden thoughts, the clearer it becomes.”

“So, you aim to topple Rui’er Terrace?”

Ji Tingxi went quiet, their gazes locked.

“Word from Meisi: The Zi Qin sisters described their detention experiences. They definitely weren’t in a Labor Training Camp—no standard manual labor. They used tools for sorting and cleaning, wore heavy protective suits covering even their faces.

“Our people examined them and found shedding skin, inflammation—mental trauma too. We suspect their work exposed them to heavy radiation. Far too dangerous for ordinary Homer People, so they assigned Sern prisoners.”

“Heavy radiation? Forbidden experiments?”

“Possible. Recall Star Yuan Year 297—the ‘Prohibition of Forbidden Weapons Treaty’ passed overwhelmingly in the United Nations. Bailunting signed it too. Conducting forbidden tests to create such weapons would violate international treaties, inviting sanctions.

“Post-new regime, prodded by Gailie Country, many nations cited humanitarianism for toothless sanctions on Bailunting.

“Now, with tensions easing and trade reopening, Rui’er Faction has regained international standing. But forbidden experiments? That truly tramples other nations’ interests. If the United Nations acts, it won’t be mere words.”

Ji Tingxi’s eyes widened slightly, better reflecting Wen Du’s features. Her hand covered Wen Du’s hair, thumb gently stroking her temple.

“No wonder the Labor Training Camp valued the Zi Qin sisters so much. Now that they’ve been snatched, Rui’er Terrace must be in a frenzy. Our operation was worth it—my injuries too.”

“You’d already vaguely guessed the Zi Qin sisters’ detention site, hadn’t you? This op was to seize that leverage.”

Ji Tingxi’s hand stilled, the image in her pupils fixed. “Yes.”

Wen Du pressed closer; they lay facing each other, nearly entwined.

“Your goal is next spring’s national election, right? I can help you reach the top!”