Bai Zhuo had never held much fondness for Ruo Xing.
He was, to a certain extent, a meritocrat at heart, instinctively admiring strength. He had initially resented Ji Tingxi but had come around once he realized her capabilities were top-notch, doing his utmost to fall in line.
Now, seated at the top spot in his division, Bai Zhuo applied the same standards to his subordinates. Those with exceptional skills and efficiency earned major responsibilities; those who didn’t measure up gradually faded into the background. Everything boiled down to performance, with no real personal favoritism involved.
Ruo Xing’s abilities were more than adequate. Whether gathering intelligence or handling technical work, he bore the unmistakable marks of a straight-A student from the Blue Training Department. Yet despite his diligent efforts, he had failed to win Bai Zhuo’s favor.
In Bai Zhuo’s eyes, Ruo Xing was a slick opportunist, a fawning sycophant who cozied up to any superior in sight. He had done it with the former division chief and even more so with Ji Tingxi—a classic case of a spineless weathervane, shifting with every breeze.
But now, watching his busy figure at work, Bai Zhuo found himself entertaining a new suspicion. The idea grew stronger by the moment, overriding his previous disdain and transforming into intense scrutiny.
“I remember you and Ruo Xing came in through the same selection batch, right?”
“Oh yeah,” Ma Gefan paused for a second, digging back three years. “And we both ended up in the External Investigation Section.”
“You went to military academy originally?”
“Yeah, I wanted to join the troops at first, but I was more into investigative work back then, so I signed up for the selection process.”
Bai Zhuo glanced at his prized subordinate, increasingly convinced of the man’s solid pedigree. His own judgment had been spot-on; everyone he had promoted checked out. Unlike Ji Tingxi…
“Do you know where Ruo Xing came from?”
“He probably went to some regular university, but his technical skills were strong enough for special recruitment.”
“Did he ever tell you why he wanted to join the Guard Institute while you were training together?”
“We all came in back then with dreams of serving the nation loyally. I figured he’d go for something technical like the Intelligence Collection Division or the Blue Training Department, but he ended up here just like me—and we even became friends.”
“Has he ever taken you to see a show?”
“Yeah, he’s pretty into that stuff. There’s the Red Show Theater not far from us—he used to go there a lot, but it never really grabbed me. I’d rather spend weekends chilling alone.”
“Well, you won’t be able to slack off on weekends anymore.”
Ma Gefan chuckled, biting back a comment. After all, you haven’t exactly let me rest on weekends lately either—whether digging up dirt on Gailie Country or tracking down the Libo Faction, just the Seven Leaves Spectator Entertainment City operation alone had him staking out for a full month.
“I’m assigning you a task to handle with Ruo Xing. Use the opportunity to get closer to him, ideally to pin down his weekend routines.”
Ma Gefan looked up sharply, disbelief flickering in his eyes. “You mean Ruo Xing is…?”
“I don’t have a firm conclusion yet. It’ll depend on whatever leads you uncover.”
…
After Bai Zhuo took over as acting division chief, he didn’t give Ruo Xing any plum assignments, just stuck him with the basics—like handling disturbances from Sern people. The workload was light, which suited Ruo Xing fine. He’d wrap up his routine duties and then do whatever he pleased; he always had plenty going on.
But his downtime didn’t last. Suddenly, Bai Zhuo took a shine to him and handed him a long-term project partnering with Ma Gefan: investigating the Libo Faction’s infiltration into local tech firms.
Bai Zhuo had already been pursuing this line of inquiry on his own. Now he split it into two tracks—one covert, under his personal supervision, and one overt, assigned to Ma Gefan and Ruo Xing.
The overt track wasn’t meant to add new intel; it served purely as a control for comparison, to check if the results aligned. This time, Bai Zhuo was employing a controlled variable approach to smoke out any moles.
The task had barely kicked off, however, when it hit its first snag: Ji Tingxi’s injuries had healed, and she was returning to the Wei Investigation Institute.
To celebrate Chief Ji’s comeback, the Special Action Department gathered in the Guard Institute’s cafeteria for a lively round of toasts, expressing their concern and longing for her.
During the meal, Ji Tingxi made a point of thanking Bai Zhuo for stepping up in the crisis and steering the Special Action Department through tough times.
Bai Zhuo didn’t mind Ji Tingxi returning per se—he just didn’t want her back right now. His plan was unfolding nicely, and barring surprises, results were imminent. But her bursting back onto the scene threatened to derail everything.
At the table, everyone played the part of one big happy family. Once the doors closed, though, the real talk began.
“You really know how to pick your moment to come back. I figured it’d be a while longer, at least until things quiet down with the Jili Organization.”
Ji Tingxi stepped down from the passenger seat. Her hand injury hadn’t fully mended yet, making it a perfect excuse to hitch a ride.
“You’ve already started investigating your own people. If I didn’t come back now, your position would only get more precarious.”
Ruo Xing walked Ji Tingxi up the steps to her home in a show of utmost courtesy. He had known her timing couldn’t be coincidence; she always had her reasons.
“Bai Zhuo tasked me with identifying tech company employees who might have Libo Faction ties and submitting a list. I know exactly who they are, of course, but turning in the real names would endanger our members. So I’m torn—submit the genuine list or fake one?”
Ji Tingxi stood a step above him, looking down with what seemed, from afar, like sympathetic concern for his burdens.
“Submit the real one. Those tech company folks are probably the same batch of students suspected in the Seven Leaves Spectator Entertainment City incident a few months back. They’ve just graduated and joined companies now. Even without your list, they’d come under suspicion. Covering for them would only drag you down too.”
Ruo Xing nodded. “Yeah, I thought so. The fallout from the Seven Leaves incident is still rippling; they’re still chasing leads.”
“It’s normal to follow up. But he’s being extra cautious, only entrusting his confidants—yet now he’s looped you in. That’s odd. You’ve been following protocol to the letter, right?”
“Absolutely. No slacking on my end—all suspicious points reported faithfully, including the list I’m about to hand over.” Ruo Xing looked up, but Ji Tingxi showed no sign of approval. Instead, she seemed hesitant.
“What’s wrong?”
Ji Tingxi’s fingers brushed her watch face, her gaze drifting unfocused. “I’m wondering why he’s suspicious of you. Where did things go wrong?”
…
In Meisi City, after the parades, sweeps, and bombings, the once chaotic streets finally entered a phase of uneasy calm.
Normal shops had reopened along the roads. Trams bravely resumed their routes, and pedestrians adopted their old paces—leisurely or hurried—their focus shifting to timetables rather than lurking dangers.
Inside the apartment that doubled as living quarters and office, Hop sat at his desk. Three terminals stood before him; if the landlord peeked in, they’d pass as high-end gaming gear. Once alone, the screens flipped to work mode, the keyboard lights dimmed, and it all looked like standard office equipment again.
Hop would have preferred to keep a lower profile, but his position didn’t allow it. The contact who entered stood by the bed and saluted crisply.
“Commander Hop, the Bailunting head for a Kangman company did arrive in Meisi this morning. He already met with the mayor, hoping to open a branch here to expand sales channels.”
“What was the mayor’s reaction?”
“Not entirely clear yet. No firm stance—needs more deliberation.”
“Deliberation? Businesses should be the ones thinking twice. With Meisi’s current volatility, that branch might get bombed into oblivion before it’s even built. Plenty of merchants have fled the city, leaving little competition and a juicy market—but do they have the guts to bite off that much?”
“I find it suspicious too. I bet the Meisi Platform feels the same. Policy-wise, they’re welcoming to foreign investment and can’t outright refuse. But with their current emphasis on security over economy, they’ll weigh the risks to local safety.”
Hop’s eyes narrowed. “Safety risks? If foreign firms come in, won’t that force the city’s entry points to open up?”
“Not wide open, but looser for sure—with all the cross-border personnel and goods flowing.”
“Meaning, once they’re in, it becomes easier for anyone wanting to slip out?”
The contact sat at the computer, pondering. “The whole city’s hunting those two escaped prisoners. The Rui’er Terrace’s on it, we’re on it—I’d bet the Sern Organization is racking its brains to smuggle them away.”
Hop pulled up the company’s files. The center screen displayed detailed intel, which he pored over while letting his contact review it too.
“Keep tabs on this firm. Check out its real power brokers today.”
“You suspect…?”
“It’s nominally held by Kangman people, but I doubt the board’s that straightforward.”
…
The Zi Qin sisters had been safely extracted, and Ji Tingxi had returned without issue. Through united efforts across multiple divisions, the Sern unrest had died down, Gailie Country’s main players had been pushed out, and Libo Faction infiltration probes were ongoing but contained—no signs of them stirring up trouble anytime soon.
After months of turmoil, the Guard Institute enjoyed a rare stretch of peace. With year’s end approaching, residents busied themselves with preparations, and streets buzzed with festive energy, thick with holiday cheer.
On her way home, Wen Du passed the shops on Lilac Street. Trendy apparel in seasonal rotation, ever-fresh flowers, and sweet aromas wafting from bakeries—all proclaimed life’s vibrancy and novelty, beckoning passersby to join the street’s lively renewal.
As New Year’s neared, the cakes at Joyful Intent donned red-and-white sugar frosting and chocolate hats, infusing every sweet bite with the year’s good fortunes.
Wen Du bought two cup cakes and smiled at the clerk, Ye Lai. “The evacuation route—is it still clear?”
Ye Lai paused in his packing, hesitating. “Are you in some kind of trouble? Want me to call Station Chief Yin?”
“No, just checking. Spring elections are next year—things could shift fast. Our undercover days might be numbered.”
Wen Du took the cakes, turning amid the shop’s snowy window display. Her expression remained warm, like a New Year’s well-wish. “Please tell Station Chief Yin to double-check the evacuation route. Keep it safe and open at all times.”
As the year-end loomed, the Guard Institute stayed busy, but its two directors made time amid the hustle to plan a special celebration.
First off, nothing extravagant—that wasn’t the North County Guard Institute’s low-key style. Second, it couldn’t eat up too much time, or it’d overshadow work.
After hashing it out, the directors settled on a banquet in the internal cafeteria, letting everyone call the shots on the menu. The kitchen would whip up whatever they could, grumble through the rest, and try to satisfy even the pickiest requests.
But before details solidified, He De received a “secure line” call straight to the General Affairs Office. Director Te fielded it and immediately escalated to the director’s office for classified handling.
That afternoon, He De met with Yesuiying again. By the next day, they had packed and departed the Guard Institute.
Before leaving, Director Te and Ji Tingxi saw them off in the lobby.
Institute directors traveling wasn’t unheard of since North County’s founding, but both going together? Only once before—three years ago, at the Northern District Security Investigation Station’s full-system conference, mandating all regional Guard Institute leaders attend.
Reviving that scenario now, He De’s notice read: “The Northern District is holding a year-end review and next-year planning summit. Us old-timers need to be there—hope our institute doesn’t catch any flak.”
Director Te chimed in. “We won’t. No big wins this year, but no major screw-ups either. Should snag a participation trophy at least.”
That held true just for North County City. Factor in the Meisi Guard Institute hijacking… well, that was a fiasco of epic proportions.
With the two elders gone, Director Te and Ji Tingxi returned to their offices. Before leaving the director’s office, Ji Tingxi paused politely toward Director Te inside. “Director Te, you’re holding down the fort here today. I’ll head back to the Special Action Department and stand ready—call me anytime.”
Director Te set his laptop on the office desk and settled into the director’s chair. “Sure thing. Go handle your business. Security controls are tightening up, so the Special Action Department has its plate full.”
It was just the two of them seeing off the directors—not because the pair lacked friends, but because Te Rui and Ji Tingxi had been named acting directors, tasked with minding the store in their absence.
As head of the General Affairs Office—essentially the director’s right-hand—Director Te knew the institute’s operations inside out, making him ideal for interim duties.
The major divisions were equals on paper, but the Special Action Department was core. In crises, its initiatives took priority, so Ji Tingxi served as acting director too, with tie-breaking authority after consulting Director Te.
The role carried risks. Smooth sailing was fine, but like at the Meisi Guard Institute, sudden crises demanded split-second calls—where a hair’s breadth could mean disaster and heaps of blame.
Ji Tingxi had just escaped one maelstrom and wanted no more trouble, but duty called. She stepped up to the plate, ready to play it by ear.
Soon enough, she spotted a silver lining: As acting director, she outranked Bai Zhuo. She could now legitimately meddle in—or at least inquire about—his assignments. Top priority: commandeering Ruo Xing.
“Chief Bai, with the two directors away, I’m pinch-hitting. Duties are piling up, and I need Ruo Xing’s help. Any chance you could spare him?”
Bai Zhuo had no desire to let him go, but with the “acting director” asking…
“Of course. Call him over whenever—won’t cramp my style.”
“Great, thanks for the flexibility. I’m just used to working with him; he fits my style.”
“Got it—loyal old subordinate and all!”
After two months in the trenches, Ruo Xing could finally break free legitimately. He was eternally grateful to Ji Tingxi, vowing he’d gladly pull all-nighters at her side, even crash in the office.
But Ji Tingxi felt no triumph, only issuing a warning. “He won’t drop his probe of you. Stay vigilant!”
…
Before New Year’s came Valentine’s Day in Bailunting.
On Star Yuan 323, December 20—the holiday itself—streets brimmed with flowers. Shops decked themselves out lavishly, drawing romantic souls and adding sparkle to the festivities.
Wen Du had never made much of the day. Suitors weren’t lacking, but her position forbade indulgence.
Love demanded one’s true self, the very thing she most hid.
She lived behind masks, calibrating even faint smiles—their curve, width, target.
The process was exhausting, leaving her keenly aware her authentic self wouldn’t charm. Suitors chased a facade; the real face beneath was hers alone, for solitary sighs.
So Wen Du loved flowers but skipped buying them that day—better left for those who truly needed them.
A lone figure like her didn’t belong in the pink frenzy.
At nine a.m., she arrived at her desk as usual. But she noticed a vase in the office brimming with red roses—fresh and vibrant, like ambient lights instantly brightening the room. Each breath carried floral perfume, like sipping a herbal elixir that soothed the soul.
Spotting the flowers, her first reaction was delight, the second curiosity. But the mystery solved itself quickly.
The Logistics Department handled office setups, taking cues from the General Affairs Office, which followed the directors’. With both away, Director Te and Ji Tingxi were in charge.
Given their styles, Ji Tingxi was the prime suspect—this bouquet was Chief Ji’s holiday gift.
Over lunch in the cafeteria, Wen Du learned nearly every office had floral decor. Chief Ji, ever inclusive, had shared the Valentine’s spirit institute-wide. Wen Du smiled quietly as colleagues chatted about their blooms.
Each arrangement was fresh and lovely, but hers alone featured red roses—deeply crimson, passionately vivid, devotedly singular, perfectly festive.
Ji Tingxi had sent flowers everywhere, but red roses only to her. Or perhaps, to deliver those red roses, Chief Ji had decorated every office as cover.
Equal treatment, yet distinctly special.
Valentine’s meant early exits for some, but Ji Tingxi slaved over Intelligence Collection Division matters all day. Wen Du neither spoke to her nor caught sight.
At quitting time, she glanced outside—no one. Turning back, she plucked a single rose bloom and tucked it into her clothes.
Three years without swiping institute files, yet here she was, smuggling out a rose.
Hidden well enough to evade security, but too well—the petals crumpled on the way home, wilting visibly.
Yue Mu pinched the stem, eyeing it thoughtfully. Even as a pro florist, she puzzled. “Won’t fit in a vase. Try a milk bottle—’single occupancy.'”
Master Yue knew her stuff. She trimmed a third of the stem; once watered, the petals perked up, blooming petite yet radiant in the clear glass, rivaling the big jasmine bundle in the dining room.
The little rose bottle went into the study. Wen Du set it by the windowsill, facing the Iris Flowers outside. Though the irises had wilted and the rose would last but a night, one appreciative gaze made it spectacular.
That evening, the night sky outside hung thick with stars.
Inside, Wen Du lit a desk lamp, its glow centering perfectly on the tabletop and the bottle’s water sheen.
She laid out a white sheet. The pen hovered briefly before she leaned in, eyes intent, and began writing. The rose lingered in her periphery, tinting even her strokes with rosy glow.
Yue Mu, ace florist and chef, had served dinner earlier and now brought a light salad to cut the richness of the evening’s scallops.
Under the light, Wen Du’s figure looked intensely focused, her fine nightgown dusted like fresh snow, shimmering softly. Stray locks draped over it, veiling most of her profile, but her concentration shone through.
“Ah Du, what are you writing?” Yue Mu set down the salad quietly, voice soft.
Wen Du looked up from the page, blinked, and smiled. “A love letter.”
“Oh?” Yue Mu lingered, intrigued. “To who?”
“Not sure.”
“Not sure who to send it to?”
Wen Du shook her head earnestly. “I know who. Just not if I can deliver it to her safely.”
