Chapter 126

Ji Tingxi felt like she was drowning in her gaze.

Go out? Out where?

Out of this building, or out of the entire compound?

“The Minister wants to meet me somewhere else, right?”

“No,” Bai Man replied. He had been rushing back and forth all day, exhaustion evident on his face, but he remained impeccably polite as he carried out his final task. “I’m here to escort you out of here, back to North County City.”

Ji Tingxi fell silent for a moment. This was the last answer she wanted to hear.

She didn’t want to leave.

“Am I free to move around now?”

“Yes.”

“That’s great,” Ji Tingxi forced a smile. “…What about Director Wen?”

“I’m not sure about Director Wen’s situation.” With that, Bai Man stepped aside, silently signaling that it was time to go.

Ji Tingxi walked a few steps with them, her footsteps light. But before heading downstairs, she stopped again.

“May I go see Minister Ling?”

“Chief Ji, Minister Ling’s orders were clear: I’m to send you back to North County.”

“But… he promised me before. He was going to confer the rank and give me a commendation.”

As she spoke, Ji Tingxi simply stopped in the stairwell, showing every intention of not leaving until she saw the Minister.

Bai Man had no choice but to halt as well. He stood there for a long moment without responding, his expression tinged with helplessness.

…

Ling Tuofu’s dark circles were visible even to the naked eye, but his spirits were holding strong—perhaps even a bit exhilarated.

He definitely wouldn’t be able to sleep if he tried now, though meeting with Ji Tingxi would still drain some of his energy.

“Chief Ji, congratulations on getting back to your post. You’ve had a rough few days. I’ve already spoken to Dean He—we’ll throw you a proper welcome banquet when you return.”

“It’s no trouble. Standard interrogation procedures are understandable,” Ji Tingxi said politely before shifting the topic. “That said, when does the conferral ceremony begin?”

“In theory, yes, you should get the rank upgrade and commendation. But we have to prioritize handling the undercover situation right now, so we’ll have to postpone it.”

“Could you let me know the specific date? I’d like to prepare.”

Ling Tuofu lifted his water cup and took a sip.

He had no patience left for these details. He had already briefed He De on Ji Tingxi’s case and left it to the Guard Institute to sort out, yet here she was, relentlessly probing for more. He almost missed her earlier detached coolness.

The frustrating part was that her innocence had been confirmed. As a high-ranking officer of the Guard Institute, she deserved respectful treatment.

Mo Fei entered just then, arms full of documents. She caught the tail end of the conversation and, after taking a seat, picked up the thread. “The Guard Institute will handle the ceremony. Just ask Dean He when you get back.”

As she spoke, Mo Fei set a book down on the desk. Ji Tingxi recognized it immediately: the Sern dictionary Wen Du had given her. She had kept it safely at home, poring over it diligently.

Wen Du had visited her place once, and Ji Tingxi had consulted her on it. Wen Du had lavishly praised her earnest study habits, encouraging her to keep at it—and so she had, filling the margins with notes.

Mo Fei opened the book. The pages flipped by quickly, the sparse or dense notes leaping across them before Ji Tingxi’s eyes.

“Wen Du reported that you were proficient in the Sern language and hiding it on purpose. Luckily, the records of your interrogation of the Sern prisoner, combined with these notes, prove otherwise. You don’t know the language at all—you were just attempting to learn it.”

In the surveillance footage from the interrogation, Ji Tingxi’s halting, imperfect Sern words had left Guard Station Sern expert Yan Ming uncertain. He couldn’t entirely rule out that she was concealing her skill. But the notes changed everything, giving him a clear read on her actual level.

No one proficient in the Sern language would make notes on basic vocabulary, and the notes themselves revealed her grasp of the characters.

Beginners and experts differed starkly in handwriting—a matter of muscle memory in the hand and forearm, controlled by neural pathways in the brain. It was the hardest thing to fake.

Director Yan’s expert judgment yielded three key conclusions:

First, every bit of handwriting in the Sern dictionary was Ji Tingxi’s own—no forgeries.

Second, the notes showed genuine effort, not half-hearted scribbles.

Third, the strokes were awkward and clumsy, marking true beginner status.

This completely demolished Wen Du’s accusations.

Once Mo Fei finished, Ling Tuofu took over, speaking with earnest concern.

“Chief Ji, I get it—you were eager to crack the case. Investigating the Sern Organization meant digging through archives and teaching yourself Sern. But rules and procedures exist for a reason. Report upward first, then act. At least give the institute a heads-up before diving into forbidden books!”

“You’re absolutely right,” Ji Tingxi said with a solemn nod. “From now on, I’ll report everything to my superiors first and only proceed with their approval. That way, no more misunderstandings.”

“Excellent—that’s the best approach,” Ling Tuofu replied with a polite smile. “If that’s all, Chief Ji, head home and get some rest. I’ve arranged an escort for you.”

Ji Tingxi rose to leave, then hesitated and sat back down. Ling Tuofu’s eye twitched faintly—his patience fraying at last.

“But Minister Ling, I’m still curious. Why did Director Wen misunderstand me so badly? Accusing someone of Sern proficiency is no small thing. I’m still shaken by it.”

“It wasn’t a misunderstanding. She framed you deliberately. Someone at her level could never mistake your beginner grasp.”

“If she was framing me, then she had to have bad intentions. Just as I thought—the real undercover agent would be desperate to point the finger!”

Ji Tingxi pressed on relentlessly. She had to keep talking, drawing out responses to learn more, to see if there was any way to salvage this.

Panic gripped her heart. Events weren’t unfolding as she’d anticipated—or as she’d agreed with Wen Du. She wasn’t supposed to be the one leaving. It shouldn’t be her.

“She did report you repeatedly, but that’s secondary,” Mo Fei said. “The real breakthrough came from tracing your investigation path. We had our language experts re-examine the archives and spotted a glaring mistranslation—one that never should have happened. It directly caused the later operation’s failure.”

Mo Fei opened a folder and laid out a page from the archives as evidence. Afternoon, four fifty: meet in Room 3 on the first floor.

Ji Tingxi’s heart plummeted. Her entire body felt weightless, as if plummeting from a great height. She desperately needed something to hold onto, to steady her balance and keep her casual expression intact.

“Can you spot what’s wrong with the translation, Chief Ji?”

Ji Tingxi shook her head and said nothing.

Mo Fei looked up with a courteous smile. “No surprise if you can’t. This involves a linguistic quirk that’s obscure even to most learners or dictionary lookups. But for Wen Du, a Sern language expert? Making that error screams intent. She’s been hunting for slip-ups since day one, desperate for her report to stick. What she forgot was that her own mistake would come to light.”

Ji Tingxi nodded along with a smile, feigning triumphant glee in her eyes. All the while, her breathing grew labored, as if massive hands clamped around her throat, stifling her voice.

Wen Du forgot? Impossible. Right there in the Vulcan Restaurant, Ji Tingxi had pointed out that exact mistranslation in front of her—confirming Wen Du’s status as a Sern plant.

To shield her afterward, Ji Tingxi had buried that archive page deep in the secure vault, never touching it again.

She’d even burned Wen Du’s treatise on that very linguistic feature to ash. She had scoured the web for every specialist book touching on it, intent on having them all destroyed.

She had thought no one else would ever discover that secret.

She had thought she could protect Wen Du’s identity perfectly.

She had thought she could get Wen Du out safely.

She had thought Wen Du would survive this.

This wasn’t framing at all. It was deliberate self-incrimination.

Ji Tingxi shook her head in mock amusement, pursing her lips. Three years as an undercover operative had honed her skills. She drew on every ounce of professional savvy to maintain her breezy facade amid the chaos.

“I knew it. A real undercover can’t stay hidden forever. All that scheming to frame me, and she finally slipped up! It proves Minister Ling and Supervisor Mo’s capabilities—no innocents wronged, and my name cleared.”

“Naturally,” Ling Tuofu said with a satisfied nod. “We’ll handle the rest from here. Once you’re back in North County, just carry on as usual. Dean He will take care of everything else. No need to worry.”

It was the second mention of returning to North County—the urging unmistakable. Ling Tuofu had no more time to waste on her. His focus needed to shift to the true undercover and the looming task of dismantling the Sern Organization.

“Understood. Thank you, Minister Ling. And thank you, Supervisor Mo.” Ji Tingxi stood, her neck rigid.

She had to go. She must go now, before suspicion arose. Logic shoved her toward the door.

But she paused for one second and spoke anyway. “Minister Ling, could I see Wen Du one last time?”

Minister Ling finally looked puzzled. He tilted his head. “Why see her now?”

“She went to such lengths to accuse me, trying to destroy me. But I’m leaving now. I want her to witness it firsthand—that’s my best revenge!”

…

The door to the West Building room stood ajar. Anyone could enter. Ji Tingxi gripped the handle and pushed gently. The door creaked open, spilling light from the hallway into the unlit interior.

She paused in the doorway and saw Wen Du seated by the window. She wore a gray shirt, her hair neatly pinned up behind her head. She sat with quiet poise. At the sound of the door, she lifted her eyes.

Courtyard lights leaked through the window, gilding the tips of her hair with silver. But with her back to the light, her face remained shrouded in shadow, veiled like mist.

Ji Tingxi stepped inside, stopping a few paces from the window. She strained in the hallway’s glow to make out Wen Du’s features.

She should say something now—express disappointment or hatred, gloat in victory, anything. She had to speak.

But not a single word escaped Ji Tingxi’s lips. She could only stand there, staring with all her might.

In that instant, Wen Du’s appearance blurred into the image from three days earlier, under the yard’s lamppost. And just like that, Ji Tingxi finally grasped her plan completely.

Wen Du’s scheme, from the very start, had been to send Ji Tingxi out.

Ji Tingxi had assumed Wen Du was the one meant to escape. But in Wen Du’s mind, it had always been her.

To secure her chosen one’s freedom, Wen Du had turned aggressor—relentlessly reporting, bit by bit shoving her target into the fire. No tactic too dirty.

Then, woven into those reports, she had slyly exposed her own damning flaw. Everything unfolded naturally, flawlessly.

Ji Tingxi stared at her in a daze. She had so many words bottled up, unspoken for far too long.

But she couldn’t voice a single one.

You hid it so well—fooled Ling Tuofu, Mo Fei, every lookout and listener in this building. You even fooled me. I thought you were desperate to get out, so I made no moves, just waited for the endgame.

Your plan played out perfectly. You anticipated every reaction, every twist. In the end, you buried any trace between us. My final suspicions are cleared. I can walk out free and clear.

But…

What about you?

What happens to you next?

You’ve handed over your most lethal evidence. No way back now…

What are you going to do?

Ji Tingxi’s throat quivered, her gaze trembling. Yet in the shaking blur, she caught it: Wen Du’s lips curved upward, her eyes crinkling in a smile aimed right at her—soft and intimate, just like all those times before.

No one should smile in a place like this building.

Wen Du hadn’t forgotten.

But this was their final meeting.

The last time she would see Ji Tingxi alive. The last time Ji Tingxi would behold her so vibrant. So she allowed herself this indulgence, shielded by shadow, beaming at her with pure joy.

Her smile was so tender.

Ji Tingxi couldn’t help thinking it—so tender, like their first encounter when she had tilted her head, listening quietly; tender like their shared glances of perfect understanding; tender like the visions in her coma dreams, endless and soothing.

Tender as a lover’s, with dinner ready early after a long day, waiting for her return so they could eat and chat idly—about the weather, meals, old memories, anything at all. As long as it was together, it was enough.

She was too tender, even in courting death—refusing a direct farewell, simply ushering her out in silence.

In that gaze, Ji Tingxi drowned. And in that same moment, one terrifying truth crystallized:

This woman was far cleverer than she had imagined. And she loved her far more deeply.