Chapter 13: Where Did You Pick Up That Accent?

That night, Wen Du returned home with no inclination for overtime work or study. She merely went through the motions, sitting in the study facing the window with her back to the light, before launching into a secret conversation with Yue Mu.

Yue Mu said, “Around 10:35 today, Vehicle No. 1 from the Wei Investigation Institute appeared at the airport. Three men escorted two individuals exhibiting female characteristics through a special passage into the terminal building. The two women wore masks and hats, obscuring their faces and preventing identity confirmation. Based on their entry time, our members speculate that they headed to Mes or Shengye. This afternoon, our contacts in Mes reported spotting two unidentified women at the Mes airport, suspected of being sent to the local labor training camp.”

Wen Du was utterly astonished upon hearing this.

Sern people were scattered across the entire federation, and labor training camps formed a nationwide chain, not confined to North County City alone. Yet there had been no precedent for transferring Sern prisoners across city lines for detention.

Wherever Sern criminals were arrested, that was where they were held in the local labor training camp. Cross-city transport was time-consuming and expensive, and Rui’er Terrace never engaged in losing propositions. They would never dispatch a special car or chartered flight for a mere Sern prisoner.

This time, although no special vehicle or plane had been involved, the cross-province transfer already deviated from all norms.

Yue Mu asked, “Could the North County labor training camp be full, forcing them to detain prisoners across cities?”

“There are countless ways to deal with excess Sern people. Cross-city transfer shouldn’t be the method; the costs are far too high.”

“But we can confirm that the Zi Qin sisters have been confined to a labor training camp and are no longer under interrogation. For now, they’re safe. Xia Lie has already coordinated with our organization in Mes to keep tabs on the camp.”

Wen Du pondered for a moment before nodding in approval. At least the sisters’ whereabouts were now clear, even if shrouded in mystery.

The task of unraveling that mystery had shifted to their Mes members’ shoulders. Right now, she had more pressing matters demanding her attention.

“The delegation arrives the day after tomorrow. Is everything in place?”

Yue Mu nodded emphatically. “Everything is ready!”

With inspections intensifying and the situation growing precarious, they planned to seize the Kangman delegation’s visit as cover to smuggle Duo Lin out of the country.

…

On Wednesday, March 22, the Kangman Delegation arrived in North County and checked into the Swan Palace Hotel. The straight-line distance from Yecheng in Kangman to North District within North County’s Bailunting territory was under two hundred kilometers, so the group drove directly. Their Bentley courtesy cars brimmed with equipment and luggage, evoking the vibe of a leisurely road trip.

Yet this “road trip” held immense significance. Relations between Bailunting and Kangman had been frozen for three years. While tentative foreign trade transactions had begun in the past year, they remained discreet and piecemeal, insufficient to meet either nation’s genuine needs.

The arrival of Kangman’s Commerce and Tourism Delegation now signaled a thaw in bilateral trade and broadcast a welcoming message: The Bailunting Federation’s doors stood wide open, offering favorable terms on a first-come, first-served basis. Ambitious nations were invited to collaborate for mutual prosperity.

Thus, aside from the Kangman authorities, delegations from numerous other nations watched North County’s proceedings with bated breath. They awaited the visit’s outcome to gauge whether it was worth defying the alliance’s “humanitarian” pressures for such a bold step.

To greet the delegation, North County Station transformed the Swan Palace into its private estate, pouring vast sums into lavish preparations. A hundred-meter red carpet unfurled before the hotel entrance, flanked by verdant lawns manicured smoother than satin. The front garden’s fountains tinkled ceaselessly; now, lights embedded in the marble danced in harmony with the water, composing a flamboyant welcome symphony.

On the day of arrival, the Guard Bureau enforced ironclad security around the Swan Palace perimeter. Fully equipped vehicles and armed personnel stood vigilant, as if a high-voltage grid had sprung up overnight. Inside the hotel, however, the festivities remained undimmed. As the five courtesy cars pulled up, the entire staff—clad in crisp red-and-black uniforms with impeccable hairstyles—lined both sides, applauding warmly as the distinguished guests alighted.

That day, Ji Tingxi had reinvented herself as the Tourism Office Deputy Director, positioning herself just behind the authentic Director Wei Tao, her eyes fixed on the approaching delegation.

She spotted Wen Du immediately amid the crowd. As interpreter, Wen Du had already integrated into the foreign entourage, staying close to Kangman Commerce Committee Chairman Ao Weibi.

Wen Du hadn’t selected her outfit with special care, but it suited the occasion perfectly: a navy wool ensemble of jacket and knee-length pencil skirt, cinched at the waist with gleaming metal buttons. Dignified yet elegant, her work badge hung prominently from her chest, proclaiming her professionalism at a glance.

Ji Tingxi kept her gaze trained on Chairman Ao, but she devoted half her attention to Wen Du. Observing the woman’s flawless poise, she inwardly praised her: Not for nothing was she Director Wen. Wherever she went, she exuded a director’s effortless authority—truly captivating.

The delegation featured an impressive roster: the Kangman Commerce Committee Chairman and members, senior tourism officials, and corporate executives, all eager to explore Bailunting’s developmental prospects and prospective partners.

The courtesy cars descended to the underground garage as the delegates retreated to their rooms for a short respite. At precisely six o’clock that evening, the hotel lobby would host a welcome ceremony and presentation on Bailunting’s premier tourist attractions, with representatives from both sides in attendance.

Keqi, the executive from Kangman’s Blueshirt Travel Agency, appeared entranced by the Swan Palace environs. After settling his luggage, he ventured out, strolling to the open-air garden at the corridor’s end. He claimed a rattan chair, savoring the lake and mountain vista nearby.

The encircling hills rose modestly, their contours flowing gently. Dense pines blanketed the slopes; in this springtime, they stood lush and verdant, their needle-sharp leaves lending a fierce edge to the landscape’s soft outlines—a striking study in contrasts.

Swan Palace’s service was unparalleled, attending to every guest without exception. Barely two minutes after Keqi sat alone, a waiter approached bearing purified water and champagne. “Sir, is there anything you need? The lobby offers pastries; I can fetch some for you.”

“I’ve heard the Baishi Sandwich is exceptional. Could you bring one, please? Thank you.”

The waiter’s efficiency shone: Moments earlier, his tray lay empty; now, as Keqi looked up, it overflowed with four sandwiches and a fruit platter.

“One will suffice. Thank you.”

The Baishi Sandwich packed tuna, anchovies, meat paste, and raw ham between its slices—salty, savory, crisp without and tender within. The butter, however, proved sticky on the fingers.

Ever solicitous, the waiter supplied cutlery along with a stack of napkins before bowing deeply. “Sir, please enjoy your meal.”

The fare proved mouthwatering; Keqi devoured it eagerly. Midway, butter smudged his lip. As he reached for a napkin—its corners neatly folded, concealing a tactile bump—he discovered the protrusion was a micro USB drive.

He dabbed his mouth with the napkin, palming the drive. Upon finishing, while adjusting his tie and collar, he deftly concealed it in the clip’s back recess.

Back in his room, Keqi abandoned his relaxed facade. He swiftly donned a fresh suit and tie, then booted his personal laptop offline and inserted the USB drive.

Two files resided within. He opened the first: a personnel roster displaying dozens of photos in neat rows, each annotated with the subject’s role.

These were Wei Investigation Institute operatives, infiltrated among the Bailunting representatives or hotel staff.

For this Kangman visit, Bailunting voiced welcomes publicly but harbored private suspicions. Kangman’s Yecheng thrived as a tourism and trade hub—and notorious sanctuary for fleeing Sern people.

Fearing saboteurs hidden in the delegation, Bailunting had deployed Ji Tingxi and Wen Du, disguised as their own representatives alongside the genuine ones. Their mandate wasn’t business negotiations but vigilant oversight of the Kangmans for any irregularities.

Wen Du had procured the institute’s internal roster, formatted it onto this USB drive, enabling Keqi to identify nearby operatives and minimize risks during operations.

Keqi committed the faces to memory; the Giel Organization had vetted his recall abilities, and he mastered them in under two minutes. He then accessed the second file.

It depicted a black sedan and a man’s profile as he clutched a briefcase, poised to enter. The distant, dimly lit candid shot rendered it hazy: the outline discernible, facial features elusive.

Keqi zoomed the image in and out, but clarity eluded him. His mission encompassed not only aiding a Sern person’s escape but also identifying this man. Xia Lie had passed it to him because her team couldn’t glean usable details; only Giel headquarters in Yecheng could verify the identity.

With the files reviewed, Keqi felt secure.

He closed the laptop, resecreted the USB drive in his tie clip, and approached the mirror. Rattling his hairspray can, he misted his hair while tousling it vigorously. His already erect style sharpened further, accentuating his chiseled features in true Kangman fashion.

…

Bailunting enjoyed renown for its cuisine, with tales of its flavors echoing across the alliance.

Three years of diplomatic chill had curtailed outsiders’ access, elevating Bailunting dishes to coveted luxuries; a foie gras from the Swan Palace kitchen could command international auction bids.

For these esteemed visitors, Swan Palace unveiled its grandest banquet: aperitifs, preliminary soups, appetizers, seafood entrees, meat courses, green salads, cheeses, and final sweets—all paired with whites and reds tailored to seafood and meats alike, whetting appetites while enhancing tastes.

At the banquet hall’s heart stretched a velvet-draped long table, crowned by a candelabrum’s dancing flames. Bailunting representatives occupied one side, Kangmans the other.

Wen Du sat beside Chairman Ao Weibi, separated from Keqi by a single seat. She had identified him upon joining the delegation and kept him under discreet watch ever since.

Lyon sole dumplings in mushroom cream sauce had just arrived, their rich aroma captivating all. You Liqin savored two, flavor lingering on her tongue as she inquired, “May I have another portion, please?”

Wen Du caught the Kangman words and moved to summon the waiter behind her, but Ji Tingxi across the table spoke first. “Hello, could you please bring another serving of the sole dumplings for this lady?”

The waiter acknowledged the order and retreated to the kitchen.

Keqi enjoyed a close rapport with You Liqin. Witnessing the exchange, he grinned. “Had I known you fancied them so, I’d have yielded mine. But the seafood ahead is my true passion; I must preserve space for those ocean treasures.”

His Kangman companions erupted in laughter. This band of “hungry wolves” had indeed descended upon Bailunting’s gastronomic wonders, protocol be damned in pursuit of indulgence.

Amid the mirth, Ji Tingxi worked her utensils steadily, seamlessly interjecting in the lighthearted banter. “Mr. Keqi, what seafood do you favor most? I can instruct the kitchen to prepare extra.”

The question embodied perfect hostly solicitude and boundless generosity—impeccably timed. Wen Du kept her head down, but an instant later, realization struck. Her gaze stiffened; the lobster soup’s inviting crimson hue morphed into a searing, accusatory scarlet that pierced her vision.

—Hold on. They’d spoken in Kangman just now, and Ji Tingxi understood flawlessly? How could she know Kangman? Her dossier explicitly stated no foreign language proficiency!

Keqi reeled in equal shock but steadied himself, replying with a smile. “Mussels are my delight, but no need for more. Doubtless, further delights await; let’s savor them all equally.”

The exchange appeared concluded.

Wen Du’s nerves remained taut, however—and rightly so. Ji Tingxi swallowed a dumpling whole before pressing onward.

“Mr. Keqi’s accent carries such a unique charm, distinct from other Kangman friends.”

Wen Du lowered her lashes, her grip tightening viciously on the fork—its stainless steel shaft holding firm under the strain. She understood Ji Tingxi’s implication all too well.

Keqi was Sern. In the Sern language, the ‘h’ before broad vowels trailed an instinctive ‘i’ sound—an ingrained habit that subtly colored his Kangman, inserting a faint ‘i’ even on silent ‘h’s.

Keqi’s Kangman bordered on flawless, his accent barely perceptible—yet Ji Tingxi had seized upon that tiniest flaw, hauling it into the spotlight for interrogation.

An accent was tolerable; a Sern accent was lethal. In this nation, it marked the speech of inferior citizens.

How could such base inflection sully this exalted banquet—from a VIP’s lips, no less?

Keqi lifted his wineglass for a measured sip, the liquid’s sway easing his body’s rigidity while granting him moments to think.

“Quite right. In school, I bombed language exams repeatedly—confusing p’s for b’s, i’s for ye’s. Gave my poor teacher endless headaches.”

Through self-mockery, Keqi sought to deflect. But Ji Tingxi showed no mercy. Curiously, as the “impostor deputy director,” she ought to have faded into the background, silent and unobtrusive. Yet halfway through the meal, she commandeered the conversation single-handedly, drawing every eye and commandeering the banquet as its undisputed star.

“Your teacher’s dedication paid off splendidly, Mr. Keqi. Your Kangman sounds utterly standard now, save for that adorable little ‘i’ preceding certain sounds—so charmingly playful. Pray tell, where did you acquire that particular habit?”