Chapter 14

“May I have this dance with you, Miss Wen?”

Ji Tingxi’s invitation drew the eyes of those around them. In an instant, the gazes fixed on Keqi multiplied several times over. What had started as private chit-chat now became the center of attention, demanding that he choose his words with utmost care, leaving no room for error.

Keqi had already stalled earlier with the red wine and couldn’t resort to the same trick again. He plastered a smile on his face, his eyes twinkling as if he were savoring an amusing tale. In truth, his mind was racing, desperately searching for a spark of inspiration that would let him escape this tight spot by the skin of his teeth.

In the ensuing silence, Wen Du finished her clear soup. She leisurely unfolded a napkin. “Let me guess—Mr. Ke, that accent of yours… Did you live in the Kuibe Region at some point?”

Keqi glanced at the translator beside him, unsure whether she was friend or foe. He could only equivocate with a noncommittal response. “What makes you say that?”

Unaware of Wen Du’s true identity, he didn’t dare engage too deeply, fearing it might be a trap.

Wen Du knew better. She turned slightly toward him, her expression serene, chatting casually with this visitor from afar as if they were old acquaintances.

“It’s just that I systematically studied all the dialects of Kangman back in the day. To really drive it home, I even interned as a teacher in various town schools, teaching the kids Balun language. I noticed that the children in Kuibe Region elementary schools had accents heavily influenced by the local dialect. When they spoke Balun, they’d slip in these little ‘i’ and ‘e’ sounds now and then. It was utterly adorable.”

As she spoke, Wen Du blinked cutely, her upper and lower lashes brushing together before fluttering apart. She cast a bright, playful glance toward Ji Tingxi. “The moment Director Ji mentioned it, it reminded me of those kids. So I wondered—did you go to school in Kuibe too?”

Keqi’s nerves eased at once upon hearing this. It was as if he’d just finished an grueling extreme workout and could finally catch his breath. He’d latched onto a lifeline—a perfect excuse to sail through unscathed.

“I have to say, your nation’s translators have astonishing memories! Picking out all those Kangman dialects so clearly,” he flattered her skills first, then smoothed over his own story. “My mom did take me to live in Kuibe when I was little. The specific memories have all blurred together now, but the language stuck with me by osmosis. Even time’s dull blade couldn’t scrape it away!”

Struck by inspiration, he picked up a piece of dragon fish from his plate. Worried others might not follow, he added an analogy: “It’s like eating habits. Even though I live inland now, Mom dragged me along by the sea back then—seafood every day, fish and shrimp soup on repeat. These days, I couldn’t quit it if I tried. I get antsy without some ocean flavors.”

The topic had shifted seamlessly from his accent to the influences of childhood. Not only had he changed the subject, but he’d elevated it, adding layers of depth that buried the original suspicion effortlessly.

Ji Tingxi flashed a brilliant smile, softening the sharp edges of her gaze. She reached for the stem of her wine glass. “Mr. Ke, you’ve traveled far and wide, with such a colorful childhood. No wonder your career’s thriving now. Kuibe Town must have good feng shui—blessed with natural spirits. If I get the chance, I’ll definitely visit for a tour and soak up some of that energy by osmosis!”

Her words were perfectly pitched—a flattering return gift that warmed the atmosphere and dispelled the earlier probing like mist in the sun. Laughter and chatter resumed among the group. Wen Du smiled without replying, forking at her food as she inwardly savored Ji Tingxi’s polite facade: Keep away. You absolutely cannot go. A little coastal town like Kuibe couldn’t hold a big shot like you!

Keqi knew it too. Once he got back, he’d need to hustle to Kangman and forge a solid backstory. If Ji Tingxi really sent people to Kuibe to investigate—grilling every man, woman, and child—they’d never turn up a man named Ke, or even a kid by that name.

That rich, wondrous childhood existed only in his mouth and on this dinner table.

…

In the latter half of the welcome reception, the hall’s screens began displaying tourism highlights, including the five major cities of Bailunting’s Northern District—one of which was North County City.

Before relations had frozen over, tourism between Kangman and Bailunting flowed freely. Bus routes stretched from Yecheng all the way to Ailingta, with twelve stops along the way. Border checks were a breeze. A Kangman local might sip tea at home in the morning, snap photos by Bailunting’s Ailing Lake in the afternoon, shop in North County by evening, hop back on the bus with bags in hand, and still have time to post a boastful social update.

It was as convenient as a trip into town.

In the Kangman people’s memories lingered vivid scenes from three years prior—bus rides through picturesque landscapes and warm encounters, all brought sharply back by the screens’ vivid images and captions. It felt like returning to a long-lost home.

The tourism bureau chief was dead set on sealing this cooperation deal. Riding the wave of nostalgia at the welcome, he struck while the iron was hot. After dinner, he launched the “Morning Hope Tour,” cruising straight down Jionen Avenue past major department stores and clusters of historic architecture. As landmarks thinned out, greenery multiplied, converging into Morning Hope Park. Even in the night, one could glimpse its lush vibrancy.

The real goal wasn’t just to dazzle the representatives with sights—Kangman had plenty of mega-malls and neon skylines, arguably even grander. But after the fallout, Kangman minds had wandered to dark suspicions: In such a deranged nation that sorted people into rigid hierarchies, how well could the economy really thrive? Did pedestrians on the streets all wear identical ID badges, sport uniform hairstyles, don matching outfits, and even step out left foot or right according to some decree?

They could consult any prison for specifics.

Bailunting knew outsiders harbored these wild misconceptions. This trip aimed to shatter illusions and reveal reality: Bustling department stores showcased the city’s freewheeling prosperity; lit-up historic districts revealed its elegant taste; and vast Morning Hope Park embodied its spiritual splendor.

Thus, even while trampling the Sern people underfoot, downgrading over a million laborers, and enforcing a strict caste creed, Bailunting could still flourish boldly and surge ahead.

That was Bailunting—utterly mad, yet irresistibly captivating.

Night scenes streamed past the car windows, proof of the nation’s boundless potential, imprinting themselves on the representatives’ eyes and minds alike. At last, the vehicles pulled up to the heart of a green island ringed by lakes. Distant ancient-style buildings loomed faintly, their lights tracing ethereal outlines reflected in the water like cloisonné enamel on a bronze base.

The Bailunting hosts led the Kangman representatives on a stroll along the island’s paths, pausing to savor the night breeze off the lake.

From the island, one could survey much of the tourism route: gourmet hubs, pedestrian shopping streets, trendy photo spots—all the glitz and calm serenity laid bare. Bureau Chief Ren walked and talked, introducing the far shore’s developments with such passion that even a park tour guide would have trailed behind, jotting notes on the key insights.

At precisely eight o’clock, amid the group’s scattered footsteps, a rhythmic beat emerged—like musical footnotes accenting their quiet conversation. The representatives looked about curiously. Ripples danced on the water like lurking serpents. As the music swelled, streams rose from the lake: from gentle trickles to soaring fountains that coyly half-veiled the green island.

Lights chased the water jets, twisting and turning in midair to weave cascades of brilliance. Fountains, music, and colors intertwined in a symphony over the lake, with the island as prime seating from any angle. Nearby trees seemed dyed in hue—trunks aglow with bright purple auras, leaves crystalline like frost at their hearts. Paths shimmered under a hazy veil of light; stepping into it felt like stumbling into fairyland.

On ordinary nights, the spot teemed with all sorts: joggers hustling by, parents walking kids, old girlfriends gossiping away. They’d gather to watch the light show. But tonight, after clearing the area, only the Kangman visitors remained. Captivated by the spectacle, they forgot Bureau Chief Ren’s guided spiel, lost in the show.

Wen Du, a local, had seen the music and lights routine countless times—it held no novelty. Yet with the glow brushing her face and melodies winding softly, she found herself dazed, her heart a tangle of indefinable flavors.

The music and lights were damnably beautiful, mirroring this era of prosperous peace without a hint of decay.

In her daze, a soft voice called her name. Wen Du snapped back, her gaze shifting from the enchanting lights to an even more enchanting face. Ji Tingxi’s eyes sparkled, every strand of hair gleaming.

“Miss Wen seems to love the light show. Have you watched it before?”

“Of course,” Wen Du swallowed her inner turmoil, adopting a measured calm. “But tonight’s nightscape is especially stunning.”

“Indeed. With VIP guests visiting, they’ve added new patterns and effects to the setup—more intricate and dynamic than before, taking the spectacle to another level.”

Wen Du kept her response formal. “We’re truly lucky then—riding the coattails of our honored guests for the debut of the upgraded show.”

“True enough. But there’s one regrettable omission.” Ji Tingxi turned sideways, pointing to a distant white stone platform. “On regular nights with performances, people dance up there—pros and amateurs alike, syncing perfectly with the music.”

Tonight, post-clearance, it stood empty. Water swayed before it, but no dancers brought it alive. Something felt missing—like finishing a meal without dessert: full, but lacking that final flourish.

Wen Du hadn’t noticed. Puzzled by the sudden topic, she hadn’t replied when Ji Tingxi continued: “Why don’t you join me up there for a dance? It would complete the performance.”

Wen Du knew she didn’t play by the rules, but she hadn’t expected this level—most people might play three threes with a pair of jokers; Ji Tingxi hurled down a full tarot deck, smiling as she asked if you could match it.

Sure enough, as Wen Du pondered, a hand extended before her—poised so naturally, as if this were just a friendly banquet where beauties ought to share the night.

“Miss Ji, wouldn’t dancing now be a bit off-task?”

The VIPs were still here. For them to slip off for a twirl and their own world—what would that look like?

Ji Tingxi’s smile brimmed full, the corners of her eyes lifting, her distinct double eyelids fanning like a scorpion raising its tail—teasing, enticing.

“Dancing with Miss Wen? How could that be off-task? It’d be the perfect, delightful use of time.”

Wen Du glanced aside. Chairman Ao, whom she was minding, stood chatting with Bureau Chief Ren. He knew some Balun language, so they managed fine. With everyone absorbed in the show, no one would seek her out for translation chit-chat. If she really joined Ji Tingxi on the music platform, the guests might even take it as part of the routine.

Unconventional, but justifiable. Ji Tingxi’s sudden invite wasn’t for art’s sake—there had to be an ulterior motive.

The recent hiccup with Keqi was still fresh. Wen Du wanted to minimize contact with Ji Tingxi but couldn’t outright refuse. She held her breath, placed her hand in the waiting palm, and returned the smile.

“Then I’ll trouble Miss Ji to make the most reasonable use of our time.”