Chapter 16

Once she stepped through that door, she would be free!

On March 24, after two days of meetings and discussions, the delegates from both sides parted on the best of terms. Having learned about the latest developments in Bailunting, the Kangman representatives expressed hope for collaboration in mining, apparel, agriculture, technology, and other fields. High-level executives from various sectors and organizations sought out potential partners and explored possibilities.

Over those two days, they showcased Bailunting’s most recent achievements and toured the North County Tech Park and the Development Zone. Following the free exchange session that morning, tourism and trade cooperation between the two sides was all but sealed—now it just needed the delegates to return home and speak glowingly of the trip before the formal agreements could be signed.

Wen Du had accompanied them throughout as translator, keeping meticulous notes on every conversation. She even jotted down that Chairman Ao preferred radishes but detested ginger. Her contributions were instrumental in the smooth talks; she turned stiff officialese into engaging dialogue, peppered with over-the-top flattery after every punctuation mark. Listeners were delighted and charmed, making it hard for the cooperation not to succeed.

This also served her goal: broadening bilateral ties would open Bailunting’s borders, paving the way for the “Giel Bridge.”

Just like this visit itself—an opportunity to help someone escape the tiger’s mouth.

At noon on March 24, lunch was lavish. Keqi attended in formal attire, his linen plaid suit accentuating his figure, but this time he played it low-key. Sitting across from Ji Tingxi, he stuck rigidly to the basics of politeness: nod, smile, say hello. He didn’t dare utter a single extra word, lest this amateur with her “passing knowledge” of the Kangman language start prying into his childhood again.

Lunch passed without incident. During the post-meal rest period, Keqi retreated once more to the third-floor garden, gazing at the distant mountains. The server didn’t bring sandwiches this time but instead set down a cup of Pu’er tea to cut through the grease and settle the cholesterol from days of indulgent feasts.

“Sir, please enjoy.”

The staff was always so attentive. Last time, beneath the sandwich plate, there had been a stack of napkins for wiping butter; this time, a napkin weighted down the teacup saucer, just in case.

As Keqi lifted his teacup, his peripheral vision caught the elegant floral print on the napkin. Beneath the hotel’s stylized logo were the words Swan Palace in three stamped letters, ending with an S in a graceful Spencerian flourish. Though handwritten, it rivaled print quality, blending seamlessly.

He sipped his tea slowly.

S: All clear. Proceed with today’s operation as planned.

…

The Sunset Funeral Home was only two stories tall, with vast open fields visible behind it. At sunset, the countryside stretched wild and rugged, phoenix trees shedding sparse leaves, while a ring of purple-leaved barberry encircled the backyard. The evening sun hung low over the blunted rooftop, casting a hazy glow on the whitewashed walls—a perfect match for the establishment’s name.

That morning at ten o’clock on March 24, with no tasks on the schedule, Director Luo Le had given his two assistants the day off, telling them they didn’t need to come in. But he himself was far from idle. Dressed in blue work overalls with rubber gloves on his hands, even the few sparse hairs on his head tucked tightly under his cap’s brim, he slid a body out of the morgue freezer while muttering under his breath. “Come on, Officer Du, level with me. Which outfit are you working with on this?”

Du Lengding leaned against the doorframe, eyes straight ahead. “You don’t need to know. Just take the money and do the job.”

Luo Le let out a frustrated sigh. With great effort, he maneuvered the body onto the morgue table, his voice turning into a nonstop grumble—whether from the exertion or pent-up complaints, it was hard to say.

“Look, every time I help you out, I have to go to the trouble of sending the staff away, deleting the footage—it’s time-consuming, exhausting, and costs me in karma. And you won’t even give me a hint about the buyer!”

As director of the funeral home, Luo Le oversaw two assistants and several corpses, straddling the line between life and death. It was a position of considerable authority, but the pay was meager—not enough to fund his extravagant hobbies. So he moonlighted for extra cash, like now, partnering with a Police Bureau officer to traffic bodies on a fifty-fifty split. Steady profit.

His questions about the buyer were aimed at sniffing out the supplier, so he could cut out the middleman and pocket the commission.

As if it would be that easy.

Du Lengding’s face was pulled taut. In the chill of the morgue, it stood out all the more—her skin a brilliant white like frozen cream, her long straight eyebrows linking to a prominent nose bridge. The harsh fluorescent light carved arcs across it; from the side, she resembled a sculpture, her eyelashes uniformly curved in a way that would test any artist’s skill.

Not only did her face evoke sculpture, but her expression often remained frozen too, as if the creator had grown weary during carving and skimped, leaving only her brows and eyes to convey essential emotions while omitting the rest.

At this moment, Du Lengding’s brows furrowed, drawing together at the center in a disdain so refined it seemed stamped with an official seal of contempt.

“You just scout and prep the bodies. Leave the rest to me—no need for you to trouble yourself.”

Luo Le didn’t get his answers, and resentment festered inside him. The officer was honest about the monthly payments wired to his account, but the information flow was woefully one-sided—she guarded details like a thief, revealing nothing about the buyer.

Without the full picture, how could he know what the bodies fetched?

They had agreed on a fifty-fifty split, but what if she was only giving him scraps?

He wheeled the gurney from the freezer edge across to the backyard concrete, where a white Santana waited with its trunk wide open. Luo Le had played pack mule hauling it from cold storage, and now he had to heft it into the car. His breath, just steadying, started heaving again—enough to kill a man.

“Hang on, Officer, considering I do all the heavy lifting every time, shouldn’t you cut me a bigger share of the take?”

“Heavy lifting?” Du Lengding zipped the body bag shut, unmoved. “Don’t forget, I’m the one handling transport afterward. You run a five-hundred-meter dash; I run the marathon.”

Luo Le didn’t mince words, nor did Du Lengding bother with niceties. The two bantered as bluntly as they pleased—two peas in a pod, neither caring who was the less scrupulous.

As the car drove off leisurely, Luo Le swallowed his curses. The officer was sharp-tongued with keen ears; if she overheard, she might just back up and run him over. Then he’d have two bodies to bundle together—maybe even sell as a combo deal.

So Director Luo could only plant his hands on his hips, his bulky work overalls cinching at the waist to reveal a manly silhouette. He stomped the ground hard to vent his manly frustration.

…

At twelve-thirty on March 24, He Lilin returned from school. She had already eaten lunch and settled into self-study. She had many quirks: she couldn’t stand the scrape of utensils on plates, the sight of cat hair on the floor, or the smell of damp fabric. They weren’t overly strange, just demanding on the servants. But one habit stood out as productive: she had to study every day, absorbing fresh knowledge.

That said, this quirk was equally taxing on the staff—especially Duo Lin. When Miss He focused on her studies, she liked the sound of nutshells cracking, so Duo Lin’s nightly duty was to sit at the desk with a basin and porcelain bowl: shells in the plastic basin, nuts in the bowl, saved for Miss He’s breakfast to ensure balanced nutrition.

During this study session, He Lilin had barely turned two pages and hadn’t even started her notes when her eyelids drooped and a yawn escaped. Sleepy-eyed, she rubbed her eyes, trying to rally, but her efforts failed. With a sigh, she leaned back and called for her wake-up aid.

“Duo Lin, fetch the peppermint oil.”

Duo Lin was especially “dutiful” today. Not only did she bring the oil but also a glass of orange juice to refresh the young miss.

He Lilin applied the oil and drank the juice, then bent back to her book. But the yawns persisted. She propped her chin on her hand, yet it couldn’t hold back the overwhelming drowsiness.

Duo Lin’s eyes flicked to the nuts, but her attention was fixed on He Lilin. Seeing the yawns multiply, her heart leaped with silent joy—the cold medicine in the orange juice was working!

Duo Lin had hoarded the meds during her own illness; now they came in handy. She had crushed the tablets to powder and stirred it into the juice, blending seamlessly. Once ingested, chlorpheniramine took effect swiftly, sapping her study zeal and letting fatigue win.

By the tenth yawn, Duo Lin finally looked up with feigned concern. “Miss, why not take a short nap after lunch? You can resume studying once you’re refreshed.”

He Lilin ignored the suggestion. “Crack your almonds. If you’re bored, I don’t mind if you sneak a few.”

Impervious as ever!

Duo Lin shut her mouth and focused on shelling, though she wouldn’t dare eat any. During Miss He’s studies, only the snap of nutshells was permitted; no other sounds allowed.

He Lilin propped the book upright and read with her head tilted back, trying to shake off the haze. But soon the words wriggled like earthworms, twisting into loops that connected end to end, forming a coil of mosquito incense slowly spiraling before her eyes.

Dizziness effect: perfection.

Even the impervious He Lilin succumbed to the “mosquito coil.” She slammed the book shut with irritation. “Enough. Prep the bedroom—I’m going to rest.”

Duo Lin hurried to the bedroom. She spread out the swan velvet bedding, fired up the aromatherapy diffuser, and switched on the ambient lights to a deep, translucent blue. A mist of essential oils soon filled the room. Outside, the afternoon sun blazed, casting sharp silhouettes of branches and rooftops. Duo Lin drew the curtains, completing the sleep setup.

Time to fetch Miss He. She turned—and found He Lilin standing right behind her. Unlike the yawning earlier, her face was now serene, her eyes clear and alert as they scrutinized Duo Lin.

Startled, Duo Lin instinctively wanted to step back but held still, gesturing sideways to the bed. “Miss, it’s ready. You can lie down now.”

He Lilin’s gaze didn’t waver, her pupils reflecting Duo Lin’s outline. Today’s Duo Lin wore a plaid shirt with white ruffled collar, her long hair in a fishtail braid. Stray wisps that wouldn’t stay put were neatly tucked behind her ear. Her cheeks retained a youthful softness, but her eyes lent her face a glazed maturity—resilient, almost seasoned.

No response came. Duo Lin met her eyes and spoke again. “Miss, rest early. You still have studying tonight.”

Abruptly, He Lilin reached out toward her face. Duo Lin couldn’t help it—she dodged sideways, eyes narrowing in sharp wariness.

The reaching fingers grasped air, curling slightly. Surprisingly, He Lilin didn’t snap. She withdrew her hand. “That outfit looks good on you.”

He Lilin usually wielded harsh words like weapons; a rare compliment was like a dog spitting ivory. Duo Lin froze, at a loss.

In that stunned moment, He Lilin swiftly tucked the errant strand back behind her ear, fingertips brushing the earlobe.

“Wear it more often. It suits your complexion.”

Duo Lin snapped to, her gaze capturing He Lilin’s smile. For an instant, it felt… different.

There would be no “more often.” She was leaving today, never to wear it again.

The intense stare made Duo Lin uneasy, but knowing it was the last, she endured it, holding He Lilin’s eyes for a moment. After days and nights together, she knew every curve of those brows, expressions, contours by heart. Yet today, she traced them with her gaze one final time, etching the image—the one she loathed to her core—deep within.

She would carry it with her when she left.

“Thank you for the praise, Miss. I’m flattered.”

The scents of coriander and juniper eased gently through the room, lulling the weary to sleep. He Lilin finally slipped under the covers, facing the door, her eyelashes fluttering shut. Unlike her daytime pride, her sleeping face was tranquil and gentle, like blooming flowers in a dream under starlit skies.

Once she was deep asleep, Duo Lin gave her a final glance and silently closed the door.

Descending the stairs, through the hallway and foyer: Lan Zhijing was in her room, the family doctor resting, the other two maids clearing cat hair from the music room. No one noticed her. As usual, her task at this hour was nut-cracking by the desk, so no one sought her out.

The lazy afternoon hush draped the villa like a curtain, blurring figures and muffling sounds, making departure whisper-quiet. Duo Lin wove through the flowerbeds, along the gravel path, to the heavy iron gate.

Now, a few hundred meters away by the lakeside, two cars waited. One had a female corpse in its trunk, dressed in a plaid shirt with white ruffled collar—similar in build to Duo Lin, though the face was utterly mangled, features indistinguishable. The other held a large wooden wine crate, empty and ready for its “cargo.”

Nearing the gate, Duo Lin gripped the railing. The metal’s chill seeped into her chest, warmed by excitement into a surge of heat. All around was utter stillness—no insects chirping. Terrified of detection, she breathed shallowly through her nose.

She was about to be free. Once through that door, truly free!

Eager beyond measure, she reached for the pre-loosened latch.