Ruo Xing drove the two officers home. As Ji Tingxi put it, ladies first—especially a stunning and captivating lady like Miss Wen. So naturally, they dropped Miss Wen off first.
After Wen Du got out of the car, Ruo Xing hit the accelerator, heading for Chestnut Wood Street. But Ji Tingxi issued a different order. “Forget that. Back to the Taina River.”
Ruo Xing nearly floored it. “Do you have more business tonight?”
“Yes.” Ji Tingxi glanced at her watch. “Did you get the files you requested from the Police Bureau?”
“I did. They handed them over quickly once they heard it was about the Sern people. Death records, criminal histories—all of it.”
“And the cases Director Ling handled before? You sorted those too, right?”
“Yes. I already notified the archives room. They’re waiting for you to review them tomorrow.”
Ji Tingxi adjusted her watchband, straightening the face. “No need to wait for tomorrow. We’ll go through them tonight.”
Ruo Xing glanced in the rearview mirror. “Director Ji, you’re too dedicated. It makes the rest of us look bad.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. Aren’t you dedicated right now, driving me to my dedication?”
“But Director Ji, there’s a lot of material. Even burning the midnight oil, you’ll be at it until tomorrow.” Flattered, Ruo Xing promptly showed his dedication by worrying about his superior’s health.
“That’s normal. I have other things to handle tomorrow, so I need to get familiar with the Sern situation here quickly. It’ll make our operations more targeted going forward.”
Before this, Ji Tingxi had worked at the Ganteming Guard Adjustment Institute in the West District, also under the Special Action Department. Her main job had been combating the Libo Faction. During her tenure, she repeatedly uncovered their movements and thwarted major operations. She had effectively dismantled their foundation in the West District, forcing them to retreat further and weakening their influence.
Now transferred to the vital northern stronghold of North County City—where Sern people were numerous and posed significant security risks—one of her major responsibilities was tackling the Sern factions here.
Although she had caught a key Sern fugitive right upon arrival, earning merit, she actually lacked practical experience dealing with Sern people. She needed to pore over past files to know her enemy and herself.
Reviewing case reports was tedious work, so Ji Tingxi wanted a briefing. Ruo Xing was the perfect target. “Have you skimmed through those files?”
He had only been with her for half a month but had swiftly become her right-hand man. Whatever she needed, he anticipated it. He came with a natural knack for being a loyal aide.
“I’ve looked them over. One pattern stands out: in the Sern cases over the years, most involve petty theft or drug use and dealing. But the suspects often end up dying unexpectedly. There are also missing persons cases involving Sern people, and almost none are ever found.”
“That’s normal. By the time they’d search for them, the police could have helped a dozen grandmas cross the street. Looking for Sern people just isn’t worth it.”
Unless the missing Sern worker was one the employer had paid top dollar for, involving real property loss.
Ji Tingxi gazed out the window and spotted the Wei Investigation Institute building in the distance. A faint glow lingered behind the curtains, spilling into the Taina River, shattering into hazy halos that swayed with the current. It awaited her return, ready for her to contribute her brick and mortar to the great cause of the Bailunting Federation.
…
To be honest, Ji Tingxi’s probing question in the car had indeed set Wen Du’s heart racing. But once the surge passed, she quickly calmed down. The question struck at the heart but wasn’t lethal—just a tickle, leaving no trace.
Ji Tingxi suspected someone had tipped off Keqi, letting him know in advance about the undercover agent at the hotel.
Dangerous as that guess was, there were two points in her favor. First, there was no hard evidence proving Keqi knew about the undercover operative; it was mere speculation at best. Second, while only a handful of mid- to high-level officials had the full list, picking up scattered intel wasn’t hard. Hotel staff at Swan Palace, for instance, might notice a new face and piece things together if they paid attention.
So Wen Du was confident Ji Tingxi couldn’t pursue it or trace it back to her. She could pass unscathed. The question had been a probe, and she’d weathered it without fear.
Back home, Wen Du acted as if nothing had happened. She didn’t even mention it to Yue Mu. Instead, Yue Mu—the “empty-nester middle-aged woman”—asked about her gains that day.
“How’d it go?”
“Not great.” Wen Du took the mint water from her, swished it in her mouth to wash away the taste of alcohol.
Yue Mu grinned. “Right up your alley, then?”
“Exactly. It’s best if he doesn’t join. The Wei Investigation Institute’s labs are surely advancing their tech, and the faster they do, the worse it is for us.”
Wen Du lowered her gaze in thought. When she pondered, her lashes drooped, half-veiling her eyes, her brows smooth without a hint of turmoil. She seemed merely lost in idle reverie amid peaceful times. Only Yue Mu, ever by her side, knew how fiercely her mind boiled—like a kettle ready to blow its lid if not secured tight.
“Sister Mu, at Sha Jiali’s place today, I spotted three Sern Hired Workers. One looked about eight or nine, the other two in their twenties. All working in his home.”
Yue Mu got the implication at once. Wen Du wanted backgrounds on the three girls.
The city’s Sern people were all on file with the Sern Affairs Management Bureau. But the Giel Bridge group had also compiled its own list, tracking every Sern compatriot’s background and status to facilitate transfer plans.
That record was called the Bridge Crossing List—the Sern people in need of rescue.
Sern fates in North County City changed rapidly, so the list updated frequently. Wen Du was swamped with work, so Yue Mu handled it, consulting her on priorities for transfer.
This time, Wen Du’s query prompted Yue Mu to pull out the Bridge Crossing List—a ledger disguised as an account book.
“The girl at Sha Jiali’s named Yuan Miu was fired by her previous employer three months ago for having an overly aggressive service attitude and lacking professionalism. That blacklisted her—no one would hire her. She was headed for the Labor Training Camp, but Sha Jiali picked her up. Luo Zi just arrived last week, also dumped by her prior employer for being lazy—less diligent than a donkey.”
Wen Du listened intently, committing it to memory. “What about the girl named Duo Er?”
“Duo Er.” Yue Mu leaned close to the ledger, decoding its ciphered text. “Also three months ago. Her dad got prison time for theft and died inside. She went to the orphanage, and Sha Jiali selected her too—unclear if as an adoptee or hire.”
“Adoption or employment, it’s laughable either way. Duo Er’s too young for that. She should be in school, not cooped up in a middle-aged man’s house.”
Yue Mu caught the edge in her tone and sensed the gravity. “What? Were they in bad shape when you saw them?”
“I went into the kitchen and caught Yuan Miu eating broad-spectrum antibiotics. There were severe ligature marks on her wrists.”
Yue Mu’s mouth fell open. “At Sha Jiali’s? With three girls there?”
“I’ve not dealt with Sha Jiali much, but his reputation’s always been solid. His wife died young; he never remarried. He’s always been especially kind to young girls, patiently answering questions, so female students like him too. But now, no mistress of the house—just three female workers tending to him alone.”
Male employers hiring female Sern workers didn’t violate current labor laws. But what happened after hiring—official duties or private matters, aboveboard or underhanded, human or otherwise—fell outside legal oversight.
Wen Du gripped her cup tighter. The mint’s cool freshness slid down her throat but couldn’t rinse away the tightness lodged there, lingering in her words.
In this city, across the entire Bailunting State, countless Sern Hired Workers endured endless tribulations, their flesh and bones peeled layer by layer with no hope of reprieve.
She had accepted this reality. But seeing it crystallized in individuals before her eyes still chilled her to the bone, a stark reminder that it wasn’t some abstract grand narrative—it was raw wounds, visible and tangible at any moment.
She needed to do something. At least something.
Yue Mu closed the ledger. She hadn’t gone out shopping tonight, hoping for a quiet evening, only for the book to be summoned for duty.
“Ah Du, per Xia Lie’s update, things are going smoothly on the Kangman side. If all holds, the inter-state tourism route opens next month. North border gates swing wide, letting us send more people out at once.”
Welcome news. The Swan Palace trip hadn’t gotten Duo Lin out, but it had forged the two-state cooperation. A pilot between Yecheng and North County City—if successful, it’d roll out-wide, finally cracking open Bailunting’s three-year border lockdown.
Their “Giel Bridge” had relied on sporadic trade vehicles before. Now, with tourism and trade ties, opportunities multiplied and eased.
“Good. Let’s see if we can contact Yuan Miu.”
…
Sha Jiali Villa was ideally situated, no traffic nearby. Mornings offered a view of the backyard holly, its brick walls draped in vines that hid the original white under lush greenery. Morning sun made the green vibrant, bright enough to light the eyes.
Yuan Miu’s room faced the courtyard wall. Embraced by the vista first thing, she should have woken joyful. But mornings also roused her symptoms, her body dragging down her spirits. Even the garden’s spring splendor couldn’t lift her.
She ran low fevers periodically—not high, but enough to fog her mind, wilting her resolve time and again. Plus the itching and aches below. She knew she was rotting away. She tried forgetting, pretending she was still fine. But the persistent pain and itch reminded her warmly: Remember. Take medicine. See a doctor!
April 1st—checkup day. Luo Zi was on breakfast duty, so Yuan Miu could head to the Community Hospital early.
The Community Hospital had separate sections for Homer speakers and Sern people. The latter were poor, with no money for care yet fated to rack up bills. They suffered bizarre ailments—autoimmune disorders, STDs, mental illnesses—the mainstream wards couldn’t handle, so a dedicated annex served Sern patients.
Yuan Miu had been a few times and knew the drill. Called by number, she followed the doctor’s instructions into the exam room. Masked and hatted to cover her face, she hid her identity.
The doctor turned from the cart, also in a non-woven cap, full isolation gear, eyes alone visible above her cotton mask. Unfazed by Yuan Miu’s getup, she instructed her to undress.
Hat, mask, pants, underwear—neatly folded aside. Yuan Miu’s legs spread on the exam chair’s stirrups. A curtain separated them as the doctor worked behind it.
The shame of illness peaked here—unavoidable, unhideable, laid utterly bare for inspection.
Yuan Miu shut her eyes. She thought of toast’s flavor, weeding’s scent, her old black-and-white school uniform. She’d owned seven sets, rotating daily for that fresh laundry bead sweetness…
She thought of many things, but her mind fractured. The exam dragged on. Stray thoughts leaped to reality, then fled back to memory to escape.
But then a voice from behind the curtain—like a hand yanking her mind back, suspending it over the exam bed.
“Miss, do you need help?”
Yuan Miu blinked dazedly at the blank ceiling. Amid the white, she imagined the doctor’s face—those eyes peering from the gear, clear as a bottle of alcohol.
“Help… what kind of help?” She lay there, her voice adrift without anchor.
Had her condition worsened, requiring more treatment?
The voice from behind the curtain spoke again, lower, more forceful.
“Do you want to leave this place?”
