Chapter 32

News Exposure

The morning news on April 28 exposed the Swan Palace incident.

【March 22: The Kangman Business Tourism Delegation visited Bailunting and checked into the Swan Palace Hotel. North County Station’s Foreign Affairs Office handled their reception. Yet during the delegation’s stay, a flood of suspicious faces appeared at the hotel—suspected Guard Investigation Institute operatives disguised as Foreign Affairs staff, infiltrating the premises.

Before the delegates could leave, Guard Institute personnel blocked their courtesy car. Despite the delegates’ firm objections, the operatives conducted a forceful search, delaying the group’s return!】

The report was vivid and dramatic, complete with elegant photos. One image stood out prominently: in the center, Keqi and Ji Tingxi faced off beside the courtesy car.

The basement lighting was dim, revealing only half of Ji Tingxi’s profile. But anyone who knew her would recognize her at a glance.

Her sharp professional attire, tall stature, and the keen smile tugging at her lips were all faintly visible in the shot. Combined with the accompanying text, the portrayal was magnified tenfold—a domineering high-ranking Guard Investigation Institute official obstructing friendly relations between nations!

As Ka Yin had said, things outside were far from peaceful.

Kangman Country had yet to respond, but media bloggers were already raising doubts: Did Bailunting truly intend to pursue trade cooperation, or was it just a ploy to gather intelligence? Were the Kangman delegates treated as honored guests or perpetual suspects?

The Guard Investigation Institute enjoyed strong backing from Rui’er Terrace, wielding immense authority like invisible specters—omnipresent yet undetectable.

This exposé named names outright, thrusting the Guard Investigation Institute into the spotlight. Even entertainment gossip and financial news took a backseat as the buzz and discussions piled up, enough to launch Dean He into celebrity status overnight. But it would be a debut straight into the abyss, surrounded solely by haters.

Faced with the frenzy, both North County Station and the Guard Investigation Institute activated emergency protocols. The cybersecurity office moved swiftly, targeting websites and accounts for “spreading false information and inciting negative sentiment.” They vowed to restore order and cleanliness to the internet.

With the centrist faction now leading Rui’er Faction, mainstream media was firmly under control. Televisions and newspapers painted a serene picture; tuning into the central channel still offered popular dramas filled with handsome leads and beautiful heroines, while commentary outside praised everything in harmonious chorus.

Yet the internet was another story. Veteran independent outlets and a horde of self-media creators had waged a three-year guerrilla war against Rui’er authorities without full surrender. They had laid low under policy pressures for a time, but now, with a major scandal, they erupted collectively, venting pent-up frustrations as if ready to unfurl banners and protest before the Aili Palace.

While North County Station scrambled to purge the web and devise PR strategies, the Guard Investigation Institute held an emergency meeting, demanding they trace the source of the leak.

Ji Tingxi was the most exposed in the breach; other operatives had blended into the crowd, but she stood spotlighted front and center. Though her face wasn’t clear in the photo, her title as “Special Action Department commander” blazed brightly.

Years of diligent service went unnoticed; one impulsive moment brought worldwide fame.

Ji Tingxi bore major responsibility for the PR storm, yet she suffered the greatest backlash. Dean He seethed with anger but couldn’t bring himself to punish her further. Instead, he summoned her to his office and circled around the point three times.

“This is a serious matter. You… you must have learned your lesson. Be more careful with your words and actions from now on! With the situation so volatile, you… should lay low for a bit. I’ll have someone else handle the investigation.”

After Ji Tingxi left the dean’s office, Bai Zhuo followed right in. Normally, Dean He met with her first, and she relayed orders in meetings. But under these exceptional circumstances, Section Chief Bai was suddenly thrust into the lead role.

“You know the situation. It’s inconvenient for Chief Ji to take action right now, but we must get to the bottom of this leak. Assemble a secret task force and identify the source as quickly as possible!”

In the entire Special Action Department, Dean He’s most trusted people were Ji Tingxi and Bai Zhuo. Before her arrival, Ling Tuofu had handled Sern affairs primarily, while Bai Zhuo orchestrated the cat-and-mouse games with Libo Faction.

Before the Daisy Transformation, Rui’er Faction’s greatest rival had been Libo Faction.

In the election three years ago, polls predicted slim odds for Rui’er Faction’s victory. Unexpectedly, a hardline centrist splinter group emerged within Rui’er, brandishing a “genetic screening report” that elevated Homer People to a “superior class.” Riding that wave of popularity, they seized power and extended Rui’er Faction’s rule.

Though defeated, Libo Faction remained active. Barred from the chief’s residence, they infiltrated research associations, clubs, societies, hobby groups—any crack they could exploit—to preach equality and inclusion. They even offered classes for free, aiming to discredit the Rui’er government’s “genetic doctrine” as heresy.

The Rui’er regime couldn’t tolerate such brazen defiance. They squeezed the Sern People’s lifelines with one hand while hammering Libo Faction’s strongholds with the other, purging them openly and covertly. After three years of “exterminating pests,” Libo Faction had become as rare as endangered species on the streets.

Bai Zhuo was North County City’s standout “Libo exterminator.”

In three years on the job, he had raided 51 Libo “nests,” arresting hundreds for spreading “heretical ideas.” Some still languished in prison, undergoing “ideological correction” in hopes their wayward souls would see the light.

Some things were natural counters: water doused fire, seafood clashed with fruit—and Bai Zhuo perfectly countered Libo Faction. Though passed over for division chief, Dean He knew his capabilities well. Entrusting him with this root-cause probe was a safe bet.

Ji Tingxi understood her superiors’ intentions. As this parachuted-in division chief, she had already overshadowed Bai Zhuo. Now, fresh off a warning, with him handed the reins—it was a pointed reminder for her.

She stayed silent on the matter, with no room to object. After work, she planned to head straight home, avoiding any taint on his operations with her “guilty” status.

But Ruo Xing was considerate. Instead of cozying up to Bai Zhuo, he lingered in the office. “Chief Ji, you’ve been here a while without unwinding. Want to grab a couple of drinks?”

Going home meant staring at blank walls and a stark clock, nibbling sausage with red wine—the sausage inert, the wine lasting half the night. Now, with a live companion for drinks and chat for free, it was a tempting deal.

“Sure. Where to?”

Ruo Xing capped his pen, tucked it into his shirt pocket. “You’ll love this spot. Give me a minute to change, and we’ll head out!”

…

Red Sleeve Workshop lay away from the bustling downtown, but stepping inside evoked the haze of neon and revelry.

Walls displayed posters of performances, hand-painted in oils, each so lifelike it seemed a camera freeze-frame from the stage. The performance hall featured round tables for two, three, or four, clustered near the stage for intimate viewing.

Ruo Xing, ever prudent, chose a rear private booth: three walls enclosed, open only to the stage. Perfect for watching undisturbed while muffling surrounding chatter—ideal for relaxed talk.

A regular, Ruo Xing soon had a dedicated server delivering champagne and the menu.

Server Yan Ge was tall and leggy, his suit hugging sleek lines, every crease impeccably tailored. Spotting Ruo Xing, his eyes lit with a grin, his fluffy, wavy hair-ends no match for the merry uptilt of his lips.

“Mr. Ruo, the usual menu?”

With Ji Tingxi there, “usual” wouldn’t do. Ruo Xing turned to her seat with deference. “Miss Ji, any flavor preferences?”

Yan Ge smoothly followed up. “Miss, we offer four set menus: vegetarian, fish, beef, vegetable, and more. Please take a look.”

Ji Tingxi reclined against the chairback, legs casually crossed. She didn’t take the menu, offering a faint smile instead. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry right now.”

Ruo Xing’s appetite was raging, but her words curbed his. Feigning fullness, he nodded. “Right, I’m not either. Let’s drink first and order later if needed?”

Yan Ge obliged seamlessly, setting down the champagne and slipping out, thoughtfully latching the booth door.

Silence returned to the room. Then, nearby lights kindled; warm orange glow poured from above the stage, unveiling the view and rippling outward, tinting the booth’s dimness with allure.

Shadows draped Ji Tingxi’s face, but the encroaching halo traced her nose bridge and jawline, revealing her expression. Ruo Xing glanced sideways; she showed no emotion, eyes fixed on the stage, awaiting the show’s start—like any ordinary patron.

Yet even the most ordinary harbored massive burdens in chest and gut. One glass of wine might soak eight “suspicions,” but processing them churned them back up, unquenchable even by champagne.

The first act began onstage. The male lead’s cotton vest hung in tatters, his unkempt hair fluffing around his ears—a mangy lion that even a pride leader might mistake for an ugly kin.

Emaciated and slouched, he clashed with the hall’s velvet-and-down finery; amid the opulence, the stage intruded a “beggar.”

The “beggar” stood before a stone wall, flinging back his flowing hair to bare his full face. Eyes bulging, face muscles straining, nostrils flaring—he bared all to the audience with raw honesty.

“I’ve been wronged! Wronged, I tell you—wronged!”

A jailer entered, setting down a bowl of rice at the door, bellowing back. “Shut your trap, or I’ll seal this cell twenty-four hours a day. If your mouth’s only for yapping, forget eating!”

As the jailer retreated, the protagonist lunged to the door’s slot, railing. “You harmed my family, demeaned my status, slandered my character, shackled my freedom. The ones who belong in chains aren’t me—it’s you!”

The hall’s arc shape amplified sound; the actor’s mighty voice boomed through, stirring every guest’s heartstrings.

From the booth above, Ji Tingxi watched raptly. Her index finger and thumb grazed the champagne flute’s stem, rubbing repeatedly, though the liquid remained untouched for ages.

The first act ended with a transitional hush. Ji Tingxi finally lifted her glass, her gaze sweeping the seats below for familiar faces.

Ruo Xing had honed his attentiveness after days at her side—his skills in reading the room had skyrocketed. Seizing the moment, he chimed in.

“Chief Ji, Section Chief Bai seemed swamped today, not even in his office. Must be on that secret investigation, right?”

“Yes.”

Though unspoken in the Guard Institute building, the Swan Palace leak buzzed in everyone’s minds. With Bai Zhuo vanishing for covert ops, even the coffee mugs on Special Action desks whispered his mission.

The second act opened: the protagonist gained a cellmate—an elderly but vigorous scholar of history, imparting lifelong wisdom. With purpose in learning, the lead steadied, their dialogue softening to a murmur, ideal as backdrop ambiance for the booth.

“Do you think Section Chief Bai will crack it?”

Ruo Xing narrowed his eyes shrewdly, shaking his head like a judge. “I doubt it. It’ll come down to you in the end.”

The flattery landed well; Ji Tingxi shifted her shoulder, sparing him half her attention. “Then I’ll have to step up.”

Ruo Xing pressed on with concern for his boss. “What about the missing patrol officer case?”

“No eyewitnesses, no nearby surveillance. Only the autopsy report and similar thefts during the tour group’s visit offer clues.”

“So, treating it as a robbery-murder?”

Ji Tingxi had just reviewed the police report and knew the direction. Instead of answering, she pivoted. “You found modifications under the rear seat in Keqi’s vehicle, right?”

“Definitely.”

“How much space? What could fit?”

“Enough for a dozen wine bottles, two suitcases—or a curled-up adult, no issue.”

Ji Tingxi pondered briefly, then topped off her glass.

“Then there’s Sha Jiali’s missing housemaid. It could be routine—plenty of Sern People get trafficked—but it’s oddly timed with the Kangman tour bus entering the country. The vehicle that took her last appeared in the northwest suburbs, a tour bus stop—and that’s where trouble hit.”

Ruo Xing read her cues. “So you think?”

“Something’s off. Can’t dismiss it as plain robbery-murder. I need to keep digging.”

With that, Ji Tingxi raised her glass, swirling it between fingertips as if toasting herself. “See, I’ve hit the news headlines—center stage no less. Gotta uncover something worthy of this spotlight!”

Ruo Xing got it, nearly clinking glasses. “Hungry yet? Shall we order?”

Yan Ge hovered nearby, attuned to VIPs. A bell summon brought him center-room with the menu anew.

“Good evening, miss. Which set appeals to you?”

…

Wen Du loved flowers, her passion renowned. Xia Lie sold them, her shop famed. A flower lover visiting a florist was natural—yet Wen Du limited their meets to avoid suspicion.

But since Ji Tingxi’s appointment, events had cascaded without pause, demanding face-to-face briefings.

Thus, Wen Du embraced her hobby fully: meals could skip, water ignored—but flowers must be bought.

Straight after work, she headed to Summer Lotus Flower Shop to stock a week’s fragrance.

“Saw the morning news yesterday?”

“Yeah.”

Silence fell. Xia Lie turned, catching Wen Du’s skeptical stare, and shrugged helplessly.

“Trust HQ. That wasn’t our leak. Kangman-Bailunting ties are smooth right now—no need to rock the boat.”

Sern HQ’s sole aim was advancing Kangman-Bailunting cooperation. Exposing Guard Institute moves would slap their fragile alliance, stirring backlash against the institute at best—but sabotaging Giel Organization’s plans at worst.

Wen Du saw the logic instantly.

But if not Giel HQ, who?

She pulled up the news again, zooming the photo to fill the screen—a scene she’d witnessed live. During the standoff, Keqi fumed while Ji Tingxi smiled ferociously; the shot captured that exact instant.

The angle matched her vantage. Wen Du scrutinized it, replaying: She and Bureau Chief Ren had arrived first, then delegations and colleagues gathered behind, spectating.

Behind her: Kangman guests and Guard Investigation Institute colleagues.

But neither side would leak it—zero gain.

Had a third party lurked in Swan Palace Hotel?

Gailie Country? Libo Faction? Jili Organization?

The events felt too abrupt; even suspicions scattered.

Stumped, Wen Du shifted topics.

“By the way, all good in Hoof Town?”

Xia Lie bundled trimmed blooms and paused for a break.

“Honestly, not great. Our members ran into patrol cops escorting Luo Zi out—had to go lethal. They cleaned up, staging it as robbery gone wrong.

“Cops canvassed Hoof Town Friday for theft priors—seemed hooked. But today, word is Ji Tingxi showed up with her team, summoning the town chief. No clue why.”

Wen Du tracked Ji Tingxi closely. Despite her reprimand and restrictions, she hadn’t idled—Wen Du assumed Swan Palace probe, not Hoof Lake cases.

Hoof Lake… Hoof… Hoof Town?

The name rang familiar—not just as an organization site, but from before.

“Lie, didn’t we run an op in Hoof Town once?”

As station chief, Xia Lie cataloged every action.

“Right. Remember farmhand Te Wa Li? I mentioned him. His boss tired of plowing, milking, shearing—wanted him as a bullfighter for a mini arena, ticket cash. Gored bad, laid up days; boss planned to wolf-feed him. Our site folks pitied him, extracted him.”

“How’d he vanish?”

Sern lives were cheap, but not ethereal. Giel Organization engineered “reasonable” disappearances pre-rescue: accidents, abductions.

“Suicide,” Xia Lie resumed work. “Left a note by Hoof Lake, stone-weighted: Better a whole corpse than wolf fodder.”

Wen Du’s grip tightened, bending a rose stem. “So the cover… lake drowning?”

Xia Lie grasped her fear, sighing. “Yeah…”

A faint snap—the stem broke. Wen Du glanced down; fresh innards gleamed, green sap oozing. Sniff it: rose’s dying perfume.