Her own busyness was daunting enough, but Ji Tingxi’s secrecy was even more unnerving.
In the end, the dinner that Miss Ji had so thoughtfully arranged didn’t stretch on until the buses stopped running. As evening fell and the glow of headlights mingled with streetlights, the roads bustled with endless streams of traffic. Before long, Miss Ji had delivered her passenger safely home.
Now, Wen Du rode in her luxury car without a shred of awkwardness, as if the passenger seat had always been her exclusive throne. It felt incomplete for Ji’s driving career without her up front.
Yue Mu spotted the luxury car pulling up from her window, and her heart pounded in terror. She recognized Ji Tingxi’s license plate all too well.
Whenever Wen Du made it home, Yue Mu could finally breathe easy, her suspended worry easing at last. But if Ji Tingxi was the one dropping her off? That worry jolted back to life.
“Ah Du, you really had a tough day. Work’s exhausting enough without having to socialize with that Miss Ji.”
Wen Du set down the dessert from the restaurant and replied, “That Miss Ji has it rough too. Work wears her out, and she still had to scheme so hard just to treat me to dinner.”
“Has she grown suspicious of you again?”
Wen Du noticed a few more glass lamps flickering on in the living room. It meant Yue Mu had been hovering by the window, waiting for her return. With the situation so unstable lately, even Sister Mu, who was safely on the back lines, lived in constant unease, always fretting over developments at the front.
“At today’s department meeting, Ji Tingxi announced suspicions of a mysterious organization smuggling Sern people out of the country in droves. They’ve evaded capture so far, their movements shrouded in secrecy.”
Yue Mu had already steeled herself mentally. All the recent signs had been like a giant hand hovering before the Giel Organization’s veil of mystery, poised to rip it away in a bloody reveal. Hearing Wen Du spell it out so plainly felt like a long-blocked congestion in her chest finally sinking down into her gut.
It hurt, but it brought relief.
The Schrödinger phase of agonizing uncertainty was over. Now came Heisenberg’s cold certainty.
“What evidence did she present?”
“Just the bodies that vanished from Hoof Lake, and the missing persons from the Sern archives.”
Yue Mu had always been a pessimist by nature. As a former family teacher, she’d made a habit of assuming the worst about her students’ intelligence and preparing the most comprehensive materials in advance. But since joining Wen Du as a housekeeper and assistant, she’d been forced to adjust her mindset—if it wasn’t the absolute worst, then it was the legendary best.
“That’s not so bad. No hard evidence, no captured operatives of ours.”
Wen Du shook her head and lit up the outer ring of the glass lamps, flooding the room with light. “With Ji’s skills, once she’s sniffed out the organization’s existence, nabbing witnesses and physical proof won’t be hard afterward.”
“Then inviting you to dinner today must have had an ulterior motive.”
“We had a delightful chat, even toasting to smooth future collaborations. She clearly likes me and is eager to work together. But if she has a list of suspects, I’d bet I rank pretty high.”
Wen Du shook her head again. “No matter. Even without the organization exposed, she’s already deeply suspicious of me. This is just fanning the flames a bit, but they won’t burn me yet.”
With that, she sank onto the sofa, leaned against the armrest, pulled out her laptop, and opened a notebook filled with special symbols for reference.
“What’s that…?”
“I’m double-checking our language ciphers. Soon, they’ll face even tougher decryption attempts.”
“Alright, take your time.” Yue Mu stood up.
“Wait… could you sit beside me?” When Wen Du had first walked in, she hadn’t really looked at Yue Mu, too preoccupied with her own tasks. Now she glanced up, her gaze softening with a clingy warmth that lingered unwillingly.
Yue Mu let out a soft breath and set down her mortar and pestle.
So the easy banter over dinner with Ji Tingxi had been nothing but surface-level fluff. Deep down, a layer of heart-pounding fear still shrouded her heart. She needed someone by her side—ideally making some reassuring noise to steady her nerves.
Yue Mu dragged over a stool and settled by the sofa. Under her pestle, the blueberries burst apart, their juices spilling out in a fresh fragrance that wafted around Wen Du’s nose and fingertips.
…
Ever since the “mysterious organization” surfaced, Wen Du felt an inexplicable sensitivity at work, both in her mind and her surroundings.
The faint rustle of turning pages sounded like an hourglass countdown flipped on its head. Footsteps approaching from afar felt like a predator cornering its prey.
Everything seemed normal, yet she was seeing enemies everywhere.
Staff came and went as usual, but coordination with other departments had tightened considerably.
Seizing the chance, Wen Du learned that the General Affairs Office was aligning task schedules with the Special Action Department, the Logistics Department had ordered extra gear for operations, the Blue Training Department had submitted new recruit lists, and the Intelligence Collection Division was ramping up network sweeps.
Her own Intelligence Division was re-examining previously seized Sern intel.
Take her Information Room, for instance. Beyond routine duties, they were now aiding the Intelligence Division’s teams in sifting through Sern communications, hunting for novel cipher patterns.
Wen Du could spot her own handiwork with her eyes closed—she’d recognize it just from hearing the team read it aloud. But she played the part of someone only half-grasping it, pausing now and then to scribble notes, as if piecing it together. Then, under the team’s expectant stares, she’d wave them on to keep flipping pages and review a few more entries.
At the epicenter, the Special Action Department was swamped, operatives darting between departments to deliver or collect documents, sometimes diving deeper for discussions—but always cloaked in mystery. No one outside knew their true moves.
Take Chief Ji, for example. She’d sweep in gracefully, sip a cup of coffee, chat about the latest decryption breakthroughs, then saunter out—having gleaned every scrap of intel while revealing nothing of her own.
After too many such lopsided deals, Wen Du wasn’t having it. She wanted to claw some back.
“Any leads on the mysterious organization lately?”
Ji Tingxi cradled her ceramic mug, inhaling the coffee’s bitter aroma. “Still in the planning stages.”
“Running into difficulties?”
“Plenty, but thankfully we have your help.”
“Maybe if you shared more details with us, we could offer even greater assistance.”
“No need.” Ji Tingxi’s gaze turned sympathetic. “Director Wen, you’ve already done more than enough. We’ll handle the specifics ourselves—no need to trouble you further.”
Back to the empty platitudes. Pushing further would just mean more polite, meaningless back-and-forth.
This woman chatted amiably in everyday talk, but when it mattered, she clammed up tight, leaking not a drop of useful info!
After a few more rounds of verbal fencing, Director Wen could only smile and see her out. Chief Ji smiled back and departed—after pocketing a fancy light luxury coffee cup on her way.
…
Her own busyness was daunting enough, but Ji Tingxi’s secrecy was even more unnerving.
Wen Du’s heart had been in knots for nearly a week. Before their last meeting, she’d assured Xia Lie she’d uncover the Special Action Department’s plans to safeguard the organization.
But the week was nearly up, and she still had no solid leads.
With the organization already half-exposed, failing to gauge their opponent’s moves left them blind on how to proceed.
To avoid suspicion, Wen Du had held position, striking wherever the Special Action Department pointed. But now she realized passivity yielded nothing. Their operatives joined discussions willingly enough but only absorbed info, never reciprocating with their own—why would they?
Passivity brought no gains, so Wen Du opted for the offensive. Why should only Ji Tingxi get to chat amiably and build rapport? Couldn’t she do the same?
In the Special Action Department chief’s office, documents abounded in tidy, layered stacks—mirroring their owner’s orderly mind. Plenty of material, yet never chaotic amid the frenzy.
When Wen Du dropped by, Chief Ji paused her work. She neither tidied her desk nor adjusted the chair, which stayed perpetually positioned opposite the office computer.
“Director Wen, what an honor. Have a seat—any new developments?”
“Nothing groundbreaking.” Wen Du eyed the coffee cup on the side table. “Just checking on that new cup still in Chief Ji’s possession.”
The day before, during Ji Tingxi’s visit, Wen Du had graciously used her finest cup for the coffee. Ji hadn’t finished it before leaving—and simply took the cup and saucer with her, promising to wash and return them once done.
“My apologies—my fault entirely. Been swamped till now without a chance to return it.” Ji Tingxi rose. “Perfect timing. Let me brew you a cup.”
This time, no coffee—fragrant tea instead. Different taste, same perks: invigorating and diuretic, perfect for post-chat bathroom breaks that padded salaried downtime.
Handing over the tea, Ji Tingxi blinked, her eyes sparkling with playful charm. “Go on, Director Wen, give it a taste. Does it suit your palate? If so, the cup can stay here—as your exclusive tea vessel from now on.”
It was practically a “standing invitation.” Even the Institute Director lacked a dedicated cup, yet Ji Tingxi set one up for Wen Du on the spot. The favoritism was enough to spark envy.
“The flavor’s lovely. The leaves look like ordinary fermented tea, but brewed by you, they’re extraordinary. Looks like future tea times belong in this office.”
“I added my special blend—unique in the whole institute. You’re welcome anytime. But I suspect you didn’t come just for tea today?”
“Of course not.” Wen Du cradled the cup, her tone light as casual chatter. “More importantly, I wanted to see Chief Ji herself. I’ve got an invitation for you.”
Ji Tingxi rested her hands on the desk, fingers interlaced, listening with keen interest. “What kind?”
“This Saturday, I’ve got a lecture at County University on language structure analysis. Didn’t you mention wanting a deeper dive into the Sern language? This is the perfect chance, so I’d love to invite you. The organizers will reserve a VIP seat just for you.”
Ji Tingxi had always claimed they were still planning, actions pending. So Wen Du turned the tables with this proactive invite—let’s see if she truly had no moves and could spare a weekend for a lecture.
“That does sound like a rare opportunity.” Ji Tingxi tilted her head to check her electronic calendar, scrolling with a finger tap. Then she pivoted. “But I’ve got an out-of-office task this Saturday, so I can’t make it. Could Director Wen record it for me, or perhaps share a transcript? I’d study it thoroughly.”
“No trouble.” Wen Du pressed on. “The lecture’s flexible—Saturday or Sunday. Notice hasn’t gone out yet; we can shift it.”
Not free Saturday? Fine, make it Sunday. Can’t claim unavailability twice without seeming distant.
“What a shame—I’m out of North County City all weekend. Any other dates for Miss Wen’s lecture?”
“I see… Your tasks must keep you truly busy, Miss Ji. Where to, if I may ask?”
“The task itself is manageable. It’s just a pity to miss your first invite to me.”
“No worries—plenty of chances ahead. Don’t let it trouble you, Chief Ji. Wishing you smooth sailing this weekend.”
“And to you, Professor Wen—a packed house and great success!”
Wen Du left the tea—and the cup—behind undrunk. But once outside the Special Action Department, her expression hardened, the earlier warmth evaporating.
At a moment like this, Ji Tingxi was leaving North County City? What kind of new tactic was that?
