Chapter 49: Comrades and Enemies—Which Will Arrive First?

Wen Du returned home and came face-to-face with Yue Mu, who was changing the water for the fresh flowers. It had been three days since mistress and servant had last seen each other, but they skipped even the greetings and dove straight into the main topic.

“Both the Wind Bell Street station and the Xili Transfer Station have sent word,” Yue Mu said. “They’ve spotted Guard Institute personnel moving around nearby. It looks like surveillance has already begun.”

Wen Du hung up her coat neatly and took a seat at the dining table.

The table was covered with delectable dishes, still steaming hot, but they seemed to have lost all flavor, reduced to cold ornaments on display. The true centerpiece was the dinner knife beside the porcelain plate. Wen Du picked it up smoothly, her thumb tracing circles around the handle.

“And their residences?” she asked. “Any traces of Guard Institute people there?”

Yue Mu set the vase aside. The bottle full of fresh, tender violets joined the other decorations. “Nothing so far. The Guard Institute personnel have only hung around the inn and the noodle shop, but no one’s followed our members home.”

“Good,” Wen Du replied, reaching her judgment swiftly. “That means they’re still just suspicious. They haven’t nailed down the specific identities of our Sern members yet.”

Yue Mu had weathered her share of storms and trials. Seeing Wen Du remain calm helped her unwind a little too, but deep puzzlement lingered. Why hadn’t Wen Du ordered a retreat?

“Ah Du,” she pressed, “you messaged that the Zi Qin sisters might have talked. Now the Guard Institute has sent watchers, but they still haven’t crossed the alert line?”

She had spent the entire day at home, waiting for a call from Wen Du’s office. The moment any news came in, she would relay it straight to Xia Lie at the contact station, who would then issue the retreat command.

Wen Du paused to think, but she wasn’t dwelling on the origins of the problem. Instead, she was carefully phrasing her explanation to make it as clear and straightforward as possible.

“Two months ago, when they were tracking the Zi Qin sisters, the Guard Institute investigated and surveilled those exact two locations as well. But they never made a move and eventually dropped their suspicions.”

Back in February of this year, Yang Sa—a member of the Wind Bell Street station—had noticed the Zi Qin sisters in their suffering state. They frequented the fast-food noodle shop on Wind Bell Street, always marked by illness and pain. They ate noodles but tasted only tears, which drew Yang Sa’s attention and brought them into the Giel Organization’s plans.

Later, however, the Zi Qin sisters escaped ahead of schedule and turned to the noodle shop for help. With no other choice, Yang Sa contacted fellow members and hid them in the Elm Street food warehouse. In the ensuing urgency, Xia Lie directed that they be sent off in a taxi to the Xili border, smuggling out via cross-border trucks.

Throughout the ordeal, the Zi Qin sisters had crossed paths with numerous organization members, yet they knew none of their names or true identities. The warehouse where they had hidden last was exceptionally well concealed, and the members had taken circuitous, deliberately misleading routes to throw off any pursuit.

After the Zi Qin sisters’ capture, both the police and the Guard Institute had backtracked their movements, probing and watching the places they’d lingered—like the noodle shop and the Amo Inn. In the end, though, no action followed.

Yue Mu remembered it all perfectly, but Wen Du’s point eluded her. “So what you’re saying is, they’re suspicious again now, but haven’t fully confirmed our safe houses?”

“No,” Wen Du corrected. “What I mean is, they might not even be suspicious. They could just be bluffing.”

“Bluffing?”

“Exactly.” The knife in Wen Du’s hand was icy cold at first, but after her prolonged caresses, it absorbed her warmth, taking on a thin sheen of heat. “I have a feeling Ji Tingxi doesn’t hold any real evidence or confessions. She’s simply paraded the Zi Qin sisters out of custody and set up this loud surveillance on sensitive spots to ‘beat the grass and startle the snake’—to spark our panic and provoke a reaction.”

Yue Mu sat down beside her, her face still etched with complexity.

“Your reasoning holds water, sure. But think about it: pulling criminals out of the Labor Training Camp requires approval from the Guard Adjustment Bureau, maybe even the Rui’er Terrace. You don’t get that without solid evidence, right?”

The dining room was enveloped in the scents of fine cuisine and flowers, but Wen Du’s silence turned the air thick and stagnant. The aromas scattered, replaced by something inhaled deep into the chest—a sharp tang of danger, like nitre and sulfur.

Yue Mu grasped the logic perfectly. Absent any real confession, if Ji Tingxi had sought “camp release permission” based purely on her own hunches, higher-ups would have shot it down. Those brass were too busy with substantive matters to humor a mere theory.

Worse, if she pushed ahead with the release and turned up empty-handed, it would torpedo her career. Criminals released from camp carried an enormous risk of leaking internal secrets. They needn’t utter a word; the mere sight of their battered bodies would reveal glimpses of life inside.

Thus, the Zi Qin sisters’ release was a glaring danger signal—one proclaiming the adversary’s iron resolve to win.

That was precisely why Wen Du had risked sending out a level-one alert warning before her return trip, urging all members to prepare for evacuation.

Yet now, teetering on the edge of retreat, she wavered. Deeper calculations were at play.

“Sister Mu,” she said softly, “if we do pull back for real, do you realize what that signifies?”

“I do,” Yue Mu replied, her face clouding further. “It would be tantamount to confirming the Giel Organization’s existence with our own hands. We’d sever two vital contact lines—our very arteries.”

Wen Du glanced down and realized she had clutched the dinner knife during her intense deliberations, gripping it as if its hardness could bolster her speculations.

She set it aside, letting her fingertip graze the blade. It didn’t break skin, but the anticipated sting of parted flesh lanced through her.

—That pain felt like a wager signed between her and Ji Tingxi. Ji Tingxi was staking her professional life; Wen Du was wagering the destiny of the Giel Organization.

Wen Du had dabbled in gambling before—roulette, spinning wheels, poker cards—but always lightly, for amusement’s sake.

This was different. An all-or-nothing high-stakes bet.

She wagered that the Zi Qin sisters had not confessed, that Ji Tingxi held no actionable intelligence. It was all a bluff!

If Ji Tingxi aimed to flush out Giel’s tracks through this ruse, then composure was their best play.

“No change of plans,” Wen Du declared. “We stay put for now and shadow the Guard Institute’s every move closely.”

…

The next day dawned bright and glorious, the transition from late spring to early summer painting the sky with vivid clarity. Clouds stood out in sharp relief, etched as if by a sculptor’s chisel rather than blurred watercolor.

Seizing the chance presented by her assignment, Wen Du roamed the Guard Institute halls, straining every effort to glean intelligence.

Fortune favored her diligence. Emerging from the Logistics Department, she encountered Ji Tingxi, flanked by two subordinates escorting the Zi Qin sisters, freshly extracted from the Interrogation Room.

“Director Ji,” Wen Du said, “another field mission?”

“Indeed. Happy hunting at work, Director Wen.”

Ji Tingxi sidestepped her and headed for the basement, for once not pausing for small talk. Her subordinates mirrored the haste, marching the prisoners across the Guard Institute’s grand lobby and vanishing through the exit.

Wen Du lingered in the corridor, struggling to compose her features and betray no stray emotions.

Gazing out from there, the deep blue sky beyond the entrance framed every motion in stark, unrelenting clarity.

…

Down in the basement, three Special Action Department vans idled in readiness.

Ji Tingxi climbed into the lead bread van while the operative herded Zi Qin and Zi Cen into the rearmost seats. With everything set, she thumbed the intercom and issued the departure order.

The convoy rolled out the Guard Institute’s rear gate, departing the Taina Riverbank and pressing into the urban sprawl, the bread van in front.

Ruo Xing twisted around for a look at the girls in back. “We’ll pass the Bo Language Hall shortly—your old haunt. You remember the route from there on, right?”

…

On this splendid day, the Summer Lotus Flower Shop remained shuttered. All the garden’s blooms had been relocated indoors, and the wooden door bore a small blackboard sign: “Inventory in progress. Temporarily closed for business.”

The excuse rang legitimate, but the shopkeeper and her clerk shirked any actual inventory. They crammed into the cluttered storeroom at the back garden’s edge, encircled by computers and monitoring gear.

Both wore headphones, the lines silent for the moment, yet Xia Lie and Lu Binbin attended with rapt focus. They dared not let their attention wander, staggering their meal breaks to “off-peak” times.

By four in the afternoon, Xia Lie stifled a yawn. She’d begun the surveillance vigil the night before upon receiving the task, trading shifts with Lu Binbin but snagging precious little sleep overall.

The pivotal hour had arrived, yet the headphones stayed mute. Her stamina flagged at last; she itched to hand the watch to Lu Binbin, step out for a kettle of water to tend the flowers—and splash some alertness onto herself.

She hadn’t cleared the storeroom door when Lu Binbin’s voice rasped from behind, low and urgent: “They’re on the move!”

The words jolted her more fiercely than any dousing. Xia Lie bolted back to her chair and clapped the headphones over her ears. Two men’s voices emerged, muted but drifting in fragmented exchange.

“Keep tight on their tail. Don’t lose ’em!”

“Got it. I’m right behind.”

“You’re lagging almost a whole street now!”

“Pipe down, will ya?”

Devoid of context, the words hung ambiguous. Xia Lie mashed the record button, capturing every syllable for later scrutiny, but the conversation persisted, fresh details tumbling in.

A creak of leather seats crackled through: “Why’re you slowing down again?”

“Not trying to overtake, am I? The targets are up front in that car. Gotta let Director Ji lead the way!”

Xia Lie’s eardrums rang as if detonated.

—Director Ji? In the vehicle? Guiding them?

Zi Qin and Zi Cen were riding in those Special Action Department vans!

Xia Lie glued her attention to the headphones while Lu Binbin split his focus between audio and the computer screen. There, a map of North County’s Taina River vicinity unfolded, key roads glowing in special hues, the vehicles rendered as a crawling black dot. It soon left the riverbank behind, threading into Wutong Street.

Wutong Street. Maple Acer Street. Sugar Maple Street. Wind Bell Street. The car crept past the fast-food noodle shop, velocity dropping. The map offered no granular view, but Xia Lie could envision the operatives inside casting loaded glances at the shop—a silent, shared scrutiny.

The vehicle maintained its crawl through the alleys, doubling back now and then, but trending inexorably toward Elm Street. Sporadic bursts of speed betrayed route confirmations.

Elm Street was home to the supermarket and warehouse—the nexus of member activity for that station. The four personnel on this line plied their daily routines at the convenience store or storeroom oblivious.

Lu Binbin held out as long as he could before swiveling to Xia Lie, his eyes pleading wordlessly for a decision.

More banal chatter filled the headphones. Then his phone lit up with crucial intel from the Wind Bell Street station: Special Action Department vans sighted—three of them, packing at least ten field operatives, likely armed.

The cramped flower shop storeroom suddenly felt oppressive to Xia Lie, as though every crevice had been sealed, the air rationed and draining away breath by breath.

Her brows knit tight. Her gaze pinned the screen’s upper margin, the mouse whisking to measure distance—the dwindling margin to the “destination,” their final safe buffer.

…

Inside the Elm Convenience Supermarket, store clerks darted between display racks, arranging goods. One lounged idly at the register, idly scanning passing street traffic or thumbing her phone.

She browsed a shopping platform restlessly: fresh produce one moment, gadgets the next. No real purchases intended—just manufacturing cravings.

Sporadic customers trickled in. Whenever the cashier grew occupied, the stocker whipped out her phone to scan prices or claim a breather on a low stool.

No strict “off-peak phone policy” governed the store. Rather, the contact station’s alert had primed them: stay vigilant for incoming signals, retreat prepped.

Two months prior, they’d endured a twin scenario unscathed. After those two safe months, the alarm bells tolled anew, retreat now imminent.

Back at the register, the cashier refreshed to latest listings.

…

On the map, the vehicle marker advanced steadily. Elm Street lay five minutes distant.

Xia Lie had clung to hope for a midway pivot or pause, granting them room to breathe. But glaring distance alerts stabbed her eyes, matched by peril piping through the headphones—

“That’s Elm Street, yeah? Road’s pretty tight. Think we can all squeeze in?”

The audio swam in noise, voices warped as if muffled by thick glass. Xia Lie queued the recording, replayed the line twice, grasping its full import crystal clear.

—Their quarry: Elm Street. Hunting the supermarket warehouse where the Zi Qin sisters had hidden.

Lu Binbin’s breaths grew labored. “Station Chief, we gonna notify? Clock’s ticking out!”

In that instant, Xia Lie drifted into a daze, Wen Du’s directive echoing: Retreat orders demand utmost caution—extreme caution!

“Station Chief!” Lu Binbin seized her arm and shook hard. “No time left—they’re closing on the convenience store! No alert, and they’re goners!”

Xia Lie whipped around. She yanked off the headphones, unlocked her phone, logged into the shop platform, and fired off the precomposed message.

“Tomorrow 8 AM normal opening. Post-inventory: Corolla and Pink Beauty available. Pre-order 9 bundles and 10 bundles—limited stock, first come first served!”

—Stations 9 and 10: Evacuate on receipt. Prioritize safety!

…

Within the Elm Convenience Supermarket, the cashier was midway through scanning a purchase when the stocker sidled up, peered at the screen price tag, snatched the customer’s selected milk carton, and examined it from all angles. “You sure the price is right? I recall this milk at just 7.8 so.”

“Is that so? Come on, let’s double-check the shelf label.” The cashier nodded politely to the customer, signaling a brief wait.

The two clerks slipped into the aisles, weaving briskly along the rearmost passage to the back door. They eased it open, then shut it just as softly.

The hinges, well-oiled for silence, betrayed no sound.

A cramped alley snaked behind the supermarket. Without a word exchanged, the pair sprinted along it. After a hundred meters or so, they halted in sync, pried out their phone SIM cards, wrecked them, and chucked the pieces into a roadside sewer grate. They dashed another few dozen meters before hurling their powered-off phones into the nearest thicket.

At 4:36 p.m., the Special Action Department vans surged toward Elm Street. At the same instant, the two Giel members fled the convenience store down the alley, racing to the adjacent warehouse.

There, they pried open the concrete-colored manhole cover on the floor and dropped into the underground piping, fleeing through the drains.

Flashlights clutched in hand pierced the gloom of the labyrinthine drainage system. Guided by memorized paths, they pressed ahead at speed.

The sewers echoed with utter quiet, but their heartbeats thundered fiercely. In this shadowed escape route, comrades and enemies alike—who would arrive first?