Chapter 5: Uninvited Guest

Unlike the bustling crowds in the Wei Investigation Institute’s cafeteria, the atmosphere inside the Summer Lotus Flower Shop was heavy and stagnant. The fragrance of fresh flowers filled the air, but it couldn’t mask the bitterness hanging over the room.

After taking criticism from Wen Du, Xia Lie couldn’t help but defend herself. “I know, but you said just last week that the Special Action Department’s division chief had been promoted, and the agents were busy with handover work. Patrols would slow down, right? So sending them out at a time like this would mean much lower risk.”

“But situations change in a thousand ways. Something went wrong over the weekend.”

“You didn’t come by all weekend.”

Wen Du lowered her voice, her words tumbling out rapidly. “Saturday was North County University’s anniversary celebration, and Sunday I had to visit Miss He’s family.”

Xia Lie shot to her feet, her frustration finally spilling over. “But I marked on the website that purple flags had arrived in the shop!”

Between the two of them sat the purple flag tulips, whose flower language meant: Urgent matter—come quickly!

Wen Du’s lips twisted into a wry smile as she broke it down plainly. “On anniversary day, the school and sponsors gave me three bouquets. He De and He Lilin even delivered them right to my doorstep. What excuse could I possibly use to come buy flowers from you? Does Director Wen need to open a flower shop now?”

Xia Lie was left speechless, her cheeks flushing white with anger turning to red. Her tongue was never quick, so she simply buried her head and continued selecting flowers, putting together a “grand opening special” bouquet for Director Wen.

Seeing Xia Lie’s busy back turned to her, Wen Du couldn’t help furrowing her brow. There was a cup of steeped fragrant tea right by her hand, but when the scent wafted to her nose, it only tasted sour. She recalled their recent contacts—all of them had gone poorly. Before, she hadn’t understood how Xia Lie, with her impulsive, stubborn, and rough personality that hit every wrong note perfectly, had managed to become the contact station chief.

Xia Lie finished selecting the flowers and pulled out a sheet of old cardstock to wrap them. “Actually, I think your approach is sometimes too conservative. Isn’t what we do all about saving lives? If we don’t act in time, people die. Then what? Do we discuss long-term plans while transferring corpses?”

After a moment of silence with no reply from Wen Du, Xia Lie sheepishly continued her lecture.

“Zi Qin’s got plantar fasciitis in both feet; walking is a struggle for her. The program supervisor at the Red Show Workshop forced her onstage. Because of the pain, Zi Qin messed up twice, so the supervisor doused her with cold water, scalded her with hot, dunked her head in a basin until it overflowed, then pulled her out—washing her more diligently than laundry. Saturday morning’s performance was her last chance. One more mistake, and she’d be treated as worthless garbage. Either way, it’s death, so the sisters risked everything to escape. That supervisor went berserk looking for them and even reported it to the police. If he catches them, it’ll be murder!”

That was why she had to react fast and get the sisters out.

Wen Du listened intently as Xia Lie spoke with such earnestness.

“Xia Lie, let me ask you—what is our main task?”

Xia Lie blurted out, “Rescuing endangered Sern compatriots and sending them to safety in Kangman Country.”

Wen Du’s words were clear and precise. “Our task is to complete the Giel Bridge Plan.”

In mythology, the road from the world of the living to the underworld featured the Giel Bridge—a crystal span suspended by a single strand of hair. Crossing it led to the depths of the underworld, a complete farewell to the human realm.

In Bailunting, after the “Daisy Transformation,” Sern people had been reduced to second-class citizens—beautified as “citizens,” but truly just “untouchables.” Homer people lorded over them, holding power of life and death. Sern lives hung by a thread; the entire nation was a hell for them, death lurking at every turn.

But in North County City, a group of Sern people led by Wen Du had evaded the “Great Purge.” Hiding in plain sight, they united all Sern forces to build a secret passage, smuggling those in mortal danger out of Bailunting.

They had built their own Giel Bridge—but reversed. From peril to safety, from death to hope, from the underworld to the human world, granting Sern people a second chance at life.

It was a bridge of life.

Wen Du sat up straight, her words clear and deliberate. “Our task is to save every Sern person in this city. First and foremost, we must keep the passage open and ensure our own concealment.”

“If we act rashly without thorough analysis and planning, we’ll expose the passage easily. That would cut off the lifeline for the entire city. So before the next action, I ask you to consider the big picture—and your own safety!”

With that, Wen Du picked up her bag to pay and leave. She had come to buy flowers, not plant them; lingering too long would draw suspicion.

At the same time, Xia Lie had assembled the bouquet: yellow roses surrounded by baby’s breath and silver dollar eucalyptus. The flower language was simple and clear: I’m sorry, I was wrong, I’m a jerk—please forgive me just a little.

Xia Lie might have a rough personality, but she was strikingly pretty—thick brows, big eyes filled with stars like the baby’s breath, her dark hair glossy. Right now, she gazed at Wen Du with pleading eyes, silently begging her to calm down.

Wen Du sighed. She now understood how this woman had survived to her position: skin thick as armor, backbone of steel—able to bend and stretch, take three minutes of scolding, then stand tall like a hero again.

“Fine. I can’t buy flowers today—pick out two vases for me instead. Give the flowers at home a proper home.”

…

At home, Yue Mu was even more anxious. She didn’t know how things stood and couldn’t focus on cooking. Her body was in the kitchen, but her mind was in the living room, fretting over a possible call from Wen Du’s office saying she wouldn’t be home tonight.

Wen Du arrived home on time. Yue Mu’s anxiety eased by half; hearing the situation hadn’t spiraled out of control let her fully relax. She finally had an appetite and finished dinner properly.

“Good thing it’s not that bad yet?”

Wen Du replied, “Yes, the transit station is safe for now.”

Yue Mu let out a sigh. “Looks like the new Special Action division chief is easier to handle than the previous one, Ling Tuofu. If it were him, people would’ve lost layers of flesh—not just a pile of dead geese!”

As Yue Mu spoke, she loaded plates into the dishwasher. The porcelain clinked against metal, a crisp sound laced with another—the doorbell.

On the monitor by the door, a woman stood on the steps, eyes downcast, waiting for the door to open.

That morning, Wen Du had glimpsed her from across the lobby: a profile and silhouette. A fleeting look, not etched deeply in memory but venomously sharp. Now, seeing the surveillance feed, she recognized the visitor instantly. At the same moment, alarm bells rang in her mind; a chill crept up her neck, the room turning icy as if the AC had blasted straight at her.

Wen Du had skipped the institute’s evening banquet to avoid her, yet here she was, showing up unannounced without a word of prior contact.

—Just like a vengeful ghost come at dead of night, allowing not a minute to breathe.

Yue Mu leaned in, peering curiously. Wen Du whispered, “That’s the current division chief. I can’t guess why she’s here now. Prepare some tea, then stay out of it as much as possible in case she starts questioning.”

The bell had rung long ago, but the visitor hadn’t pressed, her expression calm, giving the hosts ample time to compose themselves without leaving flaws.

Wen Du steadied her breathing and pressed the intercom. “May I ask who it is?”

The woman outside looked up at the camera, her face fully visible. “Hello, Miss Wen. I’m Ji—Ji Tingxi.”

Ji Tingxi’s name now shone brightly throughout the Wei Investigation Institute; her arrival made the gatehouse windows rattle. Wen Du couldn’t pretend ignorance. Her hand gripped the knob tightly, then pressed down, removing the final barrier between them.

Ji Tingxi had shed her uniform for casual clothes: a beige shirt under a lapel tweed jacket for wind protection, a plain leather bag slung over her shoulder, and a glass jar in hand, its neck tied with twine in a generous bow.

Seeing Wen Du, though it was their first meeting, Ji Tingxi smiled as if greeting an old friend—lips red, teeth white, grin full and warm. “I heard Miss Wen was ill. I realized I hadn’t seen you today and thought it a shame, so I came to visit. I hope I’m not intruding.”

Wen Du smiled graciously and invited her in. “Missing the banquet today was a pity for me too. For Miss Ji to visit my humble home and chat with me—I’m truly honored.”

The two sat facing each other in the living room. Only now could Ji Tingxi study her closely. Miss Wen had changed into loungewear: a linen maxi dress and overcoat, hair loose and soft over her shoulders. Her brows were slender, nose pert, jawline smoothly tapered without harshness. Her ears had a slight pointed curve—not the typical Homer shape, but distinctive. The hazy features from memory sharpened into gentle serenity.

Aware of the scrutiny, Wen Du remained composed. Every morning, she applied full makeup: contour, eyeshadow, blush—nothing skipped. Compared to Homer features, hers were softer, less defined, so makeup compensated. Even after changing at home, she never removed it, precisely for unexpected guests like this uninvited one.

Yue Mu brought tea, handed it to Ji Tingxi, and turned to leave when Ji called her back, offering the glass jar. “Sister, this is radish and scallion white soup. I saw it at the swallow’s nest shop by the road—it’s good for easing chills and coughs. You can pour some into a cup for Miss Wen.”

Yue Mu took it on a tray. “Thank you for your thoughtfulness, Miss. I’m sure Miss Wen’s cold will improve soon.”

Wen Du knew Yue Mu would take the soup to the kitchen and probably test it with a silver chopstick to see how many it could poison at once.

Wen Du also knew Ji Tingxi hadn’t come just for soup and well-wishes. Was it a probe? Probing what?

Ji Tingxi sipped her pu’er tea, then rested her hand by her nose, fingers curled lightly touching the tip. “I smell seafood. Maybe from too much shrimp and crab at dinner.”

“Oh, Sister Mu made garlic crab tonight; the scent must linger. I’ll air it out.”

With that, Wen Du rose, drew back the curtains, and opened the window. The sun had set, leaving a glow streaking the horizon. Distant tree shadows merged with buildings, silhouettes etched between crimson and dusk. A bird burst from the trees, wings spread in clear relief as it flew home.

The night prelude began with a sunset glow, a hymn to the exquisite darkness—a Madonna’s song.

Wen Du stood by the window, gazing at the horizon. Ji Tingxi gazed at her back, her tone soft, gentler than the encroaching night.

“Then remind Sister Mu: no crab with a cold, no garlic if cough-sensitive. Together, they’re not good for Miss Wen’s recovery.”

“Thank you, Miss Ji. I usually watch my diet.”

The evening breeze was cool; Wen Du pulled her overcoat close and warmed her palms on the teacup. Her hands were cold—not from the wind, but from Ji Tingxi’s “gifts.” The more she spoke, the chillier Wen Du’s heart grew.

She needed a new topic to dodge the cold issue—a glaring flaw.

“When did Miss Ji arrive in North County?”

“Yesterday. The swearing-in was meant for yesterday, but I got a task right away: two Sern people had escaped, trying to flee the country. Luckily, border patrols caught them in time—no major damage.”

Fine—dodged the cold, straight into Sern fugitives.

“That must be thanks to Miss Ji’s quick response and strong organization, turning the situation around without giving them a chance.”

Wen Du praised smoothly—neither overly eager nor dismissive, balancing courtesy and admiration without a hint of displeasure. If there were no Ji Tingxi, if she hadn’t just taken office, if she hadn’t struck like lightning upon arrival, Zi Qin and Zi Cen could have escaped successfully, reaching the safe point by now—instead of trapped, fates unknown.

“You’re too kind,” Ji Tingxi said modestly, accepting it openly. “For the search yesterday, we mobilized big teams, including around Wutong Street. Hope we didn’t disturb you.”

Wen Du’s palms warmed; she began sipping tea.

In those couple of seconds, she rapidly parsed the implication: She knew the Wei Investigation Institute and Police Bureau had searched yesterday afternoon, including Wutong Street per street cams—but that intel came from Xia Lie. Yesterday afternoon, she’d been at He Lilin’s, not spotting undercover agents on the street. Today at the institute, details weren’t public. Logically, she shouldn’t know the exact search time, so she couldn’t say: No, I was out yesterday afternoon, not home.

A trap.

“No, I didn’t hear anything.”

Ji Tingxi shifted in her seat, concern undiminished. “Really? Didn’t affect your rest?”

“No, Miss Ji needn’t worry.”

“Miss Wen must sleep early.”

“Yes, in bed by ten.”

Last night, learning of Zi Qin and Zi Cen’s capture, Wen Du hadn’t slept a wink. Her fair skin looked ghostly pale that morning; she’d spent extra time on makeup, layering blush thick to feign ruddy health and Monday vigor, masking the shadows.

She didn’t believe her own words. Though her face stayed calm, her heart pounded. Just then, Ji Tingxi seemed to sense it, watching with keen interest—lips hinting amusement or disdain, eyes holding curiosity or doubt.

Being stared at by Homer people, even those at the institute, was daily routine for Wen Du. She’d danced on knife edges long enough to flourish there, drawing heart-to-hearts from enemies. But this woman’s gaze felt alien, stripping her of that ease.

Ji Tingxi’s features weren’t harsh, expression not cold—seeming mildly warm at first glance. Yet Wen Du’s palms chilled. Her gaze was like frosted sugar, blades hidden within, probing defenses, peeling disguises, aiming to pierce the “inferior” heart.

Her heart sensed danger, beating timidly—each thump cautious, fearing a wrong rhythm would seal her doom.

By lamplight and fading glow, Ji Tingxi examined closely. Wen Du stayed steady—no panic, no fluster. She accepted the sudden visit openly, chatting amiably. If Ji stayed all night, Wen Du seemed ready for it; tea and lights were plenty.

If she wanted to talk, Wen Du would oblige.

But Ji Tingxi wouldn’t sit forever—disrupting rest made her the villain. She’d come with warmth, not annoyance.

“Since Miss Wen sleeps early, I won’t disturb you further. I’ll visit again when I can. Get well soon!”

Wen Du escorted her to the door, opening it with a “warm farewell,” watching her back. Her racing heart finally slowed.

But the next second, Ji Tingxi turned, reaching for the knob—brushing the hand already there.

At the touch, Wen Du’s nerves snapped; her obedient hair nearly bristled. Instinct screamed to yank back, retreat—but her ironclad reason crushed it, controlling body and expression.

She stood firm, eyes on Ji Tingxi, surprise perfectly measured—filtering panic, leaving only fitting curiosity.

“Something wrong, Miss Ji?”

“Right,” under the courtyard lights, Ji Tingxi’s features deepened, more profound. “Drink the scallion soup hot—for the cough.”

Though Wen Du hadn’t coughed once.

Wen Du nodded, smiling gently. “Thanks for the reminder, Miss Ji. It’s late—be safe on the road.”

The door closed at last, but Wen Du’s heart stayed tight. Yue Mu reappeared with silver chopsticks, as if freshly tested—no poison.

“I dumped the soup; it’s still hot. Want some?”

“Bring it. If she visits again, avoid talking to her. Her words are tricky.”

Facing the wooden door, Wen Du seemed still to watch the guest, as if seeing her home would bring true peace.

“This new division chief is tough to handle!”