Chapter 52

Come to my house. I’ll teach you Sern every day.

At the doorway, twilight was gathering, and Ji Tingxi stood with the light behind her.

Even out of uniform, she filled her clothes with effortless grace, like a young lady from a noble family—and not just any noble miss, but one who had entered the working world. Her inherent poise was tempered with the sharpness gained from experience, and her habit of meeting another’s eyes head-on inspired an instinctive respect.

“Miss Ji, you’re here for Miss Wen?”

Yue Mu’s smile was warm and inviting, turning this sudden visit into something as natural as a scheduled call.

“Yes. Miss Wen’s probably having dinner?”

“That’s right. Sister Mu went all out today with portion sizes—a real feast of quantity and quality. Come try some, Miss Ji!”

Wen Du came out to the entry hall to greet her guest. As the two women finished their pleasantries, Yue Mu had already returned to the kitchen. She fetched another place setting and ladled out a generous helping of stewed rice.

“What would Miss Ji like to drink?”

Ji Tingxi’s gaze swept over the table. “Whatever you’re having is fine. Juice works for me.”

Wen Du filled a glass for her, and they both took their seats. “I’ve been saying we should have you over sometime. Tonight’s perfect—we’ve both gotten our wish.”

Wen Du didn’t pry into the reason for the visit, and Ji Tingxi didn’t volunteer it. The two slipped seamlessly into the evening, as if they had planned this dinner and casual chat all along.

Beyond their unspoken agreement to avoid awkward questions, they shared a tacit pact to eat at double speed. They polished off their meals twice as fast as usual, soon full and satisfied. They left Yue Mu to clear the table and headed upstairs to the study.

Wen Du switched on the lights, opened the windows, and drew back the outer velvet curtains, leaving only the inner gauzy ones. Through them, the potted iris flowers outside were faintly visible—just their silhouettes, the specific shades of purple blooms and green leaves obscured.

Wen Du closed the door, and the overdue question finally came.

“What’s wrong, Miss Ji?”

“I’ve been tailed.”

Wen Du processed that, then pulled out the wooden stool in front of the desk and sat down slowly. “Do you know who it is?”

“Not sure. But recent experience tells me I should lie low for a bit.”

Her recent brush with assassination, and Dean He’s warning—that the Libo Faction seemed to be stirring again in the city, so she needed to watch her back.

Ji Tingxi added, “I shook them on the way here, but I’m worried they’ll pick me up again on the drive back to the institute. Sorry to trouble you, Miss Wen.”

“You’re in the safest spot around here with me. Nothing matters more than your safety.”

Wen Du paused, then added, “Why don’t you stay the night, Miss Ji? We can go to work together tomorrow. Once we’re at the institute, we can have someone check your vehicle to make sure it’s clear.”

“No need. Ruo Xing will pick me up shortly. I have some things to handle back at the institute.”

“What kind of things?”

“It’s still the Sern Organization investigation. The Urban Administration Bureau sent over some documents I need to deal with right away, so we can plan the next steps tomorrow.”

Ji Tingxi didn’t want to dwell on work matters and changed the subject. “By the way, you mentioned recommending some books today. Do you have a pen and paper? I’ll jot them down.”

“About Sern language?”

“Yes.”

“I have plenty of recommendations.” Wen Du smiled, her lips curving up, though the expression soon faded into something wistful. “But after I recommend them, will you be able to get them?”

As Chief Ji, Ji Tingxi could track down almost anything—even inmates who’d been thrown into the Labor Training Camp as good as dead. But Sern books? That was a whole different story. It wasn’t a matter of ability; it was the system. Forbidden books were trouble wherever they turned up.

Still, she was the one who’d dug those people out of the camp. She knew the tricks to finding things. Ji Tingxi countered, “I probably can’t, but you definitely have a way, Miss Wen.”

Wen Du gave a mischievous grin and got straight to it. She pulled a book from the deepest shelf of the bookcase and handed it over.

“This is the Sern Vocabulary Compendium, cross-referenced with Homer. I used it for translations. But I’ve memorized it by now, so it’s just gathering dust. Perfect chance to put it to use.”

Ji Tingxi flipped through a few pages, inspecting her prize on the spot.

Wen Du watched her for a moment, momentarily lost. Ji Tingxi sat on the sofa, cradling the book in both hands, her slender fingers gliding over the pages like she was stroking a bird’s feathers. Her neck tilted slightly as she read, her gaze pouring into the text. Her posture was so serene that it seemed she’d been sitting there for ages, utterly absorbed.

Out in the world, that dictionary was a forbidden book. On Wen Du’s shelf, it was a reference tool. But cradled in Ji Tingxi’s palms, it seemed to reclaim its true purpose, dignity as a vessel of knowledge and culture intact.

In that instant, Wen Du’s intuition flared up again, unbidden, wrapping around Ji Tingxi’s figure. A voice—not faint—whispered in her mind: She doesn’t actually hate the Sern people, does she? If she did, she wouldn’t hold their book so gently, her eyes so earnest.

The thought was too bold, echoing through her skull. For a split second, Wen Du almost wanted to say: Quit this line of work, okay? Quit being chief of the Special Action Department. Come live with me. I’ll teach you Sern every day, no charge.

She snuffed out the spark as soon as it ignited. The smile on her face turned self-mocking—ruthless, even. What was this? Actually wanting to recruit the chief of the Special Action Department? She’d played the wolf in sheep’s clothing too long; now her sheep’s heart was fattened up, scheming to lure the hunter home?

Just then, Ji Tingxi seemed to notice her smile. She looked up, eyebrows lifting, and grinned. “This book looks great. I knew coming to you was the right call.”

Great… It had been ages since anyone praised a Sern book like that.

“I wouldn’t let you leave empty-handed. Take it and have a look. Come back if you need more—my door’s always open for you, Miss Ji.”

Ji Tingxi’s smile turned smug, her true nature peeking through. “So I’ll never be disturbing you here at Miss Wen’s?”

Another direct hit. Wen Du just smiled, not answering right away.

She took a moment because she realized it was true.

If Ji Tingxi came to her, professionally, she could track her movements. Personally, she could talk and chat with her. Duty or desire, she welcomed it. Not a disturbance—an honor.

This woman schemed to end her life, even as she schemed to end theirs. Yet they always parted on the best of terms. Never a bother.

Like day and night, divided by the terminator line—never to merge, yet endlessly intertwined.

“Of course, Miss Ji. Having you come find me is my honor.”

Ji Tingxi’s grin softened, the smugness fading as her eyes grew earnest. “And having your fondness? That’s my honor.”

…

In He De’s mind, Ji Tingxi had started out as your standard workaholic. Now she was an fearless, death-defying workaholic.

After getting word of Libo Faction activity, He De had notified her immediately: Lie low. Assign her field tasks to subordinates. No need for her to show her face.

But no—she kept parading around outside, as if her striking looks were too good to waste cooped up in the Guard Institute building. She had to shine in the streets, leaving her beauty etched in every corner.

Now look: she was being tailed. Couldn’t even drive her own car without the bomb squad checking it for explosives and trackers first.

They found a bug under the seat, likely planted while she was out.

For Chief Ji’s safety, He De had no choice but to wield his authority: No field ops for a week. And to cover all bases, he recalled Bai Zhuo too, shelving his current assignment.

Bai Zhuo was a workaholic himself. Once he took a case, he saw it through to the end—or he’d wake up at night cursing, bolt to the office for overtime.

Now he was caught in the middle: Ji Tingxi had him chasing the Sern Organization, but He De yanked the reins, redirecting him to campus groups and Libo Faction traces.

By Bai Zhuo’s nature, a mid-task switch would’ve irked him—he’d argue his case. But glance over: His own chief was under house arrest, not even allowed out the door. Push back now? That’d be asking for trouble.

Ever the pragmatic workaholic, Bai Zhuo weighed it and picked the job that let him go full throttle: Drop Sern, chase Libo. He rounded up his team and charged into the fray.

Wen Du hadn’t been directly involved in the Special Action Department’s shake-up, but she’d noticed it all.

As Ji Tingxi’s close friend—and now her language tutor—they talked often. Seeing her stuck inside the institute while Bai Zhuo rushed in and out, Wen Du could piece it together.

Their ploy had worked!

After Ji Tingxi bluffed out the organization, Wen Du had been anxious at first. But that night, she calmed down, consulted Yue Mu, and settled on an indirect approach: Stir up other factions to draw He De’s attention, forcing new deployments.

He De had obliged. Spotting Libo activity, he’d swooped in, curbing Ji Tingxi’s movements and securing her safety.

Sern mischief barely touched He De; they were just fleeing, no real threat to Rui’er Terrace’s foundations.

Libo Faction was different—the Rui’er Faction’s arch-rival. Elections turned bloody between them, fiercer than enemies. After the Daisy Transformation, it was all-out war.

In the Wei Investigation Institute’s priorities, Gailie Country topped the list, Libo ahead of Sern. With conflicts piling up, He De favoring the number two task was predictable.

In talks with Ji Tingxi, Wen Du sensed her frustration. Her drive had dimmed from those days of prowling the streets—like her life was safe, but her soul was still out there.

“How’s the dictionary treating you, Chief Ji?”

“It’s good. But my Sern’s still beginner level—looks tough.”

“No worries. Learning takes time. It’ll click with practice.”

Wen Du smiled and handed over the flowers. “Ordered from the Logistics Department for Chief Ji. You’ve had a rough go lately, full of worries. Hope this bouquet brings you luck.”

Ji Tingxi had eyed the bunch the whole time, glances flicking down. At the formal handover, she took it eagerly, cradling it as carefully as she’d held the book the night before.

Lilies—symbols of peace and health. Petals pure white and flawless, stamens upright and fragrant. Just looking soothed the mind.

“Director Wen, that’s thoughtful. With your well-wishes, I’m sure good fortune’s coming my way.”

She unwrapped them and placed them in a vase—one long neglected without fresh flowers, reduced to mere decor.

Ji Tingxi was an odd one. She often sent flowers to brighten Wen Du’s Information Room. Her own office? Perpetual barrenness: files, guns, ammo. All business, no sentiment.

The lilies arrived like a single white spark in endless gloom—vivid, playful, infusing the room with a touch of humanity. Amid the rigidity, a glimmer of warmth.

“Absolutely. Someone as hardworking as Chief Ji—fortune will favor you in the end.” Wen Du’s smile was soft and kind, masking her quiet glee.

…

Bai Zhuo lived up to his rep as the ironclad “chief candidate.” His efficiency rivaled any division head’s. By quitting time on the third day, he reported back to He De.

He De had been struggling lately, stretched thin on two fronts. The soothing herbs meant for Merle’s Dean He? He’d commandeered them himself. Sleepless nights left his head buzzing during briefings; he needed noise-cancellation mode.

Coffee failed him now, so he brewed jujube seed tea—color close enough to pass for coffee, hiding his fatigue. In meetings, he set it before him, stirring occasionally with a silver spoon for that air of poise and elegance.

“Tracked the source of pro-Libo sentiments and books among students?”

“College kids are easy. Faith’s sincere, but security’s lax. A little pressure, and they spill everything.”

“Details.”

“A student from Jiling University’s news society confessed: They partnered with a charity reading group. The group bought books from a store, which donated part of sales to needy kids. Long-term deal at first—just buying books. Later, the store started recommending titles to society members, even giving free materials—including Libo Faction sensitive stuff.”

“Found the store owner. Classic pro-Libo member. Shelves show tame books, but he hoards the risky print and digital ones. Spots potential recruits and reels them in—poisons their minds.”

“So a bookstore owner.” He De exhaled in relief. Small fry for the Guard Institute. They scooped up a couple now and then—kill the chicken to scare the monkeys. Routine.

Libo Faction had been the Rui’er Faction’s equal as the second biggest power back in the day. Couldn’t wipe them out entirely. As long as no direct challenges to Rui’er Terrace rule, the institute could turn a blind eye.

Rui’er Terrace pushed “peace and friendship” now for international ties, preaching free speech. Couldn’t overdo it.

But He De caught the nuance: This wasn’t just some owner making “friends.” Bai Zhuo had more.

“We dug deeper. He’s not just targeting students. He’s dipped into underground info trading—our city’s black market for intel.”

He De’s half-relief vanished, tension snapping back.

He recalled Merle’s underground market: More a network than a place, no fixed spots or formal oversight. In a city of rival powers, info was gold. Demand bred supply—roving “info brokers” linking buyers and sellers into a shadowy web.

Unlike Merle, North County City’s version was semi-monitored. Special Action Department operatives infiltrated, tracking flows. Sometimes the institute used brokers to float bait, smoke out targets.

Trading there took guts. Had to spot real intel amid the institute’s rat droppings.

“Buyer or seller?”

“Seller, likely. Found a customer list on his personal computer—questionnaires, purchase logs. Anyone querying or searching ‘sensitive books’ got logged, bundled into docs for sale.”

“From the broker?”

Institute monitored via brokers: ID them, trace parties.

“Yeah. But he claims no recent contact. And the info sold? Not just potential pro-Libos—phones and reading prefs for all customers, hawked to marketers.”

He De’s thick brows furrowed. “So what’s your point?”

One breath he’s in deep info trades, next it’s mundane data—consumer protection’s turf, not theirs.

“I’m saying he might not have quit—just relocated. He’s been frequenting a spot worth watching.” Bai Zhuo cut to the chase. “Red Show Theater.”

“Red Show Theater!?” The bombshell hit hard; He De’s tongue nearly tripped. He gulped bitter tea to steady himself.