Chapter 55: Time to Liven Up the Building

The building needed to get a little more lively.

At that moment, the Special Action Department’s target—Wen Du—sat deep in the night, gazing toward the Guard Institute’s office building.

The building was still the building, and the garden was still the garden. But now it seemed hidden away in the heart of a jungle. Not only were the gates tightly shut with no one allowed to leave, but all communications were severed, cutting off every link to the outside world.

It was as silent and secluded as a castle nestled in a dense forest—visible from afar, but offering no path back.

As someone under suspicion and the true insider, she shouldn’t have come to this place at a time like this, lost in such contemplation.

But she needed it. She required a space to be alone, a pocket of disconnected time to sort through the thoughts swirling in her mind and the turbulent emotions churning in her chest.

Inside the building, everyone believed they were hunting for Jili Organization members. That was the message He De had personally announced, backed by orders from on high. Though some had noticed something off, no one dared raise an objection.

The issue circled back to the earlier Labor Training Camp incident. When the Zi Qin sisters emerged from the camp, every Giel member—including Wen Du—suspected they had spilled everything. Otherwise, under normal circumstances, there was no way they could have gotten out.

But facts had proven it was all a trap set by Ji Tingxi, designed to “beat the grass and startle the snakes,” luring organization members into fleeing and ultimately confirming the existence of the shadowy group.

So what about this time? Could it be her pulling the same trick again, goading the traitor inside the building into reacting and thus pinpointing the target?

The question was, Ji Tingxi had spent these past few days in the institute projecting an air of frustration and helplessness, as if she were “stuck in a rut.” How had she convinced He De and Yesuiying to go along with such an elaborate charade at such great cost?

And if it turned out the building was calm as could be with no enemies—just “allies”—how would she explain herself?

Gazing at that window shrouded in darkness, Wen Du suddenly realized a terrifying truth: this woman was even smarter and more unfathomable than she had imagined.

Three minutes passed. The pool water rippled into crystalline clarity, and crickets chirped their fine, rhythmic song. Wen Du’s mind automatically tuned it all out.

But she didn’t block the passage of time; she could even track it to the second. After precisely three minutes, she rose from the pool’s edge, her thoughts and emotions neatly sorted. It was time to return to normalcy with a composed demeanor.

Her leather shoes crunched softly on the gravel path, the sound just right—not too loud, not too soft—providing a steady rhythm to punctuate her reflections.

Ji Tingxi was clever. She knew a citywide manhunt had limited effect, so from the start, she had shifted her focus to the mole inside the Guard Institute.

And rightly so. Capturing the mole would mean half the battle won. Among all Giel members in North County City, Wen Du held the highest intelligence value. Her capture would be like severing a third of the organization’s brain.

Since Ji Tingxi had persuaded He De to confine everyone to the grounds, it meant she had ironclad suspicions—proof that a traitor lurked within the building.

Those suspicions could stem from the Swan Palace Incident leak, the assassination attempt at Merle, or the escape of Elm Street cell members. Not only had it confirmed the Sern Organization’s existence, but it pointed straight back to someone inside the Guard Institute leaking information.

One thing was certain: Ji Tingxi had locked onto the presence of an insider, and she likely had deeper evidence to boot—enough to enlist two heavyweights like the institute director in her operation.

One minute later, she emerged from the garden’s cypress grove and climbed the steps toward the building’s side wing. Wen Du’s gaze shifted from glancing downward to looking straight ahead, her expression settling into its usual calm serenity. She looked as casual as if she were strolling back home after a leisurely walk.

Once inside the building, she navigated the corridors. The walls on either side seemed to converge, no longer parallel lines but sharp angles closing in, threatening to sharpen into blades that pierced right through her body.

These “cramped” hallways mirrored the trap she found herself in.

Ji Tingxi had set a trap in the building—a brilliant, insidious one. It targeted everyone, but only the real traitor could recognize it for what it was, making it the most agonizing for her.

The walls’ lines met in razor-sharp angles, slicing through Wen Du’s vision and chest.

She made her way to the General Affairs Office door, her face adopting a friendly smile. “Director Te, could I make a call home? My family knows my work is special, but it’d still be good to check in.”

Te Rui looked up from his documents, his own face beaming amiably. “Don’t worry, Director Wen. We’ve already sent out group notifications to everyone’s families. They know you’re all ‘staying for duty,’ dedicated to your posts. No one’s worrying.”

“That’s a relief. Thanks for thinking of it, Director Te.”

Back in her office, Wen Du’s eyes immediately fixed on the phone on her desk. A chill swept through her palms.

The General Affairs Office had done their job thoroughly—not to ease their burdens, but to prevent any outside contact and information leaks.

This confirmed Wen Du’s deductions yet again.

Now, that office phone wasn’t a communication tool; it was a hand grenade sitting right there, the receiver its fuse. Picking it up would be self-immolation.

Yet at that moment, Wen Du stared intently at the phone’s buttons. Her mind felt inflated with hydrogen, her brain folds swelling, loosening her control over her body. Her right hand twitched uncontrollably, itching to grab the receiver and reach out to Xia Lie.

She was desperate to relay word of what was happening inside the building.

…

In the Net Intelligence Section of the Intelligence Collection Division, three rows of terminals hung in neat arrays, each screen displaying different but interconnected data. Operative Sui En sat beneath them, manipulating everything in real time.

Beside the operator’s station sat a swivel chair—Ji Tingxi’s throne. But it had been sat in so long it might as well have been stone; three days could pass without her budging, just like her steadfast personality.

Yet Division Chief Ji possessed the same “beauty and vitality” prowess as Ruo Xing. Even after days of all-nighters, she remained sharp-eyed and energetic. For her, stamina was a renewable resource, surging forth whenever she called on it.

“Division Chief Ji, the cross-check is complete. Please review.”

Pu Ningxiu handed her the comparison report. She didn’t need to pore over every page; the results were summarized at the bottom, clear at a glance.

In comparing the questionnaires with actual surveillance, five discrepancies emerged: Lan Shan from General Affairs and Lin Dayin from Logistics had listed frequented locations that didn’t match reality; Huo Ge and Baisi Quan from Intelligence Division had omitted key spots; and Luo Yang from Intelligence Collection hadn’t filled in any regular haunts.

Hearing the names of his own “family” colleagues, Sui En nearly shuddered, his neck stiffening. How had the investigation circled back to those right beside him?

Ji Tingxi noticed and slapped the report down in front of him. “Pull up detailed logs of these individuals’ frequented spots. Screen for any suspicious data alterations.”

Even as his body tensed, his fingers flew across the keys. Surveillance footage, personnel records, and platform data for those locations filled the terminals, laid out comprehensively.

Everyone in this room was part of Ji Tingxi’s handpicked trusted team—suspects already cleared, utterly loyal. They’d investigate the director himself if ordered.

Seeing her engrossed in the review and ignoring him, Pu Ningxiu assigned himself a task. “Division Chief Ji, I’ll stick around and help. More hands make lighter work.”

Ji Tingxi didn’t look up. “No. Head to the listening group. Tonight’s calls won’t be quiet.”

In the adjacent communications tech room, orderly machines blinked with lights. Trusted team members wore headsets, notebooks at the ready, logging everything in sync.

A separate terminal stood idle in standby mode, ready to auto-record any patterned, meaningful sounds for later review.

Pu Ningxiu took a seat by the door, joining the listening team.

Normally, the communications section monitored suspicious citywide chatter. But tonight, their focus turned inward, to the institute grounds.

Every phone line in the building now had ears and legs, capturing data and funneling it straight to the tech room for analysis.

…

There were no cameras inside the offices—that was the Guard Institute’s last concession to privacy.

But without cameras, their every move could still be traced precisely: digital footprints on computers, phone logs, and footage from the office doors. Together, they documented an operative’s entire day, down to the second.

So from the moment Wen Du entered the office building, Director Wen’s persona snapped into place. Even zoning out at her computer felt risky, lest the system log it. Her brief window for quiet reflection wasn’t truly peaceful.

Her Intelligence Division colleagues had kicked into high gear, using this midnight overtime to dig through backlog files.

Any review required final sign-off from the Information Room. They shuttled file folders between Intelligence Division and Information Room, seemingly afraid Wen Du might get lonely. After delivering documents, they’d lean on her desk and chat.

Wen Du had always been popular—not because she socialized widely, but because she’d preemptively researched everyone’s backgrounds and preferences, tailoring her approach. She could chat with anyone and keep them engaged.

On this “all-hands” night, with colleagues eager to talk, Wen Du naturally played along. Amid the banter, she subtly probed: Were they worried about family? Had they called home?

Most brushed it off. “The institute sent group notices. No need to worry. Our families probably think we’re just on duty, dedicated as ever.”

But some fidgeted. “I’m not worried about them worrying about me—I’m worried about them. What if the Jili Organization goes nuts and targets families? I really want to call and check!”

Wen Du let it drop there, neither urging nor dissuading—just vague reassurance: No worries. If danger loomed, the institute or even higher-ups would act to protect everyone.

That night, Wen Du split her soul in two. One half was the Information Room director, dispensing warmth to every colleague who stopped by. The other was Giel’s point person, huddled in the shadows, body chilled and trembling.

Her mind worked the same way: the surface handled small talk, while deeper layers churned through inferences and scenarios, hunting the optimal path forward.

By ten o’clock, most of the institute had wound down. The once-brilliantly lit building dimmed like a cake with half its candles snuffed out in one breath, though a few stubborn flames persisted.

The connecting walkways fell silent, footsteps vanishing as everyone hunkered in their offices, minimizing noise.

Wen Du stood to close her door. At last, she could claim a sealed space for true solitude.

But at the threshold, she found someone standing there—ghostly, as if their soul hadn’t caught up.

“Enrui, what’s wrong?”

Dai Enrui had changed into pajamas, loose and rumpled on her frame. Meant for homey comfort, they somehow evoked “body dumped in the wilds.”

Seeing her distress, Wen Du guided her inside and sat her on the sofa. “Are you unwell?”

“Director Wen, can I apply to leave?”

Wen Du startled. The request was bold—even for her, a “sitting duck,” it was too risky.

“When?”

“Now?”

“Why?”

“My aunt has a hospital checkup tomorrow. I need to be there.”

The explanation made the audacity seem reasonable.

“Someone else can go with her. And even without family, the medical staff would notify others.”

“But it’s under full anesthesia—she needs a relative to sign off. I’d already arranged the leave!”

Wen Du had dossiers on every operative, including her subordinates.

Dai Enrui had been raised by her uncle’s family. Later, he left with his new love and biological son, but at least left behind a house. Her aunt never remarried, raising Dai Enrui alone.

For a relative’s signature, Dai Enrui was the closest fit. Dragging in the ex-husband and son from afar would just sour things before anesthesia.

Dai Enrui grimaced at the thought.

Wen Du understood, but couldn’t approve. “I get it, but at a time like this—even if I pushed it upstairs—it wouldn’t pass. It’s for your protection; outside’s not safe.”

Dai Enrui frowned. “What if I sign a liability waiver, guaranteeing my own safety? I’d planned this in advance!”

“But aren’t you scared to go out?” Wen Du fixed her with a steady gaze.

“Scared, yeah. But family comes first. Sorry, Director—please help me out!”

Wen Du paused before responding. She had a hundred ways to talk Dai Enrui out of it, but one reason stopped her.

Surely she wasn’t the only one itching to leave. Locking healthy adults down for a day and night would breed all sorts of ripples.

What if she forwarded the request? How would He De react? Ji Tingxi?

Could it nudge He De to reopen the gates sooner?

The building was too orderly, everyone too compliant. It needed to liven up!

“Enrui, are you set on this? You really have to go out?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Please apply on my behalf—thanks!”