Chapter 6: What Business Brings You Here?

The Special Action Department occupied the third floor. To its left was the Youth Training Department, which handled training and selection for academy recruits. To its right lay the Special Action Department itself, subdivided into three sections: the External Investigation Section, the Internal Investigation Section, and the Investigation Section. Its core operatives were almost always out in the field, serving as the Wei Investigation Institute’s right arm—precise targeting from within, rapid strikes from without.

Ji Tingxi had just taken over. She held an internal meeting for formal introductions, giving her staff time to adjust. Section Chief Bai Zhuo of the External Investigation Section had left early the night before and arrived late that morning. He seemed shyer than the new division chief. Once he reached his desk, he said nothing. His only utterance came from sipping the brewed coffee—a small taste of rich aroma for the day ahead, but bitterness that lingered.

Ruo Xing hurried along with a stack of files, making a beeline for the division chief’s office. He nearly bumped into Ji Tingxi as she emerged and immediately broke into a wide smile. “Director Ji, here are the materials for you.”

After handing them over, he still felt it wasn’t enough and added, “What do you like to drink? I’ll head to the break room in a bit and can brew something for you.”

Ji Tingxi glanced down at the files, then looked up. “If it’s no trouble, could you make me some chrysanthemum tea with a bit of dried rose? Thanks.”

It would clear her head and brighten her eyes—plus, it might even give her a touch of radiance. A division chief had to look polished, after all.

Once the two had left, Ke Lu sidled over to Bai Zhuo’s desk and nudged him with an elbow. “That kid Ruo Xing actually goes and does it. Back when Chief Ling was in charge, everyone knew he wasn’t taken seriously. But now with the new division chief here, he’s sucking up like his life depends on it. He really thinks he can climb over you?”

Ke Lu knew Bai Zhuo was highly capable and had been close with the former chief, Ling Tuofu. When Ling Tuofu got promoted, everyone figured Bai Zhuo was next in line. But then a parachuted division chief arrived—younger than him, with better accomplishments. Others called her a rising star; to him, she was just the spark of middle-aged funk. He hadn’t even shown up to last night’s dinner, claiming his wife was unwell. Everyone knew it was his pride that hurt. He’d lost face in a big way.

Ke Lu wanted to stir the pot, draw out Section Chief Bai’s grievances, and spark a full-blown clash between the division chief and her section head. But Bai Zhuo didn’t bite. He slanted a square-jawed glance at Ke Lu. “Get back to your own work. Have you finished coordinating with Group 2 yet?”

With that, he took another sip of coffee. His high-bridged nose stood proud in the middle, while the corners of his mouth drooped on either side, forming a perfect frowning face—like a man who’d swallowed a dose of ancient tonic and tasted only the years.

At three in the afternoon, the department held its briefing. Ji Tingxi led her three section chiefs in delivering a key work report to the institute director.

Unlike the night before at Wen Du’s home, today’s Ji Tingxi cut a sharp figure in formal slacks, exuding vigor. She had bound her long hair high at the back of her head, cinched her gray shirt at the waist, and swapped her shoes for soft-soled leather ones—ideal for all the stairs.

It wasn’t just her. The two directors and three section chiefs sat around the conference table in uniformly simple attire, devoid of any ostentation. The briefing room’s sole splash of vibrancy was Ji Tingxi’s striking, refined face.

She laid out the details from her seat on the right while the leaders reviewed the documents opposite her. Together, they quickly pieced together the priorities. “So these two Sern people were trying to sneak across the border?”

“Yes,” Ji Tingxi confirmed. “According to their statements, they took a cab to the Xili area, hoping to find a gap in the border wall. But they noticed more patrols on the road and tighter checkpoints, so they fled to Xili Town. They were already injured, so they told the innkeeper they’d suffered domestic abuse and needed a place to hide for a while. They asked him to cover for them if anyone came looking.”

Institute Director He De sported a neat mustache—two wisps that looked like commas huddled together. It was stylish but prone to wetting, so whenever he sipped tea, he pursed and rubbed his lips in a way that seemed almost cute.

Ji Tingxi watched him purse twice while maintaining her serious demeanor. She spoke slowly. “Have we checked the driver who took them to the outskirts and the inn’s owner?”

“We’ve investigated both. They’re Homer people with clean backgrounds. The Police Bureau has their statements, and nothing suspicious has turned up so far. However, the manager at Amo Inn let them check in without verifying IDs, which violates protocol—especially in a border area where vigilance should be high. The Police Bureau will handle the penalty.”

Once Institute Director He De had reviewed the Sern fugitives’ confessions and found no issues, he circled back to the root. “Why did they run in the first place?”

The Investigation Section handled interrogations of fugitives. Ji Tingxi shifted her gaze, giving Lu Lei her moment. Lu Lei nodded and took the question. “They were unhappy with their jobs at the Red Show Workshop and refused to perform on stage. They clashed with their supervisor and fled. Knowing he would come looking, they planned to leave North County altogether.”

Zi Qin had endured horrific abuse, her internal organs battered to the brink. A good shake would have loosened half her life from her. If she hadn’t run, death was her only path. But Lu Lei omitted that—it wouldn’t sway the higher-ups, who had no interest in such details.

Ji Tingxi added, “That said, these two Sern people are apparently skilled dancers. Their supervisor is still hung up on them. He asked if we could return them so they could keep performing—atone on stage and entertain the crowds.”

This supervisor at the Red Show Workshop had connections. After reporting to the Police Bureau, his case jumped the queue, prompting the Wei Investigation Institute to mobilize immediately. Before the new division chief’s seat was even warm, she was tasked with finding them—and fielding the connection’s request: hand back the two Sern people for retraining and discipline. They promised no more escapes, just continued shining for art and their youthful vigor.

“What a joke!” Institute Director He De slapped down the page, arching his thick brows. “He guarantees no more escapes? I wouldn’t dare make that promise—how does he?”

After the jab, he turned to Ji Tingxi. “Handle this by the book, like always. Don’t worry about the mess at the Police Bureau!”

…

The cafeteria served lunch in staggered shifts for each department. Bai Zhuo took a portion of foie gras and claimed a quiet corner table. His back looked equally secluded—like it needed a sign: Quiet Zone, Do Not Disturb. But Ji Tingxi was oblivious to such cues. She carried an identical foie gras plate and sat down directly across from him. “Section Chief Bai, eating so little? Aren’t you hungry?”

Bai Zhuo’s lower eyelids formed a blunt, sharp angle beneath his pupils. Unsmiling, they looked like a glare. He fixed one on Ji Tingxi now. “No. My family’s under the weather—I can’t stomach much.”

Because seeing you fills me up. No need to waste food.

He picked up his knife and fork to start, but Ji Tingxi beat him to it. She lifted her black garlic sauce and poured it over his foie gras.

The sauce was dark and potent, overwhelming the senses and flooding his nose. Bai Zhuo already avoided garlic, and now his plate swam in it. His stomach churned. He stared in stunned paralysis, wondering what madness had seized the woman opposite him.

“Director Ji,” Bai Zhuo said, his face darkening fully as he rolled his eyes upward, flashing the whites, “I don’t care for this sauce. Shouldn’t you have asked my preference first?”

“Sorry about that,” Ji Tingxi replied. Unlike him, her lower lids lifted playfully, her lips straight and unconcerned. “You missed last night’s dinner, Section Chief Bai. I didn’t get a chance to learn your tastes. I had no idea you disliked black garlic sauce.”

The words stung like a backhanded slap, satire wrapped in mockery. Bai Zhuo opened his mouth for a retort, but Ji Tingxi speared a slice of toast, paired it with her own foie gras, and continued. “It’s like me being new here—not knowing how to hand off materials from the Police Bureau or what to prepare for the briefing.”

Bai Zhuo’s retort died on his tongue. He didn’t know how to respond. As the new division chief, Ji Tingxi was still learning the institute’s rules and procedures. Yet as a veteran, he hadn’t stepped up to help. He’d come late, left early, and hadn’t even compiled yesterday’s files before clocking out. That’s why she’d tasked Ruo Xing with sorting them—otherwise, the afternoon briefing would have been empty air, with no evidence to back her words.

Ji Tingxi was young, short on seniority. Bai Zhuo didn’t fully respect her. But now she laid it bare without thunder or accusation—just doused his meal in black garlic sauce and couched her apology in pointed reminders of his lapses.

Bai Zhuo was a battle-hardened veteran, tough as old jerky. Had she confronted him directly, he had defenses ready. But this light touch—a casual correction—chilled his head. Half his self-pitying resentment evaporated. He suddenly realized she was his direct superior. She saw everything like a mirror: everyone’s duties, clear as day. She was correcting him sideways, guiding while saving face.

If he pushed back now, she might pour a bowl every day, all smiles. That would be worse than any petty torment.

The pungent garlic haze, combined with her subtle nudge, cleared Bai Zhuo’s mind. He finally cracked a smile. His square eyes shifted from fierce scowl to keen focus. For the first time, he looked squarely at Director Ji’s face.

“You’re right, Director Ji. I’ll make every effort to attend future dinners!”

Ji Tingxi nodded, her smile measured. She slid her plate over, swapping with his.

“Mine’s with wild berry sauce. I’m sure you’ll find it to your taste, Section Chief Bai.”

…

In her office, Wen Du processed work from the Translation and Intelligence Group, but her mind lingered on the Special Action Department. She needed the latest on the interrogations. Were they still ongoing? Had the Zi Qin sisters mentioned Amo Inn? What was the Special Action Department’s take?

This tied directly to Amo Inn’s fate—and the sisters’ ultimate outcome.

The situation felt like one from a medical drama: Zi Qin and Zi Cen lay on operating tables, lives hanging by a thread. The Special Action Department wielded the scalpel, holding their futures. Wen Du waited outside like an anxious relative—heart pounding, afraid to make a sound lest she irk the surgeons.

Her anxiety burned, but Wen Du’s depths ran like the sea, her face betraying nothing. The new operative in the Information Room thought she was in high spirits and beamed as he handed over the translation, eager for her expert feedback.

The original was a suspicious message in Gailie language, intercepted by the Intelligence Collection Division and routed to the Translation and Intelligence Group. After analysis and rendering, it landed on Wen Du’s desk for review.

As an associate professor of linguistics at North County University, Wen Du mastered seven languages: Homer, Sern, Kangman, Gailie, and more. She also knew machine translation tech. Invited by the Wei Investigation Institute, she joined the Intelligence Division’s Information Room to decode linguistic ciphers and audit file translations. Once verified, they went to the Special Action Department or General Affairs Office.

Wen Du had endless patience for students or subordinates alike. Seeing this young operative’s passion for the work, she offered prompt praise. “No issues here. The two renderings are spot-on—proper semantic grouping and handling of lateral associations.”

Director Wen’s approvals always hit the mark, praising precisely. The newbie stood at attention, nearly saluting. “Got it! I’ll send it straight to the Special Action Department!”

“No need. Take a break—I’ll brew some tea and drop it off myself. I have business with them anyway.”

As she spoke, Wen Du’s gaze settled on him with intense focus, attuned to subtle cues. Her slender brows and softly curved eyes worked in harmony, giving the impression that Director Wen always empathized, listening closely to those around her and caring for the person before her.

Flattered by the “concern,” the newbie thanked her and headed to the break room, even planning to brew a cup for her—repaying her hands-on diligence.

After auditing the file, Wen Du printed it. Inter-departmental communication was mostly electronic for security, but paper persisted for urgencies or face-to-face needs.

She could have sent it digitally, but she wanted to swing by the Special Action Department. The headcount there—and who was present—would reveal interrogation progress. Better yet, office chatter might yield stray intel.

With the file printed and clipped into a stiff folder, she had her pretext. Now for a casual drop-in excuse. As Wen Du walked out, she mentally drafted how to justify personally delivering it—face-to-face was best, she’d say.

But her planning shattered abruptly. Wen Du halted short.

At the door stood Ji Tingxi, paying a visit. Unlike Wen Du, she carried no files for cover. Quite the opposite—she pinched a gradient rose between her fingers, petals fading from blue to white like solidified milk dipped in blueberry juice. Blue tinged the edges, trickling slowly. Its scent teased the nose and tempted the tongue.

Wen Du had just pondered how to lure this woman out, yet here she was, unannounced—foiling Wen Du’s intel run. How did she manage it? In just two days, she’d blindsided her twice!

Wen Du always prepared meticulously for such visits: timing, printouts, alibis. But Ji Tingxi drifted in leisurely, rose in hand. She didn’t look like she was here on business—more like courting idle chit-chat.

Had this rose come from a crime scene, begging the Information Room to decipher its secret language?

Wen Du stepped back, mustering a welcoming smile. “Director Ji, what business brings you here?”