The Red Show Theater’s performances always attracted a packed house of distinguished guests, no matter what day of the week it was. But no matter how much demand swelled from customers, the number of tickets never budged. They strictly maintained order in the venue and upheld top-notch production quality—striving to be the most exclusive theater in town.
As a longtime stage drama enthusiast, Ji Tingxi returned to the Red Show Theater’s private box on this weekend as summer heat began to build. She watched Wilderness Escape, letting the air conditioning and the drama cool the restless fire stirring within her.
When she had first arrived in North County City, everything had been unfamiliar. Ruo Xing had introduced her to the place. Once she got comfortable, she became a regular.
The server had originally been Ruo Xing’s personal favorite, but now, by extension, he remembered her preferences and tastes perfectly. Every time, he reserved the best vantage box for her, served the signature drinks and dishes from downstairs, and provided the most attentive service. It gave Miss Ji the unmistakable sensation of an empress returning to her palace.
Ji Tingxi lounged on the curved velvet sofa, one leg crossed over the other, her eyes gazing down mistily at the stage. When Yan Ge entered, she stopped being the “guest” and became the “host” instead.
“Miss Ji, is it safe for you to come here?” he asked.
“It’s fine so far,” she replied. “He De already suspects me, but this has always been my go-to spot for unwinding. If I suddenly stop showing up during times like these, it’ll only raise eyebrows.”
Previously, Bai Zhuo had tracked down the Red Show Theater through the bookstore owner and underground information markets, catching them off guard. Fortunately, during the Guard Institute’s lockdown “hiatus,” they had swiftly adjusted inside. Those who needed to pull out had done so, those who needed to go low-profile had hunkered down, and they even prepared excuses for any inspections.
Daily operations and events continued uninterrupted—including Ji Tingxi and Ruo Xing’s regular visits. They made no effort to avoid the place.
Just like her other colleagues at the Guard Institute.
The Institute had never publicly announced an investigation into the Red Show Theater. It was a popular entertainment spot for many operatives, so Ji Tingxi and Ruo Xing had no reason to steer clear. They just had to play ignorant, staying extra cautious. Even under the box’s surveillance cameras, they kept up the act, separating their words from their gestures entirely.
As if on cue, Yan Ge sat by the coffee table and began crafting latte art on the spot. Milk swirled and dripped from his hands into the coffee, forming curving patterns on the surface. Without Ji Tingxi even asking, he shaped it into a carnation.
“Bai Zhuo’s probe really spooked some underground traders,” Yan Ge said. “They don’t dare come here for deals anymore. With them gone, our cover thins out. Little Lun even had to pull back. Watching how things are developing, we’ll probably need to relocate soon too.”
His expression grew pained as he spoke. “The Sern People have really done a number on us this time, pinning everything on our heads! We could overlook the previous assassination frame-up, but now they’ve dragged students into it. What do they gain if we go down?”
A single spotlight lingered on stage, highlighting the main action while plunging the other corners—and the opposite seats—into shadow. Light was scarce there. Ji Tingxi’s silhouette flickered faintly in the box, her face impassive. After a long pause, her voice emerged like a footnote to the actors’ lines below.
“My position is a threat to them, plain and simple,” she said. “We’re already on opposing sides, so a counterattack isn’t surprising. Either way, our main objective hasn’t changed. Any word from the Capital?”
“Yes. Fresh intel came in yesterday. General Aseji is in the army hospital—probably not making it. The next succession candidates include Weierhua. They’re following up hard in E’an City and the Capital.”
“Exactly. We have to make sure Weierhua takes over. He’s the only left-leaning figure we can cultivate in the National Guard Team. If Duodexi or Pu Bo steps up instead, it’ll just solidify Rui’er Terrace’s grip.”
“Right. But next year brings the quadrennial election cycle. Still, Rui’er Faction doesn’t seem to be preparing seriously at all.”
Ji Tingxi lowered her eyes to study the shape in her mug. The flower was taking form, its petals drawn out with exquisite care to prolong the conversation—each one rendered as clearly and precisely as a still-life sketch.
“Of course they don’t need to bother,” she said. “Yingli Faction is on its last legs. We’ve been suppressed this whole time and barely dare show our faces. The other parties backing Gene Theory are all small fry. Rui’er Terrace keeps them around just to make the elections look legitimate—they don’t take them seriously.”
Yan Ge nodded, his face growing even graver. The beautiful latte art twisted into “withered petals” on his features. Though just a subordinate operative, he worried more than Ji Tingxi did—lamenting his faction’s misfortune while decrying the others’ incompetence. Four years—almost four!—and not a single worthwhile contender? Still letting Rui’er Faction run rampant?
“Sigh, the worst part is the border opening up now,” he added. “With foreign trade and cooperation expanding, other nations are basically endorsing Rui’er Terrace’s gene policies. If this keeps up, their rule will only get more entrenched!”
“It’s okay,” Ji Tingxi said, her gaze drifting to the stage, her expression serene. “Don’t we still have ourselves? All our efforts over these years haven’t been for nothing.”
One moment heavy with gloom, the next layered with hope beneath it. Yan Ge glanced up at the esteemed guest on the sofa, his tone shifting.
“Miss Ji, E’an’s higher-up is due in North County City within the next two weeks for a student outreach rally. Can we ensure safe passage through the city checks?”
In the past, that would’ve been no sweat for Ji Tingxi. For inspections of suspicious groups, she coordinated with the Police Bureau head and had it in the bag.
But things had changed. Bai Zhuo had peeled off some of her authority, gaining freedom to assign his own tasks. Lately, he’d been quietly gathering intel aimed straight at Libo Faction. Weighing it all, Ji Tingxi deemed it unwise.
E’an City sat in the West District, Libo Faction’s stronghold. Across Bangdu, the West District was their die-hard base—its votes had gone to Libo ten elections running.
As the provincial capital, E’an was the superfans’ superfan hub. Even with Rui’er Terrace holding sway, they couldn’t touch it outright amid that thick left-leaning atmosphere. They could only suppress open challenges to Gene Theory on the surface.
“E’an’s higher-up is too high-profile,” Ji Tingxi said. “And university students are under heavy scrutiny right now. Holding a recruitment rally at this juncture is too risky. Suggest to the faction that they scrap the unified event. Have local North County members handle recruitment piecemeal instead—it’ll better dodge Guard Institute tracking and surveillance.”
Yan Ge finished the intricate latte with practiced skill and slid the cup toward her. Enthusiasm mixed with reluctance on his face.
“That might not fly. This time, we’re targeting grad students about to graduate. They started university before the Daisy Transformation, raised on free thought with strong independent minds. They’ve always been prime recruitment material for us.
“They’re specialists across fields, set to become elites everywhere after graduation. Grooming them is a direct counter to Rui’er Faction’s ideological control. This higher-up from E’an has huge prestige among students. Him leading the outreach personally will showcase our capabilities and resolve straight to them—far better results. It’s like planting a vote for our faction in their hearts: a solid, unwavering one.
“So Miss Ji, could you please see if there’s any way to secure the higher-up’s entry? We need to wrap this up before the students graduate!”
…
Summer Lotus Flower Shop had closed, but on her way home, Wen Du still popped into other florists now and then to maintain her cover’s continuity. She’d buy a bouquet or two, though without a DIY flower-arranging station, she no longer sat down for heart-to-hearts with the owner.
After the jasmine at home withered, Wen Du stopped buying white flowers. The bouquets she carried now always had color to brighten her already drab home decor.
Today, she scored a bunch of sunflowers, their blooms poking jauntily out of a square paper sleeve, admiring the street views alongside her steps.
Entering Wutong Street, she quickened her pace, eager to get home and refresh them. But just as she turned into the Row Villa District, a familiar car rolled up slowly beside her. The window slid down.
“Miss Wen, any plans after work today?” Ji Tingxi asked.
Wen Du adjusted the flowers in her grip. “Heading home to enjoy them. Got a new crystal vase—green stems and yellow blooms should pop beautifully.”
“Perfect. I’ve got a crystal bottle at home too—slim waist, wide mouth. Wouldn’t you like to test it out at my place first?”
Wen Du held her ground without dodging—a daylight flower heist?
“Hop in, Miss Wen. You’ve never been to my house. What a great chance today!”
The car halted. Wen Du opened the door and slid inside. With the paper sleeve at her feet, space was tight; her legs couldn’t stretch. Ji Tingxi picked up the sleeve, moved it to the back seat.
“Flowers are VIP guests too. They deserve their own seat.”
Wen Du extended her legs and smiled. “What made you suddenly invite me over?”
“Not sudden. I’ve been planning it for ages. Wasn’t convenient before, but now it is.”
Hearing that, Wen Du knew this visit wouldn’t be simple. She pulled out her phone and called home.
“Hey, Sister Mu. Heading to Miss Ji’s for dinner tonight. Don’t wait up.”
“Sure, just come back early.”
Yue Mu’s tone was convincingly casual, but Wen Du sensed her tension. The last dinner invite had escalated massively, stripping away even her wolf disguise. Who knew what bolt from the blue awaited this time?
Were they finally serving lamb?
Wen Du forced her lips into a straight line, her body tensing subtly.
Ji Tingxi’s home was on Chestnut Wood Street, off the main city arteries—quieter even than the Guard Institute’s back garden.
Before stepping inside, Wen Du had a solid mental picture: The place would mirror her office—browns, whites, blacks; square tables, chairs, beds, cabinets. No extraneous curves. Order and pragmatism woven into every detail, the hallmark of an undercover’s life.
But the reality shattered that image. Wen Du’s eyes widened at the living room shelves crammed with curios. She was no stranger to oddities herself, yet she recognized scarcely any at a glance.
Meeting her curious stare, Ji Tingxi turned gracious host, launching into an enthusiastic tour of her “Ji household museum.”
“Guess what this is?” she asked, holding up an item.
“A banana model?”
Ji Tingxi returned the “banana” to its spot and twisted the top. It spun in place, peeling itself as it went, revealing a cascade of musical notes inside.
“It’s actually a music box—just banana-shaped.”
Wen Du listened intently for a bit, then frowned slightly. “When does it play music?”
“Music? It’s silent. A singing banana would be a bit weird, wouldn’t it?”
Wen Du blinked. “…”
She eyed a game console next. “This one doesn’t actually play games, does it.”
“Oh, it does. But its main job is as a shaver.” Ji Tingxi detached the bottom, exposing the curved blade mesh. A button press, and it buzzed with a shaving whine.
“Where do you shave with it?”
Ji Tingxi reattached the base, fired up the screen, and held it horizontally. “I don’t. It’s mostly for gaming.”
Wen Du fell silent for a moment before sinking onto the sofa. For an instant, her rear hovered warily, half-expecting Ji Tingxi to reveal it was no sofa but an air purifier disguised as a toilet.
“Do you game a lot at home?” Wen Du asked curiously. Ji Tingxi was a workaholic, glued to the Guard Institute—gaming didn’t fit her image.
“Occasionally, to unwind the brain. But mostly I read, up in the study.”
She cradled the console and settled beside Wen Du, half a handspan apart—intimate without crowding, friendly without distance. She maneuvered the onscreen launcher, demonstrating for her.
At first, Wen Du’s eyes tracked the screen’s frantic pixels. But soon her body stilled, her gaze drifting to Ji Tingxi’s face and lingering.
Her features were bold and three-dimensional, striking whether taken whole or in parts. Up close, the high bridge of her nose dominated the view, while her half-lowered lashes drew the eye. Fine and long, they seemed to veil her peripheral vision, letting Wen Du boldly trace her profile.
In that gaze, Wen Du suddenly understood something.
The shelf trinkets and the room’s playful layout weren’t anomalies—they were outward projections of Ji Tingxi’s true mind. This was her real style.
Wen Du analyzed with logic, but her rawest tool was intuitive feelers. Her innate hyper-sharp intuition sifted and judged in seconds, often before her conscious mind caught up.
Ji Tingxi was different. Her perception leaped via associations, linking disparate things in rapid jumps.
Take the Giel Organization: Despite burrowing underground, she had connected Sern disappearances, slain patrol officers, lake-bottom corpses—events scattered in space and time—to unearth the hidden threads.
Freewheeling minds like that tended toward whimsy and nonconformity. Yet at the Guard Institute, beyond her deliberate disruptions, Ji Tingxi embodied rigid self-discipline. Immaculate uniform, by-the-book procedures, formally correct phrasing. Not even her office sported a single vibrant knickknack.
In that moment, Wen Du realized they were alike. She felt a profound resonance from her rival, deep in her chest—both isolated, both profound, both craving freedom yet reined in tight, manifesting flawless facades.
From the start, sensing a kindred spirit, Wen Du had instinctively admired her. But clashing roles suppressed it amid their cat-and-mouse game: admiration caged by reason, budding fondness quashed by calculation. As Giel’s fortunes waxed and waned, so did her feelings—peaceful collaboration one day, assassination resolve the next.
Now, with true identities nearly laid bare and cooperation possible, those instincts broke free. The resonance awakened her intuition further, its tendrils reaching to enfold Ji Tingxi.
Aware her emotions were stirring unusually, Wen Du quietly dropped her gaze, shying from the pull of that profile beside her.
Ji Tingxi gave no sign of noticing, absorbed in her buttons, lashes fanning shadows along her nose.
With staff still in the house, they couldn’t talk business—only kill time with small talk.
Soon, though, footsteps sounded. A middle-aged woman emerged from the back rooms, removing her apron and stowing it in a hook bag.
“Miss Ji, dinner’s ready. As instructed: hollow pasta and barley tea, all kept warm.”
She shouldered her pack and bustled out, swift as if tardiness docked her pay.
Wen Du got it. “No live-in help, huh?”
“Nope, just hourly workers. They cook and go—five or seven fixed days a week.”
So she ate alone every night.
Wen Du savored solitude, especially for thinking, but she struggled to picture returning to echoing silence daily. Would even her thoughts’ echoes feel vast and hollow?
That said, without Yue Mu or a fitting partner, she’d never keep staff either—luxury they couldn’t afford in their line of work.
The divider hid dining area and kitchen from view, but savory aromas wafted.
Ji Tingxi gestured toward it. “Shall we eat? Sharing a meal with Miss Wen is a delight.”
Wen Du stayed put, her smile loaded. “You invited me for a reason, Miss Ji—something urgent, right? Why not handle that first, then dine?”
After all, she didn’t fancy another bolt from the blue mid-bite. Stomach or heart, one deserved mercy first.
