He Lilin’s villa reflected her personal touch in every detail, for she had been deeply involved in its design and renovations. Every corner was bold, sharp-edged, and exquisitely practical.
She had supervised it hands-on not out of any special passion for interior design, but because if she hadn’t, her father, He De, would have taken charge himself and transformed Miss He’s new residence into yet another outpost of the He Family mansion.
He Lilin thought that if she moved out of the He Family only to end up in another “He Family branch,” she might as well bunk in the backyard doghouse and save on labor costs.
Nestled on the Acacia Peninsula in North County East District, the He Family Villa was ringed by dense greenery, close enough to the major urban centers to blend seclusion with convenience. He De commuted to the towering Wei Investigation Institute for work and returned to the gilded halls of the He Family building afterward; even his bulletproof car traversed North County City’s priciest districts, which seemed to shadow Old Master He wherever he went.
Once she started university, He Lilin had moved out for easier access to classes, but she honored her father’s call by coming home weekly for family dinners—savoring luxury alongside those rare moments of domestic harmony.
Over the past couple of days, though, He Lilin had lost her appetite. She set aside her utensils after the appetizers and sipped her aperitif in tiny mouthfuls. Even with the hot dishes served, she merely nibbled at the side vegetables, leaving the duck breast untouched.
Normally, such picky, dawdling table manners would earn a scolding from her mother, but since He Lilin visited only once a week, Xu Fei treasured the occasion and held her tongue. Noticing her daughter’s lack of hunger, she directed a server to fetch a serving of orange pudding—tart and sweet, effortless to eat, and packed with calories.
Her mother might indulge her, but her younger brother, He Te, had no such patience. Skipping straight to dessert grated on the boy, who had been raised under strict discipline. As he chewed his sweet onions, bitterness flooded his mouth.
“Ever since Sis moved out, she’s gotten so much wiser,” he said. “She used to rant about letting Sern servants dine at the table. At least now she keeps that nonsense to herself.”
Before He Lilin had left home, Duo Lin had still been there. Once, during afternoon tea, He Lilin invited her to sit at the table and sample a crepe. He Te spotted it and tattled straight to He De.
He Lilin defended herself: “We’re all human. What’s the harm in sharing a pastry?”
He De shot back: “The genetic gulf between you two is wider than between you and a bonobo chimp. Should we invite the chimp for dinner too?”
That incident prompted He Lilin to move out, marking her first taste of independence from her parents. Now, He Te regarded her with newfound respect, praising her as a mature adult.
His words suddenly whetted her appetite. She dipped her fingertips in a lemon water bowl, then cracked open the seafood shells. “I misspoke back then. I’m ashamed.”
He Te smirked. At last, she owned up to her fault after years of high-handed ways; she finally knew the meaning of “shame.”
“But you’ve grown up too, little brother,” she continued. “I recall you boasting at the dinner table about your soccer match—whiffing shot after shot and dubbing yourself the ‘stumble-foot boy.'”
The servers stood mute in the room, but their eyes danced with amusement, all zeroing in on He Te. They spotlighted him silently in the vast dining room, as if he needed the extra attention.
He Lilin slipped a shrimp into her mouth and dabbed the grease from her fingers with a napkin. “That’s why I say I’m not quite there yet. When it comes to improvement, this slip-of-the-tongue girl still trails the stumble-foot boy by a hair.”
He Te clutched his utensils, but his knife refused to slice the meat. Her appetite had roared to life while his cratered. He abandoned protocol too, demanding a slab of pudding—and insisting it dwarf his sister’s. Thwarted verbally, he’d dominate in sheer volume.
…
The He Family home featured distinct zones, with private parlors off the main living area. After dinner, Xu Fei tugged He Lilin toward the garden for a stroll, while He De summoned Lan Zhijing to the meeting room.
Carved panels adorned the four walls, edged in blue. Sunlight streamed through the arched windows’ white lattices, illuminating the room’s lavish decorations like a museum of paintings and sculptures. Lan Zhijing perched on the leather sofa, her posture ramrod straight—chest thrust out, stomach sucked in, chin slightly tucked—in her most formal pose, ready for her employer’s directives.
He De had just finished eating, his signature mustache neatly groomed and curved just so, rising and falling in perfect sync with his words.
“What happened to Lili’s leg?”
Lan Zhijing’s expression flickered. He Lilin had expressly forbidden her from mentioning last night’s mishap to He De or Xu Fei. But now that He De had broached it unprompted, no one could fault her loose tongue; she was merely a dutiful housekeeper fielding her employer’s questions.
“Miss scalded her leg. It blistered badly. We applied ointment and wrapped it in gauze, but she insisted we keep it from you and Madam to spare your worry.”
“How did it happen?”
This was the cue Lan Zhijing had rehearsed endlessly. “Last night, Miss wanted a foot soak, so Duo Lin brought up the thermos. Midway through, the water sloshed out—all over her leg. Nasty burn.”
He De pursed his lips, his mustache bristling taut. “Duo Lin spilled it?”
“Miss claimed it was her own doing, but…” Lan Zhijing paused for effect. “She was sitting on the bed at the time. Even by accident, the thermos would’ve tipped outward, away from her. No way it splashed her unless someone else knocked it over.”
He De offered no reply, letting the implication linger. Amid the room’s ornate splendor, even the dainty wall motifs twisted into something sinister.
“Lili still keeps her close for personal service?”
Lan Zhijing nodded and seized the opening. “And she seems especially solicitous toward her.”
“Such as?”
Examples abounded; Lan Zhijing plucked one effortlessly to sow doubt. “Once, Miss shattered a decorative piece. I knew that music box was a prize from her piano competition—sentimental value—so I offered to repair it. She refused. Later, Han Ya confided that Duo Lin had smashed it; she witnessed the whole argument between Miss and Duo Lin.”
So who toppled the thermos this time? Plain as day.
“Argument?” He De snorted. “Never thought ‘argument’ applied between Sern people and us!”
He swiveled toward his prized subordinate, laying bare the meeting’s true aim. “Find the right moment to make her vanish. I never want to see her near Lili again!”
Excitement gleamed in Lan Zhijing’s eyes—the thrill of a hunter locking on prey—but she veiled it with downcast lids and a solemn nod.
“Yes!”
…
In the wake of Sern language restrictions, linguists like Wen Du, expert in the Sern tongue, saw their value skyrocket overnight. Once the Wei Investigation Institute was established, they recruited her for the information division, tasking her with decoding Sern conspiracies to preserve Bangdu’s stability.
And so, university vice professor Wen Du juggled two jobs. Her stint at the Guard Institute caught He De’s eye; he hired her as his daughter’s family teacher at the princely sum of five thousand so per session for private lessons.
The pay spurred Wen Du to tutor He Lilin diligently, and their mentor-student rapport proved cordial enough. But upon returning from the He Family that day, she was visibly shaken—her rosy makeup unable to mask the ashen pallor beneath.
Yue Mu pressed a cup of mint water into her hand as they settled in the living room.
“What happened?”
Wen Du clutched the glass single-handedly, her fingers digging white prints into it. “Today at He Lilin’s place, I met her new family doctor, Doctor Qin. He used to be He De’s personal physician.”
“You didn’t spot him last visit?”
“No. He must’ve come back with Lan Zhijing yesterday, when He Lilin dined at her father’s.”
Yue Mu’s eyes drifted downward. The living room’s orderly wooden floorboards suddenly seemed a chaotic tangle. “He Lilin’s doctors were always women before. Now it’s one of He De’s… Does he think Housekeeper Lan isn’t enough surveillance? Needs a house call doctor too?”
The plush fabric sofa cradled Wen Du, but she stiffened and leaned forward, gripping her cup as if it held vital clues.
“If I guessed right, Doctor Qin’s kit contains at least one syringe of heroin or methamphetamine. Overdose means instant death.”
Yue Mu blinked, then connected the dots. “Drugs… needle marks? Those on Duo Lin’s arm!”
“Exactly. Duo Lin mentioned Lan Zhijing ‘punishing’ her with injections. I dismissed it as sadism at the time. Now it looks premeditated.”
Plant needle marks and bruises under the guise of discipline, then pump in a fatal drug dose. An autopsy on a Sern would be perfunctory, easily chalked up to a junkie OD. Survival meant a detox camp—hellish enough, followed by drug-fueled interrogations and brainwashing.
A lost cloud sparrow fluttered past outside, brushing the windowpane with its brown-streaked wings twice before sensing the room’s tension and veering away without a backward glance.
Yue Mu shook her head with a rueful chuckle. “What a joke. Bailunting wages war on drugs, yet the lowliest Sern get them handed on a platter. Their cunning, or some anonymous do-gooder piping it right to them?”
Wen Du stayed silent, her mind racing to a more pressing crisis.
“We have to get Duo Lin out of here!”
Yue Mu nodded; she shared the conviction utterly.
Duo Lin was the linchpin guarding Wen Du’s hidden past—if she stayed safe, so did Wen Du. But if circumstances turned and she fell into the Police Bureau or Wei Investigation Institute’s hands for questioning, Wen Du would need to bolt too.
Securing Duo Lin meant protecting Wen Du’s cover, so Yue Mu constantly schemed to smuggle her across the border. Opportunities had eluded them so far; now the stakes were higher, the urgency dire.
“But we agreed earlier: Ji Tingxi’s no pushover. Her Special Action Department is a black box. We can’t risk the Giel Bridge carelessly—exposure would be disastrous.”
Wen Du balled her left hand into a fist, knuckles grinding against her forehead in dull pain.
Putting off the Giel Bridge was sound judgment; spiriting Duo Lin out ASAP was equally so. Both priorities loomed equally, each tugging the whole web.
What to do? Wen Du wondered. Did she have to clash head-on with Ji Tingxi this soon?
