Chapter 88

“Put it on yourself, you old coot!”

Although the investigation at Spectator Entertainment City had allowed Ji Tingxi to rise from the ashes and regain He De’s trust, it hadn’t put Bai Zhuo on the brink of downfall.

With his unparalleled passion for the job, he still held firm in his position as deputy director. He remained Dean He’s darling favorite, wielding considerable authority within the Special Action Department.

That authority included the power to directly command a team of operatives, handling tasks on par with those under Ji Tingxi’s responsibility—neither side interfering with the other.

Agents like Ma Gefan and Kefan were still under his leadership. When issues arose, they reported straight to him, no longer needing Ji Tingxi’s oversight.

After the aborted capture operation, Kefan breathed a sigh of relief. But Ma Gefan remained unsatisfied. When he entered Bai Zhuo’s office, his face was twisted in a sour grimace, as if he were there to tattle rather than give a routine report.

“Chief Bai, I still think it’s suspicious. I don’t believe I was seeing things.”

Bai Zhuo glanced at him. His gaze was crystal clear, the emotions in his eyes as distinct as if they’d been painted on with primer.

“I trust your eyesight. But right now, the problem is we can’t find any evidence to back it up.”

Ma Gefan nodded sensibly. “You’re right. We’ve checked the theater manager and the host, and nothing suspicious turned up.”

Bai Zhuo pointed to the swivel chair across from him, gesturing for Ma Gefan to sit and talk.

“I think we need to shift our approach. The head of Spectator Entertainment City oversees the normal operations of the entire performance hall. The host runs the lottery event. They might have issues related to this key event, but they don’t necessarily have to.”

Ma Gefan was used to Bai Zhuo’s straightforward orders. But this kind of analysis—rough on the outside but sharp within—was part of his style too.

“I get what you mean. The key issue is whether it’s down to specific personnel selection?”

“Exactly. Look at this feedback event. The invited guests were chosen with particular care: multiple high-achieving students with close ties to the establishment, plus some with special statuses that prevent us from arresting and detaining them at will.”

“So, the person in Spectator Entertainment City who finalized the invite list is the prime suspect?”

“That’s right. But confirming that list probably wasn’t one person’s job. It likely involved algorithms, cross-checks, marketing analysis, even conference discussions before approval. Somewhere in that process, there’s a mole subtly steering the selection mechanism.”

“I can look into it,” Ma Gefan said. He smacked his lips together with the determination of a solemn vow. “Just give the word, and I’ll go full-time on this. I can even sleep in Spectator Entertainment City if needed!”

…

The name Sha Jiali had vanished from the Guard Institute for a long stretch—so long that both Ji Tingxi and Wen Du thought the lab had given up on this heavyweight and was scouting for a new prospect.

Unexpectedly, after three months, his name cropped up in the office again.

Perhaps with the major crises past, He De’s mind had idled enough to remember his “old friend” Sha Jiali.

Yesuiying summoned the two women once more. She smiled with pleasant warmth, but the task she assigned was anything but pleasant.

“No idea how Professor Sha’s been lately. You two have some free time right now, so why not pay him a visit? Remember, developing him for the lab is still on the General Affairs Office’s agenda.”

Wen Du wouldn’t have forgotten even without Yesuiying’s reminder.

Sha Jiali was where the nightmare had begun. The plan to smuggle Luo Zi out of the country had been meticulously prepared, but it had gone wrong at his doorstep.

After the woman vanished, he reported it to the police and dug in his heels: alive, he wanted to see the person; dead, he wanted the corpse.

What could have been brushed under the rug escalated dramatically. That drew in Ji Tingxi, and from there, Giel’s shadow emerged, becoming a prime target for the Guard Institute’s pursuit.

Even now, with Ji Tingxi transformed into a collaborator, the fallout from that incident lingered.

When Wen Du had schemed against Dai Enrui, she’d considered pinning the “Sern Organization” blame on her. But it wouldn’t have worked.

Even the Gailie Forces had a solid pipeline for smuggling Sern people out. If Dai Enrui couldn’t produce one, it would only arouse He De’s suspicions.

So while the internal traitor hunt inside the institute had wrapped up, the probe into the mysterious Sern Organization was still ongoing. And Sha Jiali’s image as the root of all evil remained etched in Wen Du’s mind.

For a moment, Wen Du didn’t respond. Ji Tingxi spoke first.

“Sure, let’s go pay a visit to the old man.”

She turned to Wen Du with a smile. “I’m sure Director Wen is looking forward to it too.”

Wen Du smiled faintly and picked up the thread. “Yeah, it’s been a while since we saw Professor Sha. Things aren’t so hectic now, so we can drop by.”

…

The moment Wen Du buckled her seatbelt in the passenger seat, it felt like yesterday all over again.

It was as if just the day before, she’d ridden in Ji Tingxi’s car to visit Sha Jiali.

“Professor Sha’s condition last time was that we find the missing housemaid. We didn’t, so it fizzled out. After all this time, won’t going back now make our chances even slimmer?”

In that “long time,” the Guard Institute’s reputation had tanked. First came the fallout from the Swan Palace Incident, then the shock of the Snake Mouth Bay event.

They couldn’t lure him in during their golden days. Now, mired in scandal, what hope was there?

Ji Tingxi replied, “True. But let’s give it a shot anyway. I’m curious what treasure he’s hiding that has the Guard Institute so fixated.”

Three months later, Professor Sha’s demeanor had flipped from cold indifference to warm enthusiasm.

The Guard Institute’s prestige hadn’t improved, but Sha Jiali’s knack for staying in character was impressive. He welcomed them warmly, inviting them to sit and enjoy tea, as if greeting long-lost sisters.

They settled into the genuine leather sofa. Sunlight filtered through the curtains from the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a soft glow into the room.

Central air conditioning kept the air fresh. Combined with the light, it created the perfect brightness and temperature—an ideal living space.

The interior matched the reddish-brown tones of his old bungalow: wooden accents and furniture giving it an elegant charm.

But the central control system added a layer of modern sophistication. It fit Sha Jiali’s profile perfectly: an old man, but a cultured one—an expert in electronic design who balanced nostalgic memories with cutting-edge tech, fully well-rounded.

Wen Du’s sense of pleasant surprise lasted less than two minutes before a new shock scattered it.

This shock didn’t just stir her emotions; it hit her physically too, hard to process on the spot.

Soon after they sat down, housemaids emerged from an inner room to serve tea and refreshments.

Wen Du was used to housemaids in wealthy homes. But this time, it wasn’t one maid—it was a group.

The housemaids all wore matching black-and-white maid outfits, complete with bow ties at the waist, headpieces secured neatly with crossbar clips, little leather shoes, and white ruffled ankle socks that made their ankles look slender.

A horde of maids… far outnumbering the guests. They surrounded Ji Tingxi and Wen Du so thoroughly that it felt less like a visit and more like selecting concubines.

Once they’d served everything, the maids retreated to line up along the hallway, standing ready for any command.

Wen Du froze for a moment, her throat working as she prepared to speak. But Ji Tingxi beat her to it, taking charge of the pleasantries.

“Professor Sha, your hospitality is as warm as ever. It feels like checking into a five-star hotel. We’re just here to chat in a quiet spot today. That’s all we need.”

The subtext was clear: leave just the hosts and guests; dismiss the extras before it got awkward.

But Sha Jiali was a master at playing deaf, conveniently ignoring the hint.

“You wouldn’t believe it—this place is dead quiet. No cars out front, all uniform landscaping.”

Ji Tingxi rested her arm on the sofa arm, cradling an untouched glass of water as a prop to keep her relaxed vibe.

“You picked well. This could pass for a vacation estate.”

“Exactly. And the ‘estate’ comes fully staffed—no worries about anything!” Here, Sha Jiali called back over his shoulder. “Too dim in here. Crank up the brightness.”

It was late June, early July—peak sunlight. The curtains blocked most of it, leaving the room hazy.

As soon as he spoke, a girl stepped forward from the maids, grabbed the wall tablet, and swiped twice on the screen. The room brightened noticeably, shadows sharpening.

That’s when Wen Du noticed the girl handling the lights was Duo Er.

In just three short months, she hadn’t grown much taller. But her school uniform had been swapped for this crisp “uniform,” putting her a decade ahead of her peers—she’d landed a job early.

“Hasn’t Duo Er been going to school? I remember picking her up from classes with you before.”

Pleased with his now-illuminated home, Sha Jiali admired it contentedly. His face was creased with wrinkles, thick lenses perched on his nose, but his eyes gleamed brightly, the whites clear and unclouded—like they got an ice-water rinse daily.

“She’s still in school. But it’s the weekend—no homework—so she’s helping out. Fits the school’s ethos: well-rounded development.”

Obligatory labor: contribute muscle, get no pay.

“So, through all this work, she’s picked up plenty of skills. She must know the room’s systems and gadgets inside out by now?”

“Yes,” Sha Jiali’s eyes lit up even more at that, his glasses catching the reflection. “She’s small, but sharp as a tack. No good at heavy lifting, but a whiz with tech.”

After praising her, Sha Jiali turned the spotlight on himself.

“My eye for talent never fails—whether picking students or maids, top-notch every time. See? Each one is capable.”

He got so worked up that Wen Du drew in a sharp breath, half-expecting him to wave them over for a talent show: not just material hospitality, but spiritual entertainment maxed out.

“Speaking of which, that missing housemaid before must have been exceptionally capable too. No wonder Professor Sha misses her so much.”

Wen Du broached the touchiest topic with the lightest tone, steering the conversation back on track while probing his reaction.

Sha Jiali sipped his chilled liquor and coughed from the burn.

“Luo Zi, right? She was capable—talented at powder painting too. I’d prepped the materials for her to do a Galaxy Falling from the Sky for the dining room. Everything was ready… then she vanished. But her disappearance paid off. Look—I gained all these excellent housemaids in exchange. Fair trade!”

At that moment, the excellent housemaids stood in the nearby hallway, eyes uniformly downcast. They stayed out of the conversation without intruding.

Wen Du’s emotions churned. She exchanged a glance with Ji Tingxi and found her eyes far from clear—they were thinking the same thing.

After Luo Zi vanished, they’d compensated Sha Jiali by bumping his housemaid count to ten, plus Duo Er—eleven girls total in the house.

Wen Du couldn’t help reflecting: had their hard work smuggling Luo Zi out been a blessing or a curse!?

In the eerie atmosphere, Ji Tingxi cleared her throat and chuckled along.

“True enough. Professor Sha, you’ve got a luxurious new home and all these capable helpers, freeing up your time. Any chance you could visit us sometime?”

Visiting the Guard Institute meant serious talks: collaboration and conditions.

“Your place can’t be as comfy as mine. Come over whenever you like. My maids just trained in massage—unique techniques to melt away a day’s backache. You two off today? No work? Lie down and try it!”

With that, Sha Jiali did wave grandly, summoning four girls—not for a performance, but a demonstration.

Not quite performers, but technicians of a sort.

As the girls approached, Wen Du shot to her feet. They halted uncertainly.

The abrupt move was awkward, so Wen Du flashed a smile to smooth things over.

“We appreciate the kindness, Professor Sha. But we have work later, so we won’t impose. We’ll visit another day!”

…

Once the front door shut, Sha Jiali peered through the window from inside, confirming Ji Tingxi and Wen Du had driven off. Only then did he slump back to the sofa.

This time, it was less sitting and more collapsing. His crisp, intellectual shirt-and-tie look crumpled halfway.

He reached for his glass and took a hefty swig. The fiery liquor rolled down his throat, a rush that steamed away his pent-up frustration—but it burned too, making his throat convulse in coughs.

Unlike before, this wasn’t a polite hack. It felt like something lodged in his windpipe, hacking deep and wrenching.

“Your lungs aren’t great—stop with the booze. Drink plain water instead. If it’s too bland, add lemon and soda.”

Yuan Miu brought over prepared water and held it to him. Afraid he’d cough himself onto the floor, she propped up his torso with her arm.

No sooner had she spoken than the other girls crowded in, whisking away the bottle and glass while tidying the coffee table.

“What nonsense are you spouting? I drink for the kick, not the taste!”

Sha Jiali shot Yuan Miu a glare, then barked at the girls in front of him. “Put those down! Confiscate my booze, and where do I find my fun? You think everyone’s like you lot—slip into a little skirt and patent leathers, skip around the garden, and call it a happy day!?”

The words stopped his coughing cold. He sagged fully onto the sofa, but face-up now, right into the ceiling lights. The glare stabbed his eyes shut, and he yowled like a cat with its tail stepped on.

“Dim the damn lights! You trying to blind me?”

His wail was pitiful, but Duo Er was busy wrestling off her headpiece, ignoring him.

She leaned against an antique shelf, arms twisted back. After struggling forever, the clip snagged her hair—no matter how she tugged, it wouldn’t budge.

Patience gone, she yanked the headpiece off, flung it to the floor, and stomped it viciously.

“Damn thing’s impossible to wear! Next time even the Bailunting chief shows up, I’m not putting it on. Put it on yourself, you old coot!”

She stormed upstairs, her little high-heeled shoes clattering on the stairs—louder than a drumbeat.

Spiced by liquor, stabbed by lights, now assaulted by shoe clacks: Sha Jiali, half-dead before, sprang back to “life.” He bounced off the sofa, shaking his fist at the stairs.

“You little brat! No dinner for you tonight. Don’t even think about mooching off the table!”