Chapter 97

She had even said more despairing words to herself.

Once they had finished writing, it was time for the big reveal.

The two of them sat across from each other at the dining table, holding up their slips of paper at the same time. Moments later, they exchanged knowing smiles.

Ji Tingxi set her paper down and let out a sigh. “Well, there’s some good news and some bad news. The good news is that Miss Wen and I are on the same wavelength—practically the perfect partners. The bad news is a bit worse: you’re footing the bill today.”

Originally, Ji Tingxi had planned to treat, but Wen Du had snatched the check away with sheer determination. It was the new era, after all—a bold new way to grab the tab.

“For me, that’s two pieces of good news,” Wen Du replied. “Not everyone gets the chance to take Miss Ji out to dinner. Today, I’m the one who gets the first pick.”

Ji Tingxi’s smile grew even brighter. She always felt happier around Wen Du. She was good at providing emotional support, but Wen Du was no slouch either—she always returned the favor in equal measure. This woman could be her rival in any situation, or her closest confidante.

Wen Du was a natural at these games. They hadn’t even started discussing business yet, and their rapport was already solid, laying the groundwork for aligned conclusions.

Although Sha Jiali hadn’t been reassigned yet, his presence had sparked an idea for the two women: if operatives from the Guard Institute could be transferred to Snake Mouth Bay, might there have been previous transfers?

“We can definitely start by checking past records for anyone who might have been reassigned,” Ji Tingxi suggested.

“Can you access the Guard Institute’s personnel files?” Wen Du asked.

“It’s tricky for other departments, but I can find a way into the Special Action Department’s archives.”

Wen Du nodded, feeling the strength of her ally once more.

“Good. I’ll wait for your update.”

…

After noticing Sha Jiali’s interest in her, Wen Du had grown more guarded in her dealings with him.

If he reached out first, she would respond readily—because rather than just staying defensive, she wanted to turn the tables and probe deeper.

It was the same as with Ji Tingxi earlier. She had wanted to avoid her, but she also made the most of every interaction, sensing, observing, reading between the lines.

Sha Jiali didn’t feel quite as intricate as Ji Tingxi, but he was far from simple. He was worth a thorough investigation.

Sha Jiali arrived carrying an alligator-skin briefcase, wearing matching alligator shoes and belt, topped off with a flamboyant floral shirt—his signature high-profile style. Together with Wen Du, he made a dazzling entrance along the tree-lined path of North County University, shaded by phoenix trees.

Professor Sha was flashy enough on his own, and Wen Du’s elegant, understated face paired with her simple suit nearly got overshadowed by his vibrancy.

His bold outfit drew undisguised stares from the students—curious glances pulled by the bright colors, mixed with something more scrutinizing.

Wen Du and Sha Jiali had eaten at a restaurant on campus before, surrounded by foot traffic then too, but the looks he’d gotten back then had been far more innocent.

As Sha Jiali had said, she rarely returned to campus. But a little reflection made the reason clear: under current laws, hiring Sern people was perfectly fine. Yet Sha Jiali’s family had suddenly hired over a dozen young, attractive girls, with numbers still growing. It was legal, but suspicious. Word had spread—from neighborhoods to streets to the school, blooming into campus gossip, likely a hot topic over post-meal tea.

Sha Jiali’s old reputation was that of a free-spirited eccentric, leaning androgynous. But now, among the students, it had probably shifted to something unspeakable, hinted at in those pointed stares.

Sha Jiali, however, tuned out the passersby entirely, his eyes fixed only on Wen Du. Dressed to the nines in his eye-catching getup, his enthusiasm was unrestrained—his free-spirited persona intact.

“Professor Wen, it’s been ages since you were back on campus, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, work keeps me so busy I can’t break away. The school only schedules me for special evening classes when I have time.”

“You have no idea how oversubscribed those special classes are. Students are practically scalping tickets to get in.”

“No need to be jealous—your classes will be the same soon enough. Rarity drives value, after all.”

The summer phoenix trees were both sparse and lush: sparse in their slender branches spaced clearly apart, lush in the vigorous leaves filling the gaps, fragmenting the sky into finer patches and softly filtering the sunlight. The shaded path was pleasantly mild.

The long avenue of phoenix trees escorted their figures from the campus gate all the way to the faculty dorms. The trees’ rough bark carried an air of rustic antiquity, while the dorm building—with its yellowish stone bricks, carved details, and corner eaves—peeked through the dappled shadows, deepening the quiet, eerie atmosphere.

Sha Jiali owned a house off-campus, but his old single room in the dorms was still reserved for him, a spot to store teaching materials or nap.

At the secluded side entrance, he turned to her. “Professor Wen, if you could wait here just a moment, I’ll grab some lecture materials. Then we can head to the academic building together.”

Wen Du held her document bag in both hands and nodded. They were colleagues now—doubly so—and waiting a bit was no trouble.

The dorm building, including the attic, was four stories tall, with wide spacing between floors. Climbing up and down took effort, so after standing a moment, Wen Du began to pace. The area near the side door was serene, thick with shrubs and evergreens dotted with Red Prince spirea. A few steps revealed splashes of color, brightening her view.

Drawn to the flowers, Wen Du didn’t notice someone approaching until the voice rang out—loud enough from the first word to make her jump.

“Professor Wen!”

Her fingers trembled as she reached for a bloom. She spun around, her pupils dilating in shock.

The man behind her was ghostly pale, as if he’d been hiding under a bed for years, untouched by sunlight—his skin so thin the veins showed beneath.

His hair was wildly thick, denser than the phoenix leaves, hanging low over his temples. Any sound reaching his ears had to push through that heavy barrier.

Beyond that, his eyes were startlingly clear, intensely focused—like they pierced her skin to examine her organs in a flattened, four-dimensional layout, overwhelming him with the sight.

The once-peaceful scene transformed in Wen Du’s eyes with his arrival: the dorms became a church, the shrubs a graveyard. This man was a vampire risen from the grave.

“Professor Wen, you’re finally here!” The man stepped forward, mouth and arms opening wide, as if to lunge at her.

Now it was Wen Du’s turn to feel her soles tremble. Drawing on years of professional poise, she held her ground, extending one hand to ward him off. “And you are?”

“Who I am doesn’t matter. It won’t affect our discussion.”

He halted just beyond arm’s reach but seemed eager to close the gap at the slightest opening.

“If I don’t know you, I can refuse to discuss anything.”

“No, no—that won’t do. I’ve waited for you so long; you can’t refuse me!” With that, he edged closer.

Wen Du turned and hurried away along the grassy path edge, desperate to escape the eerie figure.

He followed relentlessly. “Professor Wen, you’re North County University’s best Sern language professor. Does it pain you that Sern language is banned, its culture sealed away? Don’t you regret it?”

Wen Du’s steps faltered for a moment before resuming.

The dorms weren’t small; skirting from the side door to the open front area meant a winding path—a long, meandering one entirely overlaid by the man’s voice, dogging her every step.

“Professor Wen, the Sern language has no inflections, no tenses or genders, but it’s rich in phrasal combinations, beautiful phonological patterns, and flexible rhetoric. It’s the world’s only living variant of pictographic script. From the Ge Zhi River Basin to the Tai Na Plains, Sern people have mingled with other races, their language blending with others—developing syllabaries for foreign cultures, welcoming outside civilizations.

“In North County City, it even absorbed local dialects, forming new words and idioms. Every compound is a allusion, every idiom a slice of history. It’s the chronicle of Sern development, a testament to the civilizations of West Continent and North Continent. And now, this beautiful, ancient language is locked away. Doesn’t that break your heart!?”

Though she kept walking, Wen Du slowed. His shouts pursued fiercely. She tried to block him out but couldn’t help listening.

“What did the Sern people do wrong? What crime did they commit? Is it their genes? Racial inferiority? But not long ago, we lived harmoniously with them, celebrating their profound culture, marveling at their brilliant ideas.

“If their genes were truly flawed, innately inferior, why were they once treasured, rising to the top of every field? So what’s the real issue? What did they do wrong? What’s wrong with their culture?”

Seeing her pace slacken, the man slowed too. He had little stamina left; his booming voice had drained him. He stopped altogether, but his tone stayed fervent, as if piercing all barriers.

“It’s because of the Yingli Faction, right? The entanglements with Gailie? The election stakes? International skirmishes spiked energy prices; the Ruier Government nationalized energy firms, forcing foreign capital out. Gailie Country’s industry took a hit.

“So they panicked. They’d always wanted control over us, but now more desperately than ever. They struck through the Yingli Faction, spreading scandals about the Rui’er Terrace, fueling public distrust of the government.

“The Ruier Government, facing election losses, went for the kill—dragging out the Sern people to make an example of them. It cut off the Yingli Faction’s support, paved the way for reelection, sealed the borders, forced the Gailie Forces to retreat, quelled the unrest. But in doing so, racial hierarchies took root!”

Wen Du’s nails—short as they were—dug into her flesh. She forced herself not to respond.

No one dared air such topics publicly, and with her position, she absolutely couldn’t.

But after struggling inwardly, she turned to face him, studying the man closely.

His face was still ghastly, his sickly pallor unmasked even in shadow, his eyes burning with unyielding obsession. As she turned, he finally lowered his voice, seeming almost human.

“So what did the Sern people do wrong? Join the Yingli Faction? Their ties to Gailie Country? Their elite resources across fields?

“Even so, it doesn’t warrant this… They’re just political sacrifices, aren’t they? Pawns discarded in a game of strategy. Once they’re out, the board balances, so their removal seems justified!”

Around them, shrubs on one side, a gray wall on the other—no cameras, no watchers. Just his nonstop words and their contrasting breaths—heavy and light. Wen Du’s face remained impassive, her question flat. “So you’re pitying the Sern people’s plight?”

He shook his head, his thick hair sweeping his brows but unable to dim the fire in his eyes. “No, I pity us all. I pity ourselves.”

He worked himself up, his voice quavering, his body swaying.

“Look—we used to live together, sharing our lives, cultures, tech achievements. We thought we were all Bailunting people, part of the Bailunting civilization.

“But when resources must be divided, interests carved up, society rebuilt—a single gene report tears it all apart. It ignores our long history, overrides solemn laws, scorns moral codes. It turns ‘us’ into ‘them,’ excluding ‘them’ from history, law, and norms.

“This time it’s different races. Next time, who? Women? The elderly? People with valley accents? Lovers of Bechamel sauce?”

His voice swelled, drawing security. Two guards spotted him like police nabbing a fugitive. They seized his arms—one on each side—and hauled him toward the security office.

The man looked stubborn but lacked strength. Dragged up like a chicken for slaughter—unplucked but scalded—he could barely flap.

Still, he struggled, unwilling to end his “discussion” with Professor Wen, even if it had been a one-sided rant.

“Professor Wen, at root, it’s not the Sern people’s fault, nor the Homer people’s sin, nor the Gailie people’s crime. It’s the prejudice buried in unequal social and economic status—our shared nature, our common flaws…”

His feet scraped the ground, slowing the drag. The guards, seeing him persist, reached to cover his mouth, tempted to club him quiet for campus peace.

He couldn’t escape the pull but dodged the hand over his mouth. He kept staring at Wen Du, howling desperately.

“It’s… it’s the tragedy of us all, every one of us… Our tragedy…”

Wen Du stood frozen, watching him go.

She didn’t want to react, but sorrow crept into her eyes—like moonlight on a graveyard, illuminating something yet nothing at all.

—This was everyone’s tragedy. This was every one of ours.

She had even said more despairing words to herself.

She had even achieved crueler dissections on her own.

Finally, they silenced his mouth.

One guard doubled back, bowing to Wen Du. “Sorry, Professor Wen—we didn’t mean to alarm you! He was a student here once, but expelled for inappropriate speech. He’s been deranged since, sneaking onto campus now and then. We guard against him strictly, but somehow he slipped in today. Our apologies for the trouble!”

With the mad student gone, quiet returned to the dorm side. The beautiful, serene campus enveloped Wen Du once more.

For a moment, she spaced out, unsure why she was there or what for.

Her gaze wandered until it caught Sha Jiali in the distance. Then it hit her: she was waiting for him.

He stood in the arched side-door alcove, heavens knew how long. His expression was unreadable.

They were too far, and the shadows obscured him, but Wen Du sensed a shift—no longer his usual bounce, but heavier in the gloom. He’d been silently watching from the dark.

Only then did a chill creep up Wen Du’s back—worse than the mad student’s pursuit.