Chapter Sixty-Eight: Strike

The next morning, Chen Yuxin woke to find her throat parched and her voice a little hoarse.

She muttered to herself in confusion, “Why is it that every time I wake up lately, my throat feels dry and itchy, as if I spent the whole night talking?”

She turned her head to glance at the floor mat—Liu Jingye wasn’t there. Glancing down at her own alluring black lingerie, she startled in panic, quickly checking herself over. Only after confirming everything was intact did she breathe a sigh of relief.

After getting dressed, she stepped outside and saw Liu Jingye once again hanging from the pull-up bar in the courtyard, training his abs. His muscles, slick with sweat, gleamed in the sunlight, his robust body emanating a wild beauty.

Chen Yuxin found herself transfixed, her heartbeat quickening, seized by a sudden urge to reach out and touch him.

Spotting her, Liu Jingye flipped down from the bar. Though his physique was solid, his energy seemed drained, accentuated by the dark circles under his eyes.

Curious, Chen Yuxin asked, “You look like you didn’t sleep at all last night?”

“It’s not just how I look—I really didn’t sleep,” Liu Jingye replied helplessly.

“Why not?”

“I listened to you sing all night!” Liu Jingye exclaimed, a hint of exasperation in his voice. “Miss, I never realized you knew so many songs—pop, rock, folk, children’s songs, even foreign tunes. I basically sat through your entire solo concert!”

“What? That can’t be!” Chen Yuxin gulped in surprise, scratching her head. “I’ve heard from my roommates that I talk in my sleep sometimes, but not to that extent.”

Liu Jingye simply picked up his phone and played a recording. Chen Yuxin’s fragmented singing filled the air, one song after another.

“This only starts from the middle of the night,” Liu Jingye explained. “The first half was a mix of folk and children’s songs, the latter half you got into the groove—love ballads and rock, side by side.”

Chen Yuxin’s face flushed crimson. She lowered her head and murmured, “I was just singing, right? I didn’t say anything I shouldn’t have, did I?”

“Oh, you definitely did,” Liu Jingye teased. “You called your boss a pervert, complained that your photographer always tries to catch you in compromising angles, said your makeup artist is jealous of your looks and purposely makes you look ugly, that the couple upstairs are too noisy in the night, your neighbor on the left is Ma Le, and the one on the right is Old Wang…”

“Oh my god…” Chen Yuxin groaned, covering her mouth tightly.

Liu Jingye gave a wry smile. “You’ve got a lot of grievances, miss.”

“I’m being hunted—of course I have grievances!” Chen Yuxin shot back. “Anyone being chased would feel tense and suffocated. I’m feeling short of breath just thinking about it.”

Liu Jingye shot her a sidelong glance. “Maybe your shortness of breath isn’t just from being hunted. Trust me, try buying a bra one size bigger. Comfort matters more than cleavage, don’t you think?”

“What?” Chen Yuxin instantly crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him. “You saw?”

“Shh…” Liu Jingye was about to tease her further, venting his sleepless frustration, when he suddenly heard a faint noise at the door. He quickly pressed his ear to it.

Chen Yuxin immediately fell silent and hid behind him, but Liu Jingye pushed her aside, yanked open the door, and looked out. No one was directly in front, but on the other side, a shadow flickered past, darting into a nearby alley.

Liu Jingye made to give chase, but Chen Yuxin clung to his waist, begging, “Don’t go, please!”

Her voice was so desperate and helpless that Liu Jingye could well understand her terror—he just hadn’t expected someone would come looking for them so soon.

He shut the main door securely. Chen Yuxin gradually calmed down, her cheeks flushed and still stained with his sweat—a trace of their earlier embrace, which left her embarrassed and flustered.

But Liu Jingye now grew serious. “For an assassin, the only rule is to eliminate the target. I suspect that after the car explosion yesterday, he must have mingled with the crowd to observe. Seeing you unharmed, he’s bound to try again.”

“So what do we do?” Chen Yuxin’s nerves were frayed.

“The best chance for him was last night. But you sang through the night, and I stayed awake the whole time listening—he had no opportunity. Just now, he was probably eavesdropping, trying to assess the situation. Clearly, he’s wary of me, but he’ll look for another chance soon.”

“So we just sit here and wait for him to strike?” Chen Yuxin’s voice was hollow, the sense of helplessly awaiting death intolerable—a feeling that defied resistance.

“I hate that feeling too. Looks like it’s time to take the initiative and deal with this bomb-loving punk ourselves,” Liu Jingye said with a cold laugh. “Let’s start enacting the plan we drafted yesterday.”

Chen Yuxin hesitated. Their current predicament terrified her, but this was a fight to the finish—one of them had to fall. If she wanted to live, she had to fight back.

Clenching her teeth, she opened Liu Jingye’s laptop. The moment she launched the browser, a restricted image popped up. She spun around to scold him.

“It’s a virus—must be a virus,” Liu Jingye lied, perfectly straight-faced.

Chen Yuxin closed the page, connected her phone, and pulled up several photos—shots she’d taken of the account book pages left by Liang Hong, the ones she saw at Huang Weiwei’s place.

She selected the pages that seemed most incriminating against the Secretary-General and uploaded them to several of the country’s most prominent forums and local discussion boards, titling the posts: “The Mysterious Suicide Note Left by the Deputy Director Who Jumped.”

Though it was still early, the posts sparked a wildfire of reaction, racking up over a million hits and hundreds of thousands of shares in short order—far exceeding what either Liu Jingye or Chen Yuxin had anticipated. They hadn’t expected it to go viral so quickly.

Of course, given the times, issues like these were at the forefront of national and official concern.

But after the brief explosion of interest, Chen Yuxin started cursing. Whether her own posts or those shared by netizens, they were being systematically deleted.

“According to relevant laws, regulations, and policies, some search results are not displayed,” read the terse message—enough to chill anyone’s heart.

“This must be their doing,” Chen Yuxin fumed. “Shameless! Absolutely shameless!”

As a journalist with lofty ideals and ambitions, she faced immense obstacles.

Just then, her phone rang. The number was unfamiliar. She hesitated but, at Liu Jingye’s signal, picked up.

A man’s low voice came through: “Is this the user with the screen name ‘Gentle Rain’?”

Chen Yuxin frowned and murmured an affirmative. Suddenly, there was a thunderous knock at the door, someone shouting, “Water meter inspection!”

Startled, Chen Yuxin nearly dropped her phone, but Liu Jingye chuckled. “Don’t be nervous—it’s just Auntie from next door, really here to check the meter.”

She relaxed, but the voice on the phone set her nerves on edge again. “I’m with the Imperial Anti-Corruption Inspection Team. My name is Wang Jun. We saw your post and would like to meet to discuss the matter in detail.”

“What?” Chen Yuxin was stunned—her heart roiling with excitement and anxiety.

To attract the attention of the central investigation team was the best possible outcome, but the speed of the contact was alarming. Had the authorities been watching the Secretary-General all along, or was this a setup—someone impersonating the team to lure her out?

“Where should we meet?” she asked, feigning excitement.

“Given the gravity of this matter and its potential to destabilize the region, we need to meet in secret, first to verify the evidence you hold, then to take appropriate action,” the man replied. “How about noon, at the demolition site on the western outskirts?”

Still wavering, Chen Yuxin exchanged a glance with Liu Jingye, who had just come back from paying the water bill. He nodded—there was no other choice.

Chen Yuxin agreed enthusiastically, keeping up the ruse.

“Do you think it’s real?” she asked urgently after hanging up.

“Eighty percent chance it’s fake,” Liu Jingye replied, unconcerned. “Liang Hong’s ledger being exposed is a real threat to them. Think about it—would any investigation team meet a whistleblower in a deserted demolition site? That’s prime ground for burying a body under the rubble.”

“So what do we do?” Now that her life was at stake, Chen Yuxin was genuinely terrified.

“We go meet them, and try to seize control of the situation with a single strike,” Liu Jingye said. “You go ahead. I’ll follow you and step in if things go south. Stay calm and see what they want.”

Chen Yuxin took a deep breath and nodded. “I’ll go get ready—print out the photos from my phone, just in case they really are with the investigation team.”

Liu Jingye just smiled, saying nothing. As Chen Yuxin reached the door, she hesitated, unable to bring herself to open it. Liu Jingye reassured her, “Go on, little sister, be bold. In broad daylight, you’re at least a public figure—nobody would dare attack you on the street. Still, best to stick to crowded places.”

Gritting her teeth, Chen Yuxin mustered her courage and stepped outside. Liu Jingye stretched, saying, “Time for me to get ready for a long-overdue warm-up match!”

By noon, the once-clear sky was shrouded in dark clouds, the wind howling, presaging a violent storm.

The western suburbs had once been dotted with small villages, but a nearby lake had attracted developers planning a resort, and all the villagers had been relocated. Now, the landscape was a wasteland of demolished houses, crumbling walls, broken stones—a scene of utter chaos.

Clouds pressed low, the wind shrieked, lifting dust and grit. The world was gray and visibility poor.

Dressed in plain clothes, Chen Yuxin stood in the gale, looking lonely and helpless, her slender frame shivering.

A man in a suit emerged from behind a wall that looked ready to collapse. In his thirties, tall and dark-skinned, he looked nothing like an official—more like a bodyguard.

He produced a red work badge and displayed it before Chen Yuxin. It identified him as a provincial official. He said in a low voice, “The provincial authorities take your post very seriously. We hope you’ll share further information, and we thank you for your courage and support of the anti-corruption effort.”

Chen Yuxin pulled a few photos from her shoulder bag—most of the account book pages she’d photographed that belonged to Liang Hong. The man examined them carefully, then asked, “Where’s the original?”

Chen Yuxin replied bluntly, “That’s my insurance. I won’t hand over the original until your investigation is officially underway.”

The man smiled faintly. “You’re cautious. But I’m afraid this matter is out of your hands now.”