Chapter 390: The Denunciation

From his high vantage point, Dongfang Ke’s gaze was firmly locked on the small group of one man and two women. He continuously pinched his right-hand fingers, muttering, “Interesting, very interesting.”

Zhuo Yifan took out his fan and waved it a few times with feigned nonchalance, taking the opportunity to scan his surroundings. Seeing nothing suspicious, he felt a little more at ease. He then looked at Lian Nishang, whose eyes were fixed on the “genuine Aussie” on the high platform, her expression one of rapt fascination. A feeling of displeasure stirred within him. To say he felt sorry for her “stubborn delusion” was less accurate than to say he felt a twinge of jealousy.

Lian Nishang was completely different from any woman he had ever met. There were plenty of forthright and bold women in the jianghu, but few had her knowledge and her own ideas, able to reason about everything.

Although Zhuo Yifan didn’t always agree with her views, deep down he cherished her “talent” and was even more attracted to her independent and untamed personality. He often felt that for such a woman to be reduced to a “pseudo-Aussie” was a terrible waste, like a pearl cast into the darkness.

Unfortunately, he was burdened with a heavy responsibility—the fate of the Ming Dynasty and the safety of millions of its people. He had no time for romantic entanglements and could only watch as she fell. At this thought, he couldn’t help but sigh secretly.

As he was lamenting, Zuo Yamei, sitting on his other side, suddenly stood up and waved vigorously. Zhuo Yifan was startled. He looked and saw another group of students arriving at the entrance. At a glance, they were all female students, a flock of chattering, laughing girls, their voices as crisp and pleasant as the chirping of orioles.

Even though Zhuo Yifan was used to strange sights, he couldn’t help but be stirred, almost daring not to look.

The attire of these students was different from that of the so-called “Fāngcǎodì” students: they all wore light white short-sleeved blouses under dark blue sleeveless pinafore dresses. It was a look that was both elegant and generous. Their demeanor was also different from that of the Fāngcǎodì female students.

A small commotion rippled through the crowd of spectating naturalized citizens and natives. Many of the female students currently enrolled in the Women’s College of Arts and Sciences had a background in the maid training program, so in terms of both appearance and figure, they were a cut above the Fāngcǎodì girls.

Zhuo Yifan asked, “Where are these students from?”

“They’re from the Women’s College of Arts and Sciences,” Zuo Yamei said with no small amount of pride. “They’re all my junior schoolmates…”

“Women’s Arts and Sciences?” Zhuo Yifan didn’t know what “Arts and Sciences” meant, but he understood “Women’s” and “College.” He was shocked: a school exclusively for women! What kind of “learning” was this?

In those days, there were so-called “female tutors” in the Jiangnan region, but these were small-scale “private schools,” very few in number, and besides poetry and literature, they taught little more than the “feminine arts” of poetry, calligraphy, and painting. They were a mere trifle, serving as little more than a topic of conversation for scholars and gentry after meals and tea, with no practical significance. A school with fifty or sixty students appearing all at once was simply unheard of.

Not only did the Aussies allow women to attend school, but they also established a “women’s school” and appointed women as officials. What was their intention? Zhuo Yifan couldn’t understand. In his view, scholars studied for ten years in obscurity, and many never succeeded in the imperial examinations, barely making a living by teaching children or writing documents. What was the use of so many women studying? Could it be that the Aussies, having lived overseas for so long, had learned some kind of sorcery and wanted to “turn the world upside down” and disrupt the feng shui of China?

At this thought, Zhuo Yifan’s hair stood on end. If that were true, the Aussies weren’t just plotting to seize the Ming Dynasty’s power, but to usurp China’s thousand-year-old tradition…

For a moment, Zhuo Yifan even had the thought of sacrificing himself to take the Aussies down with him.

As his mind raced, he heard Lian Nishang sigh again, her voice filled with envy. “You’re so lucky…”

Her words seemed to carry a hint of resentment. Could it be that the College of Arts and Sciences is even better than Fāngcǎodì? Zhuo Yifan wondered. Before he could process it, Zuo Yamei blurted out:

“Lucky? In the end, I was still eliminated.” She pointed at the girls below. “They’re the lucky ones. They get to study properly, without having to worry all day about when a chief will…”

Lian Nishang shot her a look, and Zuo Yamei seemed to realize that it was highly inappropriate to say such things in front of an “outsider” like Zhuo Yifan. She abruptly stopped and stuffed a piece of dried squid into her mouth.

Zhuo Yifan’s interest was piqued. He knew that the conversation had hinted at some secret of the Aussies. He wanted to pry, but he was afraid of arousing Lian Nishang’s suspicion.

Just then, he saw that among the newly arrived students, seven or eight girls had a black box hanging from their necks on a thin leather strap. As soon as they entered the venue, they scattered like little birds: some went straight to the stage, others climbed up into the seats, heading for higher ground, and still others wandered around the field. From time to time, these girls would raise the wooden boxes to their eyes and point them at something.

Zhuo Yifan found it baffling and didn’t know what to make of it. Then he saw one of the girls, with bright eyes, pearly teeth, and a tall figure, waving at Zuo Yamei from below the stands. Zuo Yamei waved back, then turned her head towards Zhuo Yifan and made a V-sign with her fingers. As Zhuo Yifan was wondering what was going on, he saw the girl below raise her wooden box and “point” it at them.

“Yamei, don’t forget the rehearsal time!” the girl below shouted after lowering her box.

“I know, Aili!”

“This is?”

“This is Lin Aili, my junior schoolmate. Isn’t she pretty?” Zuo Yamei said with a smile.

In Zhuo Yifan’s opinion, this student named Lin Aili, while having bright eyes, pearly teeth, and dark, lustrous hair, had eyes that were too big, a nose that was a bit too high, legs that were too long, and a chest that was a bit too large. She looked too healthy and too lively… In short, she was completely unlike any woman he had ever seen, as if she were from another world.

It wasn’t just this Lin Aili; Lian Nishang, Zuo Yamei, and even the ordinary naturalized citizen women on the street all gave him a similar impression.

“Turning Chinese into barbarians!” The phrase leaped into his mind. His face instantly changed, but he quickly suppressed his emotions and replied perfunctorily, “She is indeed a beauty.” He then asked, “And that wooden box Miss Lin has, what is it?”

“It’s a camera,” Zuo Yamei said. “For taking pictures. It can instantly capture people and scenery on a picture, and it looks just like the real thing…”

Zhuo Yifan was instantly terrified—this was practically sorcery! For a moment, he even suspected that his soul had been captured. But he secretly circulated his inner energy and found no abnormalities in his body, nor did his mind feel clouded. He felt a little relieved. But then he heard Zuo Yamei continue, “…When the photos are developed, I’ll have Aili make extra copies and give you each one.”

This piqued Zhuo Yifan’s curiosity again. What did this so-called “picture that looks just like the real thing” look like? Although he was slightly horrified, he was still a young man with a strong interest in new things. He closed his fan and smiled.

“Then I’ll be troubling you.”

At noon, the sun shone brightly over Lingao, and the streets were sparsely populated.

A tall, thin figure strolled up to the Political Security Bureau building and showed his credentials to the gate guard. Shortly after, a staff member came out of the building and led him inside.

As soon as he entered the building, a wave of coolness washed over him, instantly dispelling the summer heat.

“This way, please, Chief,” said the young Political Security Bureau staff member who had come to greet him. The blue collar tabs on his black uniform were impeccably ironed.

Dongfang Ke couldn’t make sense of their strange ranking system. “Uh, thanks.”

They walked down a stone-paved corridor, their muffled footsteps echoing in the empty space. The light filtering through the skylights and blinds painted everything in a pale, bright hue. The doors along the corridor were all closed, with no text on them except for numbers. At every turn, at the entrance to every staircase, stood a fully armed guard, a revolver holstered on each hip, watching everyone who passed with a blank expression.

Dongfang Ke followed the staff member up to the third floor. At the end of a corridor was a large, leather-covered door. Inside was the secretary’s office, where a female secretary in a black uniform immediately stood up.

“This chief wants to see the Regional Commander!” the staff member said concisely.

The female secretary immediately opened the inner door and went in. Less than a minute later, she came out, stepped aside, and opened the door to the inner room.

“Please come in!”

“Thanks.”

Dongfang Ke walked in, silently grumbling about the Political Security Bureau’s pomp. He was still wearing a linen shirt and faded old jeans, his hair tie now grey, and for once, he wasn’t wearing his headphones.

The room was large but plainly decorated, in the spartan style favored by the Elders. There was nothing special about it except for the unusually large desk.

“Hello, what a rare visitor!” Wu Mu stood up from behind the desk to greet him. His uniform was identical to the staff member’s, only much older. Dongfang Ke still couldn’t figure out the name of the rank he wore, but he knew full well that Wu Mu was the number two man in the Political Security Bureau, one of the most powerful figures in the Senate.

Although he was smiling, his face was filled more with confusion. He clearly had no idea why a reclusive, now arts-focused, “soy-sauce” Elder would want to come to his office for a face-to-face meeting.

“You’re too kind.”

Dongfang nonchalantly pulled out a chair and sat down, then looked directly at the female secretary. She stopped herself from asking if he needed tea, immediately turned, and left, closing the door behind her.

“Director Wu, you’d better get a notepad or a recording device ready. I have something to report to you.”

“What is it?” Wu Mu was somewhat puzzled. Is this a denunciation of a coup plot by an Elder? “Please speak, I’m listening.”