Chapter 1141 - Xu Ke
Though she stood before a peer of the same sex, undressing still made Cleadia somewhat shy. She removed her stays but kept her chemise. Fortunately, Zhong Xiaoying hadn't gone "stark naked" either—she wore a nightgown.
"Come on," Zhong Xiaoying whispered. "We must be quiet—everyone else is asleep."
Cleadia felt her cheeks burn and her heart race, the moment charged with an ambiguity she couldn't quite name. For an instant, she even wondered whether she ought to follow her friend to the bathroom at all.
The bathroom wasn't large. Over ten open-sided stalls lined the wall, their surfaces tiled from floor to ceiling. Drainage channels ran along the floor. Wooden benches for scrubbing stood against the walls. People used the facility daily, so water stains marked the tiles.
"Take off your clothes and rinse first." Zhong Xiaoying handed her a small rattan basket.
"This is a towel, and this is soap—infused with lavender essential oil, special supply for Committee members only. And this glass bottle is for washing your hair, also lavender-scented. It leaves hair soft and clean." Zhong Xiaoying studied her golden curls. "Your hair is so beautiful!"
"Your long black hair is lovely too," Cleadia replied, but she hesitated to undress.
Zhong Xiaoying understood her embarrassment and turned away. "I'll wait over here. Rinse off, then come sit down—I'll scrub your back."
Face burning, Cleadia shed her chemise as though committing theft, darted into a stall, opened the tap, and began washing as quickly as she could.
She rinsed herself several times before steeling herself to lie down on the wooden bench in front of Zhong Xiaoying, surrendering to her ministrations.
"I'm using a loofah—it may sting a little."
"It's all right. I can bear it," Cleadia whispered.
Zhong Xiaoying scrubbed and rubbed with the loofah, applied soap, and rinsed again. With considerable effort, she scoured away the grime that had accumulated on Cleadia over months, leaving her entire body flushed red. Under the alternating friction of loofah and soap, Cleadia's body tensed and relaxed by turns. Her face flamed crimson; her eyes pressed shut; her teeth clenched. She surrendered to the scrubbing, yet occasionally couldn't suppress a soft "mm" or "ah."
Only when another scoop of clear water cascaded over her did she hear Zhong Xiaoying's slightly breathless voice: "All right. Get up."
Cleadia sat up hastily. Wet blonde hair hung in damp curtains across her chest. Her cheeks were scarlet, her blue eyes misty, as though veiled in steam. Her lips gleamed bright as blood, her curved figure white tinged with pink. Zhong Xiaoying stared for a moment, throat suddenly dry, and quickly looked away.
Privately, Zhong Xiaoying felt a twinge of something like disappointment. Though fair-skinned women with blue eyes, golden hair, and snow-white complexions possessed a different kind of allure than Han women, their skin felt rough to the touch, marked by bumps and unevenness. And even with the body odor and grime washed away, a faint, foxy musk lingered—even lavender soap couldn't fully mask it.
"Come, let's get you dressed." Zhong Xiaoying affected a calm tone and helped her up. The soap slipped from her grasp; she stooped hurriedly to retrieve it, but in her haste, her foot skidded, and she felt her cheek press firmly against something soft yet resilient. Her face went scarlet.
Steadying herself, she saw that Cleadia's face was equally flushed. Without a word, the two made their way to the changing room.
With Zhong Xiaoying's assistance, Cleadia changed clothes. These were garments Zhong Xiaoying had chosen herself—new clothes that Dr. Zhong had bought for her. Their builds were similar in height and proportion, though Cleadia was fuller than Zhong Xiaoying, so the fit was somewhat snug.
Some of the garments were utterly foreign to Cleadia—she had never worn a brassiere before. As Zhong Xiaoying helped her dress, she demonstrated the technique: lean forward to settle the breasts into the cups, then fasten and adjust the straps. When her fingers accidentally grazed tender, sensitive skin, Cleadia couldn't help but gasp softly.
Early the next morning, Dr. Zhong rose to find his daughter—who was usually awake before him—still deep in slumber. He washed up and went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast, encountering Westerly in the hallway.
"Good morning, Westerly."
"Good morning, Dr. Zhong." Westerly smiled. "Has Miss Zhong gone to the kitchen already?"
"She's still resting. Perhaps she's overtired from recent days," Zhong Lishi replied.
"Ah—Cleadia is sleeping too," Westerly said. "We'll head to the construction site after breakfast."
At that moment, less than three hundred meters from Customs, stood a prefabricated wooden building. Sentries guarded the entrance, but no signboard identified it. The louvers on its glass windows remained perpetually closed; every night, light seeped through the cracks.
This was the Kaohsiung Office of the Political Security Bureau facing one half of the building, with the Kaohsiung Office of the Foreign Intelligence Bureau occupying the other. The two agencies were separated by a central staircase.
At seven o'clock sharp, the harbor whistle sounded. Staff inside the building were already working at a furious pace—these two departments operated around the clock. Operation Engine was in full swing, and Zheng Zhilong's movements in the Taiwan Strait required constant surveillance. Massive quantities of intelligence and material poured in, keeping everyone occupied.
Xu Ke emerged from his office. As the Foreign Intelligence Bureau's dedicated naval intelligence officer, he had been stationed here since Kaohsiung D-Day. The greatest maritime threats—the Dutch and Zheng Zhilong—were active in these waters, and the Navy urgently needed intelligence on their activities. Xu Ke had arrived with precisely that mission.
He had labored through the night, sifting intelligence dispatched from various coastal stations in Fujian, compiling weekly assessments for the Committee, the Military Order Department, and the First and Second Fleets. The responsibility weighed heavily. Xu Ke had to give it his full attention. Intelligence Bureau agents were scattered across Zheng Zhilong's principal operating areas, monitoring trade flows, recruitment drives, and shipbuilding activity, reporting daily on vessel movements at every port.
From the current intelligence picture, Zheng Zhilong displayed no abnormal activity. As Xu Ke pondered how to frame his report, a guard in the corridor stopped him: "Chief, there's a sailor at the door asking to see you. He says he's from First Fleet Headquarters, bearing a message. Here are his credentials."
"No need—I'll go to the lobby." Xu Ke wanted fresh air, and his office needed time for the cigarette smoke to dissipate.
In the lobby, a Navy Seaman Apprentice stood waiting. Seeing an unfamiliar Chief approach, he immediately snapped to attention and saluted.
The guard introduced him: "This is Chief Xu Ke."
"Seaman, what business brings you to me?" Xu Ke asked.
The messenger conveyed a written order from Navy People's Commissar Ming Qiu: Lieutenant Xu Ke was to report to First Fleet Headquarters immediately.
"Return and report that I'll come at once." Xu Ke dismissed the messenger, privately puzzled. If there was something to discuss, Ming Qiu could simply telephone; why dispatch someone with an oral summons?
Puzzling as it was, though Xu Ke now worked at the Foreign Intelligence Bureau, his billet remained with the Navy. Ming Qiu was his direct superior.
He hurried to the washroom to freshen up. Returning to his office, he was about to don a cool cotton-linen blend shirt when he remembered he was reporting to Navy leadership. He opened the wardrobe again and retrieved his tropical Navy Lieutenant uniform. Having been seconded to the Foreign Intelligence Bureau, he hadn't worn it in a long time.
First Fleet Headquarters was housed in an ordinary barracks building at Cijin Base. A naturalized Navy female Chief Petty Officer wearing clerical insignia awaited him at the entrance: "Lieutenant, I'll escort you upstairs. Please follow me."
In the spirit of fostering unity, formal occasions within the military required all personnel—whether Committee member or naturalized citizen—to address one another by rank or position. The distinction between "Chief" and naturalized citizen didn't exist here.
Arriving at the People's Commissar's office, the Chief Petty Officer said, "Lieutenant, you may enter. Comrade People's Commissar is expecting you."
"Thank you," Xu Ke replied courteously.
Facing the door, he adjusted his uniform, then knocked.
"Enter." The occupant's voice came from within.
"Reporting to the Commissar—Navy Lieutenant Xu Ke, reporting as ordered."
Ming Qiu sat behind his desk and looked up. He wore a tropical Navy uniform bearing nothing but branch insignia and rank tabs, his bearing neat and trim.
(End of Chapter)