Chapter 1579 - Report
From his elevated vantage point, Dongfang Ke's gaze locked firmly onto the small group—one man and two women. His right fingers worked restlessly as he muttered: "Interesting... truly interesting."
Zhuo Yifan drew his fan, waving it with studied nonchalance while scanning his surroundings. Detecting no suspicious circumstances, he relaxed slightly. When he glanced at Lian Nishang again, her eyes were fixed on the "True Bandit" standing on the high platform, her expression mesmerized. A pang of discontent stirred within him—less regret at her "obstinacy" than the faint stirrings of jealousy.
Lian Nishang was utterly unlike any woman he had known. Among daughters of the Jianghu, there were those with forthright temperaments, but few were like her—knowledgeable, possessed of her own convictions, able to substantiate every opinion she held.
Though Zhuo Yifan rarely agreed with her views, he secretly cherished her "talent" and found himself drawn to her independent, uninhibited character. He often thought it a pearl cast before swine for such a woman to become a "Fake Bandit"—a pure waste.
Yet he bore a heavy responsibility: the welfare of Great Ming, the safety of millions. He could not afford to indulge in romantic sentiment. He could only watch, helpless, as she drifted further away. At this thought, he sighed inwardly.
While he brooded, Zuo Yami suddenly sprang up from her seat beside him and waved vigorously. Startled, Zhuo Yifan looked toward the entrance. Another group of students had arrived, all female, laughing and chattering as they walked, their voices as crisp and bright as orioles.
Though Zhuo Yifan had grown accustomed to strange sights, his composure wavered. He scarcely dared to look.
These students dressed differently from the "Fangcaodi" group: light white short-sleeved tops worn beneath dark blue vest-style dresses. There was generosity in their elegance, a refinement distinct from the Fangcaodi girls.
Among the crowd of naturalized citizens and indigenous onlookers, they caused another small commotion. Many of the young women currently studying at the Women's College of Arts and Sciences had come from the Maid Training Class, and in both appearance and figure, they outshone the Fangcaodi students by a clear margin.
Zhuo Yifan asked: "Where are these students from?"
"The Women's College of Arts and Sciences." Zuo Yami spoke with evident pride. "They're all my junior sisters..."
"Women's Arts and Sciences?" Zhuo Yifan did not know what "Arts and Sciences" meant, but he understood "Women" and "College" well enough. He could not contain his surprise: a school established specifically for women! What kind of "learning" was this?
In those days, there existed so-called "Boudoir Teachers" in Jiangnan and similar regions, but these were merely small-scale "private schools," exceedingly rare. Beyond poetry and classical texts, they taught nothing more than verse, lyrics, calligraphy, and painting—so-called "boudoir sentiments," style without substance. Apart from becoming conversation pieces among scholars and gentry over tea, they served no practical purpose. A school where fifty or sixty students appeared simultaneously was simply unheard of.
The Bandits not only permitted women to enter schools but established dedicated "Female Schools" and even appointed women as officials. What could possibly be their intention? Zhuo Yifan could not fathom it. In his view, scholars toiled for ten years over the classics, many failing the imperial examinations their entire lives, barely managing to teach children or work as copyists to eke out a living. What use was there in educating so many women? Could it be that the Bandits, having lived overseas for so long, had learned some form of witchcraft—seeking to "reverse Qian and Kun," to disturb the feng shui of Huaxia itself?
At this thought, Zhuo Yifan's hair stood on end: if that were truly their aim, the Bandits were not merely plotting against the Ming state—they intended to seize the thousand-year tradition of Huaxia...
In that instant, Zhuo Yifan even contemplated sacrificing himself to take them down with him.
Just as his imagination spiraled, Lian Nishang sighed again, sounding deeply envious: "You have such a good life..."
There seemed to be resentment woven into her words. Zhuo Yifan wondered—was this Arts and Sciences College superior to Fangcaodi? Before he could pursue the thought, Zuo Yami blurted out:
"Good life? They got screened out just the same in the end!" She pointed at the girls below. "They're the ones with the good life. Focused on studying—don't have to spend all day wondering when they'll be matched with a Chief..."
Lian Nishang flashed a meaningful glance, and Zuo Yami seemed to realize belatedly how inappropriate it was to speak so freely 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 sharpened. That exchange had inadvertently hinted at the Bandits' secrets. He wanted to press further but feared alerting Lian Nishang.
At that moment, he noticed something peculiar: among the students who had just entered, seven or eight girls carried black boxes suspended from their necks by thin leather straps. The moment they stepped inside, they scattered like sparrows—some straight toward the stage, others climbing up to the seats, still others wandering through the venue. From time to time, these girls would raise the wooden boxes to their eyes and aim them at something.
Zhuo Yifan was thoroughly baffled. Then he saw a girl—bright-eyed, with gleaming teeth, tall and slender—wave to Zuo Yami from beneath the stands. Zuo Yami waved back, tilted her head toward Zhuo Yifan, and raised her hand in a scissors gesture. Before he could puzzle over it, the girl below lifted her wooden box and "aimed" it in his direction.
"Yami, don't forget the rehearsal time!" The girl lowered the box and called up to her.
"I know, Aili!"
"Who is that?"
"Lin Aili, my junior sister. Pretty, isn't she?" Zuo Yami smiled.
By Zhuo Yifan's estimation, this Lin Aili certainly possessed bright eyes, white teeth, and jet-black hair. But her eyes were too large, her nose a bit too high, her legs too long, her chest too ample... She looked too healthy, too lively—entirely unlike any woman he had encountered before, as if she belonged to another world entirely.
This impression extended beyond Lin Aili. Even Lian Nishang, Zuo Yami, and the ordinary naturalized women on the street left him with a similar feeling.
Changing Xia with Yi! The phrase drilled into his mind. His expression shifted, but he suppressed his emotions and replied perfunctorily: "A beauty indeed." Then he asked: "What is that wooden box Miss Lin carries?"
"It's a camera," Zuo Yami explained. "Used for taking pictures. It can fix people and scenery onto a picture in an instant—looking exactly like real life..."
Zhuo Yifan was horrified—this was sorcery! For a moment, he even wondered if his soul had been captured. But circulating his internal energy, he found his limbs normal, his mind clear. He relaxed slightly. Zuo Yami was still speaking: "...When the photos are developed, I'll ask Aili to print extra copies and give you one each."
These words rekindled his curiosity. What exactly did a "picture looking exactly like real life" look like? Despite his unease, he was a young man after all, with a strong appetite for novelty. He closed his fan and smiled:
"Then I'll trouble you."
At noon, sunlight blazed over Lingao, and the streets lay nearly empty.
A tall, thin figure paced up to the front of the Political Security Bureau building and presented his identification to the sentry. Shortly, a staff member emerged and escorted him inside.
The moment he stepped through the door, a wave of coolness washed over him, instantly dispelling the summer heat.
"This way, please, Chief." A young Political Security Bureau staff member led the way. His black uniform with blue collar badges was pressed immaculately.
Dongfang Ke could not decipher their peculiar rank system. "Mn. Thanks."
They walked along a stone-paved corridor. Their footsteps echoed dully in the empty passage. Light and shadow filtered through the skylight's sunshade, painting everything in pale, luminous tones. The doors lining the corridor were shut tight, bearing only numbers and no text. At every turn and stairwell entrance, a fully armed guard stood, wearing revolvers in a cross-draw configuration, regarding each passerby with expressionless eyes.
Dongfang Ke followed the staff member to the third floor. At the end of one corridor stood a leather-wrapped door. Beyond it lay a secretary's office. A female secretary in black uniform rose immediately.
"This Chief wishes to see the Regional Director!" The staff member announced curtly.
The female secretary entered the inner office. Less than a minute later, she emerged and held the door open.
"Please come in!"
"Thanks."
Dongfang Ke stepped inside, silently critiquing the Political Security Bureau's pretensions. He still wore his linen shirt and faded old jeans, his hair rope swapped for a gray one—headphones, for once, absent.
The room was spacious but sparely decorated, thoroughly Spartan in the manner Senators preferred. Apart from an unusually large desk, nothing stood out.
"Hello—what a rare guest!" Wu Mu rose from behind the desk to greet him. His uniform matched the staff member's exactly, though considerably more worn. Dongfang Ke still could not decipher the rank insignia, but he knew Wu Mu was the second most powerful figure in the Political Security Bureau—one of the most formidable men in the Senate.
At the moment, though Wu Mu smiled broadly, his face was written with doubt. Clearly, he could not fathom why a typically reclusive, soy sauce-sipping Senator—now dabbling in the arts—would seek a personal interview.
"You're too kind."
Dongfang dropped carelessly into a chair, then fixed his gaze pointedly on the female secretary. She skipped the offer of tea, turned immediately, and closed the door behind her.
"Director Wu—you had better prepare a stenographer's notebook or recording equipment. I have a situation to report."
"What situation?" Wu Mu looked puzzled. Is he about to report a Senator planning a coup? "Please speak. I'm listening."