Chapter Thirty-Five: The Witch

The name Cao Jingren was no stranger to anyone present—An Jing often mentioned him in class.

He was once the last disciple of the renowned scholar Master Zhang Xueshu, and was exceptionally well-versed in both literature and history, publishing numerous works before the age of thirty. What astonished people even more was that, in his prime, he abandoned a promising academic career to become a war correspondent. In several major regional conflicts during the latter half of the last century, his energetic figure could be seen everywhere, producing a great number of battlefield reports and feature stories that gained him immense influence in the world of journalism.

After turning fifty, Cao Jingren returned to academia, accepting a position at the School of Humanities of Shuimu University in the island region. There, he integrated his rich experiences into his scholarly pursuits, forging a unique path and becoming the most acclaimed scholar of literature and history across the strait, a grand master of national studies.

It could be said that in the contemporary academic world, his name was synonymous with one word: legend.

“But what I want to tell you is that, besides being a master scholar, Mr. Cao has another, little-known identity—he is the secret liaison responsible for high-level peace reunification negotiations between the Republic and the island region!”

Boom! Although Lei Tiangang’s voice was not loud, it was as though he had thrown a thunderbolt into the operations room—everyone was left wide-eyed and speechless.

“There’s no need for surprise,” Lei Tiangang said calmly. “Is there any true citizen of the Republic who does not long for the nation’s peaceful reunification? Especially someone like Cao Jingren, who has witnessed countless wars and life-and-death moments, and has a profound understanding of world affairs?”

His words held undisguised respect for the elderly gentleman, and everyone present was moved by complex feelings.

Eighty years ago, after the Republic decisively defeated the former regime in a protracted civil war, the remnants retreated to the island, resulting in a de facto division. Since then, the two sides have existed in a delicate state of neither war nor peace, neither unity nor independence.

Over the decades, relations across the strait have fluctuated between tension and relaxation. To guard against mainland attacks, the island has had to rely militarily and politically on the Minia Federation and the Empire of Jepan. Yet, when facing external threats, both sides have, on occasion, engaged in tacit and subtle cooperation. The complexity and nuance of their relationship defies easy description.

No matter what, the deep bonds of shared heritage linger in the hearts of all descendants of the dragon.

In recent years, as the Republic has grown stronger and more enlightened, and as the island’s economy has become ever more dependent on the mainland, the people there have gradually shed their previous prejudices. A sense of belonging has grown, interactions have become more frequent, and calls for reunification have grown ever louder.

After all, in a world where modern nations are largely defined by ethnicity, who does not wish for their people to flourish, and their country to be powerful? The island’s position makes it the greatest—and most immediate—obstacle for this ancient nation, a people long steeped in history and hardship, now finally rising again.

Everyone in the room understood this all too well.

Geographically, the island is separated from the mainland by a relatively narrow strait. This waterway, stretching from the East Sea in the north to the South Sea in the south, has long been seen as a window for monitoring the Republic’s southeastern coast. The Minia Federation calls it the “unsinkable aircraft carrier,” the very heart of the first island chain used to contain and blockade the Republic.

Since the hardline Secretary of State from the Minia Federation first proposed the “First Island Chain” concept more than seventy years ago, this chain—stretching from the Jepan Archipelago in the north to the Phillip Isles in the south—has been like an iron shackle binding the great dragon of the Republic. It has subjected the ancient nation to unrelenting pressure, forcing it to writhe and struggle through cycles of rise and fall, never quite able to break free.

Should reunification be achieved, the most critical link of this chain would be shattered forever. The shackles binding the Republic would be broken, and the ancient dragon would soar unrestrained to the heights of the heavens.

For a soldier, just imagining such a future was enough to set the heart racing and make self-control difficult.

In that small operations room, the temperature seemed to spike. Everyone’s faces flushed unnaturally, their breathing heavy.

“Ten years ago, both sides began to consider negotiations for peaceful reunification. For secrecy and to avoid attracting the attention—and possible interference—of the Minia Federation and the Empire of Jepan, both parties maintained the public stance of ‘economics first, politics later,’ while quietly shaping public opinion through the media. Behind the scenes, they chose Mr. Cao Jingren, a man with extensive connections in military, governmental, and cultural circles on both sides and trusted by all, as their secret contact.”

After outlining the general situation, Lei Tiangang dropped another bombshell: “Now, both sides have reached a consensus and are ready to sign a substantively meaningful agreement. The draft of this agreement is in Mr. Cao Jingren’s briefcase!”

Even those sitting in this operations room—each with years of special training and psychological resilience, so calm that ‘a mountain could collapse before them and their expression would not change’—could not help but gasp and exchange delighted glances.

But delight quickly gave way to deep concern.

This scholarly master, this elderly man with a monumental mission, had disappeared along with the aircraft that vanished over the vast sea…

“In recent years, Mr. Cao has used lectures and academic exchanges around the world as cover, shuttling between the two sides to deliver critical messages and facilitate secret communications. Moreover…” Lei Tiangang paused and sighed. “He has always been used to working alone, and his strong-willed nature led him to refuse any protective detail. Therefore, we received no warning—everything seemed normal before he boarded the plane.”

Lei Dong, too, sighed inwardly. That “everything seemed normal” was probably just an illusion. Something extraordinary must have occurred on that flight, and it likely began even before the plane took off.

But what shocked Lei Dong even more was yet to come.

Lei Tiangang pressed the remote in his hand again, and after finishing the introduction about Cao Jingren, another photograph appeared on the large screen—another person altogether.

At first glance, nearly everyone in the room—even An Jing—was momentarily dazed.

A woman. A woman whose face you might immediately overlook, but who could not be ignored.

She was shrouded entirely in black. The garment was strange, resembling a floor-length dress, yet also reminiscent of the flowing robes worn by nuns or witches in the movies, though far more voluminous, covering nearly every inch of skin.

From the cut of the black garment, one could tell she was slender, her shoulders sharp, her figure almost ethereal, imbued with an air of mystery.

Her hands and face were exposed—her skin pale, with the sickly pallor of someone who rarely saw sunlight. Her face was gaunt, her eyebrows so faint they were almost invisible, yet somehow distinct. Her lips were slightly full compared to her thin face, but not out of place; on the contrary, one might feel that her mouth, on such a face, was perfectly natural, flawlessly suited.

Her nose was high-bridged, making her eyes seem a little sunken, lending a touch of melancholy. Yet those eyes, black as night, shone like stars. At first glance, they seemed unremarkable, but a second, more careful look revealed a lively depth, as though they could see into the soul, exposing the most secret corners of one’s heart. If you stared too long, you might feel drawn in, as if your very soul was being pulled toward her…

Unlike the slightly blurry photo of Cao Jingren, this image was so sharp that even the pores on her skin seemed visible, yet the woman herself appeared shrouded in mist—mysterious, detached, with a trace of fragile sorrow.

Many people instinctively glanced at An Jing in the corner. If An Jing, serene as still water and gentle as jade, was a lotus blooming quietly on the water, then the enigmatic woman before them was an orchid blooming in a secluded valley—solitary, mysterious, beautiful, exuding a unique allure that provoked both fascination and pity.

Who was she? Why was she here? Did she, like Cao Jingren, bear some special mission?

The answer was soon revealed.

“Shui Yaoxian, Intelligence Officer in the Third Department of the General Staff, responsible for collecting international military technology intelligence,” Lei Tiangang announced, causing a ripple of excitement among those present.

Such a beautiful, delicate-looking woman—a spy? And one specializing in international military technology?

“She is one of our most outstanding intelligence officers. In the three years since joining our department, she has led or participated in seventeen major operations, all without a single failure, and secured a wealth of top-secret military technology for our nation and our military,” Lei Tiangang said, his tone full of admiration. “But that’s not the key point. What’s crucial is that in every mission, no matter the time, place, participants, or methods, everything is decided by her. And under her direction, every operation has been flawlessly executed—without a hitch.”

“Born in a remote village in western Hunan, she is known in intelligence circles as—” Lei Tiangang paused, casting a meaningful glance at Lei Dong, then slowly pronounced two words: “The Witch!”