The Minister’s office crowns the Ministry of Public Security like a throne room—imposing, unreachable. For a second-class superintendent like me to be summoned here wasn’t just rare. It was unheard of.

  When Linjun called, instructing me to report directly to the Minister, I masked my surprise. The investigation was barely a week old. We hadn’t gathered enough evidence to move against a ministry director—at least not legitimately.

  The Minister's secretary, Xu awaits us—a compact man with ostentatious gold-rimmed glasses. His face contorts into a calculated smile at our approach, the kind reserved for those with value to extract.

  “Secretary Xu,” Linjun steps forward with practiced charm. “How’s the Celestial Dawn tea I sent last week? Spring harvest from my friend's plantation.”

  “Director Sun,” Xu nods, pleased. “Exquisite. Truly exceptional. The Minister himself remarked on its richness and depth.”

  Linjun's face transforms into a masterpiece of ingratiating charm. “I’ve acquired a small batch of wine—private distillery, same friend. I’ll bring it by tonight. He’d value your opinion. You have the most refined palate in the Ministry.”

  “How thoughtful,” Xu replies, eyes narrowing with approval. “No wonder the Minister calls you his most capable director. Your handling of the Hong Kong bookstore case—brilliant. I hear Secretary Xi himself took notice of your... creative approach.”

  “You flatter me,” Linjun says, bowing his head just enough. “The credit belongs to my team.”

  “A testament to your judgment of character,” Xu turns to me, eyes scanning. “Superintendent Xu? Young, sharp, and already distinguished. We share a surname. My door is always open.”

  I clasp his hand with both of mine, the proper gesture of deference. “Secretary Xu, I’m new to the Ministry. Your guidance would mean a great deal.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he says, clearly pleased. “The Minister is waiting. Follow me.”

  He leads us to a formidable oak door and knocks twice. "Enter," commands a voice resonant with power.

  Inside, the Ministry’s triumvirate awaits.

  Minister Shenkun Guo dominates the center sofa, his military bearing unmistakable in his squared shoulders and rigid posture. Power emanates from him like heat from a furnace.

  To his left: Xiaohang Wang, from Fujian, Xi’s trusted enforcer. Installed as highest-ranking Deputy Minister the moment Xi took power. Though not physically imposing, he has piercing eyes that watches me with unsettling interests, as if he were evaluating a student.

  To the right: Zhenhua Fu, Executive Deputy Minister. Round-faced, smiling, deceptively warm. His reputation is built on quiet ruthlessness. His amiability is the silk glove over an iron fist.

  Their conversation—clearly on a grave matter—halts abruptly. Zhenhua gestures for Linjun to join him on the sofa. Three sets of eyes converge on me with predatory focus.

  "Ruolin," Minister Guo addresses me with artificial warmth, "brief us on the shooting investigation."

  "Yes, Minister." I adopt a stance of perfect attention, maintaining eye contact—deferential but not weak. I know this dance.

  "Saturday afternoon, two armed assailants targeted Director Sun from the adjacent rooftop within our residential compound." I deliver facts with clinical precision. "We apprehended both shooters the next day. Their confessions, corroborated by guards who facilitated their entry, implicate Director Feng Liu as the orchestrator."

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  A lie, of course. But a beautifully engineered one.

  The operatives from Unit 8341 were quietly returned to their base. In exchange, they gave us the confession we needed. Whoever truly sent them had no interest in protecting Feng Liu. He was a convenient endpoint. A name we could burn.

  At the mention of Liu, Xiaohang’s jaw tightens—just for a second. A microexpression. Gone before it registers.

  "The next day?" he asks, voice perfectly modulated to mask his surprise. "How were the shooters captured?"

  “Through surveillance on Director Liu,” I reply. “He met with them Sunday evening. We detained them discreetly. Director Liu remained unaware.”

  Another lie. But we’ve built the scaffolding—timestamped footage, falsified logs, fabricated witness statements. The illusion is airtight.

  "We also traced significant funds to Director Liu's aunt's account—a classic bribery conduit. The source account also funneled money to a Fulong Cult operative."

  Money from Me-Tiny, for the abduction of a reporter's husband in Shanghai. The timing is damning. But more importantly, the corruption trail gives us the perfect lever.

  None of these can withstand the rigors of a trial. Yet, the three men exchange glances—a silent tribunal reaching unanimous verdict. Liu's fate is sealed with that tacit consensus.

  He’ll protest his innocence, naturally. But he won’t be charged with the shooting anyway. Such publicity would embarrass the Ministry.

  Instead, they'll dismantle him through corruption charges—not fabricated, merely inevitable. In the upper echelons of power, financial impropriety is never the crime; it's simply the convenient prosecution when someone becomes inconvenient.

  Even if Liu suspects the shooting triggered his downfall, he won’t speak. He knows the rules. To name names is to disappear faster.

  The hierarchy of survival is clear. No one dares pursue dangerous truths.

  In navigating the corridors of power, I've learned the cardinal rule: safety doesn’t come from pretending ignorance.

  It comes from ensuring there are certain things you genuinely never uncover.

  … …

  The Minister nods, a gesture so slight it could be mistaken for a tic. Secretary Xu ushers me out, his hand hovering near—but never quite touching—the small of my back. A gesture of control disguised as courtesy.

  “You were good in there,” he murmurs, voice dipped in velvet. “The Minister is genuinely impressed.”

  "Thank you, Secretary." I offer a measured smile, neither too eager nor too reserved. Whether he speaks the truth or not, it's an encouraging gesture.

  He guides me to a private alcove, initiating what appears to be casual conversation. He asks about my career trajectory, my entry into the force, my assignment to the shooting case. His tone is casual, but I recognize the rhythm—establish rapport, then probe for weakness.

  I answer with precision, every detail aligned with my personnel file. I watch his eyes for flickers of doubt, for the moment he realizes I know exactly what he’s doing.

  Then the questions shift. My family. My parents. Even my grandparents. My hobbies. My social circles. The net tightens.

  “You know,” he says, leaning in just enough to breach comfort, “we have a lot in common.” His gaze drops—lingers on my chest, then flicks between my legs.

  I don’t flinch. I don’t react. I hold my posture, perfectly still. Just enough to pretend I haven’t noticed. Just enough to leave the door open.

  Men like Xu mistake a woman's intelligence for naivety and her ambition for availability. Both errors are useful—when timed correctly.

  Fifteen minutes into this performance, he’s summoned back inside.

  Then comes the wait.

  The standard procedure would have been dismissal after my briefing. Instead, I'm being kept in orbital suspension—neither released nor engaged. Something significant is unfolding behind those doors, something that concerns me.

  When the door finally opens, Xu reappears, his smile now polished to a gleam. He doesn’t speak. Just gestures.

  Inside, the air feels heavier. Xiaohang Wang speaks first.

  “Conclude your work on the shooting,” he says. “I want you to participate in another investigation. You’ll report directly to me.”

  I glance at Linjun. He nods, smiling faintly. Approval or warning—I can't tell.

  “Yes, Sir.” I stand at attention, boot heels clicking like a gunshot.

  “Take whoever you need,” Minister Guo adds, his gaze sharp. “Whoever you trust. When can you begin?”

  "Immediately, sir." I meet his gaze without hesitation, my voice steady with quiet confidence.

  There’s a beat of silence. Then Xiaohang nods once.

  I turn to leave, pulse steady, mind racing.

  Whatever this new assignment is, it’s not routine. It’s not safe.

  But I’ve been chosen.

  And in this Ministry, being chosen is never just an opportunity.

  It’s a test.

  And I intend to pass.