Chapter 55: The Lion (15)

Wen Mingwei had many secrets, and the "base" he often spoke of was an extraordinary classified matter. Tan Zhao exercised restraint and did not ask him where his destination was, only asking, "When will you be back?"

"Maybe early, maybe late," Wen Mingwei said. "Not sure yet."

Judging by his tone, it must be quite far away. His military-industrial stronghold could not possibly be too close to the capital, and most likely wasn't on the mainland.

Curious yet unable to guess, Tan Zhao couldn't help his thoughts wandering, imagining what kind of place it was, what scale it had, how Wen Mingwei had built it, and wondering if he would ever have the chance to see it with his own eyes.

Wen Mingwei didn't bring it up, and Tan Zhao didn't actively pry, showing a great deal of tact. Before parting ways the next day, Wen Mingwei looked at him and said, "Some people are getting more mature and sensible."

Tan Zhao feigned ignorance: "Who?"

Wen Mingwei smiled, walked with him into the garden, and without answering, gazed for a moment at the newly planted "Night Lantern roses" by the path before suddenly bringing up: "By the way, do you know why this variety was planted?"

"Why?"

"When the housekeeper showed them to me, I saw the floral language on the tag was 'waiting for you to come home,'" Wen Mingwei leaned in closely and said with affection, "Isn't it very fitting that I work hard every day waiting for you to come home when you're away?"

"You're coaxing me again."

"Really."

Both of them had to go out today, but Wen Mingwei left first. He wore a suit, his long hair tied back in a low ponytail. When he wasn't smiling, he looked icy and severe, with an intimidating aura, but he loved to smile at Tan Zhao: "This time it's your turn to wait for me. I'll try to be back as soon as possible."

The promise was lovely, yet Wen Mingwei's departure lasted nearly half a month, far exceeding Tan Zhao's estimate.

From the moment he left Xijing, the smile vanished from Wen Mingwei's face. His traveling companions were Gu Jing and Jian Xinning. Starting from Xijing, the destination was extremely far away. But if one started from Xinzhou, it was much closer—

That was an island unmapped by official Alliance charts, a fallback option Wen Mingwei had prepared for himself before fighting the civil war. Later, after winning the civil war, he was forced by circumstances to lose to Zheng He, and the fallback he thought he would never need ultimately came into play.

The island's coordinates were secluded, its defenses heavily guarded, and Wen Mingwei did not visit often.

His final leg of the journey was by helicopter, and the base director, having received word in advance, waited at the perimeter of the landing pad.

Passing through the artificial rain and mist that shrouded the island year-round and looking down from the aircraft, the massive base resembled a blot of black and white paint splashed across the ocean surface. The black areas were clusters of ordnance manufacturing plants, while the white core zone was the research and development center—the place that earned Wen Mingwei the most money every year, and also burned through the most.

This was a place that materialized power, and even the most detached person would inevitably find their heart stirred by it. Yet Wen Mingwei's expression turned ugly even before he got off the aircraft. The gale whipped up by the propellers scattered the ends of his hair, and the cold rain and mist hit his face, dampening his eyelashes, chilling his cheeks to an icy white, his temperatureless pupils almost seeming to crystallize into shards of ice.

Gu Jing and Jian Xinning did not dare let out a single breath. The base director, leading two teams of subordinates, respectfully welcomed him.

The people below rarely had a chance to see him. Wanting to curry favor, they feared giving offense; yet fearing insufficient enthusiasm might seem dilatory, they were so nervous their expressions stiffened and their facial muscles nearly lost control.

Wen Mingwei was in a bad mood, but he didn't make things difficult for anyone. He nodded, passed through the crowd, and walked toward the complex of buildings at the center of the base.

His trip here was to inspect the final batches of cargo slated to clear customs before the new year.

While called an inspection, he didn't actually need to personally check anything; its symbolic role outweighed the practical one, primarily to make everyone understand the importance of these shipments and ensure no mistakes were made at any stage.

Production was still underway, the goods were not yet ready, and the transportation routes had not been finalized.

Wen Mingwei stayed at the base for over ten days, longer than any previous visit, demonstrating the heavy importance he attached to it.

Yet for him personally, this was a protracted torment. Several times he wanted to ask Gu Jing if he had brought any backup medication, only to remember before speaking that his medicines had all been destroyed, and he had even rejected the laboratory's application for fourth-quarter R&D funding.

In truth, Gu Jing could not understand why he loathed this island so much. No special events had occurred here, nor did it involve any old acquaintances; it was as innocent as an island could possibly be. Yet every time Wen Mingwei came here, it felt like undergoing torture, enduring it through sheer willpower.

Whenever this happened, he needed Tan Zhao even more. He sent messages very frequently, the one he asked most often being, "What are you busy with?" Then, while reading Tan Zhao's reported itinerary, he would listen to Gu Jing report Tan Zhao's even more detailed whereabouts.

Occasionally there were discrepancies, and Tan Zhao would talk nonsense. Wen Mingwei would just smile, unconcerned, and tell him, "I miss you."

It was the night of October 25th, Wen Mingwei's last night at the base.

Tan Zhao replied quickly: "I miss you too."

Answering like that was a bit rigid, like an automated system reply, so he added: "When on earth are you coming home?"

Only then did Wen Mingwei expose him: "You aren't even home. What are you busy with?"

"..."

He was truly busy. Tan Zhao flew to Ke'an an average of once every two days, leaving him very little rest time. Today he had originally planned to return to the capital and had told Wen Mingwei as much, but Wen Mingwei's brother, Wen Mingzhe, had suddenly appeared and sent an address, asking him to attend.

It was a meticulously arranged dinner party.

Aside from Tan Zhao and the elusive Wen Mingzhe, there was also an unfamiliar official.

They had agreed to meet at a popular classical restaurant in the bustling downtown district of the gambling city. It was four stories high, with a hollowed-out lobby featuring a theatrical stage. They were in a third-floor private room, and even with the doors and windows tightly shut, the singing and chanting from downstairs could still be heard.

Those two had already arrived when Tan Zhao came, and he took his seat last. Wen Mingzhe introduced today's guest, whose surname was Zeng, currently working in the Investigation Division of the General Administration of Customs, rumored to be shortly transferred to the Anti-Smuggling Bureau—a very critical position.

Wen Mingzhe said, "Mr. Zeng is a native of Xinzhou, a fellow townsman of mine. We crossed paths once over a decade ago."

That Mr. Zeng sported two conspicuous short mustaches, with a few strands of white mixed into his black hair. He was not young, but his face bore obvious traces of cosmetic procedures, his skin plump and free of wrinkles.

Following Wen Mingzhe's gaze toward Tan Zhao, he acted very familiar: "I've crossed paths with Young Master Tan once before as well."

Tan Zhao thought to himself that plenty of people had seen him, kept his expression calm and collected, and nodded politely.

Wen Mingwei's message arrived at that very moment.

Tan Zhao had turned on "Do Not Disturb," and only notifications from Wen Mingwei could break through.

The lie he had just fabricated was exposed, but Tan Zhao felt no guilt: "Something came up and missed the flight. I won't be able to get back tonight, just didn't want you to worry."

Wen Mingwei turned his head and asked Gu Jing, "Where did you just say he was?"

Gu Jing reported the name of the restaurant again: "We've been there before too, listened to opera there."

Wen Mingwei had a vague impression, though not a deep one.

Gu Jing said, "Mr. Tan was the last one to go in. Our people only followed him to the door and don't know who his companion is tonight. Should we check the surveillance footage?"

Wen Mingwei said, "There's no need to check what can see the light; whatever dares not see the light would have already wiped the footage clean. It would be a waste of effort."

"You mean..."

"Who else could it be besides Wen Mingzhe?"

Although Wen Mingwei's quarters at the base had only been tidied up temporarily, their specifications were no lower than a five-star hotel.

He was like an underpowered bionic human, devoid of much human warmth when in a bad mood. With a pale complexion, he sank into the sofa, clutching his phone, his voice low and even: "If he dares show his face, it means he prepared in advance and isn't afraid of trouble. Let him be."

Gu Jing hesitated for a moment: "Then Mr. Tan—"

Before Gu Jing could finish his sentence, the phone clenched in Wen Mingwei's hand buzzed again.

Tan Zhao: "Wen Mingzhe invited me to dinner. I'll talk to you later?"

"..." Glancing at this line of text from the side, Gu Jing instantly swallowed the second half of his sentence—"Aren't you deliberately keeping things hidden?"—back down his throat.

Wen Mingwei let out a single laugh. As if an outlet had suddenly opened in his emotions, the invisible torment that had oppressed his nerves day in and day out inexplicably grew a bit lighter, making him forget that he was still out on the open ocean and hadn't yet made landfall.

Wen Mingwei replied with a "Okay," put down his phone, raised his head, and asked Gu Jing, "Tell me, is he too foolish, or too clever?"