CHAPTER SIX
The call came just past midnight.
General Li Xuefang was still awake, reviewing intelligence reports by the soft glow of her desk lamp when the encrypted line flashed red. She answered immediately.
"General Li," a voice from the Presidential Guard barked through the comms, "there's been an incident at the residence. High priority. The President requests your immediate presence."
Her pen stilled.
"Define incident."
"An internal breach, ma'am. Security compromised. One casualty confirmed."
Li stood at once, her chair scraping back with military precision. Within minutes, she was dressed, hair pinned, pistol holstered — the Iron Lotus reborn.
---
The Presidential Residence was ablaze with lights when her motorcade arrived. The air was sharp, humming with urgency. Soldiers snapped to attention as she strode in, her coat billowing behind her like a dark banner.
President Zhao Wenhai awaited her in the command room, his expression grave.
"A member of my personal staff," he said quietly, "found dead in my office. Poisoned. We've locked the compound down, but we suspect infiltration — someone inside."
Li's gaze swept over the room — the shaken aides, the guarded silence.
"I'll take command of the investigation," she said. "No one leaves until I say so."
And with that, the old, relentless General returned to the battlefield — this time, within her own government's walls.
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Back at the Red Lotus Mansion, a very different story unfolded.
While the city buzzed with rumors of the presidential crime, Jiang Ren was far from the turmoil. He had finished his lectures for the week, and with the university behind him, his world shifted.
Gone was the serious, refined professor admired by students.
In his place emerged someone softer — playful, boyish, disarmingly alive.
At home, he ditched the suits for oversized hoodies, sneakers, and paint-splattered sweatpants. He hummed off-key while cooking instant noodles, and sometimes danced with a broom as if performing for an invisible audience.
The mansion staff watched in quiet disbelief.
To them, he wasn't Professor Jiang anymore — he was Ren, the lighthearted, teasing young man who treated everyone like family.
He often wandered into the garden barefoot, sketching koi fish or teasing the guards with paper airplanes. Even the stern Commander Shen Rui caught him once, crouching beside the fountain, making faces at the reflection of a frog.
"Sir… what are you doing?" Shen asked, baffled.
"Diplomacy," Jiang grinned. "You'd be surprised how talkative frogs get when they trust you."
Shen blinked. "...Right."
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That evening, when Li Xuefang returned from the presidential compound — exhausted, sharp-eyed, her gloves still stained with the dust of investigation — she found Jiang sprawled on the sofa in the common lounge, munching on melon seeds and laughing at a comedy show.
He looked up at her, startled for a second — then smiled, as if greeting a neighbor.
"Oh, you're back. Busy night saving the nation again?"
Her gaze was cold steel. She didn't answer — just brushed past him, boots echoing against the marble. But as she ascended the stairs, she couldn't ignore the faint sound of his laughter behind her — light, careless, almost… humanizing.
How can one person live with such duality? she thought. Professor by day, child by night…
Then she dismissed the thought entirely.
Distractions had no place in her world — especially not those that smiled too easily.
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