Doctor, Patriot, and Terrorist (13)
Truly exhausted, Liu Linfei made up for her day spent entirely indoors the day before by buzzing around with renewed vigor the next morning, as if determined to make the most of it. I suppressed my own desire to roll around in bed a bit longer and pretended to enjoy it myself.
"Um, this is my first time coming to Korea."
Liu Linfei said this, then shyly corrected herself with a smile. "Actually, it's my first time ever going abroad."
She was the sort who couldn't even afford a simple plated earring, so overseas travel would have been out of the question. Which meant this bait was genuinely savoring the moment. Perhaps thinking I'd reacted to her áo dài yesterday, she indulged in a lot of shopping for clothes as we wandered. And among them was hanbok.
She tried some on at a rental shop and threw a tantrum about wanting to buy it. It wasn't for sale, but there was no problem money couldn't solve, so I easily granted her request. Thus, Liu Linfei bought several modernized hanboks and a women's cheollik dress, handed them off to my subordinate handling the driving and escort duties, and stepped out of the shop in a pure white jeogori jacket with gold leaf on the sleeves, a pale pink chima skirt, and a coat draped over it all.
To a stranger's eyes, she could pass for Korean. The way she drew stares from passersby confirmed her face was top-tier.
Gyeongbokgung Palace, with fewer visitors due to the plague's resurgence, made for a quiet backdrop perfect for photos. When I refused to pose with her, Liu Linfei showed her disappointment but asked me to be her photographer instead. I obliged, framing her through the lens like I was cataloging inventory—weapon or person, the basic techniques didn't differ much.
"The palace is small, but it's cozy and familiar. Doesn't feel like I'm in another country at all."
Her casual remark carried a subtle probe. The "coziness" and "familiarity" she mentioned were like litmus paper slipped into her words, testing my colors. It was a worthless hue that didn't need hiding, so I responded in a nonchalant tone.
"Compared to the Forbidden City, sure, it's small."
It wasn't just about square footage—density and layout played in too.
"There is some cultural commonality in the style, that's true. If Joseon had built something on the scale of the Forbidden City, it would've been proof of tyranny and extravagance."
The difference in density felt even starker with so many landscape trees pruned or uprooted for Awakened being management. Near the boundary touching Bukaksan Mountain, soldiers—free labor—were visible working on stone retaining walls to prevent infiltration.
Liu Linfei smiled slyly.
"China's a big country, after all. Even just adding up the bald spots on balding people's heads would cover ten times the area of Seoul. So the palace has to be big too."
"……?"
I had no idea where she'd picked up that joke, but her comparison criteria were bizarre. Roughly estimating a bald scalp at 500 square centimeters, you'd need over 1.2 billion balding heads to fill Seoul's area. Crude Fermi estimation or not, it proved her "ten times" claim was nonsense. If every Chinese person went bald, they might cover two or three old provinces.
"Let me see, how'd the photos turn out?"
Liu Linfei took the phone and scrolled through the shots from our palace wanderings, her expression subtly dissatisfied.
"The sky's not very clear... It's better than back home, but not by much."
Well, the air came from China, after all.
"What do you think, Oppa Hui?"
"The subject looks good, so everything else does too."
"Pfft. You can see fine even with those on?"
She was referring to my dark sunglasses. With a mischievous grin, Liu Linfei reached out.
"Come on, look at me closer. I'll take them off for you."
I grabbed her approaching hand and gently pushed it down.
"Not outside."
"Ack..."
Liu Linfei withdrew her hand with an embarrassed smile.
"Now that you mention it, you were wearing shades even when we first met. And that was in a dim room."
"Occupational hazard. Always preparing for the one-in-a-million."
"I like that about you, Oppa. A man who's cautious about everything. Reliable, someone to lean on. And that secretive charm..."
Brushing off her slip, she clung tightly to my arm and nagged to head to the next spot. Strolling the hanok village streets outside the palace, she uploaded photos to SNS whenever she got a good one. No doubt an indirect way to relay my movements to her watchers. The tail stuck on us since Gyeongbokgung confirmed it.
She'd probably accepted the easy request without knowing why. I suspected as much but didn't interfere—let them think I was off-guard. This country was my front yard, after all. Shaking a tail on the way back to HQ was child's play. They wouldn't even uncover my shell company's details. The car had fake plates, too. To them, my organization would forever remain the enigmatic "Nameless Company." Given my ties to Gao Xusen, I couldn't just spot and kill the tail outright, which was a minor annoyance. But failing to track me would be enough to make them wary.
Lunch was at a Michelin-listed Korean restaurant. If I had to waste time unavoidably, at least my mouth should enjoy it. As Liu Linfei chattered endlessly about trivialities I didn't care about, I sipped the final course's tea and occasionally glanced at my watch.
It's crawling by agonizingly slow.
Was it boredom with the moment, or anticipation for the news at dusk? As I pondered, her chirping suddenly stopped.
"Oppa. Are you bored with me?"
Anxiety flickered across Liu Linfei's face. She'd tried to hide it, but failed.
I swallowed a mental sigh and improvised.
"The opposite."
"Opposite?"
"When a book's gripping, don't you keep checking how many pages are left? Resenting them as they dwindle."
"Ah..."
My response landed well—color rose to her cheeks.
"Never had that, Faye?"
"I-I have. Hehe."
Her fidgeting fingers held genuine relief and joy, unfeigned.
The incident unfolded at the Palgakjeong Pavilion on Bukak Road. Liu Linfei, eager for Seoul's sunset and night views, climbed up, but Chinese fine dust ruined the vista. After sighing away her dream of a memorable kiss against the setting sun, she grabbed my hand and led me to the second-floor restaurant.
"What the hell, she's like an excited puppy on a walk. Y'know, one of those tiny dogs dragging its owner around by the leash."
I shot a subtle scolding glance toward Kyung-tae's direction. The restaurant inside was as deserted as the pavilion outside. Who'd crowd a scenic spot threatened by wild Awakened beasts, especially amid a global plague?
Bzzz—
Her phone vibrated. A mundane ad text arrived—but Liu Linfei's pulse quickened slightly. Some prearranged signal, no doubt.
Feigning calm amid small talk, she soon stood with a smile.
"Be right back, bathroom."
I nodded and watched what she'd do in there. She entered a stall with a toilet, locked the door, and immediately started messaging someone. Self-deleting after a time limit.
Apparently, the Communist Party's Central Propaganda Department had accessed her SNS, editing posts: adding hashtags like "China's traditional attire" and "Ming Dynasty clothing" to her hanbok photos, then deploying the "Wumao Party"—the CCP's online troll army—to rocket them to trending. Now, they were fueling Sino-Korean netizen brawls off those posts.
Her handler's cold reply was a threat: fail and disappoint me, end up heading to the airport alone, and she might get jumped en route.
Overkill.
They weren't entirely lying—security had worsened here. Korean police now fired live rounds routinely. But per capita murders were still just 4.3 per 100,000—far better than the global average over 40, even if up fivefold from last year. Many countries couldn't even publish stats.
But Liu Linfei, Chinese through and through, felt it differently. Her senses were tuned to her environment: a surveillance state where a wrong word meant vanishing, amid thugs who drew knives at the slightest provocation. And China had grown far harsher lately.
Thus, after the messages auto-deleted, she returned trembling, pale, terror-stricken.
"W-what do we do? I made a huge mistake..."
Half fear of offending me, half dread of every stranger's gaze. Her falling tears were utterly real, no need to fake.
"What happened?"
Playing dumb, I listened to her stammered surface story, then furrowed my brow theatrically.
"So what?"
"...You're not upset?"
"No idea why I should be. What do I care which country some rags come from?"
My indifferent reassurance held my true feelings. If it didn't hurt me, I wouldn't care if this country collapsed entirely. Though total collapse would inevitably bite me—my subordinates' livelihoods would crumble first.
"Anyway, can't wander anymore like this."
I stood, removed my sunglasses, and placed them on her. She flinched slightly, looking up at me with wide eyes.
"Let's go."
Liu Linfei staggered up, the short walk to the parking lot feeling eternal. Like a spooked animal sensing danger, she tensed every direction, shifting against me to hide from faceless stares.
Gao Xusen treated his tools roughly. I could guess his calculus: judging me by the men she'd hooked before. Even if I had some absurd patriotism making me sensitive to her "mistake," a beauty weeping apologies would soften me. With few exceptions, that's why China's honey traps kept succeeding.
But mishandling unprepared bait like this risked snapping the line. From a communist noble gripping a family's life-or-death, he'd never consider that.
Back at the lodging, Liu Linfei desperately kissed me, craving tangled bodies to confirm I hadn't lost affection—physical proof her value remained.