A World Gone Mad
When Sergeant Yang Ji-hee of the Aviation Safety Division at Xi'an International Airport first laid eyes on So Rihwa, she harbored not an ounce of suspicion. Trembling ever so slightly, the girl resembled nothing so much as a frightened little critter stranded in unfamiliar territory. How could such a sweet, dainty, breathtaking creature possibly violate any airport regulations? It had to be a misunderstanding.
How can someone be that pretty?
Under ordinary circumstances, Yang Ji-hee would have patted her down outside the checkpoint and sent her on her way. Yet, driven by the selfish desire to linger in the presence of this angelic maiden, she deliberately escorted her into a private inspection chamber for a thorough physical search.
A mischievous impulse had seized her mid-search, prompting her to give the girl's ribs a playful tickle. The resulting squeak had been overwhelmingly, heart-meltingly adorable.
Yearning to stretch out their time together even further, Ji-hee went so far as to summon a detection canine—a measure she rarely bothered with. A precious detection dog paired with a precious young girl: cuteness doubled. The mere anticipation of watching the girl play with the hound made her heart flutter dangerously.
The airport's detection dogs were exquisitely trained. If they caught the scent of illicit narcotics, they would bark loud enough to bring down the terminal roof; if they detected internal energy exceeding a specific threshold, they would instantly flop onto their backs and beg for affection.
Since internal energy was essentially the concentrated essence of nature's ambient qi, animals naturally found its presence soothing—a physiological instinct the security protocol ingeniously exploited. Outside of those two distinct scenarios, the hound would remain poised at absolute, rigid attention until given another command.
Yet the moment the dog trotted into the room, it threw its legs into the air and rolled onto its back.
In all her years apprehending rogue martial artists, Ji-hee had never witnessed a hound flip over that instantaneously. Nor had she ever seen a tail wag with such frantic, propeller-like ecstasy.
That meant the girl before her was no ordinary practitioner. She was a master of monstrous caliber.
In the hands of a martial artist, a bare fist was a lethal weapon capable of slaughtering ordinary civilians with trivial ease. Having internal energy did not automatically make someone scum, of course. But boarding a commercial airliner without declaring one's cultivation? That reeked of hidden, malicious intent. In a split second, the blood drained from Ji-hee's face, leaving her drenched in cold sweat.
Wasting not a breath, she slapped the handcuffs onto So Rihwa.
From that point onward, the procedure should have been straightforward. The Murim Affairs Squad would arrive, take her formal statement, and toss her into detention. Though the girl weakly claimed ignorance, the judicial branch had a notoriously ruthless zero-tolerance policy regarding unregistered martial artists; she would almost certainly be prosecuted for attempted terrorism.
"Um... excuse me. Someone wants to speak with you," So Rihwa murmured, extending both hands—still bound by steel cuffs—to proffer her smartphone.
Ji-hee tilted her head in suspicion. Rihwa had already admitted she had no legal counsel, so who on earth was demanding to speak with the arresting officer? Baffled though she was, provoking an unhinged martial master inside an enclosed room was the last thing she wanted, so she chose to humor her.
"Yes?"
"Hello there. May I ask your name and current rank?"
"Excuse me?"
The voice filtering through the speaker belonged to a young woman, and her immediate question was downright bizarre. Was she planning to file a civil complaint with the inspector general? Ji-hee had nothing to feel guilty about; she had simply enforced the law against an active violator. Still, a prickle of unease made her hesitate.
"Why do you need that?"
"What do you mean, 'why'? When Public Security officers conduct official business, they are legally required to disclose their name and rank to the counterparty, aren't they? Isn't that standard protocol?"
The woman spoke with unflinching bureaucratic precision. It was indeed a formal rule that Public Security personnel identify themselves when communicating with citizens, but because it was an internal operational guideline, officers routinely ignored it, and virtually no ordinary civilian knew of its existence. Just who was this woman to quote internal regulations so casually?
"...This is Sergeant Yang Ji-hee of the Xi'an Public Security Bureau, Aviation Safety Division."
"Ah, Sergeant Yang. Good to meet you. I'm sorry to trouble you, but I have a small favor to ask."
"A favor?"
"My friend is a bit oblivious when it comes to government policies and administrative rules, so it seems she made an honest mistake. Would it be possible to let her go? I can personally vouch for her identity."
Ji-hee stared at the receiver, wondering if her ears had deceived her. There was a limit to how absurd a request could be. Did this woman mistake an international airport security division for a high school homeroom where you could beg a teacher for a hall pass?
"Listen here, miss. You seem to be under a massive delusion. We aren't playing house here."
"I know, I know. I truly appreciate your tireless dedication to the state. It must be terribly exhausting work."
Is this person completely unhinged? Ji-hee wondered, her patience wearing thin. The woman's tone sounded breezy, but stripped of its polite dressing, this was an overt attempt to solicit police corruption.
"Naturally, I don't expect you to do this out of the goodness of your heart," the voice continued smoothly. "I'm more than happy to show appropriate... appreciation."
"What you're saying right now constitutes a textbook case of obstruction of justice. Are you actually attempting to bribe a Public Security officer?"
As Ji-hee's tone turned frosty, So Rihwa flinched, shrinking back in her chair. The woman on the other end of the line, however, did not waver in the slightest.
"Sergeant Yang, please give me just one moment. Don't hang up."
A dial tone chimed through the receiver, indicating she was placing the call on hold to dial another number. Flabbergasted by the sheer audacity of it all, Ji-hee glared at the captive girl.
"Who in the world is this friend of yours?"
"Huh? She's just a university student... Well, actually, maybe calling her 'just' a student is a stretch..."
A college student was casually attempting to bribe law enforcement. What in heaven's name was becoming of the Central Plains when the younger generation pulled stunts like this without batting an eye?
Just as a dry, incredulous chuckle escaped Ji-hee's lips, the call reconnected. She barked into the phone without missing a beat.
"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?!"
"Sergeant Yang Ji-hee?"
The voice answering her was not the brazen young woman from moments ago. It was the deep, measured baritone of an older man who had lived through decades of authority. It seemed the insolent girl had forwarded the call elsewhere.
"And who might you be?"
"I am the Director of the Xi'an Public Security Bureau."
"Ha! Give me a break."
Ji-hee finally snapped, her fury bursting through the seams of professional restraint.
"Listen to me, you lunatics! What kind of circus are you clowns running?! How dare you pull a scam like this on the Public Security Department! Do you have a death wish, or do you just want to rot in a prison cell?!"
"Sergeant Yang, control your temper. You're at Xi'an Airport, which places you under the Aviation Safety Division. Your division head is Gwon Jae-chun, correct?"
The calm, raspy tone froze the words in her throat. It was not merely the composure in the voice that silenced her—it was the content. The current head of the Aviation Safety Division was indeed Gwon Jae-chun.
An ordinary civilian could not possibly know the name of a mid-level division chief within the municipal bureau off the top of their head. A sliver of creeping dread sprouted in the pit of her stomach.
"...Who is this?"
"I told you already. I am Paeng Dae-san, Director of the Xi'an Public Security Bureau."
"Are you... serious?"
Ji-hee pressed, her voice wavering. How could a mere sergeant recognize the voice of the municipal bureau director? She had only ever seen the man once, speaking from a podium at a distant assembly. But she certainly knew his name. Paeng Dae-san was the supreme authority of the entire city's police force.
"Of course I am serious. Haha."
"I apologize, sir, but I am in the middle of executing my official duties. Without proper verification, I cannot simply take your word for it."
"A commendable attitude toward your duties. Very well, let me connect you with someone whose voice you can trust. Hold on a moment."
Another electronic click signaled a transfer. Was this elaborate theater, or was her career flashing before her eyes? Within seconds, the line clicked back open.
"Uh, Sergeant Yang?"
This time, the voice was painfully familiar. Pulling the phone slightly away from her ear, she checked the screen. The call had been redirected, and the caller ID was not a string of numbers, but a saved contact name:
Total Motherfucker
There was only one person in her phone registered under that particular epithet: Division Head Gwon Jae-chun. That meant the old man earlier truly was the Director of the Public Security Bureau. And she had just screamed at him, threatening to throw him in prison. A bone-chilling shiver raced down her spine.
"...Chief?"
"Yeah, yeah. The Director filled me in on the broad strokes. Release the girl."
"Sir?"
"Come on, Sergeant Yang. You've got enough years on the force to know how the world works."
Ji-hee was left utterly speechless. The Central Plains ran on guanxi. With powerful backing, any law could be bent, broken, and swept under the rug. While such backroom dealings were hardly unprecedented within the Public Security apparatus, it was the first time she had been forced to participate in one firsthand.
"Sergeant Yang, I know what you're thinking. But handling these situations smoothly is part of our job description too. You understand what I mean, don't you?"
Never in her entire tenure under the Aviation Safety Division had she heard the chief speak with such gentle, oily deference. This was a man who had spent the last several months throwing temper tantrums and screaming at his subordinates every single day because he had missed his promotion window. Yet the moment the Director entered the picture, he rolled onto his belly just like that detection hound. The hypocrisy was sickening.
"...Understood, sir."
"Good girl. I'll make sure this is favorably reflected in your annual personnel evaluation."
"Thank... you, sir."
Getting a glowing performance review for abetting corruption—no wonder the public despised the Public Security Department as a cesspool of rot. Yet Ji-hee was nothing more than a tiny cog in an enormous machine. After spending two agonizing years studying to pass the civil service examination, she had no intention of throwing her career away over righteous indignation.
The call went dead. Letting out a long, weary sigh, Ji-hee gestured toward the patrol officer standing nearby.
"Take off the cuffs."
"Ma'am?"
"Orders from above."
"Understood!"
Snapping to attention, the officer promptly unlocked the iron restraints. So Rihwa looked equally bewildered, blinking as the metal fell away from her wrists.
Just who on earth was that woman on the phone to mobilize the Director of the Xi'an Public Security Bureau with a single phone call? The urge to pry burned in Ji-hee's chest, but in the Central Plains, knowing things one wasn't supposed to know was pure poison.
"You're free to go."
"Pardon?"
"Have a safe flight."
Since the municipal director himself had guaranteed her identity, the chances of this girl causing a terrorist incident mid-flight were practically nonexistent. Even so, releasing a criminal caught red-handed left a foul, greasy taste in her mouth.
Rubbing her bare wrists as if unaccustomed to their freedom, So Rihwa offered a polite, somewhat sheepish bow before hurrying out the door.
As Ji-hee stood staring blankly at the empty doorway with a hollow pit in her stomach, her smartphone vibrated. A new text message had arrived from Total Motherfucker.
A sterling example of Public Security, my ass. To think the day would come when she heard that wretched bastard tell her he was proud. Fortunately, Director Paeng harbored no grudge over her earlier shouting; in fact, dangling an official commendation made it abundantly clear he was buying her silence.
A bureau director's commendation conferred three additional points toward promotion scores—an advantage no officer could afford to overlook. Having lacked the seniority, she had essentially surrendered any hope of advancing next year, but this sudden windfall shifted the odds dramatically in her favor.
"Listen up, everyone."
"Yes, Sergeant?"
"We're having a team dinner after our shift. Chief's orders. Go find the restaurant with the worst value for money in the city. The kind of place that charges exorbitant prices for microscopic portions."
"Whoa, seriously? On the department budget? What's gotten into the chief?"
"The world's gone completely mad, that's what. Otherwise, there's no way that skinflint would authorize a company dinner on public funds."
Ji-hee let out a dry, cynical laugh. Her seasoned subordinates caught the drift immediately; their knowing glances signaled they would handle the junior officers, ensuring whatever transpired in this room remained buried.
Naturally, Ji-hee fully intended to forget it ever happened as well.
So Rihwa kept glancing over her shoulder as she walked through the terminal. She had never imagined she would walk away from such an ordeal completely unscathed. Dang Riah had clearly pulled some strings on her behalf; judging from the officer's hushed terror on the phone, she had put her in direct contact with someone absurdly high up the political food chain.
A memory from her previous life's military service flashed across her mind. She recalled a time when she and a senior soldier had slacked off together, only for her to face disciplinary punishment while the well-connected senior walked away without so much as a scolding.
Back then, she had cursed the corrupt, unfair society at the top of her lungs. Yet, experiencing the reverse firsthand, she finally understood the truth. It wasn't the unjust system she had hated—it was the fact that she hadn't been the one with the powerful connection.
She didn't possess the righteous spine to march back to the police and demand they arrest her according to the penal code, nor could she bring herself to confront Dang Riah and lecture her on systemic corruption when the woman had just saved her skin. Doing so would make her an ungrateful wretch.
...The path of true chivalry really is steep and treacherous.
Swallowing the strange cocktail of relief and bitter self-deprecation churning in her chest, So Rihwa boarded the flight bound for Sichuan. Her seat was not in economy, but in business class.