Chapter Twenty-Four: Even Bringing Your Own Dog Food Makes a Difference

Apartment 603 was a standard three-bedroom with a single living room, and its decor was remarkably simple. A large LCD television hung on the wall, its screen divided into twelve sections, each displaying surveillance footage from the street outside or the interior of a certain residence. Near the window stood a long-barreled telescope, aimed directly at the apartment building across the street.

The man with the drawn sword was unremarkable in appearance, his black hair covering his ears, his build neither tall and burly nor slender—just average in every respect. He was the perfect fit for surveillance work, for his presence was so ordinary he could disappear into a crowd without drawing the slightest notice.

After Bai Yujing’s explanation, a hint of relaxation appeared on the man’s face. “I didn’t expect you to arrive so quickly. Would you like a red bean bun?” he asked as he picked one from a pile on the table and handed it to Bai Yujing. “These are really something. Eating one during surveillance helps you relax your mind.”

“Thank you.” Bai Yujing accepted the bun, glancing at the screen. “Tell me about the assignment.”

“Your task today is to keep watch on Meng Qing,” the man explained. “This woman is a spy for the United States Agency for International Development, code-named Dream Mist.” He pointed to a notebook on the table. “Here’s a journal. Record everything she does, both at home and outside. Even if she’s just chopping vegetables, note how many times she cuts.”

“I’m supposed to watch her all day?” Bai Yujing suddenly regretted taking on this C-level mission—it would take far too much time.

Qi Xiang shook his head. “No, you only need to hold out until three in the afternoon. Once I’m done with my date and return, you can consider the mission complete.”

Bai Yujing frowned. “I know this may sound blunt, but isn’t it a problem for you to go on a date while you’re on duty?”

“Don’t worry,” Qi Xiang said with a carefree wave. “I’ve been watching this one for fifteen days, and there hasn’t been the slightest sign of trouble. Having you fill in is just a precaution. Unless you’re that little grim reaper of a detective, always attracting incidents wherever you go.”

He chuckled at his own joke and continued, “Besides, if you’ve been following current events, you’ll know the President at the White House has cut off funding for the Agency. Many people are on leave. Our intel this time came from a former Agency member who defected.”

“I see,” Bai Yujing nodded, understanding Qi Xiang’s logic. With funding cut, even the most seasoned undercover agents wouldn’t work for America for free.

Qi Xiang gave Bai Yujing his number. “If anything happens, call me and I’ll come straight back.”

“Alright.”

Bai Yujing nodded. Qi Xiang wasted no time, hurrying into the bedroom to change into a suit. He even slicked back his hair with gel and left with a red rose clenched between his teeth, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

Bai Yujing settled into Qi Xiang’s chair and put on the headset. Through it, he heard the faint sounds of footsteps and conversation within the apartment, and listened carefully to every detail. On the screen, Meng Qing’s figure was clearly visible. She appeared to be in her early thirties, of average build, her features tinged with a certain sharpness.

After about half an hour, Meng Qing didn’t remain at home. She changed into casual clothes, picked up a birdcage, and seemed ready to take her bird for a walk.

Bai Yujing set the headset aside and vanished silently from the room using the Air Step technique, ensuring he made no noise this time to stay hidden. He reappeared unobtrusively on the street, concealing his presence as he watched.

Meng Qing stood by the roadside, birdcage in hand, waiting for a ride. Bai Yujing quickly jotted in the notebook: “The budgerigar is a monster, power level: eighth-rank spirit master.”

Clearly, Qi Xiang had focused on the wrong target. Meng Qing was just a minor spy; the real player was likely the budgerigar inside the cage.

Meng Qing hailed a cab to a traditional Japanese restaurant. At the entrance, a lantern bore the calligraphy for “Hanatei,” and behind the vintage sliding doors, staff members dressed in kimonos waited.

“Welcome. How many are in your party?” the attendant greeted her in Japanese, bowing deeply.

“I have a reservation for the Seifū Suite on the second floor,” Meng Qing replied, also in Japanese.

“Miss Meng, please follow me.” The attendant, wooden clogs clacking softly, led her upstairs.

The Seifū Suite was filled with the faint scent of osmanthus. At the entrance was a cabinet for shoes, and further in, tatami mats and a low table adorned with delicate osmanthus blossoms. Meng Qing removed her shoes and knelt at the table, placing the birdcage atop it.

The server departed and soon returned with a pot of tea, bowing again as she left. When she was certain they were alone, Meng Qing opened the cage, poured tea, and said respectfully, “Master Qingyu, please have some tea.”

The budgerigar nodded and sipped the tea. Meng Qing’s face clouded with worry. “If the President really shuts down the Agency, are we just going to be abandoned?”

Qingyu looked up at her calmly. “The Agency will never close. The President merely wants to replace those close to the Democrats with his own people. If we don’t want to be replaced, we must produce results and prove our value.”

Hearing this, Meng Qing felt somewhat reassured. She had long harbored a passion for America, which led to her recruitment as an underground agent by the Agency. Over the years, her admiration for the United States only grew; she saw it as the lighthouse of human civilization. The country’s respect for the rights of monsters, its sanctity of private property, and its compassion—even willing to shut down the grid for a single sparrow—were ideals she yearned for.

She found life in Xia Country stifling, shackled by endless rules. She longed for the freedom and sweetness of American air, even at the cost of bringing her own dog food.

Qingyu watched her in silence, inwardly scoffing at her foolishness. But it was precisely such foolishness that made her useful. Otherwise, his operations in Xia Country would be far more difficult. The nation’s ruthless attitude toward monsters was widely criticized internationally—they sought to eradicate them completely.

So, though both brought their own “dog food,” Qingyu looked down on Meng Qing. Once he reached America, he would truly enjoy a privileged status. In the United States, monsters and spirit masters held sway. The ten great consortiums controlling American politics were made up of powerful spirit master families and monster factions. Xia Country was different; since the time of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors, it had strictly forbidden spirit masters from meddling in politics, entrusting all authority to ordinary people. This, naturally, left some spirit masters disgruntled—they were the main force opposing Xia, and Qingyu intended to unite them to stir up trouble.

Inside the suite, the two harbored their own thoughts. Suddenly, a soft knock sounded at the door, followed by a deep voice: “Forgive me, I’m late.”