Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Apothecary’s Makeup

When the alarm clock jolted him awake the next morning, the hands already pointed to ten o’clock.

Gao Ning climbed out of bed in a daze, grabbed his phone, and, unsurprisingly, saw a slew of missed calls.

He breathed a sigh of relief—thank goodness he’d set his phone to silent.

He scrolled through his contacts and returned Anna’s call.

“Anna, sorry for the late reply. I’m not feeling well—could you let the chief know for me? I’d like to take a day off, yes, maybe sleep all day or drop by the hospital. Don’t worry, I’m fine, you don’t need to come over. Please apologize to the chief for me. That’s all, thanks!”

With his work matters settled in a few brief sentences, Gao Ning tossed his phone aside and collapsed back onto the bed, arms and legs splayed.

He lay there a few more minutes before his mind finally cleared.

Scenes from the night before kept flickering in his head.

He rubbed his face, trying to pull himself together.

“So that’s how much happened last night…”

Since he couldn’t find a point of entry through the plot, his only chance of completing the mission now was to cooperate with Old Gun.

This was a mandatory mission—he had to see it through.

There was a chance they’d try to use him as a pawn, but it was slim.

He could give it a shot.

Time in the mission space wasn’t unlimited. Once the storyline wrapped up, whether the mission was complete or not, the Mysterious Train would forcibly retrieve him within twelve hours.

And now, the plot hadn’t even begun before it was scattered to pieces.

Moreover, thanks to the parallel universe effect, the roles of protagonist and antagonist had been swapped, and the story’s male lead—first replaced by Old Gun and now trapped in a safehouse—was unconscious, and who knew when he’d wake up.

The narrative was already in chaos.

The maximum stay was forty-eight hours, or until the opposing team completed their mission—then his own team would be forcibly ejected as well.

Time was running out for Gao Ning. This was no moment to play the leisurely policeman.

With his thoughts gradually clearing, he reviewed every scrap of information he had gathered. Glancing at the clock, he realized another half hour had slipped by.

He got up, changed clothes, washed up, and slung a small bag over his shoulder before heading downstairs.

The house was empty; a single breakfast portion sat on the table, beside a note:

“Son, Andro’s daughter is getting married, so we left early to help. Finish the milk before you go to work. If you dare to pour it out, wait until I get back and see what happens! PS: Don’t be late for work!”

His mother’s signature was at the bottom.

Only then did Gao Ning recall her mentioning something about this last night, though he hadn’t paid it any mind.

No wonder no one had bothered him even though he’d slept so late.

Feeling fortunate, he downed the cup of milk in one gulp. Even cold, it tasted quite refreshing.

Snatching the sandwich from the plate, he munched as he headed out the door.

Across the street, a golden Mercedes smoothly pulled away from the curb. As Gao Ning reached the sidewalk, the car stopped right beside him; he opened the door, climbed in, and they drove off—a seamless, well-coordinated routine.

No doubt, the driver was another American soldier.

After the explosion at the Banning estate the previous night, Gao Ning’s designated paratrooper drop point had been destroyed, so the new paratrooper was deployed near Gao Ning by default.

This driver couldn’t have been here for more than an hour, yet he’d already changed into presentable clothes and acquired a decent car.

Gao Ning didn’t care where they’d gotten these things. Judging from the previous soldiers’ actions, their biomechanical brains adapted incredibly quickly, always managing to procure whatever props they needed.

He glanced at the soldier’s number. This was already the twelfth one?

The American saluted, and Gao Ning nodded, “Head toward Central Garden first. I think it’s about time.”

And just as he predicted, before he’d even finished his sandwich, his phone rang.

He brushed the crumbs from his hands.

Checking the caller ID, Gao Ning’s lips curled into a slight smile as he answered.

“Do you know where the British Embassy is?”

“What do you think?” Gao Ning retorted, not bothering to disguise his annoyance.

Old Gun laughed heartily. “So this is what morning grumpiness looks like in the younger generation. I know you’re a cop; just making conversation. British Embassy, opposite side, roadside café.”

Gao Ning hung up without another word, sent the address to Number Twelve, and the car sped toward their destination.

Ten minutes later, the golden Mercedes stopped at the curb. Gao Ning got out and promptly dropped into the seat opposite Old Gun.

Startled by his abruptness, the young woman sitting opposite—a golden-haired, fair-skinned beauty in a silk dress—looked at Gao Ning with a frightened, deer-like expression.

She looked as though she’d been startled, clutching her small fists to her chest and staring timidly at him.

“Wh-who are you?” Her voice was clear and melodious.

Gao Ning ignored her, motioned for the waiter, and yawned, “Strong coffee—less milk, extra sugar.”

The waiter was a tall, skinny boy with a few freckles on his face, likely not yet twenty. He glared at Gao Ning with open displeasure.

Instead of serving him, the waiter stepped forward and said sternly, “Sir, this is a coffeehouse, not a bar. Please conduct yourself appropriately. Bullying young ladies is hardly gentlemanly behavior.”

The girl across from him went along with it, pressing her fists to her chest and saying, “Yes, who are you?”

Gao Ning rolled his eyes. “Cut the nonsense. Still pretending? I’m half asleep right now—keep this up and I really will leave.”

The waiter’s anger flared, his brows drawing together. He was about to shout when the girl suddenly burst into hearty laughter.

“Impressive—very sharp! You recognized me straight away!”

She gave him a thumbs-up, then clapped the waiter on the shoulder and said roughly, “Buddy, thanks. You’re a good guy. But this is my friend—we’re just messing around.”

The young waiter was stunned, pointing at Old Gun, stammering, “You, you, you…”

Old Gun winked with pride. “How’s my disguise? Pretty convincing, isn’t it?”

“P-pretty convincing…”

The waiter looked as though he’d been struck by lightning, dazed and defeated as he walked away.

Gao Ning called after him, “Don’t forget my coffee!”

“Y-yes, sir!” The waiter glanced back at every step, clearly reluctant to leave.

Old Gun snickered, elbowed Gao Ning, and whispered, “Another one converted—amusing, isn’t it? Hahaha!”

Gao Ning was speechless. “You really have nothing better to do, do you?”

“How can you say that? It’s called blending in! But tell me, how did you spot me?” A glint of cunning light flashed in Old Gun’s narrowed eyes.