214: Chapter 214 Li Li only scored 60 points in the Li Li impersonation show.

Mina's coffee had gone cold.

"Zhang Nan" came out of the main building, his floral shirt flapping in the wind. He walked to the jeep and patted the hood.

"I'm fine, no broken hands, and my face isn't crooked. Satisfied?"

Mina tossed the paper cup into the trash can.

"How was the physical?"

"Blood draw, lie detector test, pupil scan, heart rate tracking."

He counted them off on his fingers.

"The only thing they didn't do was make me strip to measure my vital statistics."

Mina pulled open the car door.

"Want to celebrate?"

"Zhang Nan" paused for a split second as he stepped onto the running board.

"Celebrate what?"

"You got into the base, and I delivered my assignment."

Mina started the engine.

"Both of us are alive. In our line of work, that counts as a happy occasion."

"Zhang Nan" sat in the passenger seat and buckled his seatbelt.

This woman had been tense since morning.

Now, she was suddenly celebrating.

Either she had truly relaxed.

Or she had switched to a different method of probing him.

"Are you paying?"

"Obviously."

— — Chatan, Okinawa.

The bar street near the U.S. military base was packed with neon signs, English and Japanese squeezed together. Touts stood at the entrances, and upon seeing Mina, they immediately switched to English.

The bar wasn't large.

It had seven or eight bar stools and five or six booths. Old rock music played from the speakers, just loud enough to drown out the low conversations.

Mina sat at the bar and held up two fingers to the bartender.

Two tequilas.

"Zhang Nan" sat down beside her.

"I can't really drink."

"I didn't ask you to drink."

Mina picked up the glass.

"Just watch me drink."

The first glass, one gulp. The second glass, two gulps. As the third glass landed on the table, she began to speak.

"Do you know how long I've been in this business?"

"Zhang Nan" stirred his soda with a straw.

"How long?"

"Seven years. Eleven targets. You're the twelfth."

Li Li committed this number to memory.

Eleven targets handled. How many arrived? How many were eliminated?

This connection could be useful later.

"What about those people before?"

"Some of them got the job."

Mina pushed the empty glass forward.

"Some didn't live to see the job."

"Zhang Nan" didn't press further.

At times like this, asking too much was prone to mistakes.

He took a sip of his soda and crunched on the ice.

After the fifth glass, Mina's body began to lean against the bar.

At the sixth glass, she took off her jacket.

A black tank top, with a small mole in the center of her collarbone.

"Zhang Nan" glanced at it, then immediately shifted his attention back to his soda cup.

The soda cup was bearing pressure it wasn't meant to handle.

By the eighth glass, Mina leaned over, her head resting on his shoulder.

"You'll… look very good in the future."

"Thanks."

"I'm not complimenting you."

She raised her hand and pointed at the bridge of his nose from the air.

"I'm complimenting that face."

Li Li mentally tallied the accounts.

The face you're complimenting was mine to begin with.

I'm the one who was pirated.

You're flirting with the original version right now.

This whole thing is absurd.

But he couldn't say anything.

He was Zhang Nan now.

An incomplete version of Zhang Nan.

After the tenth glass, Mina draped both her hands over him.

"Let's go, back to the hotel."

Damn.

A lie detector only requires controlling heart rate, skin conductance, and breathing.

His system-modified body could handle that.

But now, it was different.

There were too many things that needed controlling.

Li Li immediately drew up a plan in his mind.

Plan A: Knock her out.

Clean.

But if she woke up tomorrow morning, not remembering how she fell asleep was normal, but not remembering where her companion went was not.

Plan B: Help her to the beach for some air and let her vomit it all out.

Feasible.

But what if she felt refreshed after vomiting? The problem would return to square one.

Plan C: Pretend to be drunk.

No.

Zhang Nan's file was very clear: he always had a soda in hand, his tolerance was poor, but not zero.

Getting drunk on soda would be even faker than failing a lie detector test.

Plan D: Say he has a girlfriend.

Even worse.

Zhang Nan's romantic record only had Mina on it.

Making up a girlfriend out of thin air was just digging his own grave.

Plan E—

His phone rang.

For the first time in his two lives combined, Li Li felt that a ringtone sounded so pleasant.

Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds.

"Mr. Zhang Nan, report to Training Building B at 0600 tomorrow morning. Special training begins tomorrow. Points will be deducted for tardiness."

"Zhang Nan" reached out and straightened Mina's head.

"Received, Lieutenant Colonel. I'll be there on time."

The call ended.

He shrugged at Mina.

"Command is calling me back. Training is at six tomorrow morning."

Mina stared at him.

"Now?"

"Now."

"Zhang Nan" stood up and pushed the soda cup back inside the bar counter.

"I'll treat you to Hell Ramen another day."

Mina slumped over the bar, not moving.

He pushed the door open and left.

The sea breeze rushed in, only to be blocked by the spring-loaded door.

Ten glasses of tequila.

Wasted.

— — 5:40 AM.

"Zhang Nan" stood at the entrance of Training Building B.

His floral shirt had been replaced with the gray athletic wear issued by the base.

Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds appeared on time.

Behind him were three people.

A woman in her forties with short hair and rimless glasses, holding a stack of printed papers.

A man in his early thirties, wearing black tight-fitting clothes, standing with perfect posture.

And a technician pushing a large display monitor.

Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds opened the door.

"Starting today, for one week. The content of the special training is—"

He paused for half a second.

"Learning to imitate Li Li."

"Zhang Nan" blinked.

The words drilled into his ears and spun around in his mind twice.

Learning to imitate Li Li.

He. Had to learn. How to be himself.

The short-haired woman flipped open the printed papers.

"Phase one, analysis of variety show mannerisms."

"I am Monica, a behavioral psychology expert. This is David, our movement coach."

David nodded at him.

Monica placed the documents on the table.

"We have collected public footage of Li Li from three variety shows."

"The Dating Reality Show 'Travel Date'."

"The firefighting variety show 'Brave Blue Friends'."

"The roommate variety show 'Busy Roommates'."

The technician turned on the screen.

On screen, the clip from the Dating Reality Show began to play.

Li Li was sitting on the sofa.

Jiang Rumu handed him a glass of water.

He took it, didn't drink immediately, and said a sentence first.

Monica pressed pause.

"Notice the way he takes things."

"Right hand extended, wrist turned outward fifteen degrees, fingers closed but not clenched."

"This angle is very relaxed, indicating he has no defenses in front of this woman."

Li Li sat in the chair, watching himself on the screen.

Did he really pay attention to angles when taking water before?

He didn't know. He really didn't know.

The scene changed.

The training ground for the firefighting variety show.

Li Li had his hands in his pockets, talking to Shen Jue. After finishing, a slight smile appeared on his face.

Monica paused again.

"Here."

"When he smiles, the left side moves first, with a 0.3-second delay on the right side."

"This is his micro-expression marker. Ordinary people wouldn't notice, but in an intimate relationship, the other person would remember this rhythm."

David looked at "Zhang Nan".

"Come on, give us a smile."

"Zhang Nan" twitched his face.

David shook his head.

"Both sides moved at the same time."

Li Li cursed inwardly.

He was imitating his own smile. It didn't pass.

This was beyond the scope of normal grievances.

"Again."

"Zhang Nan" tried again.

"Too stiff."

Again.

"Too forced."

Again.

"The direction is wrong."

Li Li started calculating the price of the mirror.

Whether he could afford to pay if he smashed it.

Forty minutes later, David finally nodded.

"Sixty points. It's passable."

Sixty points. Li Li himself. Imitating Li Li. Sixty points.

He had never received such an absurd evaluation in his life.

The afternoon class was even more painful.

Monica opened the recording of Jiang Rumu's Northwest livestream.

On screen, Jiang Rumu was sitting in a car, eating roasted lamb skewers.

A hand wrapped in bandages reached into the frame and took the skewer.

Monica pointed at the screen.

"Notice this hand."

"Index and middle fingers separated, thumb gripping the middle of the bamboo skewer."

"He is accustomed to controlling his strength when eating, which might be related to long-term work on fine handicrafts."

"Zhang Nan" looked at that hand.

That wasn't his hand. That was Shen Jue's hand.

But he couldn't say that.

The footage continued.

Outside the Mogao Caves in Dunhuang. Jiang Rumu was drinking apricot peel tea. "Li Li" was standing five steps away.

Monica drew lines on the screen.

"Look at the distance."

"During the Dating Reality Show, the average distance between them was 1.2 meters."

"During the firefighting variety show, it shortened to 0.8 meters."

"Now, in the livestream, it suddenly pulled back to over three meters."

She pushed up her glasses.

"This indicates their intimacy has decreased."

"It might be related to the death of Su Wantang during the Hong Kong incident."

"Li Li has psychologically retreated. He is unsure if he is still qualified to stand by Jiang Rumu's side."

"Zhang Nan" sat very straight.

He was listening to a behavioral psychologist seriously analyze why he and Jiang Rumu had grown distant.

The real reason was simple.

That person wasn't him. That was Shen Jue.

Of course Shen Jue didn't dare get too close. If he got too close, he'd be exposed.

But Monica didn't know. Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds didn't know. David didn't know. Most of the national audience didn't know either.

No one in the entire Kadena Air Base knew.

They were teaching Li Li to imitate Shen Yu, who was imitating Li Li.

It sounded like a tongue twister.

The essence of this class was: the original sitting in the classroom, listening to a pirate trainer explain how to become the original.

It was so absurd that Li Li couldn't find a suitable way to curse for a moment.

On the third day, David made him practice walking in front of a mirror.

"Li Li's center of gravity is forward when he walks, and his stride is ten centimeters larger than an average person's."

"Your stride isn't big enough, and your knee angle is wrong too."

Li Li looked down at his own legs.

These were his legs. These were his knees. He'd used them for twenty-five years.

Stride not big enough. Fine.

He took a step forward, deliberately increasing the stride.

"Too much."

He pulled it back a bit.

"Not enough."

Li Li wore a Zhang Nan-style goofy smile on his face.

In his heart, he had already added this training room to his list of dangerous buildings.

On the fifth day. David played a video from the Dating Reality Show.

Li Li was holding a guitar, sitting in the courtyard of the homestay.

"You need to learn this gesture."

"The angle of your left hand pressing the strings, the strength of your right hand plucking."

"You don't need to actually know how to play, but you need to make people in close contact believe you do."

"Zhang Nan" picked up the guitar in the corner of the training room and got into position.

David watched for three seconds.

"Wrong."

"Huh?"

"Your hand shape is too standard."

"Data shows that Li Li has no musical instrument foundation."

"The hand shape you have now means you've practiced for at least three years."

"Zhang Nan" silently spread his fingers and pressed them randomly.

"How about this?"

David nodded.

"Now it's right."

"It's very close to someone who can't play pretending to be able to."

"Zhang Nan" put the guitar down.

Five whole days. He needed to forget what he knew, and then use Zhang Nan's clumsiness to relearn things he could do with his eyes closed.

The mental exhaustion was even higher than fighting terrorists at the Mandarin Oriental.

— — Evening of the sixth day.

"Zhang Nan" came out of the training building and walked toward the dormitory area.

When passing the side door of Building C, he slowed down by half a step.

This week, it was the fourth time he had seen the same person here.

Two military police were escorting Snowden out of the side door, heading toward the detached small building in the back.

His blonde hair was messy. His prison uniform was wrinkled.

The handcuffs on his hands had been replaced with soft restraints, leaving red marks on his wrists.

When they first met, he would still look up and struggle.

Now he didn't. His head hung low. His feet dragged on the ground.

Two military police held his arms and led him forward.

No obvious external injuries. No bruises. No limp.

But he had lost weight.

Isolation. Sleep deprivation. Repeated interrogation. Cutting off outside information.

These things left no marks, yet they could hollow a person out.

Snowden was pushed into the small building. The iron door closed.

"Zhang Nan" withdrew his attention and continued toward the dormitory. He would pass a wide basketball court here, with absolutely no cover around it.

His pace was steady. His rhythm didn't change.

His right index finger rhythmically tapped against the seam of his pants.