13: Chapter 13 Proving Identity

The third transfer was a small business jet.

By the time Chen Mu took his seat in the cabin, the skyline outside the porthole had shifted from the skyscrapers of Manhattan to the monuments of Washington.

The obelisk shimmered with a grayish-white light in the afternoon sun, resembling a middle finger pointed at the sky.

When the plane landed at Joint Base Andrews, the roar of the rotors was replaced by the engine noise of the business jet.

On the apron outside the porthole, three black Chevrolet Suburbans were already waiting.

Beside each vehicle stood a man in a black suit, a transparent spiral earpiece tucked behind his ear, hands hanging at his sides, standing as stiffly as if held up by clothes hangers.

The cabin door opened; the air in Washington was warmer than in New York, yet still held a slight chill.

Chen Mu walked down the gangway, the hem of his gray-green coat fluttering briefly in the wind.

A man in a black suit approached him with a practiced, well-trained smile.

"Mr. Ambassador, welcome to Washington. The President is waiting for you. Please, this way."

He pulled open the car door, and Chen Mu bent down and sat inside.

The motorcade drove out of the base and merged into the streets of Washington. Looking out from the car window, order in this city had basically been restored.

No pedestrians were visible on the streets; only military and police vehicles were on patrol.

National Guard Hummers were stationed every few intersections, their roof-mounted gunners wearing goggles as their muzzles slowly swept across the buildings on either side.

The shops along the road all had their shutters pulled down; graffiti had been sprayed on a few of them, one of which depicted a white face without features, its eye sockets two black holes.

Mu watched the graffiti flash past the car window.

He never expected that the legend of the White-Faced Ghost would actually spread all the way here.

There were many cleaners on the road wearing orange reflective vests, tidying up the scene.

A firefighter stood on a lift, using pliers to tear down a tattered national flag that was hanging in strips from a lamppost.

The entire street looked very much like the aftermath of a party that had just ended.

The motorcade stopped at the entrance to the West Wing of the White House.

When Chen Mu got out of the car, a blonde woman in a dark blue suit was already waiting at the door.

"Mr. Ambassador, please follow me."

Her smile was exactly the same as that of the man in the black suit on the apron.

Chen Mu followed her through the corridor. Portraits of past presidents hung on the walls on both sides—except for the previous president, whose portrait was a signature machine.

This almost made Chen Mu burst out laughing; it was only thanks to his Micro-expression Control Technique that he was able to walk past calmly.

The reception room was on the second floor, with white doors featuring gold trim. The woman in the suit pushed the door open and stepped aside.

"Please wait a moment; the President will see you shortly."

Chen Mu walked in.

The room wasn't large; directly opposite was a fireplace, above which hung a gilded mirror. On either side of the mirror were two wall lamps with milky white glass shades, glowing with a warm yellow light.

A bronze clock sat on the mantelpiece, its pendulum swinging at a frequency of once per second.

A set of bone china tea service sat on the coffee table, each cup rimmed with a circle of gold.

Four burly men in suits stood in the four corners of the room, their hands hanging at their waists, their fingers just close enough to their holsters to draw within a second.

Furthermore, their gazes had not left Chen Mu from the moment he stepped into the room.

Chen Mu sat down elegantly on the sofa.

The black tea in the teapot was still steaming; he poured himself a cup and took a sip.

He wasn't sure if it was because there was no sugar, but he found he couldn't get used to the taste at all; by comparison, he missed the iced black tea from his previous life even more.

Soon, a man in his fifties walked in, wearing a charcoal gray suit and a dark blue tie with extremely fine white diagonal stripes.

He sat on the sofa opposite Chen Mu, his hands crossed over his knees, his posture as standard as a textbook on diplomatic etiquette.

"Mr. Ambassador, my name is Marcus Weber, from the White House Office of Foreign Affairs. I represent the United States government in welcoming you."

"But at the same time, I must also candidly pose a question to you."

"That is, so far, the only direct evidence we possess that can prove your identity is that video from Times Square."

"You must understand that based solely on a video that could be interpreted as a high-tech magic trick, it is difficult for us to fully confirm the connection between the civilization you represent and the fleet currently hovering in the Kuiper Belt."

The reception room fell silent for a moment, save for the bronze clock on the mantelpiece, its second hand ticking forward one notch.

Chen Mu looked at him calmly: "Of course! Naturally, I will prove my identity."

He placed the bone china cup on the saucer and raised his right hand, pressing his index and middle fingers together against his right temple.

"Gu gu ga ga. Gu ga. Gu, ga. Gu ga gu ga. Gu ga."

Chen Mu began to emit a dialogue consisting of only the syllables 'gu' and 'ga,' while simultaneously using the system to make the Cosmic Illusion stop advancing.

Marcus Weber maintained his posture with hands crossed, quietly watching Chen Mu's performance with professional patience.

"Gu ga. Gu ga. Gu ga."

Ten minutes later, Chen Mu moved his fingers away from his temple and picked up the black tea to take another sip: "I have notified our Commander, telling him that negotiations are about to begin. Now, the fleet should have stopped advancing."

Marcus Weber stood up instantly, his knee accidentally bumping the edge of the coffee table, causing the bone china cup to wobble on its saucer with a crisp clink of porcelain.

He didn't even glance at it: "Please wait a moment."

Though his voice maintained the professional steadiness of a diplomat, his feet were already moving toward the door: "I need to verify this; I'll be right back."

By the time he reached the door, his pace had quickened to a jog, and as the door closed behind him, the sound of leather shoes running across the marble floor echoed in the corridor.

Ten minutes later, the earpiece of the bodyguard on the far right lit up. He then walked over to Chen Mu, bowed, and said: "Mr. Ambassador, it is getting late. We have specialized rooms for resting here. Would you like to take a break first?"

Chen Mu smiled.

F-grade Micro-expression Control locked the curve of his mouth at an angle that made the other party feel respected without feeling overly familiar.

"That would be perfect. To be honest, during these few days living on your Blue Star, I've felt quite uncomfortable. I hope your presidential suite won't disappoint me."

The bodyguard's Adam's apple bobbed as he made a "please" gesture. The other three bodyguards moved simultaneously, surrounding Chen Mu in the middle.

They left the reception room and arrived at a luxury suite on the third floor. The bodyguard pushed open the door and stepped aside, while the other three bodyguards stopped outside, forming two rows along the corridor.

Chen Mu walked in alone, and the door closed behind him.