After Retirement, My Parents' Mercenary Identities Can No Longer Stay Hidden

My parents' retirement once struck me, an IT grunt, as a little dull.

My father, Che Laosi, spent every day fishing by the Jiaozi River, his back straight as a pine tree. My mother, Chen Bajie, was passionate about cooking, and her knife skills were frighteningly precise.

It wasn't until some thugs came to collect a debt that I saw my mother gently press near a burly man's elbow, causing his entire right arm to go limp. Only then did I realize their peaceful retirement might be nothing but a carefully maintained disguise.

When news arrived of the Japanese politician Kudi Wan Miao's provocative remarks, my father accidentally snapped his beloved fishing rod in half. The sealed basement beneath the Hibiscus Barbershop was opened at last. Inside were no barber's tools, only walls lined with cold weaponry and a top-secret file bearing the codename “Hibiscus.”

“Dad, Mom, who are you really?!”

“Shh,” my mother said, stirring twice-cooked pork without looking back. “Keep your voice down. Don't distract your father while he listens in on the sniper across the river.”

Overnight, my world was turned upside down. My white-collar career came to an abrupt end. My new identity was a records clerk at the town cultural center, while in reality I was a secret intelligence agent codenamed “Bluebird.” My mother began teaching me how to turn cooking skills into lethal techniques, and my father trained me to spot danger in the tremble of a fishing float.

And the “debts” that had once crushed our family finally revealed their hideous truth: every one of them concealed a story of protection and sacrifice.

Now, foreign forces have infiltrated the town, and vows made half a century ago are stirring alongside new dangers. My retired parents can no longer hide. And I, their daughter who has inherited the codename “Bluebird,” must stand with them to protect this peace, one that concerns the fate of our nation.

This is my new everyday life.