“The best path for the Mei family is to become spies.” Samuel Lincoln began to talk at length, “Investigator, team leader, regional team leader, and then there are two different paths. Of course, we’re not surnamed Mei, so we can’t become analysts—we can only keep moving forward along the investigator’s path: special assignment team leader, division team leader. I heard someone once became a deputy director. My ambitions aren’t that big; regional team leader is enough for me. That means managing three to five teams, each with three to five people—that’s quite a lot.”

　“Be careful.”

　“Of course, I’d never be as foolish as that woman, daring to target the cheaters, even sneaking into the farm—seeking her own death. I’ll never take that risk. I’ll always be the fisherman on the shore, never the bait in the water…”

　Someone knocked on the door. Samuel Lincoln immediately fell silent, lay down on the upper bunk, and then called out loudly, “Come in.”

　Charles Griffin pushed the door open, glanced around, and smiled, “This place always looks the same. When I was a kid and came to play, I couldn’t even find a place to hide.”

　Samuel Lincoln flipped off the bed and stood up straight like a new recruit. “Hello, team leader.”

　Henry Lincoln sat up on the bed.

　“I haven’t accepted you yet, so don’t call me team leader. Go stand guard outside.” Charles Griffin’s gentle attitude was reserved for Henry Lincoln; toward Samuel Lincoln, his tone and expression were completely unkind, treating him entirely like a servant.

　“Yes.” Samuel Lincoln didn’t mind at all. Instead, he became even more serious, marched out of the room in a clumsy goose step, and gently closed the door.

　Charles Griffin walked to the window, stood on the side without sunlight, looked outside for a long time, and finally spoke: “Normally, you would be permanently eliminated. But after all, you’re you. Not becoming a spy is a pity for you and a loss for the family. So I’ll make an exception and give you a bit more explanation.”

　“Thank you.”

　Charles Griffin raised his hand and gave a slight wave. Even from behind, he was a handsome man, tall and upright. Henry Lincoln could vaguely see the future leader in him.

　“Yuan Miyu is a spy for the Southeast Cui family. That’s absolutely certain. She’s an external agent recruited by the Cui family, and her only mission was to lure me into their trap. Sigh, the situation in the city is chaotic now—there’s no room for carelessness.”

　That was Charles Griffin’s brief explanation.

　“Did you really have to kill her? I mean, there was no need to bring her to the farm at all.”

　Charles Griffin turned around, flashed a charming smile that quickly disappeared, and said in a perfectly measured serious tone, “I said I’d make an exception to explain, but I didn’t say I’d make an exception to let you ask questions. You haven’t forgotten all the rules of being a spy, have you?”

　“Sorry, that was my mistake. I just… I guess I’m too soft.”

　“Mm, but you have other strengths that make up for that weakness. Pack your things. We leave tomorrow. You’re going to start serving the family. Remember, you still owe me a test.”

Chapter Four: The Team

　Henry Lincoln and Samuel Lincoln had both failed to join the family’s spy organization for quite some time, each for different reasons.

　Children on the farm all received the same education from a young age. Around the age of fifteen, their paths diverged: some continued with regular schooling, while a much smaller number were chosen by the Mei family to enter a special school. There, in addition to normal classes, they began spy training. Every year, some students were eliminated, and new ones joined.

　These future spies took regular exams and could only officially join the organization after graduating from university.

　Samuel Lincoln made a mistake during college—he actually boasted to outsiders about his knowledge of spies. Although most of what he knew was wrong and wouldn’t cause real harm to the organization, the higher-ups still decided he wasn’t discreet enough. Whether he could become a spy remained to be seen.

　Henry Lincoln’s situation was more complicated. He was selected early on to become a “Mei family member” and received basic spy training. Except for being a bit weaker physically, he excelled in every subject.

　Soon, he noticed a detail: unlike students like him who were “selected,” the children who were actually surnamed Mei were always chosen, whether they wanted to be or not.

　It wasn’t until he was about fifteen that he finally understood the meaning of “interstellar orphan.” Although he had read related articles before, he’d always thought the term had nothing to do with him.

　When he discovered that the person who had always cared for him wasn’t his biological mother, Henry Lincoln felt lost for a while. Other than that, he didn’t have many feelings about it—there were plenty of kids like him around, and he didn’t sense any obvious discrimination.

　After two years of basic training, a spy instructor told him, “You should be an analyst. It’s a pity you’re not surnamed Mei.”

　There are two career paths for spies. One is to be an investigator, fighting on the front lines, recruiting external agents, and gathering as much information as possible. The other is to be an analyst, responsible for extracting the most valuable intelligence from vast amounts of data.

　There’s no clear boundary between the two; everyone starts as an investigator. But in the end, only those with the surname Mei can become analysts. There’s no way around it—though the position isn’t high-ranking, it involves too much sensitive information and can only be held by the most trusted people.

　By the rules, instructors shouldn’t say such things to students, so he never brought it up again. Henry Lincoln didn’t ask further either. His inner turmoil soon subsided, and he willingly accepted his fate.