London time, December 5th, 5:30 PM. Not far from the Wellington Museum on Kensington Road, a black Mercedes SUV was parked inconspicuously at a corner. Inside the SUV, Jill Young and Jonathan Black sat in the driver and passenger seats, both intensely focused on the bustling traffic ahead.
"James Bond. James. Bond." Jonathan Black looked at Jill Young with exaggerated seriousness, enunciating each syllable as if he could physically cram the correct English words and pronunciation into her head. "James Bond. If you want to be local, if you want to be recognizable, sure, you can call me 'James Bond' in Chinese. I’ll accept that in London. But absolutely not 'Jason Bond!'"
"If my middle school English teacher had your dedication, my English wouldn’t be this bad. But you really shouldn’t be hung up on this tiny nickname, Jason Bond comrade! We’ve got bigger fish to fry, Jason Bond comrade! It’s just a codename, don’t waste your energy, Jason Bond comrade! Besides—" Jill Young turned to Jonathan, a mischievous glint in her eye and a crooked smile that screamed trouble. "They say you can pick the wrong name, but never the wrong nickname. A codename should fit the agent’s personality. And based on your habits, hobbies, frequency, intensity, number of partners, variety, and duration, I think 'Jason Bond' fits you perfectly."
Jonathan was instantly speechless, nostrils flaring and eyes bulging, nearly unable to speak. After three seconds, he finally exploded: "I—!"
"Shh… Jason Bond comrade, focus on the mission." Jill Young raised a hand and pointed seriously. "Look, tonight’s star is about to take the stage."
It was December, and by 5:30 PM the sky was already pitch dark. The streetlights all flickered on at once, making the ground look brighter, but the sky seemed even gloomier in contrast.
From this moment on, it was officially night.
As night fell and the city lights came on, luxury cars rolled past the two, heading east along Kensington Road. Not far to the east was Buckingham Palace, where tonight’s investiture ceremony would be held. In the second luxury car passing by sat their target—Kensington L. Orland.
This old man was a mystery. Sure, he was obsessed with research all day, but he was no tech hermit. He was smooth, connected with politicians, and always kept people guessing. Even his closest students had no clue where he went when he wasn’t in touch. Tracking him down was no easy feat.
But no matter how important his business, nothing could make him skip tonight’s ceremony. Queen Elizabeth herself was awarding the Grand Cross—the highest grade of the Order of the British Empire. It was honor beyond measure, a life’s pinnacle. Nobody could refuse that. And when Elizabeth summons you, no Brit can say no. So tonight, his route was crystal clear.
No matter who wants to find him, this is the perfect opportunity.
The two of them could see clearly without even needing binoculars: the old man, dressed to the nines in a sharp suit, sat silently in the back seat of a luxury car, lost in thought. The car's tinted windows were decent, but there was no way they could block out Yang's eagle-eyed gaze—he’d already seen everything, inside and out.
Jonathan’s eyesight was pretty sharp too. He suddenly frowned and said, “That old guy looks a bit nervous. Isn’t that kind of suspicious?”
“Nervous is normal. If Her Majesty summons you, how could you not be? It’s no big deal. Honestly, the fact he hasn’t pissed his pants yet is proof he’s holding it together.” Yang Qi kept her senses on high alert, scanning every direction while still finding time to chatter: “But this is just the beginning. He’ll be even more nervous once we make our move. Come on, let’s follow him—park the car around the back of Buckingham Palace.”
Jonathan quietly shifted gears and hit the gas. The black Mercedes SUV glided forward, keeping a discreet but steady distance behind, both vehicles heading toward Buckingham Palace.
Whenever the royal family takes action—big or small—lockdown is inevitable. No matter how many tourists usually treat Buckingham Palace as a photo op, a sightseeing spot, or a place to point and gawk, it doesn’t change what it really is: a royal palace. Since today’s investiture ceremony was being held inside, with the Queen not going out, the security level at the nearby intersections wasn’t too high. Still, London police arrived early to clear the streets, keeping an eye out for anyone up to no good.
At exactly 5:35 PM, the motorcade arrived at Buckingham Palace’s main square, each car pulling up to the gate in turn. Security staff stepped forward to open the doors, respectfully welcoming the guests. From the distant press area, countless camera flashes erupted, and every lens—big and small—was trained on the business, arts, sports, and science elites stepping out of the cars.
Among these movers and shakers, Orant held a spot right at the front—almost tied for first with another old gentleman. The old professor didn’t seem used to the limelight and instinctively raised a hand to shield his eyes from the flashes. He scanned the crowd, near and far, exchanged a few words of small talk with another honoree, and then strode confidently through the palace’s elegant, ornate gates.
Tonight was the peak of his life.
But they weren’t the first to arrive. For this kind of ceremony, aside from a handful of main characters, a whole crowd of supporting roles is needed to keep things running smoothly. The royal orchestra goes without saying, the media is a must, and some special guests were invited too. The London police and Royal Guard formed layers of security inside and out—no suspicious characters would be getting into Buckingham Palace tonight.
“Sir, please open the suitcase for inspection.” At every security checkpoint, at least a dozen people were on standby—some checking luggage, some checking guests, and the rest ready to tackle anyone suspicious at a moment’s notice. With the top-of-the-line scanners, forget about sneaking in guns or ammo—even a bone with a surgical pin would get you a thorough grilling.
Every camera and camcorder passed through the hands of true professionals. These gadget gurus could spot the tiniest problem just by weighing it in their palms. Think you can pull a movie stunt and sneak in a camera rigged as an assassination weapon? Dream on.
“Security’s impressively tight,” Jonathan murmured into his mic, eyes calmly scanning the hotspots. “And I noticed some gear for detecting Chosen Ones. Looks like they sourced those demon-revealing mirrors from China—getting inside won’t be easy.”
“Comrade Jason Bond, you need to understand—no matter how good the equipment is, it’s still run by people. Gear might be flawless, but humans have their weaknesses. Besides, the whole shield-versus-spear thing is basically a running joke. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Whether you’re out to save the day or cause trouble, if you can’t even get through the door, that’s just embarrassing!” Yang Qi’s confident voice crackled through the mic. “I’m going in first. Jason Bond, are you going to find your own way in, or just hang back?”
“Ha, you underestimate me?” Jonathan strode forward without hesitation, heading straight for Buckingham Palace. Soon, he was at the security gate.
A security woman, sweet-looking and striking, held out her hand: “May I see your pass, please?”
“Sure.” Jonathan handed over his credentials, swaggering onto the scanner—quiet as a mouse, nothing amiss. Beep. Credentials approved. The security lady handed them back with a sweet smile: “Thank you for your cooperation.”
Jonathan smiled back and strode down the corridor.
Eternal Night Technologies—changing lives!
After he left, the security lady whispered to her colleague with a strange look, “That reporter’s name is really something—Jason Bond!” The older woman glanced at Jonathan’s swagger in the distance and said meaningfully, “Maybe he’s got some ‘special skills.’ You should ask him out later and find out…”
As Orlando entered Buckingham Palace, Jonathan—no, make that Jason Bond the reporter—slipped smoothly inside as well.
For most people, the inside of Buckingham Palace is a complete mystery. This classic European royal residence is laid out in a square, like a super-sized, ultra-fancy, ultra-European version of a Chinese siheyuan courtyard. The palace interior boasts a truly vast central yard.
Led by Orlando, the honorees entered through the front gate, passed through halls and corridors, and finally reached the main courtyard. Looking across the elegant grounds, you could spot the real 'main palace' of Buckingham, kind of like the Qianqing Palace in the Forbidden City—a place reserved for the most important occasions. Holding the ceremony here was a clear sign of just how much the British royal family valued these guests.
Orlando couldn’t help but straighten his already impeccable outfit, took a deep breath, and summoned all his composure before striding toward the grand hall.
At 5:45 PM, the honorees arrived at the main hall, right on schedule. As one of the most prestigious places in the world, the atmosphere here was steeped in history—words like 'luxurious' just don’t do it justice. With everyone present and gentle music playing, all eyes turned expectantly, waiting quietly for the main event to begin.
At 5:50 PM, a few oddballs started to make their move. They slipped away from where they were supposed to be, heading quietly toward more hidden, more dangerous, and definitely more suspicious corners.