Chu He opened his eyes.
In the darkness, his gaze was clear, wide awake, staring motionlessly at the high ceiling of the bedroom.
Zhou Hui’s faint snoring came from beside him—a sound Chu He was very familiar with, proof that the man was in a deep, genuine sleep.
It hadn’t been easy. Zhou Hui hadn’t slept in front of him in a long time. Ever since Chu He had been arrested in H City and taken to Beijing—or perhaps, ever since Zhou Hui locked that golden ring around his lumbar spine—he hadn’t lost consciousness in front of Chu He again.
In the ink-like darkness, Chu He’s mind wandered slightly. He wondered whether this vigilance was Zhou Hui learning his lesson and reforming after suffering a setback, or if it was simply a deeply ingrained trait of a blood-soaked demon who had risen from the very bottom, forged through endless fighting and survival.
Either way, it was admirable.
Chu He turned over without a sound, his fingers reaching Zhou Hui’s chest, slipping inside his thoracic cavity as effortlessly as reaching into a pocket.
Beneath his hand, muscle, veins, and bones seemed to dissolve into nothingness. His hand carefully searched along the internal organs, making a sweep through Zhou Hui’s body, and then… “Hmm?” he murmured in his mind.
Nothing… where could it be hidden?
Zhou Hui made an unconscious sound, and Chu He immediately froze, staring intently at his face. After a long stillness, he resumed, this time tracing carefully upward through the abdominal cavity, until he reached the heart chamber—and his expression subtly changed.
—It was hanging beneath the heart.
A thin sheen of sweat appeared on Chu He’s forehead.
He took a deep breath, calming himself, and tried to steady his hand. The blood vessels beneath the heart were tangled and complex. Chu He’s fingers moved slowly, following the vessels upward until they touched a cold, smooth object. He didn’t pull it out immediately. Instead, he carefully felt all around it, ensuring every knot and tie was undone before using the slightest pressure to grasp it and give it a gentle tug.
Zhou Hui seemed slightly uncomfortable, shifting on the pillow.
But he didn’t wake. Apparently, the combination of Ice Spring Water and Asura Flower really packed a punch. The Asura Path occasionally did produce some effective things.
Chu He pulled the cold object out in one quick, silent motion—
It was a key.
In the dim light filtering through the window, the key was no bigger than half a pinky. A plain bronze flat key, intricately engraved with fine patterns, making it look more like some decorative pin or wedge from a piece of ancient bronze equipment.
Chu He narrowed his eyes and studied it for a while, thinking: Such elaborate engraving—did Zhou Hui carve this by hand? I never noticed he had a hobby for carving…
Could he have spent the past few years quietly doing this to pass the time?
Chu He let out a barely audible sigh, put away the bronze key, and took out a similar-sized ordinary key from under the pillow, gently placing it into Zhou Hui’s chest.
Though putting it in was easier than taking it out, Chu He still didn’t dare to reach too close to the heart. Instead, he hooked it just beneath the left rib. It was close enough. As long as Zhou Hui didn’t go fiddling with his own heart, he wouldn’t notice that the key had been swapped.
Chu He lay back down gently. The movement may have made some noise, as Zhou Hui stirred sleepily: “…Old Fourth?”
Chu He didn’t answer.
Zhou Hui turned over and hugged him tightly, burying his face in Chu He’s neck, making a soft snuffling sound. After some time, Chu He finally patted his solid back and asked, “What is it?”
“Had a nightmare…” Zhou Hui mumbled lazily. “Dreamt you ran off with that idiot Fan Luo and left me home alone with two kids…”
“Your kids wouldn’t sit at home obediently anyway.”
Zhou Hui, half-asleep, took a moment to process this, then let out a laugh. He hugged Chu He closer, just about to let himself fall into sleep again, when suddenly something clicked in his mind. He shot up in bed: “Crap!”
“What is it?”
Zhou Hui sat on the bed, eyes fixed on Chu He, silent for a long time.
Even with all his calm, Chu He felt a flicker of unease under that gaze. After a pause, he narrowed his eyes and asked cautiously, “What happened?”
“I… didn’t pay the bill,” Zhou Hui muttered after a while, face full of complicated emotion. “I told them it was on me tonight… then forgot to settle it.”
“…” A vein throbbed on Chu He’s temple. “Don’t worry. Let Zhang Shun pay.”
·
Zhang Shun did not pay. The bill was settled by Yu Jingzhong.
When Yu Jingzhong arrived at the bar, he had actually been in a great mood.
That afternoon, he had picked up Yan Lanyu from the hospital. The doctors said he was recovering very well. The prescriptions Zhou Hui gave had worked wonders—though his soul couldn’t be fully restored for now, the internal organ damage had greatly improved. Then Yu Jingzhong had taken him shopping for everything needed to settle in Beijing: clothes, shoes, toiletries, a laptop—so much that it barely fit in the car.
Even though Yu Jingzhong didn’t have the shady money-making methods of the team leaders and was often mocked as a broke government worker, he had at least managed to buy a decent apartment in Beijing. It was in a good location between the Fourth and Fifth Ring Roads, and the east-facing bedroom had been empty since moving in—perfect for Yan Lanyu.
After getting home and putting everything away, Yu Jingzhong offered to help install software on the computer, but Yan Lanyu stopped him and said, “It’s okay, I’ll do it myself.”
“You know how?” Yu Jingzhong asked doubtfully.
Yan Lanyu smiled without answering.
Yu Jingzhong wasn’t sure whether someone raised in the Tokyo Mizongmen had ever gone to school, or even knew basic math and science, but he didn’t want to make him feel hurt or belittled. So, he pretended to trust him completely and backed off.
Yu Jingzhong’s two-year-old daughter was in daycare with the nanny. They ordered food delivery for lunch. Yan Lanyu had elegant manners, clearly well-trained. He ate quickly and silently, finishing his meal in ten minutes without making a sound.
Yu Jingzhong quickly swallowed his mouthful of fish-flavored pork: “Not eating more? You don’t like it?”
“No,” Yan said, “I just don’t eat much.”
Yu Jingzhong usually left dirty dishes for the nanny, but today he insisted on washing them himself and made Yan sit properly on the living room couch. “What are you talking about? I love doing dishes. I’d never trust someone else with this.”
Then he turned to the kitchen, turned on the tap full-blast, rinsed every dish haphazardly, and shoved them all into the cabinet.
Yan Lanyu sat upright and still, not looking around or speaking—a perfectly polite, slightly stiff guest. From Yu Jingzhong’s perspective, he could only see the side of his face, and couldn’t guess what he was thinking. Even the air around him seemed unusually calm and quiet.
Yu Jingzhong fretted in the kitchen, wiping his hands on an apron, thinking and overthinking. Eventually, inspiration struck. He ran off to peel an apple, cut it into slices with toothpicks, and brought it to the couch. “Apples are great! Have one to hold you over. I’ll buy pigeon tomorrow and make you soup.”
Yan Lanyu blinked, took the plate, and smiled brightly.
—That smile kept Yu Jingzhong in a good mood all day.
But that mood died the moment he stepped into the bar that evening.
When he and Yan arrived at a bar near Workers’ Stadium, Zhang Shun was slumped in boredom, fiddling with his phone. His injury kept him from drinking, so he sat in front of a wildly overpriced 80-yuan Coca-Cola, ignoring all the sexy girls around him.
Shenwan Tiansi, meanwhile, had already downed three of those expensive sodas and didn’t even need to pee. He was cheerfully munching ice cubes while trying to mimic hand seals from a manga: “Hey! Shadow Clone Technique!”
Li Hu, ever happy, was dancing in ten-centimeter heels in the middle of the dance floor. Her miniskirt was dangerously short, her curly hair tossing glamorously, making the crowd cheer wildly.
Yu Jingzhong rubbed his temples and asked, “Where are Zhou Hui and Feng Si?”
“Feng Si came by earlier, made a drink for Zhou Hui, then they left together,” said Shenwan Tiansi, still focused on his manga. “From Zhou Hui’s reaction, it probably wasn’t a drink but an aphrodisiac. Whatever. The real issue is who’s paying the bill… Shadow Clone Technique!”
Zhang Shun pointed: “Woman.” Then pointed again: “Kid.” Then at himself: “Injured.” Then looked at Yu Jingzhong with hopeful eyes.
“…” Yu Jingzhong growled, “So all those calls urging me to come were just to find someone to pay the damn bill?!”
“Shadow Clone Technique!” said Shenwan Tiansi again, completely ignoring the tension.
Veins popped on Yu Jingzhong’s forehead. These are my subordinates? He suddenly felt his entire political career was doomed. Maybe it was time to quit and go home, become a small-town cop. He might even have better luck finding a wife there.
“Relax. We didn’t drink much. See? All soda. Even those 100-yuan chips, he didn’t eat many.” Zhang Shun tried to reassure him. “Only Zhou Hui opened a bottle of whiskey. Look, still has a bit left. Want some?”
Yu Jingzhong hadn’t been thinking about the money. He’d been brooding over deeper things. But once Zhang Shun said that, his eyes landed on that whiskey bottle—with its iconic shape and logo. And his broke government-worker nerves snapped.
The next moment, Yu Jingzhong howled: “Zhou Hui I f***ing swear—!”
Yan Lanyu quietly watched from the side. When Shenwan Tiansi shouted “Shadow Clone Technique!” for the eighth time, he suddenly spoke: “…You’re doing the seal wrong.”
“But that’s how it’s drawn in the manga,” Shenwan Tiansi replied, eyes glued to the page.
“The Clone Technique isn’t one of the five basic elemental seals. It comes from the third principle under the Four Symbols Seal of the ‘Lin Bing Dou Zhe’ system. You should try ending with the Outer Lion Seal instead.” Yan Lanyu said calmly. “But I suggest you don’t try it here. Your energy’s strong, and you’re trained in Esoteric Buddhism. If you accidentally summon a few dozen clones, it’ll be a mess.”
Shenwan Tiansi looked up.
He had seen Yan from afar in the hospital, but only through the glass wall of the ICU. This was his first time seeing him up close. At this distance, even the delicate downward curl of his thick eyelashes was clear.
“You are…”
Yan casually made a Vajra Wheel mudra with his hands and smiled.
Though dressed simply, the young yin-yang master had an aura of restraint and calm, a gentle gaze that nonetheless carried a ghost-repelling sharpness. Elegant and graceful beyond description.
The manga in Shenwan Tiansi’s hands fell with a thud. He didn’t pick it up. Instead, he placed a hand firmly over his heart.
“I…” he said dazedly, “I’ve found my true love.”
