“Is it worth it?”
A long silence followed the end of Ji Xun’s speech before the vice captain finally broke it, his expression thoroughly grim.
“The victim suddenly became the perpetrator, only to be brought to justice… Whether she resigned or reported it to us, why did she have to take it to this point!”
“Could she have resigned even if she wanted to?” Zhao Wu sneered, recalling the swarm of children and relatives he had seen at Old Hu’s villa. “When their mother was working as a nanny in someone else’s house and enduring so much humiliation, not a single one of them noticed—or perhaps they simply chose not to notice. But the moment there was a chance to split an inheritance, they all miraculously gathered for a joyous family reunion.”
Ji Xun added a few more words to the sentiment:
“Grandma Mei’s only ally was Hu Zheng. But did Hu Zheng truly want Grandma Mei and Old Hu to be together? Hu Zheng was exceptionally greedy for the property, to the extent that he didn’t even care if his father died an unnatural death. From that, we can deduce that he frowned upon an age-gap romance, and he certainly wouldn’t welcome a twilight romance either. In the end, both types of relationships would only serve to dilute his inheritance. This alliance of his was merely a hypocritical, superficial compromise when facing Lan Lan.”
“An elderly person is often treated like a second-rate commodity, casually tossed about and compared. If Grandma Mei were still young, everyone would naturally realize that she cares, that she would be resentful. But because she is old, people see nothing more than a face etched with wrinkles, taking for granted that old age is supposed to tolerate and absorb everything.”
“But old age does not dilute the intent to kill.”
Ji Xun spoke flatly:
“To her, compared to bearing the guilt of murder or being brought to justice to pay with her life, what was far more terrifying was being ignored year after year as she grew older—becoming transparent, becoming a second-rate commodity.”
“But she is still a human being.”
“Therefore, if there is only one method left for her to reclaim her dignity, even murder becomes inconsequential.”
“Alright, the lecture has concluded, and the story is at an end.” Ji Xun gave everyone a witty, theatrical bow. “Now, the truth is yours to record.”
“……Hold on a moment, sorry.” Zhao Wu stood up. “I’m going out for a smoke.”
“I’m hitting the restroom,” the vice captain said, standing up as well.
The rest of the team followed suit—some stood up, while others remained seated.
Yet, spirits were low across the board. Not a single person manifested the relief or celebration that usually accompanied the breakthrough of a major case.
Naturally, stories are always neatly drawn in black and white, with love and hatred distinctly defined. But in reality, there are always too many helpless compromises, cruel twists of fate, and lingering sighs of sorrow.
While the team from Qin City quietly stepped out to clear their heads, Huo Ranyin suddenly reached out and pulled Ji Xun out of the room.
Ji Xun complied naturally.
As he followed Huo Ranyin, his hand instinctively wandered into his pocket.
The brief burst of energy from the hot cocoa Huo Ranyin had brought him had completely burned out over the course of his analytical speech. He was beginning to wilt again, and his brain was demanding high-calorie fuel to recharge—candy, chocolate, or even a sour plum would do. He just needed something.
Unfortunately, his pockets were cleaner than his face; aside from his phone, there was absolutely nothing.
Come to think of it, it was quite strange. Despite his constant physiological need for small snacks, he never seemed to remember to carry them himself. Perhaps, sub-consciously, he always felt that at the critical moment, someone would thoughtfully appear before his eyes bearing exactly what he needed…
The moment the thought crossed his mind, Huo Ranyin abruptly halted his steps.
Ji Xun looked up to find that they had reached the fire escape stairwell of the police station—a secluded space that rarely saw any foot traffic.
“What’s—”
Before he could finish his sentence, Huo Ranyin lunged at him like a sudden gust of cold wind.
The whirlwind stopped.
Then it transformed into a blazing fire, and the flames assaulted his lips.
It was like a shot of high-proof vodka flooding his mouth, instantly obliterating Ji Xun’s craving for sweets. Carrying a trace of post-alcoholic vertigo and pure indulgence, he murmured in the brief gaps between their kisses:
“What is it? So passionate all of a sudden…”
“You are at your most alluring when you are solving puzzles,” Huo Ranyin murmured, his voice pressing tightly against Ji Xun’s words.
From start to finish, he had watched Ji Xun hold the room—confident, flamboyant, mature, and profound.
It was only natural that he was captivated, then seduced, until a wildfire consumed his restraint.
Once anyone spent enough time around Ji Xun, they would inevitably succumb to his charm. It was as inevitable as the stars chasing the moon, or rivers flowing into the sea; everything followed a natural law.
But not everyone possessed his luck.
He held Ji Xun in his arms, marking him with a trace of deliberate malice.
Huo Ranyin thought wickedly to himself that he wouldn’t give Ji Xun a single chance to slip away. He bit down firmly first, before softening the assault into a gentle, caressing touch.
They were outdoors, on someone else’s territory, in an official institution where they could be discovered at any given second.
The shifting risks of their environment flashed through Ji Xun’s mind.
A cool night breeze brushed against the small of his back from behind. The bright moon hung high in the sky, casting its cold radiance down through the stairwell window, illuminating their tangled forms…
Spring has arrived.
Ji Xun thought suddenly.
The young captain possessed a remarkably lean and athletic build. Having shed his heavy winter gear for lighter spring attire, a casual brush of the fingertips was enough to feel the explosive power and supple flexibility beneath the fabric—even if the wounds on his back were still tightly bound in bandages.
Not only that.
Through the window of the stairwell, he could see the blossoms of the trees and the shadow of the moon.
The flowering branches cast sprawling silhouettes that stretched wantonly across Huo Ranyin’s pure white shirt, looking for all the world like freshly budding flowers. The crescent tip of the moon hung precisely over those faux buds. The moon sat upon the blossoms, its multicolored halo carrying a faint, hidden fragrance that drifted directly into Ji Xun’s nose.
Flowers and the moon, swaying from within the scars.
Ji Xun thought to himself as his fingers traced the outline of the bandages. He took a deep, grounding breath, plunging headfirst into the passionate vortex Huo Ranyin had kicked up. The other man’s scent enveloped him entirely, just as his own scent invaded the other. The prolonged warmth of their physical bodies finally bled into their spirits, until their souls were saturated with each other’s colors.
Click.
A tiny sound echoed—remarkably similar to the noise of a window being nudged open by a stray gust of wind.
The two individuals immersed in pleasure snapped awake. The lights dimmed, the stage receded, and the taut threads of emotion quietly retreated into the shadows one by one. In the end, only the lingering desires triggered by that emotional current remained, rising and falling like a tide within their bodies, stubbornly refusing to dissipate.
Ji Xun regulated his breathing in the silence: “Someone came in.”
“Yeah.”
“They probably saw.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re remarkably calm about this.”
“Why shouldn’t I be?” Huo Ranyin licked his reddened lips, his eyes narrowing in sheer contentment. “There is nothing shameful about our relationship.”
The restroom door was pushed open, and a figure slipped inside.
The vice captain, who was currently relieving himself at the urinal, glanced back to see Zhao Wu entering. He didn’t say a word, continuing his business. However, the newcomer didn’t head for a stall or an adjacent urinal. Instead, he strode directly to the window, abruptly pulled out a cigarette, and struck a light.
“……What are you doing?” the vice captain asked.
“Smoking.”
“In the restroom?”
“I just needed to catch my breath.” Zhao Wu took a deep drag and exhaled a long plume of smoke. The tip of the cigarette flared brightly, leaving a column of ash precariously balanced on his fingertip. “By the way, would you say I’m visually impaired?”
“I can’t speak for your eyesight, but I can confidently deduce that there is something structurally wrong with your sense of smell,” the vice captain scoffed.
Zhao Wu cast a backwards glance at him, offering a look of profound pity:
“You don’t comprehend. Your eyes are far more blind than mine.”
“???” The vice captain was baffled. “Why are you launching personal attacks all of a sudden?”
“But even if the eyes are blind, the spiritual intuition still retains a fraction of its function,” Zhao Wu added. He waved his hand dismissively, cigarette in tow, and initiated his exit, muttering under his breath as he walked.
The vice captain listened closely, noting that the man was repeatedly chanting the same phrase over and over.
“Too narrow-minded.”
“Pfft,” he spat, adjusting his trousers. “The restroom isn’t narrow, it’s perfectly spacious! I swear this place is haunted tonight—everyone is speaking in riddles and uttering absolute nonsense!”
