Chapter 71

Qian Xingzhi was completely baffled, but he could sense the gravity of the situation.

He was well aware of Shen Li’s loss of his father.

Back in high school, Shen Li had mentioned it once: his dad had been stabbed in the heart by a relative of a suspect in some graft case, during the second semester of Shen Li’s first year of junior high. Despite emergency efforts, the wound had proved fatal.

The attacker was just a kid, not even fourteen years old.

But he was already taller than Shen Li’s dad, with the build of a young bull.

Most likely, after the boy’s father was arrested, the family hadn’t explained things clearly—probably to preserve a positive image for the child. Instead, the elders had told him the police were grabbing innocent people and framing his dad.

And so the boy had snatched up a kitchen knife from home one morning and charged straight to the nearest police station.

Word had it that Shen Li’s father had just come off the night shift that day.

He’d picked up three tea eggs, three flaky meat-stuffed buns, and three bowls of tofu pudding from the station canteen, eager to rush home and feed breakfast to Shen Li and his mother.

Half-grown boys eat their fathers out of house and home, and Shen Li had been in the middle of a growth spurt—skinny as a rail and not putting on any height. One egg and one bun clearly wouldn’t cut it, so Father Shen had headed across the street to the breakfast stall to grab an extra veggie beef pancake, Shen Li’s absolute favorite.

It was while he waited for the pancake to finish cooking that Father Shen noticed the hulking figure lurking suspiciously at the station entrance, peering inside. Without a second thought, Father Shen strode right over.

The pancake vendor later said their entire exchange consisted of just two or three sentences:

“What are you doing here?” Father Shen asked.

“You a cop?” the man shot back instead of answering.

“Yeah, I noticed you…”

He never finished the sentence.

A fruit knife plunged viciously into Father Shen’s chest!

The world seemed to fall silent for two whole seconds.

Even the pancake-selling auntie hadn’t seen it clearly at first; she thought the guy had just slammed a fist into Officer Shen’s chest!

In the next instant, the hulking boy turned tail and bolted, barreling forward a few chaotic steps before Officer Shen exploded into action. He surged forward, tackled the kid, and pinned him flat to the ground!

In the ensuing struggle, the tofu pudding bowls spilled everywhere, which hid the bloodstains from view.

It wasn’t until a few days later, when Shen Li arrived at the station cradling his father’s urn for the memorial service, that he saw the floor. It had long since been cleaned, but the stains lingered faintly all the same.

Shen Li later said he’d stood there for a very long time that day, unable to tell which marks were from the spilled tofu soup… and which were from his father’s blood.

Shen Li had shared all this with Qian Xingzhi back when he was transitioning from his sophomore to senior year of high school—the same year his mother’s condition took a sharp turn for the worse.

He’d spoken of it breezily, as if recounting someone else’s tragedy, without so much as a glimmer of tears in his eyes.

But Qian Xingzhi knew better. Shen Li had been heartbroken.

Father Shen was just a neighborhood beat cop, with no connection whatsoever to the graft case that had ensnared the boy’s father.

And even though the attacker was bigger and stronger than Shen Li’s own dad, he was still shy of fourteen. The maximum sentence was life imprisonment, but with good behavior, he could be out in as little as thirteen years.

Deeply concerned that dredging up the past would only reopen old wounds, Qian Xingzhi had held back from asking more.

Shen Li had always been his own man, after all—no one could force him to speak or act against his will, and he had no patience for hollow platitudes.

It wasn’t until after the college entrance exams, when Shen Li chose to join the SWAT team and fulfill the dream his father had harbored in his youth, that Qian Xingzhi realized the truth: Shen Li hadn’t forgotten. He simply never spoke of it.

Shen Li harbored no hatred for the law, nor for the injustices of the world.

Like a finely calibrated instrument, he had simply followed in his father’s footsteps.

.

But what else had happened back in junior high?

.

Qian Xingzhi turned to Shen Li, unconsciously holding his breath entirely still.

Shen Li gently lifted his head from Qian Xingzhi’s shoulder, then spoke in that same detached tone—as if laying out the facts of a case—detailing the school bullying he’d endured as a boy.

Time, place, people involved.

Cause, progression, outcome.

He laid it all out, point by point.

The only thing missing was any trace of emotion from the victim himself.

When Qian Xingzhi finished listening, a complex ache settled in his chest—indescribable heartache, perhaps, mingled with a sudden, dawning understanding.

By the time he snapped back to himself, his arm had already pulled Shen Li into a tight embrace. A soft kiss brushed Shen Li’s forehead, but Shen Li seemed to find it a touch too saccharine. He tilted his head away and gave a gentle push.

“I’m going to take a shower first.”

With that, Shen Li slipped out of his ex-husband’s arms like he was making a getaway.

It wasn’t long before the sound of running water echoed from the bathroom.

Shen Li stood under the hot spray, letting out a slow breath. His mind felt numb, sluggish; he couldn’t even tell if sharing all that had been necessary, let alone right or wrong.

But after unburdening himself of that long-buried, long-ignored chapter from junior high, he did feel a little lighter somehow. Like a weight had finally lifted, if only slightly.

That night, they made love just once, facing each other. Qian Xingzhi’s “cake” fantasy went unrealized in the end.

Qian Xingzhi was extraordinarily tender, showering him with kisses that never seemed to stop.

There had always been kisses before, it was true—but this time felt profoundly different from all those years of encounters.

To put it in less than poetic terms, Qian Xingzhi handled him like fragile porcelain, afraid a touch too firm might shatter him. Shen Li, for his part, felt awkward under such delicate care, yet he surrendered to it all the same. His long brows furrowed in faint discomfort, but Qian Xingzhi coaxed him into a hazy daze all the same. On some deep level, Shen Li felt safe. Relaxed.

…

Shen Li had no idea when he’d finally drifted off. He woke only when the heat roused him, early the next morning.

Qian Xingzhi was still holding him close, his entire fluffy head mashed against Shen Li’s chest—right over his heart, a little off to the outer side—like a puppy that had nursed its fill and promptly passed out. No wonder Shen Li had that bizarre dream of being crushed alive under volcanic rock…

And yet it was in that moment that Shen Li realized just how absurdly ridiculous he’d become.

Logically speaking, he hadn’t even decided whether to remarry Qian Xingzhi. They weren’t officially dating again, either—just seven years of radio silence followed by seven days of reconnection, and here they were, inexplicably tangled up and tumbling into bed every single night.

To be blunt, if one of his friends hopped into bed with an ex they’d been out of touch with for seven years—without so much as a checkup—Shen Li would have rolled his eyes so hard they’d stick. He’d toss out a cold warning about STDs not being covered by insurance and tell them to fend for themselves.

Well, now he was the fool.

He had no idea what to tell himself. Probably just that: fend for yourself.

So after two minutes of staring blankly into space, he schooled his expression to neutrality, gently nudged Qian Xingzhi’s head aside, straightened himself up, grabbed his phone, and stepped out the door as if nothing were amiss.

The night before, Shen Li had casually arranged to meet Zhen Tian at seven a.m., asking him to report in person on Jiang Nan’s movements.

It was barely six forty-five now, and there Zhen Tian was, waiting right outside the door—posture humble as a well-trained lackey.

With the entire program crew scheduled to head out to the daytime mission site at nine, Shen Li had picked this early hour to meet Zhen Tian outside.

Eager for leniency, Zhen Tian wasted no time upon seeing him. He spilled every detail of Jiang Nan’s phone call from the day before—mostly back-and-forth with his lawyer, all of it irrelevant to Zhen Tian himself. Jiang Nan hadn’t switched phones, so the police had only intercepted fragments anyway.

It seemed like nothing groundbreaking.

But how could Zhen Tian have anticipated what came next? No sooner had he finished than Shen Li led him about five hundred meters down the road and stopped beside a sedan.

Not just any sedan, either—the kind you could slap a light on top of and have it wailing away.

A police car.

The back half was a cage.

Zhen Tian took one look and his legs nearly buckled:

“No, bro—bro! What… what’s this supposed to mean? I’m cooperating here! You can’t just go back on your word…”

“Routine procedure,” Shen Li said. “Urine test.”

“Ah!? But… but I’ve already confessed…”

“It’s routine, like I said—just piss in the cup and you’re done.” A burly man climbed out of the driver’s seat, dressed in plainclothes with massive dark circles under his eyes. He shot a fierce glare at the little celebrity before adding for Shen Li’s benefit, “You confess now, but what if you change your tune later? The test isn’t hurting you; it just bolsters the evidence. Got it?”

With that, Zhao Rong lobbed a small plastic kit at Zhen Tian and barked:

“Take a leak in it. In the car or on the roadside—your choice.”

Zhen Tian: ?!

His legs itched to run, but he couldn’t outpace Shen Li, let alone a plainclothes cop.

No options left, he scanned the surroundings. Not far off lay the low building housing the program staff quarters; the other direction was a broad, barren stretch of roadside. Squatting in the car to pee? No thanks.

Utterly defeated, Zhen Tian opted for the roadside. Trembling, he handed the test kit back to the male officer.

He figured that was it—freedom. But no: the man grabbed him by the collar, hauled him into the car, and proceeded to grill him a bit more on the source of the “goods,” double-checking once again whether Jiang Nan had truly done nothing of value the night before.

Shen Li was well aware this was standard procedure, but it wasn’t his case anymore anyway.

Having delivered the man, his own task was complete. While they talked, he let his feet carry him a few steps farther toward the low building.

The whole program crew was up early today ahead of their nine a.m. departure, bustling about with equipment prep.

Scattered vendors catering to their breakfast needs had set up simple stalls along the road.

Shen Li glanced around idly and spotted a cart selling starch sausages—three yuan apiece, five for two. The exact kind Qian Xingzhi had adored back in high school, a borderline obsession.

Without thinking, he wandered over.

Shen Li mulled it over for a second and ordered four.

He scanned his phone to pay, told the vendor to fire up the grill.

But the machine had only just been set up and needed preheating; it’d be a minute. Shen Li circled the area instead, only to notice that the little supermarket where Qian Xingzhi used to buy corn had opened up too. Out front sat a middle-aged man in a black helmet and mask, straddling a motorcycle. He looked shifty—not like he was there to shop, more like he planned to swipe something.

Shen Li narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the man’s movements and the bike for a moment before striding over in three quick steps—

The man revved his electric scooter to life, clearly with no intention of responding. He looked about to peel out.

Shen Li’s instincts screamed that something was very wrong, but before he could think it through—

!

The motorcycle’s engine roared to life as it charged straight toward him!

A fruit knife hurtled forward, propelled by the bike’s accelerating speed and momentum, stabbing abruptly toward Shen Li’s chest!

It all happened in a flash!

Dragging his injured leg, Shen Li dodged sharply to the left, barely evading the knife’s razor-sharp tip. The blade sank into his right shoulder instead!

Seeing his strike miss the mark, the rider abandoned the knife, twisted the throttle, and tried to speed off!

Screech!

The tires shrieked against the pavement—

Shen Li’s fingers splayed wide and clamped down on the rider’s right wrist!

Gritting his teeth against the searing pain in his right leg, he shifted his weight to that foot in an instant. Then he whipped his left leg up like a gale and slammed it into the fuel tank! The motorcycle’s rear wheel skidded sideways half a meter, the bike tilting sharply to the left!

Shen Li’s movements were swift as the wind and lightning! He followed up with a vicious knee to the side, sending the entire motorcycle crashing to the ground!

“Fuck!”

The man snarled in fury. His foot, planted firmly on the ground with clear malicious intent, reared back to kick at Shen Li’s right leg! His hands flailed wildly, aiming to strike—even trying to yank the fruit knife from Shen Li’s shoulder!

But Shen Li showed no fear of the kick. He spun forward and pounced!

Fast, precise, ruthless!

The instant he tackled the man, Shen Li’s left arm snaked around the fellow’s throat. Right after came the sharp crack of the helmet hitting the pavement!

The man felt a knee digging into his spine. When he craned his head back for a look, all he saw was icy menace on Shen Li’s stern face.

Screams, shouts, pandemonium.

The crowd around them clamored to call the police.

Hearing the commotion, Zhao Rong climbed out of the car and peered over—

Shen Li knelt with his weight pinning a man’s lower back, his face drained to a ghostly pallor.

A knife protruded from his right shoulder, and his plain white T-shirt was soaked through with blood.