Chapter 43

Honestly speaking, with his childhood friend Hua Hongqing, that ultimate foodie, occasionally dragging him out for meals, he’s tried plenty of delicious things. But when it comes to something truly to his taste, it has to be this kid Yiyi’s cooking.

Over the past ten days or so while the guy was away, he basically hadn’t returned to his apartment at all, just eating and sleeping at the bureau.

For one thing, he’d been genuinely swamped lately; for another, coming home to that empty, lonely, cold place just felt off everywhere.

Now, no matter how dense he was, he had to admit he’d probably been spoiled by Bai Yiyi— the mere mention of home-cooked food made his mouth water.

A bowl of spicy noodles was quick to whip up, done in five or six minutes.

Soy sauce, chili, Sichuan peppercorns, plus a spoonful of rendered pork lard, diced preserved vegetables, and green onions— it smelled heavenly and tasted silky, refreshing, and satisfying.

The guy who’d just claimed he wasn’t hungry scarfed it down clean, then slurped up half a bowl of the noodle broth, still craving more.

Afterward, lounging on the sofa, he let out a long sigh. Ah… this is what life’s all about.

The thought in his head slipped out unbidden: “Yiyi, who did you learn your cooking from? It’s way too good. Whoever ends up as your girl… your partner, they’ll be living the dream.”

Yan Tuo caught himself midway, suddenly remembering the guy’s orientation, and awkwardly switched gears.

But the image he’d pictured in his mind shifted: the person standing beside Bai Yiyi changed from a vaguely pretty girl—not even a tenth as good-looking as him—to a burly, ugly brute. The dissonance and revulsion hit even harder.

Bai Yiyi’s hand paused while scrubbing the dishcloth, then he nonchalantly wrung it out, wiped the bowl clean, and put it back in the cabinet. He replied casually:

“My dad. His skills are the real deal— he loves food and knows how to eat. A language teacher by trade, from a writing background, but he went and got a senior chef certification. Rumor has it Yao Pei was won over by his cooking back in the day.”

Then, turning around with a smile, he explained: “Yao Pei is my mom.”

I’m about to be won over by this food too, Yan Tuo muttered inwardly, not dwelling on what felt off, and chimed in: “Your uncle sounds impressive, but a language teacher? With your name…”

He trailed off, too polite to say it outright, but the implication was clear—Yiyi’s name sounded too casual, no different from your average Zhang San or Li Si.

Mentioning that, Bai Yiyi had to set the record straight for his father.

“The name? Too simple? There’s a reason for it.”

Yan Tuo perked up, all ears.

Bai Yiyi started prepping after-dinner fruit. “The official explanation: ‘One’ is the beginning of all things— with one comes two. Dad named me Bai Yi, giving me that ‘one,’ opening up every possibility.”

Nice, got a touch of classical Chinese philosophy. Yan Tuo played along: “And the personal explanation?”

“It’s Dad’s deep affection for me. He was born sickly, and the family consulted a fortune-teller who said he lacked metal and fire, so they named him Bai Xinduo.

Sounds fine, but writing it… heh. So from nursery school on, he vowed that when he became a dad, he’d give his son an easy-to-write name. Hence, Bai Yi. Super easy to write… My deskmate cried with envy when punished to copy his name.”

Yan Tuo nitpicked: “Bai Yi or Bai Yiyi? Where’d the extra ‘yi’ come from?”

“Yao Pei— hopeless romantic, eternal girl at heart. She thought one ‘yi’ was too lonely; better to make a pair. Heh, if she knew Double 11 got turned into Singles’ Day, who knows if she’d still romanticize my name.”

Yan Tuo burst out laughing at his mildly indignant look— the complaints dripped with fondness. Clearly, this kid Yiyi grew up wrapped in love. Nice.

An utterly ordinary night turned exceptionally cozy, thanks to someone’s smile.

Yan Tuo, in a rare chatty mood, asked: “So what does Yao Pei do? Needs to be out of the country for a whole year?”

Bai Yiyi handed half his peeled apple to his benefactor. Casually: “Project manager. Ever heard of Zhizhen Group? Massive real estate firm with projects abroad, HQ in your J City. Mom’s been there since graduation, over twenty years without budging. This year she finally got this shot— nail the project, and she’ll rise to director.”

Surprises everywhere—they even shared another connection. Yan Tuo didn’t know what to feel, so he just said: “…Heard of it. Twenty-plus years to manager?”

Bai Yiyi sang his mom’s praises: “Makes sense. Raising me set her back a few years. Plenty of chances later, but Dad had passed by then, I was little, and she couldn’t bear leaving for out-of-town gigs. No merits for promotion.”

Late as it was, some things shouldn’t be said— right after mentioning Yao Pei, Bai Yiyi’s phone rang. Sure enough, Mom.

She rarely called first. Something big?

Bai Yiyi snatched up the video call in a panic.

“Little Pretty, knew you weren’t asleep.”

Called by his childhood nickname, Bai Yiyi shot an embarrassed glance at Yan Tuo. “Mom, what’s up? You actually calling me…”

Her voice sounded down: “I’ll be back in a few days. Heads up— prepare the welcome.”

Bai Yiyi puzzled: “What’s the deal? Project’s got half a year left, no?”

Yao Pei unleashed a barrage of complaints: “Who knows what demon possessed that Civet Cat. He eyed my mosquito-leg project. Just as we’re wrapping up for launch, he sends a crony to steal the peaches. What can I do? Step aside.”

“Who’s the Civet Cat?”

“Chairman Yan Bancheng’s son, self-proclaimed crown prince. Fools might buy it, but us old-timers know he’s fake. The real prince is someone else. We call him Civet Cat privately.”

Yan Bancheng’s name rang a vague bell for Bai Yiyi, but he couldn’t place it. “Sounds like a novel— true and false princes. Office politics with palace intrigue?”

“You don’t know the half of it. Yan Zexing’s made a name these years, but back then he was just an uneducated peasant, propped up by his cousin to get where he is. Old Chairman Yan died unexpectedly; most Zhizhen shares went to his son. That nameless punk, mid-thirties now, lets the family empire rot while he is who-knows-where, living off handouts happily.”

His own benefactor seemed like a hidden rich second-gen too. Bai Yiyi empathized jokingly: “To each their own. Maybe others have plans. Not you— even if you handed me an empire, I’d ditch it for painting at home.”

“Me hand you an empire? Dream on. Mom scraped together two city-center apartments— that’s huge already. Want to shoot to the top? Better count on that pretty face charming a rich heiress into marrying you.”

Yao Pei was in full swing when she questioned his surroundings: “Little Pretty, weren’t you back from vacation? Why aren’t you home at this hour?”

Bai Yiyi gritted out: “Mom, not Little Pretty! I… I’m at a friend’s place.”

“Which friend? You even have friends?”

It stung. Bai Yiyi froze.

Yan Tuo came to the rescue on camera, voice oddly dry and tight: “Auntie… hello. I’m Yiyi’s friend, Yan Tuo.”

Yao Pei hadn’t expected an audience to their private chat. She awkwardly said ‘Hello,’ exchanged a few pleasantries, and then hung up quickly.

Bai Yiyi set down the phone, brows furrowed into a single line—like a giant “one” on his forehead.

Mom coming back early, but in his current state, how to face her?

Yan Tuo smiled reassuringly: “It’ll sort itself out. Not even a set date— could change again.”

The looming worry lifted surprisingly from the comfort.

Next day at work, the returning Bai dumpling got a warm welcome.

Besties Sun Lei and Little Liu greeted early, chatting and laughing.

Even Cao Yiman, who hated his special treatment, made a rare visit, tossing over instant noodles and mumbling some excuse about finding them.

Bai Yiyi graciously received his guests. Afternoon, he slipped to the kennel, playing with Whirlwind on the field awhile.

At the end of his shift, Bai Yiyi was about to head home early for dinner prep when Yan Tuo got an unexpected call.

It was from Psychology Expert Zhao Tao, who’d helped profile the killer before. He had something to discuss and wanted to meet.

Yan Tuo took Bai dumpling along, chatting over dinner.

Zhao Tao wanted all the files on the serial killer case, Zhang Yansheng.

It stemmed from one of his prized students, Little Jin.

This kid, his psych grad student of two years, was nearing thesis time with a topic on conscious crime.

He also had a comp sci bachelor’s and somehow hacked the dark web, uncovering its sins.

Soon, in a forum, he found his hook.

Someone called M, aka Mentor, supposedly designs perfect crime scenes— hyped like a god by netizens.

Investigating the statements that account had posted in the past led to a shocking discovery amid the comment threads: detailed discussions of the Zhang Yansheng case in J City. The account that had messaged him hoped to win the same favor from the other party as Zhang Yansheng had received. It professed utter admiration—a flawless ten thousand out of ten—and declared its willingness to accept every constraint imaginable in exchange for guidance.

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