Chapter 9: Plucking Feathers · 9

Min Fan slept lightly, faintly aware of the soft flutter of wings.

He eased the door open quietly and saw Snow Fluff darting back and forth through the suite.

The White Falcon had something in its beak, shuttling from the living room to the side bedroom, then to the bathroom.

Just as Min Fan started to draw near, he caught sight of it leaping gracefully out the window and soaring away from the twenty-fifth floor.

Sleep had fled him now, replaced by curiosity as he fiddled with his phone in the corner.

Ten or so minutes later, the White Falcon returned, fresh blades of grass clutched in its beak. It paused, tilting its head at the sight of Min Fan.

The young man nodded in greeting, signaling that it should carry on.

The White Falcon had gathered a hefty bundle of fresh ryegrass. Min Fan didn’t recognize the variety, but in the hush of the living room, a subtle, clean fragrance hung in the air.

It didn’t seem to mind his presence, going about its task single-mindedly.

Bits of fine soil, soft feathers, fragrant grass, and Qin Baiyan’s scarf—all layered together into a sturdy, cozy nest.

At the junction where the bird perch met the tree branch, a small nest, repeatedly reinforced and adorned, was slowly taking shape.

Min Fan edged a little closer for a better look.

He had barely lifted one foot when the White Falcon emitted a sharp warning chirp.

But before he could apologize, it paused in evident confusion, then hopped behind the nest and gestured for him to come see.

A sapphire gleamed softly in the darkness.

Min Fan didn’t wear rings like that, but he knew the original well.

Qin Baiyan wore it often—a platinum band engraved with the family crest, carrying deep personal significance.

Yet here were many of the man’s private luxuries, fetched by the bird itself.

A diamond-shaped perfume cap, a carnelian brooch, even the hotel’s air conditioner remote, thin as a silver leaf.

Min Fan slipped out quietly and roused the AI assistant in the next room.

“Chirp Chirp, why is Qin Baiyan building a bird’s nest in the middle of the night?”

It replied at once.

“Hello, Mr. Min. Birds’ nesting season typically falls in spring and summer. Depending on the species and individual traits, it often coincides with the courtship period.”

“Please note: If you observe your friend intently nest-building in avian form, refrain from speaking or suddenly calling his name. This could trigger complications akin to post-sleepwalking distress.”

Min Fan hadn’t imagined such a thing.

After a moment’s thought, he asked, “Do Haidongqing build nests like swallows?”

“Current data indicates that Haidongqing generally favor caves, cliff faces, transmission towers, or other natural features for rudimentary nests. They often simply commandeer abandoned nests from other birds, investing little time in the process.”

“No,” Min Fan said, glancing at the faint blue glow in the night. “He’s deadly serious about it, constantly foraging for decorations.”

Chirp Chirp processed this for a beat.

“System analysis yields an 83% probability that Mr. Qin is experiencing intense courtship impulses.”

The young man let out a soft laugh.

The next morning, Qin Baiyan returned to his room for a shower and change of clothes, only to find several items missing.

The man went on instant alert.

His room connected to Min Fan’s via a single hidden door.

But Min Fan respected boundaries and never crossed over.

Who would enter his space and make off with so many personal effects?

Qin Baiyan yanked open the hidden drawer, his heart sinking with every passing second.

His ring, his tie clips, his cufflinks, and a key—all gone.

It made no sense.

The drawer was secured by an intricate lock; no one could open it without smashing it apart.

And why take a key to a room in the Old Mansion, but leave the one for his Swiss Bank deposit box?

As he mulled this over, there came two soft knocks at the hidden door.

Qin Baiyan assumed it was housekeeping and ignored them.

Min Fan’s voice drifted through, lazy and teasing. “My bosom brother, closer than kin—want your key back?”

Qin Baiyan: “……?”

He crossed the room in quick strides and flung open the door. His eyes locked first on the key and ring cradled in Min Fan’s palm, then widened at the rest.

Min Fan had kept only a few pricier pieces for himself; the others were bundled in a plastic bag.

“Remote control, perfume cap, cufflinks, tie clip.” The young man hefted the bag for a peek. “Oh, and the shoe polish tin’s wrapping paper.”

Qin Baiyan frowned. “Do you need these?”

“Obviously not me.” Min Fan stepped aside to let him pass. “You clearly do.”

The man approached the nest, now stripped of its assorted baubles, and lapsed into a long silence.

“My sleep’s never been great,” Min Fan said, poking at him on purpose. “Someone was up all night yesterday, dead set on building a Half-Mountain Emperor View Garden in the tree branches.”

Qin Baiyan restated the glaring truth.

“I did all this?”

“Your room’s window isn’t locked, making it convenient for midnight flights in and out. I checked with the AI, and it said not to wake you at a time like this.”

The man drew a deep breath, grappling with a long-forgotten pang of embarrassment.

He handled matters with steady calm, rarely digging his own holes, and had long since grown distant from any sense of shame.

But now…

“I can pretend I saw nothing,” Min Fan said, his mood buoyant. “Though I suspect a certain bird’s stubborn streak means if it notices something missing today, it’ll scheme to retrieve it tomorrow.”

“I’ll lock the important seals, keys, and rings away in a safe,” Qin Baiyan replied. “Thanks for holding onto these for me.”

“As for the rest—like ties—since they’re already caked in mud, let it have them.”

“Jewelry doesn’t matter either?”

“Not in the slightest.”

That night, Min Fan stirred awake once more to faint rustling sounds.

He had invited it, in a way.

The hotel bedroom boasted superb soundproofing, and the thick carpet swallowed any footfalls.

He had left several doors ajar on purpose and kept a light vigilance even in sleep.

He simply wanted to see what Snow Fluff was up to this time.

The White Falcon was plainly rebuilding the cozy nest its former self had torn apart by more than half—and showed signs of doubling down on the repairs.

After fetching mud and grass in its beak, it hopped nimbly onto the windowsill and soared toward Qin Baiyan’s window.

Min Fan slipped over from the hidden door without a shred of guilt.

He was merely a concerned pet owner, fretting that his little bird might not make it home.

Qin Baiyan had secured the window from inside, but the Haidongqing pecked, pried, and shouldered its way in with a twist before leaping into the suite.

Min Fan figured, given Qin Baiyan’s meticulous nature, he wouldn’t have overlooked locking it—so last night must have played out the same.

Once inside the bedroom, the White Falcon traced its own scent straight to the hidden drawer.

Some fragment of human memory lingered in it, letting the bird casually twist the bedside candle to trigger the mechanism.

The drawer eased into view, its face a peachwood carving of the “fortune” character.

The bird’s slender, razor-sharp beak danced through the strokes, rearranging them like a sliding puzzle from “fortune” to “auspicious.” The drawer sprang open.

The eyeglass chain, tie clip, and belt buckle overlooked yesterday now fell under the White Falcon’s picky scrutiny.

None quite satisfied it.

Min Fan filmed discreetly with his phone, already picturing Qin Baiyan’s reaction come morning.

Utterly amusing.

The thought alone of that straitlaced man stifling his reactions with deep breaths brought a merry curve to Min Fan’s eyes.

Having culled a few accessories like a courier on rounds, the White Falcon returned to its original owner’s bedroom.

It quested keenly for traces of Qin Baiyan’s scent.

Min Fan recorded for proof of innocence, yet found himself instinctively holding his breath as he watched.

He half-felt like the thief in the night.

The Haidongqing lingered at the bed’s foot and the bookshelf before veering toward the wardrobe.

The hefty sandalwood doors yielded easily to its long beak.

In a flash, the entire bird vanished inside.

Min Fan hesitated, then crept closer phone in hand and eased the wardrobe open.

The White Falcon twisted around, trilled a casual greeting, and resumed nosing the safe’s dial by sound.

A soft click.

It held firm, cocked its head, and turned counterclockwise with agonizing slowness.

Click two.

Then clockwise two and a half turns more.

The safe popped open, exposing bank documents, keys, and that sapphire family-crest ring.

It snatched the ring and beat its wings to depart.

Before the camera, Min Fan demonstrated his untouched hands, then helpfully secured the safe and windows.

He pocketed his phone and chuckled himself to sleep.

Next morning, Qin Baiyan met the video with an even lengthier silence.

Min Fan sipped coffee over his script.

“That won’t do—hand over the ring. My safe’s got a fingerprint lock.”

Qin Baiyan massaged his temple, inhaling deeply.

“I’ll have family take it away,” he declared, resolve hardening his tone. “This isn’t a joking matter.”

“Suit yourself.” Min Fan flicked a glance toward the side bedroom. “Your ties are dropping like flies too; it jammed several four-leaf clovers into them last night.”

“…”

Once Qin Baiyan departed for personal errands, Min Fan inspected the side bedroom’s burgeoning nest.

Roughly sixty or seventy percent complete—not yet polished off.

Night after night, the White Falcon toiled at it with devout intensity.

Min Fan could guess why: free to soar and hold its transformed shape steadily, instinct now drove it to court a mate and rear chicks.

Should Qin Baiyan ever realize he’d gained a handsome little falcon for a partner, though, the look on his face would be priceless.

By avian standards, it had put real heart into the effort, decorating its little nest with the finest treasures it could find.

Bamboo leaves, gems, feathers, spring mud.

Min Fan lowered his eyes to gaze at it, then dialed his childhood friend.

“Hey? You actually have time to call me?” Wang Runfa took a bite of his sesame pancake and kept grinding away at his game with undiminished enthusiasm. “How’s that Haidongqing of yours coming along?”

“Full of spirit. It flies out for long stretches every day, and its appetite’s grown.”

“You’ve been trimming its claws and grooming its feathers, right?”

“Yeah, every day.”

“Rare to see you taking proper care of a pet,” Wang Runfa said with a sigh of relief. “Those few pots of hair moss met such a tragic end—I was genuinely worried before.”

Min Fan paused for a moment, then told him about the Haidongqing building its nest.

“There’s such a thing? Even a big shot’s pet bird has habits this quirky?” Wang Runfa remarked. “Forget house falcons—even the wild ones in the forest just make do with whatever spot they find to sleep. They’re not that fussy; it’s not like it’s a little crow.”

“I’m calling to ask if I should buy it some things,” Min Fan said, scrolling through shopping sites. “Like artificial crystals, silk ribbons, flower and grass seeds…”

“No, I’m serious,” Wang Runfa said gravely. “Regular Haidongqings don’t act like that. If you’ve got money to burn, just pick up some kids’ play rhinestones and ribbons from Pinduoduo for it to toy with. If you really want my honest take, I’m not even sure.”

“But… it sounds like you two have gotten closer?”

Wang Runfa had sharp eyes.

The last time he’d seen Min Fan, he’d clearly spotted fine peck marks and scratches on his wrist and neck.

“It’s fine,” Min Fan replied. He had no real frame of reference—he’d never even kept a hamster. “It doesn’t peck me anymore. It even brings me little gifts.”

“Huh? Tell me more.” Wang Runfa sounded intrigued. “Like what? A fresh-killed mouse?”

Min Fan went quiet for a beat, then turned and headed into the bedroom.

“It specially plucked a feather and placed it right in my palm.”

Wang Runfa sucked in a sharp breath.

“What’s wrong?”

“No, it’s just…” Wang Runfa’s voice sounded distinctly off. “Did you keep it?”

“Of course I did. I’m using it as a bookmark.”

“No, bro, listen,” Wang Runfa said with difficulty. “Little Bird giving you a feather… that might mean it likes you.”

“With the nest-building and the feathers, could it be trying to court you…?”

Min Fan couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You’ve been reading too many novels?”

“I’m not joking.” Wang Runfa turned serious. “If you don’t believe me, come over to my place. My little tiger parrot spends all day humping a pink toothbrush.”

“A bird’s brain is only so big—of course, a Haidongqing’s is much larger—but what I mean is, birds get species all mixed up when it comes to this stuff. It can’t even tell a toothbrush from a person!”

“It might just be a misunderstanding.” Min Fan rummaged under the pillow for his bracelet. “Maybe it plucked the feather to scratch an itch and just handed it off to me as—”

Wang Runfa waited for the rest.

“As?”

“Hello? Bad connection?”

“I’m hanging up first,” Min Fan said calmly. “The director needs me.”

“Oh, right! Talk later!”

After the call ended, he stared blankly at the uncovered spot beneath the pillow.

Five or six long flight feathers lay hidden there, each one pristine and beautiful—slender, clean, and shimmering like snow-kissed silk.

He knew Qin Baiyan’s schedule inside out.

These feathers had all been silently delivered by that bird while he slept.

He treated it well and liked it in return.

On set, Qin Baiyan ran through a scene with the other supporting actors, then went to find Min Fan.

“Want to confirm the blocking for our first scene together one more time?”

The other man was clearly studying him, lost in thought. After a long moment, he murmured an agreement.

Qin Baiyan paused. “Something on your mind you want to ask?”

Min Fan said, “Come on, meet me by the trash bin.”

Their first scene together featured the financial tycoon Lu Fang, who appeared to be assassinated but was actually faking his death to escape his identity.

Thugs hired by the board of directors stuffed him into the trunk of a minivan. Halfway there, a street brawl blocked the road, forcing them to get out and shout their way through to clear a path.

Meanwhile, Chen Zhuan and his younger brother were already lurking in a dark alley. In one smooth motion, they picked the lock, popped the trunk, and hauled out the barely breathing man. They swapped him for a sandbag of equal weight, then injected him with a syringe while performing emergency CPR.

The thugs wrapped up the disturbance ahead of schedule and came back cursing up a storm to hop in the van and drive off.

The young man swiftly transferred Lu Fang into a nearby dumpster. Once the thugs’ vehicle was out of sight, he retrieved the garbage-strewn tycoon and brought him back to base.

The group scene brimmed with tension and excitement; even just reading the script conveyed its frantic pace, while the back-and-forth exchanges throughout were brilliantly intense.

Even as he was being rescued, the financial tycoon instinctively tried to throttle the very man saving his life.

He trusted no one from the depths of his soul, so the moment he could force out words, he demanded to know who had sent Chen Zhuan.

“I can give you shares and cash. You’d better start talking right now.”

The young man still looked destitute and ragged, his hands trembling faintly as he carefully secured the ECG monitor, utterly unmoved by the massive bribe.

“I only take what I’m owed,” he replied calmly. “I won’t say a thing.”

The tycoon laughed instead.

“That’s perfect.”

His voice was still feeble, thick with the tang of blood.

“I’m your employer, Coen. Now you and all of Underground Team Three answer to me.”

“Forget about me. Go kill Old Chen from the board of directors—right now.”

Min Fan skimmed the script once more, double-checking which dumpster he’d haul this guy off to later.

Qin Baiyan glanced at him. “Can you carry me?”

The young man arched a brow. “Wanna find out?”

The man didn’t hold back. He leaned in close.

It should have been Min Fan hoisting him onto his back, but instead it felt like Qin Baiyan was the one enveloping him entirely, his breath carrying an aggressive edge that was impossible to ignore.

The instant those hands locked firmly around his waist, Min Fan blanked out.

In that moment, every breath was filled with his scent.