At the far corner of the sports field, workers were busy setting up for an outdoor party.
Lin Shanyan dragged over a stool and sat at a distance, chin propped on the chair back as he watched the police officers training in hand-to-hand combat.
Before the mutation, he’d been a bit nearsighted. But once his transformation had stabilized, even a nosebleed seat at a concert felt like front row.
The late March sun blazed with scorching intensity. Meng Duimo stood before the group of officers, his dark gray training suit hugging his body and tracing the powerful curves of his chest and shoulders.
Lin Shanyan tilted his head, watching for a while—like a falcon sizing up fresh spring prey, or like someone who’d been single too long, stirring at the sight of this man once more.
He was definitely a little hungry, anyway.
From multi-angle takedowns to naked chokes, the maneuvers they practiced were complex and professional. The young man sat too far away to hear the specific instructions.
But when Meng Duimo demonstrated, his serpent nature surged to the fore, making his movements vicious and ferocious.
He himself didn’t have albinism, but after his transformation into an Ornate Forest Serpent, his scales were naturally a mix of white and gray, like a snow leopard’s tail.
Such an elegant coloration made it easy to overlook the danger—and besides, Lin Snakes had blinding speed and explosive power. Ordinary birds were often snared by venomous fangs a split second before they could take flight.
Meng Duimo was demonstrating a triangle choke: knee pressing in as his legs clamped down, trapping even the burliest opponent in an inescapable vise.
Combined with rolls and locks around the throat and nape, it could kill in an instant.
Lin Shanyan savored the sight for a moment.
He wouldn’t mind being choked like that in the police station’s communal showers, reduced to muffled grunts.
Hot water cascading from the showerhead like steaming rain, soaking his hair ends and lashes, mingling with the heat.
He could faintly hear his colleagues chatting in the next stall over, while he lay there just like now—pinned from calves to neck, unable to move a muscle, biting down on the man’s hand as he shuddered through it.
A worker called out a greeting: “Comrade! You folks got celebrities coming over?”
Lin Shanyan snapped back to reality and smiled, saying he didn’t know.
When he looked back at Meng Duimo, his thoughts didn’t quite connect.
The young man fell silent, consoling himself that fantasizing about an ex wasn’t a crime.
That bastard didn’t know a thing, anyway.
During the year and a half they’d dated, they’d indulged plenty of times—but more often, Lin Shanyan found himself overwhelmed.
Meng Duimo was all business and seriousness on the job, but in private, once he cut loose, he was like a rabid dog in rut, clinging so fiercely it felt like drowning in bed.
Even in the final hours before their breakup, they’d gone at it relentlessly—half because his line of work was so perilous, with death’s shadow ever-present, demanding some outlet.
After the split, Meng Duimo had requested a transfer to the neighboring city. Lin Shanyan hadn’t been single long before he got injured on duty, spent half a year recovering, and had been celibate ever since.
The trouble with knowing the taste of marrow was that abstinence turned you delirious with hunger, irritable to the core.
Lin Shanyan leaned back against the chair, watching the man in his tight training gear execute takedowns and throws, inwardly sighing that he’d eaten too well lately—now even slightly lesser options didn’t appeal.
A year after the breakup, he’d finally tried chatting and dining with others, even gone on a few blind dates.
Dull types stayed bland on the surface and beneath it—no hidden sparks of excitement.
Flashier peacocks were all show: trying to play the domineering CEO came off as a poor imitation, like cringey short-video skits.
Lin Shanyan watched for a long time, quietly regretting he hadn’t gotten a peek at the baths during that friendly visit.
An office would do too—as long as the door was ajar, half-open.
Forty minutes later, Meng Duimo wrapped up the training and walked toward him alone.
From the moment Lin Shanyan had approached the field, Meng Duimo had caught his scent, his nerves instinctively tensing.
Before joining the force, he’d undergone special OAC training that hyper-enhanced his senses—too much so, leaving him overly sensitive to avian pheromones.
That gift was invaluable for tracking fugitives, but in daily life, wading through crowds or malls overloaded his senses to the point of dizziness.
He’d had his back to him, explaining techniques to the trainees, demonstrating captures.
But that scent locked onto his neural pathways like a chain, forcing him to track the man’s every position and movement, second by second.
Lin Shanyan had probably come to return the car keys—Meng Duimo knew that much.
But reason and survival instinct were different beasts.
Having a natural predator at your back, staring with predatory focus, ignited ancient fight-or-flight responses deep in his genes.
Meng Duimo usually pulled his punches, but today he’d gone a bit harder; his breathing never quite settled.
That fight-or-flight burned like a candle flame, flickering intensely for forty minutes.
There was a moment when he’d nearly told the others to train on their own so he could call the guy and tell him to get lost.
The man found it a little amusing.
He’d actually dated his natural enemy for over a year and a half.
No wonder he always lost control in bed, like he wanted to fuck the other man to death.
The two met again, both pretending as if nothing had happened—like they were starring in some polite public service announcement about civility.
Meng Duimo’s collar and chest were darkened with sweat stains, droplets clinging to his jawline.
He resembled a leopard after the hunt, wearing an unconscious expression of satiation.
Lin Shanyan watched him without a flicker of emotion, though his mind churned with one indecent thought after another.
“Officer Meng, I’m here to return your keys.”
“Appreciate it, Prosecutor Lin. If you could spare a moment to stop by my office, I’ve got two case files where we need to confirm some amendment details.”
Lin Shanyan wasn’t keen on the idea.
He had a grudge against Meng Duimo.
The man had groped him shamelessly in the car without so much as an apology, then sulked like a child when he’d added someone on WeChat.
But it was just a trip to the office.
Lin Shanyan agreed.
They walked the silent, dimly lit corridor, the sharp click of leather shoes against the tiles echoing around them.
Meng Duimo hadn’t been in such close quarters with his natural predator for a long time. The easy intimacy they’d built during their dating days had vanished long ago.
Today, under the gaze of this falcon for nearly an hour, a nameless fire had been smoldering in his chest.
To make matters worse, Prosecutor Lin was dressed in his full official regalia: silver badge cap pressing down his hairline, deep black uniform paired with a wine-red tie, his phoenix eyes cool and aloof, as if untouched by the mortal world.
Meng Duimo’s irritation flared hotter, yet he had nowhere to vent it.
He still had to politely thank the man for personally delivering the car keys.
“You came all this way yourself, Prosecutor Lin?”
“It was on my route. I had an economic crimes case to confirm here anyway.”
Silence fell between them once more.
The walk from the athletic field to Meng Duimo’s office took a full fifteen minutes.
Lin Shanyan hadn’t picked up on the other’s agitation. As they left the corridor behind, he stole an extra glance.
This spot would work too.
The field buzzed with voices below, faint echoes of a meeting broadcast drifting from upstairs. But in the empty corridor…
Dissatisfaction stirred in Lin Shanyan.
Harmless fantasies weren’t a crime, after all.
Even stepping back ten thousand times, Meng Duimo’s rogue behavior wasn’t anything new. Why couldn’t he just pin him down for a forceful kiss today?
Meng Duimo was shameless enough by habit; he could indulge without a shred of guilt, then they could turn cold shoulders afterward—back to overtime and mutual avoidance. Perfectly reasonable.
Meng Duimo came to a halt and opened the door. “Please, come in.”
Lin Shanyan shot him an icy look.
The man wondered what was going on—why was this guy’s mood even worse than before?
I haven’t done anything to set him off.
They proceeded with business as usual. After setting the keys aside, they discussed supplemental evidence for the fraud case.
Lin Shanyan conducted himself with perfect propriety. Though he hadn’t brought any files, he recited the relevant statutes with crystal clarity, never making the assisting party feel burdened by red tape.
Meng Duimo jotted down a few notes for the record, then took a call without getting up. Seated in place, he twirled his pen while answering the coroner’s questions.
Lin Shanyan waited quietly, thinking that once the call ended, a kiss would be entirely in order.
He had to admit he was quite the carnivore at heart. These past few days, seeing his ex hadn’t stirred any melodramatic urges.
In those Qiong Yao dramas, reunited lovers always drowned in oceans of hatred and skies of affection, clasping hands through tears.
He just craved something emotionless—a long, mutual kiss born of simple, reasonable needs.
He was starving for it.
The call ended. “My apologies, Prosecutor Lin. You had to wait; another case held me up.”
“No need to stand on ceremony.”
“But is it really necessary to supplement this recording?”
“Follow the procedures.”
Meng Duimo already felt there was no hope.
Conversing with Lin Shanyan was like squeezing toothpaste—painfully awkward and utterly unenjoyable.
With emotions strained on both sides, everything came out stilted. Better to cut ties as strangers after wrapping up the case and go their separate ways.
Dejection weighed on him inside, though his face remained calm and composed. He stood, thanked Prosecutor Lin, and handed over the neatly organized second file.
The large kraft paper envelope was broad, and in passing it over, he accidentally brushed the back of the other’s hand. His fingertips trailed along deliberately, or so it seemed.
Meng Duimo’s heart skipped. He braced for an outburst.
He hadn’t meant it as flirtation—it truly was an accident.
He opened his mouth to apologize, but Lin Shanyan had already tucked the envelope away, acting as if nothing had occurred.
Meng Duimo let out a breath of relief, his dejection sinking deeper.
“Right, Officer Meng.”
Something occurred to him. “Could I trouble you for a paperclip? The copies are coming loose.”
Meng Duimo obliged without hesitation, picking one up and handing it over.
Lin Shanyan opened his palm, closing it a touch too soon in what seemed like carelessness.
The man’s fingertip scraped across his palm through the open loops of the clip, the shadow of his knuckle falling long and dark.
In that moment of their fingers closing together, it felt like holding hands.
Neither pulled away. Their gazes locked, as if awaiting a verdict on whether this contact had been truly accidental.
His fingers nestled in the youth’s palm, a secret embrace standing in for their bodies.
“Sorry,” the man murmured.
He wasn’t even sure what he was apologizing for.
He just wanted, desperately, to kiss him.
