“It’s Deputy Detachment Captain Yan. Don’t go promoting me on your own,” Yan Tuo said casually. He sat at the table, eyes glued to his laptop screen.
“With that workaholic streak of yours, it’s only a matter of time.”
Hua Hongqing grinned and chimed in, steering the conversation back. “But seriously, what’s the deal? All those blind dates, were they blind or something? How have they let a catch like you stay single this long?”
Yan Tuo hit enter and glanced at his childhood friend. “Fate’s a funny thing. If it doesn’t click, better that way. I don’t have the bandwidth anyway—would just waste their time.”
“You’re not wrong—you do half-ass it sometimes—but the odds are ridiculous. Not even one you wanted to pursue further? Total wipeout?”
After debating back and forth with no response, Hua Hongqing couldn’t help but speculate. “You don’t think… you’re like me and just haven’t realized it?”
Yan Tuo stared at his old friend, who had come out in high school and racked up over a hundred conquests without shame. His mind flashed to his burly subordinates, all rippling muscles, and he shivered before bursting into amused laughter.
“Bullshit. What are you on about? I went to police academy. Work’s ninety percent guys. If I swung that way, I’d have figured it out by now.”
Hua Hongqing thought about it—fair point—and felt a second of guilt for his wild guess before nonchalantly picking up a booklet from the table and flipping through it.
What he grabbed turned out to be a thick scrapbook of clippings. After reading a few pages, pity stirred in his heart. He stared at the back of his friend’s head before speaking again, his voice much softer. “All from fifteen years ago, Tuozi. You still haven’t let it go?”
Yan Tuo stayed silent. Hua Hongqing held his pose, waiting. Even the two birds in the cage abruptly stopped chirping. The apartment fell quiet, thick with unspoken tension.
Feeling like he’d accidentally poked a raw nerve, Hua Hongqing backpedaled awkwardly. “I… I do believe you, but Tuozi, the case is closed. Those three got what they deserved—the grass on their graves is waist-high by now. That fourth person you mentioned? No leads all these years, no one’s seen them. Hell, you haven’t either. Can’t even explain it properly. Maybe you’re just overthinking it?”
Still no sound. Hua Hongqing soldiered on with his one-man show. “I’m serious. The dead are gone. Your parents’ spirits up there wouldn’t want you tormenting yourself like this. Letting go might…”
Yan Tuo cut him off and turned back, his expression perfectly normal, tinged with faint self-mockery. “Tormenting? I’m eating and drinking fine, Hongqing. I know what I’m doing.”
With nothing more to say, Hua Hongqing shifted to dinner plans, cracking jokes to change the subject.
One surfed the web while the other played mobile games, passing the afternoon in companionable quiet. Dinner was delivery, giving their pets more time together.
That evening, as Hua Hongqing prepared to take Manyu home, he wheedled a spare key from his friend. He claimed his housekeeper could pop in to tidy up now and then—a fine, upstanding guy like Yan Tuo shouldn’t live in a pigsty.
Yan Tuo considered it. Aside from his personal laptop, nothing needed hiding. Unable to resist his friend’s enthusiasm, he finally nodded.
After the weekend’s back-stepping fiasco, Bai Yiyi’s mood stayed low for two days straight. He barely acknowledged even his owner’s deliberate attempts to bond.
He’d eavesdropped on their entire conversation, ears perked the whole time. Not only did he learn his crush’s full name, but also that his parents had passed and he’d dodged a slew of blind dates.
He’d never seriously hoped for anything with his idol, but confirming the guy’s straight orientation still left him a bit deflated.
Straights were unconquerable.
Forget being a pet bird now—even if he turned human again, any shot with the man seemed zero. This little crush, sparked by looks and fueled by his sense of duty, hadn’t even tasted sweetness before fizzling out.
Whether that was the cause or not, the past two days of closeness hadn’t budged the satisfaction score. It sat stubbornly at -30.
Bai Yiyi fretted, drawing a blank on fixes. Maybe the stress did it, but one morning he woke to find his head molting.
Badly. Scattered deep gray feathers dotted his nest of cotton threads. Though he couldn’t see his bird self, losing so many at once screamed embarrassment.
His mood tanked further. Could turning into a bird also mean going bald?
Satisfaction plunged to -50.
His gloom must have been obvious. His owner, dragging in late from overtime, skipped his usual wash-up and stood by the cage, studying him. Then he opened the door and extended a large palm right in front.
Bai Yiyi wasn’t sure what to make of it but hopped on anyway. Things were bad enough—what worse could happen? Not like he’d get lured out and roasted?
Yan Tuo had no appetite for a snack. Coming home from overtime without Tangyuan’s usual “chirp chirp” greeting just felt off.
Recalling the little guy’s recent behavior and checking the food and water levels, he concluded: his pet was unhappy.
From the bird care tips he’d skimmed lately, small birds loved cleanliness. In this summer heat, a bath would cool Tangyuan off and double as playtime fun.
Tangyuan clearly trusted him. The little white ball hopped right onto his palm, nestling like a sunken dumpling, remarkably docile.
No more hesitation. Cradling the fluffball, Yan Tuo headed to the bathroom. He turned on the faucet, adjusted the flow, and slowly offered his hand under the stream.
Tangyuan got it instantly. Wings fluttering in excitement, it dove into the spray, spinning gleefully as the water rinsed every inch.
Too clever and cute. Yan Tuo couldn’t resist joining in, gently scrubbing its back with his index finger.
Tangyuan chirped, trembling slightly. Its beady eyes flicked to him then darted away in what looked like pure shyness. For a weird moment, he almost thought, “This is no bird—it’s a person.”
Yan Tuo shook his head, clearing the nonsense, and chuckled low. “There, feel good?”
It felt great, but mortifying too.
Bai Yiyi wanted to dodge deeper entanglement, yet couldn’t resist the tenderness. Even the man’s voice was perfect—deep, magnetic. He let himself be pampered, shy chirps bubbling from his throat.
“Better now? Happier?”
So he’d noticed the sulk and was cheering him up. Bai Yiyi, the little soup dumpling, swooned harder. “Chirp… chirp chirp,” he peeped weakly.
They bantered chirp by chirp through the cozy bath. Finally, Bai Yiyi caught his bird self in the bathroom mirror.
He chirped in shock. “Chirp chirp!”
Gone was the fluffy white puffball. Now he was a drowned rat, feathers clumped and spiked every which way. The gray-black crest looked like a soggy mop post-mopping—hilarious and hideous.
Yan Tuo watched the little guy frantically wiping his face with his wings. “Don’t worry. I’ll dry you with the blow dryer. Be good as new soon.”
Finding it took time. His buzz cut meant he never used one; it’d vanished into storage. The apartment wasn’t huge, though, and spots to stash were limited. After rummaging, he dug it from a junk box.
In those minutes, he’d feared Tangyuan might flutter everywhere, making a mess. Instead, the bird stood stock-still on the counter, patiently awaiting service.
Yan Tuo’s lips curved. Such a smart, obedient pet deserved praise. “Good baby.”
Bai Yiyi ducked his head, tempted to hide his face. Those words—even aimed at a bird—were pure sink-in temptation.
The dryer held high, its breeze gentle. Gentle fingers helped fluff him. Soon, the mirror showed his true form: round, fuzzy, black-crested white phoenix finch.
At this size, cuteness was his only play for favor. Bai Yiyi tilted this way and that, perfecting his adorable pose.
A casual dip of the head revealed four or five fresh gray-black feathers on the counter. Just fallen?
Maybe tiny bird brain dulled wits. A quick glance at his owner stowing the dryer, then Bai Yiyi swept the feathers under himself with a claw and plopped down, butt covering them. Out of sight, out of mind—no baldness here.
Yan Tuo caught the whole sneaky maneuver in his peripheral vision, amused and baffled. He teased, “Quite the image-conscious one, huh? Think blocking it hides it from me? Let me take a closer look…”
He leaned in, parting the tiny crest. Yep, thinner than before. The “mop top” had shrunk, with a near-bald patch threatening on top right.
No need to say it outright. The bird was too sharp—might actually understand and get hurt.
He pulled out his phone and did a quick search. Nodding with reassurance, he said, “No worries—this is just the molting period. He’s shedding old feathers for new ones, and they’ll grow back fully before long.”
With that, he scooped up the white dumpling again and carefully smoothed down its feathers.
Bai Yiyi’s panic over balding had vanished. Once more, he savored the gentle warmth of being cradled in that palm. His male god’s hands were the hands of his dreams—slender fingers with clearly defined knuckles. Even the callus on the index finger, probably from handling a gun or something similar, only added to his rugged charm.
Ah, to be held like this for the rest of his life, even if he stayed a bird forever—that would be more than enough.
Ding! The system chimed with good news. Satisfaction levels had skyrocketed, negatives wiped clean to zero. For the first time, it reached 5 points, taking its first step toward the passing line.
~~~
