Chapter 6: City Bureau

“Up on the coffee table.”

This time, Bai Yiyi pretended not to understand and stayed curled quietly in Yan Tuo’s palm.

He had no intention of exposing himself completely. After some thought about how much his owner could accept, he decided to play at the intelligence level of a two- or three-year-old child. He’d obey simple commands, but complicated ones would depend on his mood.

Yan Tuo wasn’t sure if he felt disappointed or relieved. He didn’t push the little guy any further, just set him down on the coffee table and started unpacking the parcel at hand.

It was the cuttlebone wind chime and bird food he’d ordered a couple of days ago. As soon as he opened the box, Tangyuan flapped over to perch on top, peering curiously inside.

Yan Tuo took them out and sorted through them. He walked over to the birdcage and found an empty spot next to Autumn on the top, hanging the chime securely in place.

The bird food came in a huge bag, all colorful and apparently no different in quality from what he’d bought before, so he set it aside for now. But the fresh mealworms were harder to stomach than he’d imagined.

According to the bird care guides, nearly all birds loved these nutritious, artificially bred insects. They resembled newly hatched silkworms but were much thicker, wriggling in segmented, yellowish lengths that crawled densely over the entire plastic container. Glancing at Tangyuan, who had suddenly darted to the corner of the sofa, and remembering the disastrous earthworm feast last time, Yan Tuo suddenly wondered if he’d done something stupid.

But he’d already bought them, so he had to at least try. He didn’t dare offer too many at once, just picked up two small ones on his fingertip and slowly approached the little white ball.

“Cheep cheep!” came two panicked cries.

The little guy flew straight up to hang from the ceiling light, clearly terrified.

Yan Tuo got the message and mentally struck all insects from Tangyuan’s menu. He dumped the container of mealworms straight into the trash.

After a second thought, he fished them back out, uneasy, and headed downstairs to throw them away properly. Only then did he turn back to his pet with a teasing remark. “I thought you just didn’t like earthworms, but turns out you hate all bugs. You really don’t take the usual path, do you?”

Bai Yiyi had nearly passed out at the sight of that container of breadworms. He wasn’t a real bird, after all—how could he digest something like that? Just looking at them gave him the creeps, let alone eating them. It had scared him half to death.

Thank goodness his owner was reliable enough to notice after a couple of dodges and dispose of them quickly. Otherwise, if they’d been left in the food dish like last time, who knew if he’d get another fright and drop back into negative points.

Yan Tuo settled at the desk as usual and opened his laptop. Bai Yiyi landed on his shoulder, ready to mooch some internet.

His eyes had barely glanced at the screen before he let out an involuntary “cheep cheep”—holy shit.

It was just too shocking.

His owner wasn’t browsing the web; he was studying several crime scene comparison photos.

Lucky for Bai Yiyi, he’d been hardened by years of gory seinen manga. Even catching sight of these brutally real images, he managed to stay steady on the man’s shoulder without his legs giving out.

Yan Tuo heard the chirp and glanced over, but a bird was just a bird, no matter how smart. He didn’t pay it any mind and kept staring fixedly at the pictures, lost in thought.

Four photos arranged in a grid, four victims—all apparently on the skinny side, all men. Their hands were bound behind their backs with zip ties, plastic bags over their heads to obscure their faces, bodies covered in haphazard wounds. The clothes tangled messily around their exposed lower halves clearly indicated what they’d endured before death.

A serial rape-murder case? And all the victims were men?

In this world, boys weren’t safe out there either.

If Bai Yiyi could have shifted back to human form right then, his face would have been as pale as a corpse.

Real photos weren’t like the stylized art in comics, chasing some violent aesthetic. These were crude, cold, and brutal in their simplicity, each one representing a life snuffed out. The raw authenticity hit like a punch, enough to make any normal person’s hair stand on end.

What hit hardest was how the scenes reminded him of that creepy neighbor uncle from his childhood, the one with the fake smile. The guy had thought Bai Yiyi was pretty and took advantage of his youth and naivety—hugs and gropes at first, then pinning him down in the little park for a forced kiss. If a patrolling officer hadn’t shown up right then, he might have ended up as one of those photos himself.

That incident had cast a huge shadow over his childhood. It was probably why he’d grown so afraid of people, even developing his uniform fetish as some subconscious influence.

Pushing down his discomfort, Bai Yiyi stared at the photos just as intently as Yan Tuo, scrutinizing the details.

The phone rang abruptly. Yan Tuo answered promptly. “What is it?”

In the quiet room, Bai Yiyi faintly caught fragments from the other end: “…sixteen hours… little celebrity… leak…”

“Got it. Notify Criminal Investigation Team 1 and the Technical Group to the scene. Have the Intelligence Department handle public opinion control. I’m heading out now.”

After those curt words, Yan Tuo shot to his feet. Bai Yiyi swayed, nearly tumbling off, and clawed at the epaulet for purchase while flapping his wings to steady himself before perching firm.

Yan Tuo quickly packed up his laptop. Cupping his pet gently, he returned it to the cage. “Tangyuan, be good and stay home.”

With that, he didn’t linger. In two long strides, he was out the door.

Some emergency case must have cropped up, Bai Yiyi figured, feeling a twinge of sympathy.

The guy had come home so late, barely had ten minutes to unwind, hadn’t even changed clothes or confirmed if he’d eaten, and now a single call sent him rushing back to the scene. No wonder ordinary folks like him could live so carefree—someone always stepped up to carry the heavy load.

Yan Tuo didn’t return for a full day and night. When he finally did, it was eleven at night the next day.

This time, it wasn’t just chirps of welcome. The moment the door shut, a white ball came zipping like a swallow returning to the nest, landing steady on his shoulder and deliberately rubbing its fluffy head feathers against his neck.

A perfect picture of longing after days apart.

After two sweltering days pounding the pavement in the scorching sun, Yan Tuo felt like he reeked of sweat. He hadn’t expected the little guy to not mind—in fact, Tangyuan seemed even more clingy than usual. His exhaustion lifted a bit, and he rubbed the bird’s belly in response.

After a quick five-minute battle in the shower, Yan Tuo started packing his clothes.

This case had massive, terrible repercussions, and the brass had given them a brutally tight deadline. His team had been chasing leads nonstop. It made more sense for him to stay in the office coordinating, just like before—info sharing, issuing orders, all faster and smoother that way. He was just a single guy anyway; one full belly fed the whole “family.”

That thought made Yan Tuo pause. He glanced at his little pet perched on the nightstand, watching him pack. What about Tangyuan?

After some consideration, with no telling when this would wrap up, it’d be best to leave the bird with Hongqing for a few days.

He dialed, and it rang several times before someone picked up, voice rough with heavy breathing and clear irritation. “…Yan Tuo, for fuck’s sake, be human. It’s the middle of the night…”

“…Can you talk?”

“Shit, life or death moment—whaddya think? What’s up?”

He’d clearly interrupted the guy’s late-night activities, but the fact that he’d answered meant he was worried it might be urgent.

Yan Tuo felt a bit awkward but pressed on. “It’s not a big deal. I’ve got urgent business and wanted to leave Tangyuan with you…”

Before he could finish, there were a few urgent moans on the line, followed by his buddy’s rapid-fire retort. “Fuck, give me half—no, a full hour, then I’ll call you back. Hanging up.”

That beast was hopeless.

Yan Tuo set the phone down and looked at the white ball that had flown back to his shoulder, gripping tight and refusing to let go. He sighed helplessly. “How about you come with me? …You have to behave, though.”

“Cheep.”

Twenty minutes later, Yan Tuo arrived back at City Bureau with his single-shoulder bag and birdcage in tow. In one corner of the detachment’s office hall, five or six colleagues clustered around Instructor Zhao Ge and Criminal Investigation Team 1’s Captain Cao Yiman. The heavy smokers puffed away, deep in case discussion.

Yan Tuo called out casually, “Air-conditioned room, guys—go easy. And there’s a lady present.”

Sun Lei, who was brewing coffee for everyone, flashed two sweet dimples. “Captain Yan, back already? Coffee?”

“Sure, leave it on my desk. Thanks.”

Yan Tuo nodded, then jerked his chin at the slightly pudgy instructor. “Zhao Ge, why’re you still here? You’re admin—why burn the midnight oil with the frontliners? Don’t make your wife storm in and chew me out again.”

The circle of burly guys erupted in knowing laughter. Zhao Ge shot back, “What’s wrong with admin? We can’t crack cases? Revolutionary work doesn’t discriminate by role. Don’t forget, we trained together—you cops, first scene you worked, I was the one who took you.”

Yan Tuo admitted calmly, “Yeah, had to be you. I didn’t have my license yet, and you were the only driver left on the team.”

Zhao Ge was fuming, jabbing his cigarette hand emphatically. “…You little shit, stubborn as a mule, huh? Don’t set foot in my house again—don’t let my wife make you that pickled fish!”

The laughter swelled. The long-running banter between the instructor and Deputy Detachment Captain Yan had entertained the City Bureau’s criminal investigation crew for years as prime after-dinner diversion.

From police academy classmates to colleagues, their decade-plus of side-by-side work had forged a bond where they could curse each other to their faces and take a bullet for one another behind the scenes.

Yan Tuo just smiled, didn’t keep bickering, and carried the birdcage to his office. He set it down in a spot by the window—ventilated and shady—then removed the cage cover so Tangyuan could get some air.

Sun Lei walked into the office carrying a cup of coffee and immediately spotted the white fluffball in the cage. “Oh my!” she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she hurried over.

“Captain Yan, this… this bird is just way too cute! Did you give it a bowl cut?”

Sun Lei spoke with wide-eyed curiosity. She could hardly believe that Deputy Detachment Captain Yan, the epitome of a tough guy, had brought such an adorable pet to work. His towering 1.9-meter frame next to this tiny puff less than ten centimeters across created the ultimate contrast in cuteness.

Pleased that someone had praised his pet, Yan Tuo explained, “It’s a crested canary. It naturally looks like this.”

“Aah, so adorable! Fluffy little white ball—I just want to poke it!”

Yan Tuo glanced at Sun Lei, who was practically squealing in delight. He couldn’t fathom why this usually efficient and no-nonsense policewoman was acting like a fangirl who’d just spotted her favorite idol—all over a pet bird, no less.

Bai Yiyi, inside the cage, was thinking much the same thing.

The girl’s overly enthusiastic stare was too much for him to handle. He wanted to duck into his nest and hide; out of sight, out of mind—hopefully she’d leave.

But he had seriously underestimated the gossip value of Yan Tuo bringing a bird to work. In mere moments, the City Bureau—despite it being 1 a.m.—erupted into a frenzy of office-hopping visitors, all eager to catch a glimpse of the little celebrity bird.

Even the night-shift crew in the Technical Group caught wind of it. Little Liu, the bespectacled and unassuming intern officer, stood shyly at the door to the deputy captain’s office. “Captain Yan, I… I want to see your bird!”

Zhao Ge, who was standing right by the cage, couldn’t hold it in and burst out with a weird “heh heh” chuckle.

Both the owner and his pet frowned.

The words were technically correct.

But damn, did they sound wrong.