Three years had passed, but Lin Shanyan still remembered that moment clearly.
He had pushed open the door, steeling himself with the resolve to end things, having reaffirmed his determination to cut ties cleanly countless times in his heart.
They weren’t right for each other. It wasn’t safe. They shouldn’t continue.
Then there was Meng Duimo, standing in the kitchen with an apron tied around his waist and his sleeves rolled up, a cutting board in front of him covered in freshly chopped cabbage.
Sweat beaded on the man’s forehead, and his eyes lit up bright when he looked at Lin Shanyan.
In the end, Lin Shanyan hadn’t been able to say the words aloud, but they had broken up anyway.
As a prosecutor, he’d reviewed all sorts of contracts over the years.
Almost every one included a clause stating that in the event of force majeure, the agreement would be naturally voided.
Flash floods, fires, earthquakes, riots.
Sometimes Lin Shanyan’s gaze would linger for a long time on those four words: force majeure.
He wondered which side of their relationship had been the force majeure—the overt suppression from their bloodlines and the urge to kill, or really just the two of them, a pair of madmen throwing all caution to the wind, bleeding and hurting each other without end, unable to tell lust from pain as they sank deeper and deeper.
“Prosecutor Lin! New report’s here!”
A colleague bustled into the office, arms full of files. Lin Shanyan stood quickly and took them, murmuring his thanks.
“I should be the one thanking you,” the colleague said with a wry smile. “Word is, the case you’re on is a nightmare already, and here you are helping me review files too. It’s rare for you to get even two days off.”
“It’s no big deal.”
Lin Shanyan was the type to come in and work overtime even when he didn’t have to.
After blocking Meng Duimo, he just didn’t want to be alone.
The 3.25 Cult Case spanned too wide a scope, and several witnesses had flipped their statements after giving them. The pressure was already immense.
He ran like an overclocked machine, squeezing in time to help his colleagues on top of it all.
About four hours later, his superior suddenly clapped him on the shoulder.
“Little Lin.”
The young man jerked his head up.
“You’re pale as a ghost. Haven’t rested properly in days, have you? I heard you got snakebit on that last assignment too, and you didn’t even stay home to recover?” The leader’s tone was scolding. “It’s good to have a sense of duty and want to contribute more to the unit, but your personal life matters too. Go home now. You’re off for two days.”
“Really, it’s not necessary.”
“What, my word doesn’t carry weight anymore?”
Lin Shanyan finally set down his pen.
“Alright. Thank you, sir.”
He handed off his unfinished tasks, and the moment he stepped out of the office, he realized he still didn’t want to go home.
The young man ducked into the restroom. Moments later, a black-and-white Laughing Falcon burst from the building on flapping wings.
He had no idea where he was flying to. Zechuan City was enormous, a barren expanse forged from concrete and steel.
From a falcon’s perspective, the scattered patches of green forest were the places instinct craved most.
Part of his nature yearned to flee the city altogether, to a paradise of nothing but mountains and rivers.
But the Laughing Falcon beat its wings and veered inexplicably southward.
That direction led to the trendy enclave of the wealthy, with its new viral cherry blossom park and neighborhoods of sprawling standalone villas.
Lin Shanyan had long since grown accustomed to his animal instincts, but sometimes he still had no clue what they wanted. He simply followed the impulse and kept flying south.
Until, from two kilometers up, he spotted a cluster of figures slowly approaching an official car beneath a certain office building.
He recognized the second person in the line at a glance: Meng Duimo.
A biting wind separated them, along with vast canopies of sycamores and elevated walkways, blurring scents and outlines into abstract pixels.
But he knew. That was him.
Meng Duimo didn’t sense the sniper-like gaze from afar. After a brief chat with his leader, he climbed into the car.
He went about his routine work and life as usual.
A criminal investigation had hit a wall, so the leader had called in outside help. After leaving the scene, the group grabbed a quick meal at a nearby spot.
Later there was physical training: a run, a shower, then back to the office for the third round of cross-province meetings.
The man remained oblivious to the falcon circling high overhead in the distant sky.
It watched silently for three hours.
Sometimes from the clouds, sometimes from the upper branches of dense trees.
Meng Duimo on a solo night run. Meng Duimo at the window, headphones on as he reported in. Meng Duimo sipping coffee while scrolling his phone.
Lin Shanyan watched for a long time before muttering to himself, Do you have a problem?
The guy wanted to date you. You blocked him. Now you’re creeping around watching him.
Lin Shanyan, what the hell do you want?
The Public Security Bureau backed onto a forested hillside, and after dusk, the calls of night birds would ring out now and then.
Meng Duimo would occasionally glance out the window.
He knew none of those cries belonged to a falcon.
Dusky thrushes, spotted doves—but never that Laughing Falcon.
Lin Shanyan hid in the deep shadows woven by the branches and leaves, silent as a Holstein cat, not making a single sound.
He stood in the narrow corner, as if refusing to let that person see him no matter what.
Occasionally, colleagues knocked and came in, showing Meng Duimo scans of new evidence.
Some brought in milk tea and midnight snacks, specially sharing a portion with him.
Lin Shanyan thought that the man looked composed and steady, yet very lonely.
He inexplicably felt a bit relieved and turned to fly away.
Memories still grew wildly like weeds.
During the time they were dating, Meng Duimo would occasionally come home injured, but both were iron-willed workaholics who went to the office even on typhoon days without fail.
But once, Meng Duimo arrived fifteen minutes early after work and saw a pretty female colleague chasing out to give Lin Shanyan a bag of toffee.
She was actually already married; recently, on a whim, she had taken up baking, forcing the neighbors upstairs and downstairs to eat egg tarts for three days straight.
Lin Shanyan didn’t think much of it and didn’t notice someone’s faint jealousy.
Meng Duimo said nothing, even opening his mouth to accept the candy when his partner fed it to him.
Only much later, one day when he had a fever, he suddenly wanted Lin Shanyan to take him to work.
The young man measured his temperature with the back of his hand, frowning as he said, “I… take you to the office?”
“Aren’t you feeling unwell? Wouldn’t it be better to rest quietly in bed? If you’re worried about needing care, I can hire an hourly worker for you?”
Meng Duimo looked up at him like a big dog.
“I’m a snake. I can handle fever.”
Lin Shanyan: “…?”
“I just want to stick to you,” Meng Duimo said. “You really can’t take me to work?”
The young man was always very principled; he’d been the discipline committee member since elementary school and could still recite junior high school rules in his twenties.
Obviously, public institutions didn’t allow bringing animals inside.
But Meng Duimo could be considered a gray-area creature, existing in a state between human and non-human.
Lin Shanyan frowned for a long time before saying, “Then you have to be obedient—no running around, and no scaring others.”
“Of course,” Meng Duimo said. “I can sleep on your arm all day.”
It was late autumn. Lin Shanyan slipped on a loose sweater and gestured for the man to transform and come over.
The silver-white Ornate Forest Serpent crawled out from under the covers, its bright black eyes flicking its tongue at him.
It tentatively touched his palm, then slithered up along his wrist.
The dense sensation was a bit itchy, like sticky kisses.
Lin Shanyan trembled unnaturally but didn’t pull away, letting the half-meter-long Snow Leopard Tail Snake coil around him.
In front of the full-length mirror, not even his shirt showed the slightest bulge.
Little Snake slithered up from his elbow bend, deliberately nipping his collarbone as it passed.
Lin Shanyan hissed softly, knowing the other had held back, but still reached into his clothes to pinch the snake’s tail tip.
“Not being good, huh?” the young man said coolly. “If you’re not obedient, go back to bed right now. Plenty of fever medicine.”
Little Snake poked its head out from the collar, looking at him pitifully, not daring to struggle even with its tail pinched.
He tapped its head with his fingertip, straightened his hair and collar, and headed out.
Meng Duimo really did quietly accompany him to work the whole day.
He coiled around his wrist; occasionally, to avoid making him uncomfortable, he would sleep in the keyboard drawer—like the most obedient and sensible little snake in the world.
During lunch break, Lin Shanyan rubbed the bridge of his nose and lay on the desk, leaving a small gap between his cheek and arm bend.
Little Snake silently slithered into the gap, pressing face-to-face with him and curling up there, willing to be squished.
The young man opened his eyes and smiled. “You like me that much?”
He knew it was because the other had become clingy after getting sick, so he simply let him be.
Little Snake, squished flat into a round can shape, still quietly nodded.
By the time they got home, Meng Duimo’s spirits had improved a lot.
Still in snake form, he coiled around the steering wheel, riding the turns like a roller coaster.
Thinking back to the snake spinning with the steering wheel, Lin Shanyan couldn’t help laughing, then felt regretful.
He and Meng Duimo had too few photos.
If he’d known things would end up like this, maybe he should have taken pictures every day back then, capturing more moments.
Waking up again in the middle of the night, the young man felt cold all over, as if wound tight.
He’d had a nightmare but couldn’t remember the details.
Opening his phone, it was 4:50 a.m.
The movie on TV had ended, the screen frozen on the final credits.
Lin Shanyan sat in the darkness for a while, then got up to retrieve his takeout and turned on a lamp for himself.
The nightmare’s chill lingered like night sweats, slow to fade.
He had to start silently naming each food item again.
This is bean sprouts. Edible.
This is beef. Edible.
Anyway, he’s awake now—he won’t be eating that bastard.
Meanwhile, Meng Duimo had just gotten home.
He’d stayed late at the office, so he decided to sleep in tomorrow. He’d picked up some daily essentials from the supermarket on his way back.
It had been so long since he’d been home that a layer of dust coated everything, making the place look more like a staff dormitory than the break room at work.
Too drained to clean, he grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat alone on the balcony.
The neon lights had all winked out, leaving him in the dark—he was too lazy to flip on the lights.
The night breeze carried a touch of warmth, but there was no trace anymore of that faint predatory scent from something circling high overhead.
Meng Duimo took a couple of sips, and in the gentle haze of alcohol, he fired off a message to the guy who’d blocked him.
[Meng]: Asleep yet, Prosecutor Lin?
[Meng]: Shouldn’t you miss me a little?
[Meng]: Are you even human, Lin Shanyan?
[Meng]: Wife
An exclamation mark popped up with every message, synced in real time.
Meng Duimo ignored it and kept sending.
It was like hurling one-way bottles into the drift, and as the buzz deepened, so did the flood of words.
He started rambling about the rabbit the young woman at work kept, about getting an earful from a street vendor while working a case, about the die-hard victims in that cult investigation who just wouldn’t see reason, and about how the cafeteria slop was getting greasier by the day.
Halfway through, the beer was gone.
Still thirsty for more, Meng Duimo shook the empty can and sent Lin Shanyan one final message.
[Meng]: Can’t you like me just for a little while?
He froze for a second, noticing there was no exclamation mark this time.
[Lin]: ……?
[Meng]: ?
Emboldened, the man kept right on typing.
Lin Shanyan, can you like me for a bit?
Lin Shanyan replied with a voice message.
The moment it played, his voice came through lazy but still crisp and magnetic, the kind that made you want to pull him close and kiss him senseless.
“Meng Duimo, get some early sleep. You’ll find anything you want in your dreams.”
