The morning came quietly, as if afraid to wake what the night had left behind.
The curtains swayed in a faint wind; sunlight, pale and uncertain, spilled through the window, laying gold on the unmade bed. Zhao Liren stirred, one hand reaching toward the side where Qin Yuelin should've been. The sheets were cold.
His eyes opened instantly.
"Li An?"
No reply.
He sat up fast, heart knocking once... twice... before he swung his legs over the bed. The room felt emptier than it should. His mind flooded with images ... last night, the fear, the shadow, the box.
He rushed out.
Then stopped.
There, on the couch, lay Qin Yuelin.
Asleep... soft, fragile, breathing in slow rhythm. The early light kissed his face, tracing over every quiet curve. For a moment, Zhao just stood there, his chest loosening with a long exhale. He walked closer, each step slower than the last.
Qin Yuelin's hair had fallen across his eyes. His lips were parted slightly, the faintest shade of pink against his pale skin. There was something almost unearthly about him... like sunlight trying to touch snow. Too beautiful. Too human and not human at once.
Zhao knelt beside the couch.
He hesitated... then reached out, brushing his fingers through Qin Yuelin's hair.
"Hey," he whispered, voice soft enough to be mistaken for the breeze. "You'll catch a cold like this."
The touch was gentle, tracing over the curve of his temple, a brother's affection wrapped in guilt and care. The kind of touch that said I'm still here. You're still safe.
Qin Yuelin stirred. His lashes fluttered, the faint tremor of a dream fading away. When his eyes opened... storm-gray flecked with silver... they caught the light like glass half-filled with rain.
"Zhao…" his voice was husky, fragile from sleep.
"Morning," Zhao murmured with a smile that barely hid the exhaustion beneath. "You scared me for a second. Thought you disappeared on me."
Qin Yuelin sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. "You were sleeping. I didn't want to wake you."
Zhao leaned back on the couch beside him, exhaling softly. "Yeah, well, you did anyway. Guess I'm not good at peace when you're not in sight."
Qin Yuelin looked at him... quiet, unreadable... then said, "Did Shen Lian come back?"
Zhao hesitated. "Not yet."
The air in the room tightened again.
Qin Yuelin's brows furrowed slightly. "Can you call him? Maybe he's still… out there."
Zhao sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "You sure? He's probably still working."
"Please," Qin Yuelin said softly.
There was something in the way he said it... the weight of last night still clinging to his tone. Zhao didn't argue. He grabbed his phone and dialed.
The call connected after a few seconds... then a rough voice exploded through the speaker.
"What do you want now, you fucker!" Shen Lian's voice was hoarse, sharp with exhaustion. "I'm fucking working! If this isn't important, I swear I'll-"
Zhao pulled the phone slightly away from his ear. "Good morning to you too, detective," he said flatly.
"Don't 'detective' me, Zhao. I haven't slept, I've got blood under my nails, and a whole city to tear apart!"
Zhao's jaw tightened, but he forced calm into his voice. "Li An asked me to call you, alright? Mind your damn tone."
There was silence.
Shen Lian's breath slowed. When he spoke again, the bite in his words had dulled... almost like he'd forgotten what he was angry about.
"He… asked?"
"Yeah," Zhao said, glancing at Qin Yuelin, who was watching anxiously. "He's worried. You've been gone since yesterday."
On the other end, Shen's hand tightened around the phone. The fatigue behind his eyes burned deeper. "I'm not free to talk right now," he muttered finally. "I'll be back soon. We can talk when I'm there."
The line went dead.
Zhao stared at the phone for a moment, shaking his head. "That man's a storm in human form."
Qin Yuelin frowned. "He sounded… angry."
"He always does," Zhao replied. Then, more softly: "But I think he's just tired."
Linhai City still hadn't shaken off the night.
Fog curled between the buildings, and the streets wore the dull sheen of rain. Shen Lian stood near the cordoned-off area, cigarette burning low between his fingers. The air smelled of iron and asphalt.
He hadn't slept in thirty hours. His mind was running on caffeine, adrenaline, and stubbornness.
He wanted the report to be wrong... desperately. He wanted the blood on his sleeve to belong to someone alive, someone real.
He wanted the ghost of the dead man not to exist.
A voice cut through his thoughts. "Detective Shen!"
He turned sharply. One of his team members was running toward him, breathless, panic in his eyes. "We found something!"
Shen dropped the cigarette and followed him without a word.
The alley they entered stank of damp concrete and rot. The light was dim... barely cutting through the haze. Then he saw it.
A man... early twenties, maybe... tied up, wrists and ankles bound with rough cord. His head was slumped forward, dark hair plastered to a face covered in bruises. There was duct tape sealing his mouth, blood crusted at the corners.
He was still breathing... barely.
For a moment, nobody moved. Then Shen's voice broke through the stillness, sharp and furious.
"What the hell are you all waiting for?" His shout cracked through the alley, echoing off the walls. "For him to die? If you saw him, you help him! Are you waiting for me to tell you that?"
The officers startled into motion, rushing forward. Shen's fists clenched at his sides.
He crouched beside the man, carefully peeling back the tape. "Hey. Can you hear me?"
No answer... only a faint, trembling sound, like breath trapped in pain.
"Get a medic here now," Shen barked. "And don't touch the ropes yet. We need prints."
He lifted his gaze slightly, scanning the bruises... too clean, too precise. This wasn't random violence. It was a message.
And Shen didn't like the handwriting.
Back at the apartment, sunlight had climbed higher.
Zhao Liren was at the kitchen counter, half-dressed for work, phone pressed between shoulder and ear. Qin Yuelin sat on the couch, quietly watching him.
"Yeah, Dad," Zhao was saying, his tone oddly careful. "I know you want to help, but… no, he's not really in the right headspace for..."
He stopped, listening. His father's voice carried through faintly... stern, convincing.
Finally, Zhao sighed. "Fine. I'll ask him."
He ended the call and looked over at Qin Yuelin, who blinked at him questioningly.
"My dad wants you to work with us," Zhao said. "Construction management. He says you've got the degree, the mind, the discipline."
Qin Yuelin looked surprised. "Me?"
Zhao nodded, sitting beside him. "You need something to focus on. Something outside… all this. You can't keep drowning in fear."
"I…" Qin Yuelin hesitated, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt. "I don't know if I can handle people right now."
"You'll handle it," Zhao said gently. "You're stronger than you think."
For a moment, they just sat there. The world outside hummed with morning sounds... cars, voices, the city waking up. It almost felt normal.
Then the door opened.
Both of them turned.
Shen Lian stepped in.
He looked like he'd walked straight out of a battlefield... coat damp, eyes shadowed, jaw set tight. There was a thin cut near his neck, and exhaustion clung to him like a second skin.
Zhao straightened instantly. Qin Yuelin rose too, guilt flickering through his expression.
Shen didn't speak right away. He removed his gloves slowly, dropped them on the counter, and exhaled. "Water," he muttered.
Qin Yuelin was already moving... quietly fetching a glass, filling it, bringing it to him with both hands. Shen took it, their fingers brushing for a second... cold against warm.
He drank, then set the glass down.
His eyes met Zhao's.
"We need to talk."
The tone in his voice was stripped of anger... what remained was heavier, something that carried the weight of the unknown.
And just like that, the fragile calm of morning cracked open again.
END OF THE CHAPTER.