Chapter 11: Entering the Police Station

Chapter 11: Heading to the Station

Li Zhangyu zipped up his leather jacket. "Why are you taking my student back to headquarters?"

Guan Yingjun replied, "He’s involved in this case. Besides, aren't you planning to have him work as a consultant? I'll take him to meet the team first."

Li Zhangyu almost rolled his eyes. "You're just going to introduce him to your team like that? That's not how it's done. I’m not letting you take Jian Ruochen by yourself—I'm coming too."

He didn’t want to risk someone with a bad temper bullying the young man.

Guan Yingjun didn’t object and went to pay the bill at the counter.

Jian Ruochen glanced at the receipt and was surprised to see that the three of them had spent 4,000 dollars. Lamb shanks at 900 dollars each were 4.5 times more expensive than noodles, and even a pair of grilled chicken wings cost 50 dollars. This meal had pretty much cleaned out Guan Yingjun’s worn leather wallet.

While the customer was paying, the eager-to-please errand boy quickly explained the situation to the manager, pulled the car around quickly to the entrance, and looked eager to get going.

Li Zhangyu motioned to his own waist and said to Jian Ruochen, "You and Guan Yingjun take the back seat. It’s not very spacious, and if I sit there, it’ll be too crowded."

Jian Ruochen didn’t want to sit next to Guan Yingjun, but he also knew it wouldn’t be appropriate for a teacher and student to sit leg-to-leg. If anyone saw, it could lead to gossip. Reluctantly, he agreed and scooted into the inner seat.

He tried to fasten his seatbelt but found that the rear seatbelt hadn’t been used in a long time—it was tucked deep into the seat crevice, difficult to pull out. He gave up.

As soon as Guan Yingjun sat down, the once-spacious back seat instantly felt cramped. His long legs couldn’t fit comfortably side by side and had to spread apart to fit into the space between the front and back seats.

Jian Ruochen, trying to maintain a basic social distance, was squeezed almost against the car door.

But soon, that distance was shattered by the driver’s daredevil driving.

The Toyota sped off toward the West Kowloon headquarters.

During a sharp turn, Jian Ruochen was thrown to the right by inertia. First, his temple knocked against Guan Yingjun’s shoulder, then he slid downward, ending up against the other man’s firm, well-built chest.

"Sorry," he said awkwardly, struggling to sit upright. He turned and mustered all his strength to fish out the long-unused seatbelt from the crevice.

The buckle clicked shut.

With the seatbelt fastened, Jian Ruochen had no choice but to sit in the middle of the seat.

The space he’d tried to leave for Guan Yingjun was gone, and now their legs were pressed right together.

Guan Yingjun sneaked a glance at his wristwatch.

At this speed, it would take another ten minutes to reach the police station…

For the first time, he found the journey back to headquarters agonizing.

Guan Yingjun held his breath slightly, but the faint scent of grapefruit still drifted into his nostrils. The subtle fragrance was overwhelmingly present, nearly overriding the smell of tea and tobacco in the air.

He cracked a window.

A cold breeze blew into the car.

Jian Ruochen glanced at him, then turned to look out his own window.

A burgundy-red double-decker bus passed by on the street. He’d only seen such buses on TV and his eyes widened in curiosity.

It was noon, and the shops lining the streets were open. Blue-background red-lettered and yellow-background white-lettered signs hung layered and staggered between buildings, reflecting brightly under the sunlight.

The traditional Chinese medicine shop they passed had hand-painted traditional characters on its facade. Red characters and white banners fluttered in the cold wind, occasionally brushing against the tall, curved streetlights.

The neon tubes and small bulbs adorning the signs lay dormant under the sunlight, shimmering with a faint gray glow. It wasn’t hard to imagine how vibrant they would look when lit up at night.

This was the unique charm of the 1990s—a bizarre, almost surreal kind of beauty.

Jian Ruochen watched intently, completely forgetting about social distance.

Their legs pressed tightly together, and even through the fabric, Guan Yingjun could feel the softness of untrained muscles.

He tried to shift slightly, but in the cramped space, his movement didn’t create any distance. Instead, his leg brushed against Jian Ruochen’s thigh.

The soft sensation intensified instantly. The air conditioning left his skin dry and irritable, stirring a restless heat within him.

Guan Yingjun grabbed a bottle of mineral water from the door’s storage compartment and chugged half of it in one go. Then he leaned back against the seat, exhaling calmly with an expressionless face.

After a moment, he turned to look at Jian Ruochen again.

The young man was still focused on the view outside, his expression full of novelty and his eyes sparkling brightly, like a high school student planning a spring outing.

These days, the back-and-forth battle between him and Jian Ruochen had made him frequently forget that this person was only nineteen, just started university, barely older than a high school student.

The car whizzed past a Roman-style building with a stone plaque at the entrance that read "Lingang New City Residence."

Jian Ruochen’s gaze followed it, and his thoughts drifted to Jiang Hanyu, who had taken a taxi and fled.

Jiang Hanyu should have returned to Jiangting Residence by now, right? He hadn’t minced words earlier, and he wondered how Jiang Hanyu would respond.

·

Jiangting Residence.

Jiang Hanyu changed into a thin white silk pajama set in the warm, spring-like room.

He stepped on the plush carpet, holding a freshly opened bottle of strong liquor, and picked up the heavy European-style telephone receiver on the coffee table to speak with Lu Qian. His voice sounded listless. "Brother Lu Qian, come drink with me."

He murmured dejectedly, "Brother Ruochen really doesn’t want me anymore…"

Lu Qian exclaimed, "You went to see him? Did he bully you again?"

Jiang Hanyu had initially been acting, but as Lu Qian’s words sank in, he recalled Jian Ruochen’s icy gaze and froze for a moment. "...He really doesn’t want me anymore."

Lu Qian’s heart tightened. He said word by word, "Why bother with him? Can your body even handle alcohol? Wait for me at home."

Jiang Hanyu said okay, but as soon as he hung up, he poured himself a glass and downed it.

One sip after another.

When Lu Qian returned, he found Jiang Hanyu slumped over the arm of the sofa, face flushed, eyes dazed, seemingly completely drunk. Tears streamed down his cheeks silently, drop by drop, a pitiful sight.

Jiang Hanyu stared wordlessly at Lu Qian.

Lu Qian shook out the blanket and covered Jiang Hanyu's exposed ankles. Glancing down, he noticed the strong liquor already nearly half gone, and a wave of anger washed over him. "Didn't I tell you—"

He had barely started speaking when a tear fell onto the back of his hand.

Lu Qian instantly softened. "Let it slide this time. Your health could take a turn for the worse at any moment—you can't drink like this."

Jiang Hanyu blinked. "It doesn't matter. I'm going to die sooner or later anyway."

Lu Qian clamped a hand over his lips. "Don't say such things. I won't let you die."

He paused, feeling weary. Since yesterday, he had been dealing with the Jiang Yongyan situation nonstop and was already exhausted.

"Where's your father? Why hasn't he come back to look after you?"

Jiang Hanyu pouted. "You know how he is—always buried in his work. He rarely comes home."

Lu Qian let out a scornful laugh.

Yes, always buried in his work, and so concerned with his reputation that he'd let the newspapers print such things.

He thought of the bold, black headline in the paper: "Jiang Mingshan Spends Lavishly to Save Butler, Suppresses Media—What Crime Did Jiang Butler Commit?"

It made sense that Jiang Mingshan would seize the chance to restore his reputation, but at a time like this, the best move was to cut losses and abandon Jiang Yongyan.

Once this report came out, it might not explicitly mention the Lu family, but it would draw public attention to the case itself. As soon as the police announced the results, both the Lu and Jiang families would be dragged into the mud!

Lu Qian reached out and ruffled Jiang Hanyu's soft black hair. "Don't overthink it. Now that Jian Ruochen has voluntarily called off the engagement, we'll get engaged once Jiang Yongyan's matter is settled. Just focus on getting better—don't waste your energy grieving over that ungrateful bastard. I'll take you out somewhere fun then, alright?"

As he spoke, he recalled Jian Ruochen's clear, perceptive eyes. He used to think they resembled Jiang Hanyu's, but now they seemed entirely different.

Jiang Hanyu's eyes were more innocent and childlike, while Jian Ruochen's gleamed with clever insight and wisdom—nothing alike at all.

Jiang Hanyu clung tightly to Lu Qian's fingers, avoiding the topic of engagement. His cheeks flushed, eyes drooping as he murmured, "How can I not grieve? He's my brother... He used to be so good to me, giving me anything I wanted..."

If it were the old Jian Ruochen, he would have given him his blood without hesitation.

---

"Ah-choo!"

As Jian Ruochen stepped into the West Kowloon Regional Police Headquarters, he tilted his head back and sneezed so forcefully his head spun.

Who? Who was scheming against him?

Jiang Hanyu? Lu Qian? Jiang Mingshan? Or Guan Yingjun?

Jian Ruochen turned his head.

Guan Yingjun met his gaze and, remembering the slightly opened car window earlier, raised a hand to touch his nose.

The patrol officer at the station guard post stood at attention and saluted. "Detective Guan!"

Guan Yingjun nodded, pulled a cigarette from his case, and tossed it over. His expression remained stoic—less like offering a smoke and more like Bao Zheng passing a verdict.

"Hard work," he said.

The officer caught the cigarette and tucked it behind his ear. "Just doing my duty."

Jian Ruochen hadn't expected someone as stern and imposing as Guan Yingjun to hand out cigarettes. Intrigued, he stared at his profile.

Guan Yingjun shot him a glance. "What are you looking at? You want one too?"

"No."

He didn’t even know how to smoke—why would he want one?

Guan Yingjun led him to the CID building, took him up to the top floor, and pushed open the door to Group A.

Inside, eight L-shaped desks lined the walls, piled high with case files. Brown paper folders and investigation records were stacked in heaps, some nearly level with the desktop.

The entire eastern wall was covered in whiteboards, with several photos pinned up using magnets. The one in the top left corner showed a patrol officer.

He wore a military cap, his eyes smiling warmly into the camera as he saluted with spirited confidence.

Guan Yingjun also stared for a moment, scanning the text on the whiteboard. "He's the officer who found Feng Jiaming's body."

"24 years old, a student at Hong Kong University, just like you. On the day of the incident, he learned he was being promoted from patrol officer to constable and would soon work inside the station. He was planning to visit his teacher to share the good news."

But now, it had turned into delivering tragic news.

As Guan Yingjun finished speaking, a figure emerged from an army cot tucked under the first desk.

The man squinted. "Detective Guan, you're here?"

He fumbled across the desktop, repeatedly brushing against precariously stacked files without finding what he was looking for.

Jian Ruochen spotted black-framed glasses hanging from the edge of the desk, picked them up, and handed them over. "Your glasses."

"Thanks, thanks." The man took them, breathed on the lenses, wiped them with his shirt, and put them on. A strikingly beautiful face came into focus.

He stared blankly. "You are? This area isn’t open to visitors. If you’re a celebrity here to film, you should discuss it with the Public Relations Section." So good-looking—which company is he from?

Guan Yingjun shot him a look. "He's with me. Teacher Li's student."

"Oh, oh, my apologies." The man's eyes lit up, and he smiled, extending a hand to shake Jian Ruochen's. "I'm Zhang Xingzong, CID officer."

Jian Ruochen shook his hand, smiling. "No need to apologize. You weren’t wearing your glasses—it’s natural you couldn’t see clearly. Are you a fan of Teacher Li? Would you like an autograph?"

Zhang Xingzong felt as though warm water had washed over him.

Wow, it had been so long since someone offered such a smooth way out—he never thought he’d experience it again today.

No wonder he was a student of Li Changyu, the king of behavioral analysis!

Those who study psychology really know how to talk!

Zhang Xingzong gripped Jian Ruochen's hand with both of his, shaking it excitedly. "Yes, please!"

Li Zhangyu took a marker, chuckled, and signed the back of Zhang Xingzong's work badge.

Guan Yingjun...

What? Handing over glasses, offering a conversational opening, getting an autograph—and just like that, you’re won over?

He frowned, suddenly regretting bringing Jian Ruochen here. His expression hardened, tone turning sharp. "What are you still looking at? Will holding that badge solve the case?"

Zhang Xingzong instinctively snapped to attention, well accustomed to being scolded.

Guan Yingjun tilted his head toward the door. "Go call everyone back. We’re having a meeting."