Chapter 41: Holding Hands

Chapter 41: Hand in Hand

Li Zhangyu's compassionate gaze settled on Guan Yingjun.

He turned to the beverage station, pouring the remaining orange juice into a travel mug. "Xiao Chen, take some orange juice for the road."

Both were dear to him.

One was a child he had raised, the other his first and most promising disciple.

Li Zhangyu looked at Jian Ruochen's exquisitely delicate face and found himself unable to utter the words to persuade him to forgive Guan Yingjun. He could only say stiffly, "I've already had a word with him."

"Thank you, Teacher." Jian Ruochen took the travel mug with both hands, glancing at Li Zhangyu's hesitant expression. "Teacher, there's no need to feel awkward. I'm simply here to do a job for pay. Detective Guan and I have a purely transactional relationship."

His tone was calm and measured, detached to the point of coldness. "I'm receiving half of Detective Guan's salary, so I'll naturally fulfill my duties as a consultant. You don't need to worry about us. I won't put you in an awkward position."

Li Zhangyu was stunned.

Such remarkable emotional regulation—he was a natural talent for psychology.

It was a gift.

But for Guan Yingjun, this was hardly good news.

Jian Ruochen turned and said, "Let's go, Detective Guan."

The room was silent, not a sound to be heard.

Guan Yingjun looked down at him, his heart a mix of emotions. He barely suppressed the bitter ache inside, took a deep breath, and composed himself. "Let's go."

Li Zhangyu stared at Guan Yingjun.

Stubborn fool, still saying "let's go"?

Go where?

What?

Did he think love would just fall into his lap like a pie?

The gaze felt almost tangible. Guan Yingjun immediately reached for the orange juice cup. "Want me to carry that for you?"

Jian Ruochen glanced at him and released his grip. "Mm, thanks."

Free help—might as well take advantage of it.

Guan Yingjun took the cup, feeling a slight lift in his spirits.

As they passed the window where Jian Ruochen had paused upon arrival, he asked, "There's a shopping center near Jardine House. Would you like to go sometime? When would you prefer?"

"Let's talk after the case is solved," Jian Ruochen said flatly. "Given the current situation, it's unlikely we'll have time."

Guan Yingjun watched the person walking a half-step ahead of him.

Jian Ruochen was six or seven years younger, brimming with youthful vitality and ambition.

His face still held a touch of childishness, with a beauty that blurred gender lines. Every part of him seemed like exquisitely sculpted jade, even his hair exceptionally soft, like silk floating in the wind—breathtakingly beautiful.

The more he looked, the more the blaze in his heart intensified.

What "all business"?

He didn't want that.

Jian Ruochen was so likable—would he keep things purely professional with everyone?

Could he really stand by and watch Jian Ruochen stand beside someone else?

The lava in Guan Yingjun's heart churned, searing his insides, an agonizing torment.

He took a breath.

He should apologize first.

But apologizing was one thing; being accepted was another.

Jian Ruochen felt the intensity of that gaze, his mouth going dry, his eyelashes fluttering slightly.

Staring without saying a word.

Guan Yingjun's emotions seemed to have shifted.

What had Teacher Li said to him?

He glanced sideways at Guan Yingjun, startled by the intense stare and shrinking back slightly.

This expression he could understand...

Did Guan Yingjun like him?

Should he test the waters?

Jian Ruochen was intensely curious, feeling as if a cat were clawing at his insides.

Guan Yingjun opened the car door and got in, and the two hurried toward the location Zhang Xingzong had provided.

Red lights all the way.

Every time they stopped at a red light, Guan Yingjun would turn to look at Jian Ruochen.

After steeling himself for a moment, he suddenly said, "Uncle Li said you don't have dissociative identity disorder—it's just that your soul has been swapped."

Jian Ruochen was startled by this.

Teacher Li was that open-minded?

Then again, information flowed quickly in the FBI, and the U.S. had things like psychics and cults.

The FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit had done extensive research on such cases.

Guan Yingjun looked at his wide-eyed expression and smiled. "He also said he met a witch in the U.S. who could communicate with the dead and solved cases faster than he could."

Jian Ruochen let out an "oh" and nodded. "Teacher Li is indeed experienced and knowledgeable."

Guan Yingjun chose his words carefully. "I won't investigate you anymore. Please don't—"

The light turned green.

Guan Yingjun paused abruptly, pulling away and heading toward the crime scene. As he turned the steering wheel, he added, "Don't be angry. This time, the blame is mine."

"Mhm." Jian Ruochen said softly, "I'm not angry."

"Clearing suspicion and taking every detail in a case seriously is your job. I won't blame you."

The words were so gentle and understanding that Guan Yingjun almost felt as if his relationship with Jian Ruochen had returned to what it was before.

But there was a subtle difference.

Before, Jian Ruochen would lean against the car door, flirting shamelessly with sweet words. Now, not a single word was spoken.

Yet he thought this version of Jian Ruochen was just as good, like a proud, clever little fox.

Guan Yingjun parked the car not far from the crime scene tape, opened the door, and got out.

He paused mid-step.

On the first day he met Jian Ruochen, he thought: Anyone who lets their guard down around Jian Ruochen would have their heart captured, sweet-talked into a daze, utterly enchanted.

Now, he was the one enchanted.

The two walked to the entrance of the crime scene tape.

The patrol officer guarding the line immediately lifted the bright yellow tape. Guan Yingjun ducked under, then held it up higher to let Jian Ruochen through.

The West Kowloon Forensic Division was examining the scene. This case had first been reported to the district division but was transferred to the Regional Police Headquarters due to its extreme severity.

District police were still at the scene.

"Colin! Hand over the case files to the regional forensics, hurry up and stop dawdling!"

"Ah, I know—" Colin glanced reluctantly at Guan Yingjun, muttering under his breath, "Regional headquarters, regional headquarters—do they think they're a cut above? They take whatever cases they want. At this rate, when will we ever get a chance at a Second Class Merit award?"

Guan Yingjun was used to it and pretended not to hear, instructing, "Hurry up, don't waste time."

Though his tone was cold, it was still measured. Colin grew bolder.

He glanced at Jian Ruochen following behind Guan Yingjun, his eyes lingering on that beautiful head of light silver hair, and raised his voice, "Investigating a case is one thing, but why bring along a piece of eye candy?"

The paparazzi gathered outside the crime scene tape immediately sensed a story upon seeing the three in a standoff.

They raised their cameras, flashes blazing, clicking away incessantly.

In the 90s, flash attachments were add-ons. These paparazzi and reporters, eager to capture clear photos at night, didn't hesitate to equip their cameras with high-power flashes.

The barrage of lights flashed, and Jian Ruochen immediately squinted, his vision blurred into white streaks, leaving afterimages.

He quickly turned his back to the lights, tears welling up in his eyes from the glare.

Guan Yingjun turned around, scanning the paparazzi, his voice laced with controlled anger, "No unauthorized photography within 50 meters of a crime scene. Please leave."

Colin was startled, his suspicious gaze shifting between Jian Ruochen and Guan Yingjun, peaking when Detective Guan took a bottle of eye drops from his pocket and handed it over.

Late at night, the other members of the West Kowloon Region Serious Crime Unit had arrived separately.

Only Guan Yingjun came with this Jian Ruochen. Could they be living together?

He thought disdainfully: The Police Headquarters praises this civilian consultant as if he's some kind of god, but isn't it just about building him up?

After all, the Public Relations Section over there is best at this game. Even those no-talent local celebrities can be turned into public-facing officers well-versed in legal knowledge just by standing in front of a camera.

Sometimes, for appearances, they even send these people to the police academy for a while and give them the lowest rank.

Hype, that's all it is...

Jian Ruochen must have been hyped up the same way. What real skills could someone who hasn't even graduated from university or attended the police academy possibly have?

...

Jian Ruochen reached out to take the eye drop bottle from Guan Yingjun's hand, but his vision was filled with spots and afterimages, making it impossible to see clearly. His hand accidentally grabbed Guan Yingjun's thumb, mistaking it for the bottle and giving it a tug.

Guan Yingjun felt as if Jian Ruochen had grabbed his heart.

That simple, effortless pull left him tingling all over, his teeth aching.

He asked hoarsely, "Shall I put them in for you?"

Jian Ruochen had intended to refuse, but then he remembered his plan to test Guan Yingjun.

So he changed his mind, tilting his face upward, "Sure, I can't see clearly. You do it for me."

Guan Yingjun's breath hitched.

From this angle, with those half-hidden, tear-glazed eyes, it was enough to make one's heart race.

The tip of his tongue, visible between those thin lips, glistened with moisture, lightly tracing his pressed lips before retreating.

Guan Yingjun reached out, quickly prying Jian Ruochen's eyelids open with his fingers, and deftly squeezed in the eye drops.

Jian Ruochen kept his eyes closed for a moment, a hint of laughter in his voice, "Standing behind a patrol officer putting in eye drops—doesn't it feel like we're taking advantage of our positions to do something improper?"

After speaking, he immediately opened his eyes to observe Guan Yingjun's expression.

The afterimages in his eyes had vanished, his pupils startlingly bright.

Guan Yingjun's throat worked several times, his voice raspy, "What do you mean?"

Jian Ruochen took a step forward.

If he didn't figure this out today, his curiosity would keep him awake all night.

Detective Guan had tested and provoked him like that...

What harm was there in giving him a taste of his own medicine?

Jian Ruochen's heart raced slightly as he curved his lips into a smile, lightly placing his hand on Guan Yingjun's arm. He let it slide downward, brushing over the base of his palm, then his fingers, before finally lacing their fingers together. "I can't see clearly. Take me inside."

Guan Yingjun stood rigid, rooted in the darkness like a silent wax statue on the verge of melting.

He was grateful for the lack of light, allowing him to hide all his forbidden desires.

As he guided Jian Ruochen forward, Guan Yingjun spoke again, "I'm sorry. Today was my fault. I really shouldn't have tested you to that extent. Perhaps I should have talked to you before taking you to Tai Sheung Tok."

He held Jian Ruochen's fingers, his words coming faster and faster.

This was the first time he had truly held Jian Ruochen's hand, whereas before, it had all been an act.

This time, he was the one who wanted to hold it, using the excuse of guiding him.

He could've let go, but he didn't have the heart to.

Jian Ruochen whispered, "You don't have to hold on so tight."

He could see just fine and wouldn't stumble.

Guan Yingjun loosened his hold slightly, leading him toward the crime scene.

The hand in his palm was soft, not particularly small, with long, slender fingers—smooth and free of calluses.

Like a swimming fish.

Guan Yingjun lifted his chin a little, his mind wandering to much more inappropriate thoughts, yet in reality, he didn't dare utter a single extra word. Even his apologies were rehearsed carefully, weighed and reweighed.

Jian Ruochen followed him into the foul-smelling crime scene and quickly pulled his hand back.

Guan Yingjun grasped at nothing, his thoughts forcibly dragged back to reality.

"Guan Yingjun..." Jian Ruochen's smile faded, "You're something."

Ah, though it wasn't fully raised, it was definitely half-hard.

Honestly, when he reached out, he hadn't expected this to be the result.

After all, Guan Yingjun usually kept a cold, stern face, treating his team members and suspects with ruthless indifference.

Who would have thought that behind the scenes, he'd be so easily—forget it.

Thinking back further, Guan Yingjun had even managed to keep his cool while aroused, rushing to the Daishangtuo Quarry to investigate him.

Jian Ruochen: "...You're something."

Guan Yingjun: "Huh?"

"I said I shouldn't have tested you, and you say I'm something?"

Jian Ruochen: ...

He huffed a laugh, "Yeah, you're something."

Three "you're something"s, each with a different meaning.

Guan Yingjun detected the sarcasm in the last one and wasn't sure how to respond.

His gaze swept over the crime scene not far away, and all his messy thoughts instantly vanished.

Back to work.

Colin had been tagging along behind the two under the pretext of delivering case documents to Forensics.

His hearing wasn't great, so he couldn't make out what Guan Yingjun and Jian Ruochen were saying.

But he was convinced that Jian Ruochen was nothing but a pretty boy.

Hah, being so intimate with the head of Major Case Team A—there must be some quid pro quo going on!

He was determined to see how Jian Ruochen would "help." If it turned out to be a sham, he'd sell the story to the media and maybe even make some extra cash.

Come to think of it, this was Jian Ruochen's first field assignment where he'd see a corpse, right?

I wonder if the little consultant would vomit at the sight...

...

The crime scene was a rice shop. The sign above the door had red characters on a white background, reading "A Ji Iron Box Claypot Rice."

The wooden sign was peeling in places, the red paint uneven, with drips running down the strokes.

Like blood.

The floor in the back kitchen was sticky, coated in black grime. Every step made a sticky, squeaking sound, and it felt like your soles might get stuck with each lift.

Jian Ruochen's eyes fell on the wall of stacked takeout containers in the corner. The boxes were poorly sealed, some with blood dripping from the edges, dripping steadily.

Nearby, Zhang Xingzong had already vomited three times, his face pale and weak, looking utterly drained.

Seeing Jian Ruochen, he immediately stopped him, "It's too disgusting, don't look."

"I have to see it eventually. How else can we solve the case?" Jian Ruochen put on shoe covers, walked in, and stood before the wall of takeout containers.

There were endless lunch boxes in Hong Kong.

But ones that looked so much like the 1892 aluminum boxes were a first.

This quantity had to be mass-produced.

Jian Ruochen put on forensic gloves and, with permission from Forensics, lifted one of the boxes and opened it.

Inside was a bloody hand.

It was a woman's hand—pale, horrifying, lifeless, the flesh slightly swollen.

The nails were adorned with delicate manicures, the fingers plump, wearing an exquisite and expensive gemstone ring.

It must have been tossed into this box hastily after being severed.

The suspect likely intended to prep it properly later when needed.

"The ring wasn't taken. The killer probably wasn't after money."

Bi Wanwan, pale-faced, reported to Guan Yingjun: "The suspect sexually assaulted and killed the victim, then dismembered and deboned the body, cooked the meat, and sold it as claypot rice, roasted meat over rice, pickled vegetable steamed rice, and the like. Each box contained at least half a pound of meat."

He felt a wave of nausea rise in Jian Ruochen's throat.

He swallowed hard, lowered his gaze, and handed the box to Guan Yingjun. "This box and the aluminum one used for the drugs likely came from the same mold, probably the same manufacturer."

Fighting back the churning in his stomach, he turned to Zhang Xingzong. "Is this entire wall from one victim?"

Zhang Xingzong gagged beside him: "Yue— It's 16 people. We've found 16 right hands so far."

Colin, who had followed Jian Ruochen in hoping to see him make a fool of himself, took one look at the wall and the hand, let out a piercing scream, and then: "Gag—"

Jian Ruochen walked over and took out a handkerchief, offering it to him.

Colin grabbed the cotton handkerchief, his face red and neck flushed, squeezing out two words through gritted teeth, "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." Jian Ruochen held his breath.

Colin was stunned.

Was the Regional Consultant's personality really this gentle?

Puffing his cheeks out, he momentarily forgot to vomit.

Did Jian Ruochen not hear what he said outside?

Impossible. He hadn't bothered to keep his voice down.

Jian Ruochen must have heard.