Chapter 62: Great Immortal, When Will Lu Qian Go to Jail?

Chapter 62: Immortal, Immortal, When Will Lu Qian Go to Jail?

Two days after returning from Kowloon Prison, the news of Jiang Mingshan's execution made headlines until New Year’s Day. Business owners throughout Hong Kong became noticeably more law-abiding, and a flood of people showed up at the tax office to pay back taxes, wearing out one money-counting machine in the process.

When Jian Ruochen saw this news, he realized he had indirectly caused the tax bureau to work overtime counting money. Feeling a pang of guilt, he rubbed his nose, rolled the newspaper into a small scroll, and tossed it into the recycling bin.

At 9:30, the doorbell rang.

Jian Ruochen opened the door to find Guan Yingjun standing outside, clad in a dark green trench coat.

The trench coat had a fluid, draping texture.

When the wind blew, the hem fluttered slightly, making him look refined and poised.

This was their first meeting since returning from Kowloon Prison.

Guan Yingjun looked down at the person wearing a goose-yellow fleece hoodie and gray sweatpants, paused for a moment, and said, "Let's go to Wong Tai Sin Temple."

"Mm." Just hearing the name of the place reminded Jian Ruochen of the straightforward, concise, and intense words Guan Yingjun had spoken repeatedly over the past few days.

It was like taking a bite of mint drenched in strong liquor.

He let go of the doorknob, sat on the small sofa in the entryway to put on his shoes, and his loose hair fell forward, swaying with each breath.

Guan Yingjun glanced at the exposed pale nape visible through Jian Ruochen's hair, thinking that the loose hair gave him an extra touch of lazy, everyday charm. "Why don't you tie your hair?"

"I don't know how. Butler Luo usually does it for me. He left early, probably to discuss server chip matters." As he spoke, Jian Ruochen stood up, gathered his hair to one side, hastily tied it back with a black hair tie, opened the change box on the shoe cabinet, took out a stack of thousand-dollar Hong Kong bills, and headed out.

There was no helping it—even though the thousand-dollar bill was the largest denomination in Hong Kong currency, it was the smallest amount of money in their household.

The daily change was always given by Butler Luo to the kitchen staff for grocery shopping, so he could only spend whole bills every time.

Guan Yingjun glanced at the hoodie pocket, which didn’t bulge much even after holding 100,000 dollars, and asked, "Have you been putting in the eye drops on time?"

"Yes." Jian Ruochen pulled out the bottle of eye drops he carried with him and shook it. "There’s about a third left."

The two walked over to the white Toyota.

Guan Yingjun opened the car door and got in, a hint of laughter in his voice. "So, when you said you were afraid of putting in eye drops, you were lying to me."

Adopting Guan Yingjun’s attitude over the past few days, Jian Ruochen replied frankly, "Mm. You’re allowed to suspect me, but I’m not allowed to lie to you?"

Guan Yingjun said, "I’ve said it before—you can do whatever you want to me."

His tone was matter-of-fact, as if he were discussing the weather, and his eyes remained fixed on the road as he drove attentively. "But it’s true that I want to help you with the eye drops."

Jian Ruochen: ...Guan Yingjun really is hardheaded and unwavering.

Once he sets his mind on something, he’ll run headfirst into a wall.

Once he sets his heart on someone, he’ll pursue them relentlessly.

So, subtly keeping his distance before had been useless.

Well, if it’s useless, then so be it.

Guan Yingjun could even make casual conversation feel both understated and striking.

Like a red-hot steel blade.

Jian Ruochen remained silent, instead reaching up to grip the seatbelt at his chest and turning to look out the window.

Since the last operation at Kowloon Walled City, where over sixty underlings were arrested and the area was thoroughly cleared out, the demolition progress had sped up significantly.

About half of the residents who previously lived there had moved into public housing villages and temporary residences provided by the government.

It wasn't just his imagination; the streets around Kowloon Walled City seemed much cleaner.

As he watched, a faint smile gradually curled at the corners of Jian Ruochen’s lips.

When he first arrived, he only thought about avenging the original owner’s grievances, then being a good police officer, repaying his motherland's nurturing, and living by the words he’d heard since childhood: "Serve the people."

But he had never really thought about how to do it.

He often wondered, what could a small police officer, like a screw, really change aside from fighting crime and improving public safety?

At the very least…

At least now, he had sped up the change in Kowloon’s most lawless district.

The British Hong Kong government was stirring trouble between Hong Kong and the mainland, with higher-ups colluding with gangsters to wreak havoc. The people were living in the pre-dawn darkness.

Robbery, murder, drug abuse, rape, gambling, and even forced recruitment to extort exorbitant protection fees.

Besides revenge…

Was there something more he could do?

A warmth spread in Jian Ruochen’s chest.

Before he could figure it out, Guan Yingjun’s voice came from beside him: “We’re here.”

Jian Ruochen unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car.

The archway of Wong Tai Sin Temple came into view.

Not far from the archway stood officers from the Kowloon Regional Police Department—some familiar, some not—gathered together as if for a team-building event.

After exchanging New Year’s greetings and catching up at the entrance, they entered in small groups once everyone had arrived to buy incense and pray.

Jian Ruochen’s gaze shifted and landed on Zhang Xingzong, waving enthusiastically from the west side of the plaque.

Zhang Xingzong had gained a little weight after just a few days at home, his upper body swaying as he waved. His old, clunky thick-rimmed black glasses had been replaced with silver half-rim glasses, making him look much more stylish.

He was almost unrecognizable.

Jian Ruochen walked over, hands in his front hoodie pocket, and said, “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” Zhang Xingzong replied, beaming so brightly his eyes disappeared into slits.

Team A's nine members gradually all arrived and followed Jian Ruochen and Guan Yingjun inside.

Ding Gao looked around and remarked, “Hey… last year when we came, our relationships weren’t this good.”

Team A members only come together during missions, unlike other teams who are as close as brothers.

But after Jian Ruochen joined, the relationships among the team members suddenly improved rapidly, and now they can even joke around with each other.

Their consultant seems to have a natural ability to bring people together.

Sizheng Liu rubbed his hands together and said, "It's because Detective Guan isn't as cold as before. In the past, when we visited Wong Tai Sin Temple, the leaders of other teams would bring four or five people with them, but our Detective Guan would just go alone, draw a fortune stick, and call it done—he wouldn’t even burn a single incense stick."

Zhang Xingzong had a handful of watermelon seeds in his pocket, cracking them as he walked. "I bet the boss will burn incense this year."

Bi Wanwan asked him for some seeds and curiously asked, "How do you know?"

Zhang Xingzong tilted his chin up. "Sir Jian looks like he's touring—it’s obvious it’s his first time here. Detective Guan will definitely teach him."

The two of them cracked seeds together, their eyes following Guan Yingjun and Jian Ruochen.

Zhang Xingzong even brought a small trash bag, tucked in another pocket, specifically for the shells.

Sure enough.

Guan Yingjun took two bundles of incense at the entrance and handed one to Jian Ruochen. "There are three halls in total. Burn three incense sticks at each hall and pay your respects."

"Okay." Jian Ruochen looked curiously at the steady stream of devotees in Wong Tai Sin Temple, following Guan Yingjun hall by hall, listening to his low voice introduce the Main Hall of Wong Tai Sin, the Three Saints Hall, and the Yu Xiang Ting.

Everyone was quite devout while offering incense, even Guan Yingjun was serious about it.

In Hong Kong, visiting Wong Tai Sin Temple during the New Year is a cultural tradition, not really about superstition.

Jian Ruochen held the incense, unsure what to wish for, so he repeated three times: "May there be favorable winds and rains, and the nation prosperous and its people at peace."

As he placed the incense into the burner, he heard Zhang Xingzong behind him devoutly muttering, "Promotion and a raise... promotion and a raise... make Sergeant... make Sergeant..."

Jian Ruochen: ...

He glanced sideways at Guan Yingjun, recalling what he had said a couple of days ago about whether blessings actually work.

So, was Guan Yingjun really asking Wong Tai Sin to bless Lei Jinwen's career?

After offering incense, it was time to enter the hall to draw fortune sticks and seek guidance.

While waiting in line for the bamboo cylinder, the officers kneeling on the purple-red cushions looked calm, some even smiling.

Guan Yingjun held the bamboo cylinder and said, "After closing your eyes, silently recite your name, date of birth, place of birth, current address, your present situation, and what you seek. Finally, ask the deity for blessings and request Wong Tai Sin to grant you a stick."

Jian Ruochen took the bamboo cylinder just as a cushion became free.

He gave a push to Guan Yingjun. "You go first."

Guan Yingjun glanced down at him and went over to shake the stick.

The man knelt with his back straight, the hem of his long coat touching the ground.

His eyes closed, his face illuminated by the flickering light of incense and candles, his tall nose and straight eyelashes casting a shadow. When he wasn’t speaking or acting, he carried an aristocratic demeanor, though his usual demeanor often revealed a hint of roughness.

Was it because he had been undercover?

Jian Ruochen held the bamboo cylinder, still unsure what to ask Wong Tai Sin even after Guan Yingjun finished. It wasn’t until Detective Guan stood up that it came to him.

He stepped forward, knelt on the cushion, closed his eyes, and silently recited: When will Lu Qian be imprisoned?

Guan Yingjun noted down his stick number and returned the tube, his gaze lingering on Jian Ruochen.

The youth was only wearing a goose-yellow fleece hoodie today, the collar open to reveal a white round-neck undershirt. The pastel yellow made him look especially youthful, and with his eyes closed, hiding his sly, fox-like eyes, he almost resembled a high school student.

A gust of wind blew outside, and a light drizzle began to fall.

Jian Ruochen’s bamboo cylinder rattled, and a bamboo stick fell out.

Number 1.

He noted the number, then noticed the light rain outside, pulling his hood over his head before following Guan Yingjun to have the stick interpreted.

Wong Tai Sin Temple had dedicated interpreters. The free interpretation side had a long queue.

Jian Ruochen glanced up at the sky, feeling like heavy rain was coming soon, so he went to the paid service.

The interpreter was an elderly man with a wise demeanor and a long beard.

Jian Ruochen sat down in front of him. "Sir, how is it?"

"Number 1? The best fortune." The old man looked up at Jian Ruochen. "What did you ask?"

"I asked when a criminal would be imprisoned." Jian Ruochen smiled, his eyes curving. "Will it be soon?"

The old man chuckled. "Soon, definitely within a year. As for the exact time... well, heaven's secrets can't be disclosed."

"No wonder you drew this stick. 'The dragon and tiger meet at the opportune moment.' The ambitions you hold will be fulfilled, and you will reach a state of utmost goodness and joy. As the saying goes: 'Achieve success in all directions, everything goes as wished.'"

Great aspirations.

Jian Ruochen suddenly remembered what he had been thinking about on the way here.

What counts as a great aspiration?

The old man lowered his head to write the fortune interpretation, speaking incessantly. "Your primary income will see great gains, and you’ll also have a series of small gains in the near future. Are you in civil service? Your academic and social service efforts will be rewarded. Your fortune this year is excellent."

He concluded, "This stick is called 'Jiang Taigong Becomes Chancellor.' Very few people draw it."

*Thump, thump.*

His heart beat faster and faster.

Jian Ruochen looked at the interpretation and suddenly recalled the feeling when Lei Jinwen stood before him.

That intense desire to reach out and grasp something.

Right now, he was just a small consultant with limited power, unable to do much or protect many people.

In a place as complicated as Hong Kong, having money alone isn’t enough—you need the ability to flip the table.

The deep yearning in his chest gradually awakened, and the uncertainty he felt on the way to Wong Tai Sin Temple finally found its direction.

He would gradually climb up, eradicate the gangs that fled overseas before the transfer of sovereignty, and become the Commissioner—not because the Commissioner is awe-inspiring or because the single-digit license plate numbers are novel and flashy, but because the Commissioner has the complete authority to flip the table and take on criminal organizations.

Because the Commissioner can stand beneath the national flag during the transfer of sovereignty and have his name recorded in the training materials of police academies in Hong Kong and even mainland China.

Who could turn down such an opportunity?

He stood up, took the small red envelope containing the fortune paper handed to him by the old man, and pulled out a thousand Hong Kong dollars to pass over. "Thank you, sir, for guiding me."

The old man: ?

Puzzled: Huh? So much?

What did he even say?

He opened the drawer to look for change, but when he looked up again, the young man before him had already disappeared.

·

As Jian Ruochen stepped out, he happened to run into Guan Yingjun, who had just emerged from the other side.

Freshly bestowed with what felt like a "life plan" by the Wong Tai Sin deity, he was still riding the high and eagerly asked Guan Yingjun, "How did it go for you?"

Guan Yingjun smiled. "Not bad either."

Fortune slip number 11, a very auspicious sign.

He recalled the words of the divination auntie.

"Young man, what are you seeking this year? Career again?"

"No, this year I’m asking about a romantic relationship."

"If you seek it, you will surely find it. Rain or shine, it’s all joyous—a good sign. I remember you; last year your fortune still spoke of loneliness. Have you met a benefactor?"

"Mm."

"It seems his luck is strong and has influenced you. Your career will also fare well in the future, with notable achievements—no shortage of honor and merit. This fortune slip is called 'Emperor Wen of Han Appreciates Willows,' a reminder to balance work and rest. Even Emperor Wen understood the value of phased sleep—you should make sure to rest well too."

"I’ll keep that in mind."

Guan Yingjun mused for a moment, then reached out to adjust Jian Ruochen’s hat, his face full of curiosity. "Let’s go. The rain’s getting heavier."

Jian Ruochen blinked. "Aren’t we waiting for Zhang Xingzong and the others?"

"They said they’re going for barbecue." Guan Yingjun lifted his pager. "You’re on dietary restrictions—can’t eat that."

Sure enough, a message to that effect appeared on the gray-green display.

Jian Ruochen felt tempted but knew his health came first, so he reluctantly followed Guan Yingjun toward the parking lot.

Halfway there, a strong gust of wind swept toward them.

A cold raindrop landed on his cheek, followed by a downpour.

With no shelter nearby, the two had no choice but to lower their heads and sprint toward the parking lot.

The more they ran, the more the rain lashed at them, soaking half their clothes.

Jian Ruochen shivered in the rain. Before the sudden chill could fully set in, the rain lightened slightly. A warm trench coat was draped over him, using it as a makeshift raincoat held over his head.

Had his Detective Guan taken off his coat to shield him from the rain?

Jian Ruochen’s breath caught momentarily.

Guan Yingjun, only wearing a black undershirt, shielded Jian Ruochen from the driving rain, blocking the wind-driven downpour.

Heads down, the two hurried into the parking lot.

Fortunately, Guan Yingjun preferred parking in a parking spot accessible from three sides, so they reached the car quickly.

By the time Jian Ruochen pulled open the car door and got in, the trench coat had turned into a soaked raincoat, dripping wet. He took it off.

Turning his head, he saw Guan Yingjun, his hair dripping water at the tips.

The man was using a handkerchief to wipe his neck, managing the middle but missing the ends.

His black undershirt clung damply to his body, outlining his solid arms and chest. The car’s heater was turned up all the way, and faint steam seemed to rise from Guan Yingjun’s body.

Rain hammered against the glass, forming a sheet of water. In these conditions, the windows couldn’t be opened.

The rain sealed the car into a tight, enclosed little box.

After drying his hair, Guan Yingjun turned and noticed Jian Ruochen clutching his coat, his pale pink lips pressed tightly together.

Drops from the trench coat fell onto the floor mat beneath the passenger seat, slightly dampening the young man’s pants.

Guan Yingjun took the coat, rolled it up casually, and tossed it into the back seat through the space between the driver and passenger seats.

The man’s hair was still dripping.

Jian Ruochen felt a few droplets splash onto his face and wiped them away with a handkerchief.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the dark hair hanging by Guan Yingjun’s cheek was so damp it had formed damp strands, droplets trickling from the ends and seeping into the handbrake and gear shift, dripping into the gaps.

He quickly raised his hand, dabbing with the handkerchief.

Guan Yingjun turned suddenly and said, "You—"

Caught off guard, the handkerchief ended up landing on his face.