Chapter 91: Let’s Keep Talking

Chapter 91 Let's Continue This

Water dripped from Guan Yingjun’s hair, falling onto the towel draped around his neck, creating a patch of damp warmth.

He looked down at Jian Ruochen. "This quilt hasn't been sun-dried. It's been stored under the cabinet the whole time. It's filthy."

Images of dust mites, scabies mites, and scuttling spiders flashed through Jian Ruochen's mind.

Goosebumps rose on his arms.

Guan Yingjun wiped the water from the side of his face with the towel; the anger he'd just suppressed flared up again.

He was holding back, not even bringing it up, afraid they wouldn't make it to the end.

Afraid Jian Ruochen would regret it after two months.

And what about Jian Ruochen? Did he already know this relationship wouldn’t hold its novelty past two months, so he was being so cautious, drawing such clear lines?

Jian Ruochen shoved the quilt further away. "I—"

Before he could finish, Guan Yingjun lunged forward, reached out, and the world spun before Jian Ruochen’s eyes.

Draped over the man’s shoulder, Jian Ruochen caught a whiff of his intense scent and was stunned.

What is he doing?

Guan Yingjun carried him to the bedroom, gripping the slick backs of his knees, bending down to place him on the bed. "You sleep here."

Jian Ruochen swallowed hard, glancing up at Guan Yingjun’s expression.

The man’s eyelids were lowered, his gaze averted, brows slightly furrowed, lips pressed tightly together, the muscles around his mouth tense.

It was an expression of restrained desire, mixed with a hint of frustration and sadness.

Tormented, longing, and a little aggrieved.

Jian Ruochen blinked, realizing Guan Yingjun had misunderstood.

It was the first time he’d seen such a complex expression on Guan Yingjun’s face.

Real and electrifying.

Another drop of water fell from Guan Yingjun’s hair, landing on the tip of Jian Ruochen’s nose.

The droplet slid down, collecting at the corner of his lips.

The youth lay in his bed; the sheets were black, his skin pale.

Jian Ruochen darted his tongue out and licked the droplet away.

Guan Yingjun closed his eyes, fire raging through his entire body.

He straightened up, his voice hoarse. "I’m going back to the police—"

His words cut off abruptly.

Jian Ruochen reached out, grabbed the collar of Guan Yingjun’s black T-shirt, and yanked him downward, then tilted his head up to meet him in a kiss.

They’d kissed once on the beach, and he felt like he’d gotten the hang of it, but kissing from this half-reclined position relied entirely on core strength.

He couldn’t hold himself up and started to fall back, only stabilizing when Guan Yingjun wrapped an arm around him.

Breaths mingled, the sheets twisting wildly.

Guan Yingjun’s rationality was nearly gone. At the last moment, he wrenched himself away fiercely from the breathless Jian Ruochen, holding him close, gently patting his back, and asked in a low voice, "What exactly do you want?"

Jian Ruochen buried his face in his neck, his nose pressed against the throbbing pulse, and chuckled softly. "Detective Guan seemed to have misunderstood just now. Me, I don’t let anger or misunderstandings carry over to the next day."

Guan Yingjun froze for a moment.

Jian Ruochen braced himself on his shoulders, rose to his knees to look directly into those eyes. "It’s not that I can’t, but we have a case to handle tomorrow, so not today. You do know your own limits, right?"

Though he didn’t know if Guan Yingjun was sure, he was sure of himself.

Even a slight reaction from this man was that intense.

As a man himself, he absolutely did not want to stand next to Guan Yingjun in the restroom.

Guan Yingjun let out a shaky breath, leaned down, and kissed Jian Ruochen’s forehead. "My apologies, I misunderstood."

Only the bedside lamp was on in the bedroom.

Jian Ruochen touched his forehead, glanced down, and suddenly laughed. "Shouldn’t have let you eat lamb."

Guan Yingjun narrowed his eyes, grinding his teeth.

"Guan Yingjun." Jian Ruochen looked up, earnest, his eyes shimmering with tenderness. "There’s no two-month limit anymore. Let's continue this."

Guan Yingjun was completely stunned.

He’d expected Jian Ruochen to pick up on some of his thoughts, but he hadn’t expected him to lay everything out crystal clear.

Guan Yingjun placed one knee on the bed, kneeling, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on the person before him, his eyes turning red.

Love seemed like a complicated emotion.

When you liked someone, both rationality and emotions became so unstable, thoughts running wild, yet like a kite, tightly held in the other person’s hands.

Jian Ruochen hooked a finger into the elastic waistband of Guan Yingjun’s pants, forcing composure. "I can’t, but... my hand can."

Guan Yingjun looked down at the finger hooked into the elastic.

Pale and clean, even while doing such a thing, it still carried a sense of condescension.

Guan Yingjun intertwined his fingers with Jian Ruochen’s, peppering him with light kisses.

He could never like anyone else in this lifetime. He was willingly done for by this person; even if he were sold, he wouldn’t utter a word of refusal.

Jian Ruochen looked up at Guan Yingjun, thinking his eyes looked wet, as if he were about to cry.

Both their breaths were heavy, awkward and inexperienced.

Jian Ruochen wasn’t very skilled, without technique or sense of pressure.

Guan Yingjun hissed, the hand intertwined with Jian Ruochen’s loosened, moving downward as he murmured, "You’ll be the death of me sooner or later."

Jian Ruochen glanced at him.

His amber eyes shimmering, Guan Yingjun couldn’t take it anymore, grasping his hand. "Let me teach you."

Jian Ruochen urged him, "Spill it already."

"Interrogating me?" Guan Yingjun chuckled, delivering a line that was half-teasing, half-suggestive, "My bones are quite tough."

Jian Ruochen blinked, then leaned up to kiss him again, pressing his lips against his Adam's apple and nipping playfully.

Interrogating criminals was mental work; interrogating Guan Yingjun was a workout.

They only stopped when they were worn out.

By the latter half, he was frustrated too, finally understanding what it felt like for a man to hold back from his desire.

But he didn’t have the energy to go for what he wanted anymore. Lying on the bed staring at the ceiling, he was dead tired.

Guan Yingjun picked up the towel that had fallen during the action and cleaned Jian Ruochen's hands. Then he bent down to look at him before leaning down toward him.

Jian Ruochen was suddenly startled, blood rushing to his head. He choked back half a sentence of refusal.

The ceiling blurred into doubles.

He never knew Guan Yingjun could be so daring, so bold.

Damn, isn't this the '90s?

Doesn’t Guan Yingjun still wear an undershirt under his button-down?

Jian Ruochen sleepily reached up, grabbed his hair, then wearily closed his eyes.

The last thought flashing through his mind was:

The peach was pretty tasty after all.

Guan Yingjun swallowed, got up, wringing out the towel and tidying up. Jian Ruochen’s face was half-buried in the pillow, his hair spread out. Against the black pillowcase, his skin looked both pink and pale.

So beautiful, how could anyone be this good-looking?

...

The next day, Jian Ruochen was woken by the sweet scent of pineapple buns.

When he got up and saw the minimalist, sterile decor of the room, his head was still fuzzy.

So much for "cold."

Why on earth did designers give this kind of decor such a misleading name?

He felt like he couldn’t even hold chopsticks today.

After washing up, Jian Ruochen saw the towel crumpled in the trash and felt himself blush.

Walking into the living room, he heard the sound of the front door open. Guan Yingjun came in carrying plastic and paper bags, inside of which was a pair of cotton slippers that were just his size.

Jian Ruochen slipped them on and asked, "What time did you get up?"

"Six," Guan Yingjun said, handing him the paper bag. "Clothes. Yesterday’s aren’t dry yet."

There was a hint of laughter in his eyes, but his face remained stoic, giving no indication that he’d sipped peach juice the day before.

Jian Ruochen didn’t bother with pleasantries. He changed into the clothes, sat down at the dining table, and used his left hand to hold a fork, polishing off pineapple buns for brunch.

Eleven o’clock.

The two went to the police station together.

They’d been told that Jiang Hanyu wasn’t due at Police Headquarters until after noon. The team members from Groups A and C had been busy along the riverbank all day yesterday and were too exhausted to come in that morning.

Guan Yingjun sat in his office sifting through other evidence dug up from the riverbank yesterday.

There were three bank passbooks alone. Jiang Hanyu was like a burrowing rat—finishing one spot and moving to the next.

Jian Ruochen lay sprawled on the nearby sofa, holding a folded A4 paper and jotting down notes with a ballpoint pen.

Jiang Hanyu didn’t know about the "fake vitamin B" but possessed the key to the locked controlled substances. This suggested he hadn’t looked inside the safe.

From his act of burying the safe key alongside the MI6 secret files, it could be deduced that Jiang Hanyu likely considered both items equally important and of similar nature. Otherwise, he would have hidden them separately, like he did with the bank passbooks.

So, could these two items have come from the same person?

Who, then?

Lu Rong, probably…

Currently, the only pro-British faction member Jiang Hanyu could contact was Lu Rong, unless someone from the British Hong Kong forces personally reached out to him.

It made sense that the British forces would want to target him now, since they’d already burned bridges.

But several months ago, the original owner had kept to himself and followed the rules—no reason to clash with the British.

Jian Ruochen pondered, then wrote four words on the white paper: "conflict of interest."

"Ring-ring-ring—"

The phone rang.

Jian Ruochen answered, "Hello?"

Luo Binwen’s gentle, refined voice came through the receiver, "Young master, did you sleep well?"

Jian Ruochen was jolted out of his thoughts, glanced sideways at Guan Yingjun, his ears growing warm. "Quite well."

At least he didn’t end up on the sofa.

"That’s good," Luo Binwen said. "Do you need me to pick you up and take you to the police station?"

"No need, I’m already at the station." Jian Ruochen didn’t know what to say and, afraid Luo Binwen would ask more, changed the subject. "Ah... Uncle Luo, I have something to ask you."

"Are there other heirs to my mother’s estate? Non-immediate relatives?"

Luo Binwen mused. "There should be one distant relative. He’s a tenured professor at the university—he doesn’t care about money and doesn’t need the inheritance. You have nothing to worry about."

Jian Ruochen pressed his lips together, "What's his name?"

"Oliver Connart Keith. Would you like to meet with him? I can help schedule a time for you."

As Luo Binwen finished speaking, police sirens sounded from downstairs. Jian Ruochen walked to the window, parted the blinds, and looked down—Jiang Hanyu's figure came into view.

Outside the office, the sound of scuffling footsteps and Bi Wanwan's voice cut through the air: "Zhang Xingzong, Jiang Hanyu has been transferred. You and Liu Sizheng go get him. Is Inspector Guan still not here?"

Jian Ruochen quickly spoke into the phone, "No need for a meeting for now, I was just asking. Gotta go, Uncle Luo, see you tonight."

He abruptly hung up the phone, pulled open the door, and looked at Bi Wanwan, "He's here."

Bi Wanwan caught a whiff of the scent on Jian Ruochen, paused for a moment, and her eyes snapped to Guan Yingjun sitting behind the desk.

The same scent?

Must be a coincidence...

She patted Jian Ruochen on the shoulder, "Jiang Hanyu's financial crimes will be handled by the ICAC. We have twelve hours to uncover his espionage activities."

"By noon tomorrow, we need to transfer Jiang Hanyu to the ICAC."

Jian Ruochen flashed an OK sign, turned around, grabbed the evidence records from Guan Yingjun's desk, and headed toward the interrogation room.