Chapter 190: Can Handle Every Criminal

Chapter 190: Every Prisoner Can Be...

On the journey back, Bao Jiayun wept incessantly.

He was dragged by two CIB officers, his steps weak and uneven, stumbling forward.

The arrogant swagger he’d brought back from Britain upon his return to Hong Kong was nowhere to be found.

Tears and snot streamed down Bao Jiayun’s face. He tilted his head back, gasping for air, occasionally glancing back at Ninth Brother, muttering incoherent words.

Ninth Brother’s expression was blank.

From the moment the handcuffs clicked shut, it was all over.

He had used his last ounce of strength to take a step past the point of no return.

Ninth Brother’s foot sank into the mud, causing him to stumble. A heavy blow immediately landed on his shoulder.

A CIB officer snapped coldly, "Don’t even think about trying anything."

Ninth Brother turned his head, meeting a pair of sharp, authoritative eyes.

He seemed to detect a hint of disdain.

Having grown up amidst the social intricacies of the red-light district, Ninth Brother had become acutely sensitive.

To survive and protect his brother, he had learned from a young age how to discern emotions.

Those looks of contempt, disgust, and avoidance—even the slightest hint—would be magnified infinitely in his eyes, making him feel utterly exposed.

He felt as though he were being flayed alive by these gazes and emotions, consumed by fear, inferiority, and self-loathing.

Whenever he met such a gaze, he knew with painful clarity that he was inferior.

The men and women of the red-light district were like commodities, like ghosts, like coupling dogs—anything but human.

Their words, their promises, were no better than a dog’s bark.

Those who believed them would lose their lives.

Like his mother, like his mother’s younger sister, Bao Jiayun’s mother.

Ninth Brother’s thoughts drifted as he trudged along, his steps heavy and uneven. After a long journey and being drenched in the rain, his head felt foggy, and even the air he exhaled was scorching hot.

Bao Jiayun had no strength left, yet he continued to sob.

Halfway through the journey, his drug addiction peaked, and he clamored for a fix.

No one paid him any mind. The officers simply dragged him forward. After a while, the craving passed, and Bao Jiayun stopped crying, instead muttering vacantly.

The closer they got to the boat dock, the clearer his words became. "Brother, you broke your promise... you said you’d still cut my hair... I wanted a schoolboy haircut... I’ve never had a schoolboy haircut..."

The more he spoke, the sadder he became, crying until he was breathless.

Ninth Brother’s expression softened, and a tear fell as he blinked.

He couldn’t help but wonder—if, back when he had a fever, Bao Jiayun hadn’t carried him to that unlicensed clinic, if they had toughed it out instead, would they be in a different situation now?

Probably not.

If they had stayed in the red-light district, they would have ended up like the other brothers, exploited by pimps and madams, eventually dying from some horrible, filthy disease.

Even if they had managed to escape the red-light district, what could he and Bao Jiayun—with no money or skills—have done?

To survive, they had no choice. Perhaps they would have still ended up on this path.

Starting as enforcers, then becoming lackeys, then rising to ringleaders, finally getting involved with drugs, dealing...

The more they yearned to be seen as human, to climb upward step by step, to become someone of importance, the more insatiable their desires became, the more likely they were to go down the wrong path.

And what if, back then, they had met some good-hearted person instead of Lu Qian? Would they still have ended up where they were today?

Ninth Brother was unusually lost in thought.

He kept hypothesizing, kept rethinking, but again and again, he denied the bright future he constructed in his mind.

No matter how he thought about it, in the end, he was still like a piece of rotting meat in a slop bucket.

On society’s cutting board, there were countless pieces of meat like this. As long as people were hungry, they would devour the meat without hesitation. Even if it was spoiled, it would be fed to pigs, squeezed for its last bit of value.

After a while, they no longer even saw themselves as human.

Now, he was selling himself, making a deal with the police in exchange for a life without dignity or privacy.

But at least it was respectable enough.

Ninth Brother felt that after confessing everything at the police station, it wouldn’t matter if they executed him.

If he talked a lot and made significant contributions, he might even make the newspapers, held up as an example of turning over a new leaf.

Alive, he was unseen, a piece of rotten meat.

Dead, he could finally stand tall as a person.

How absurd.

Ninth Brother let out a scornful laugh.

"What are you laughing at?" a Criminal Intelligence Bureau officer asked calmly. "You’re not satisfied?"

"No." Doubts suddenly arose in Ninth Brother’s heart.

These police looked down on them so much—would they really keep their promises? Would they honor their promises?

If the promises weren’t kept, what would happen to him and Bao Jiayun?

Was Sir Jian really influential enough?

He was so young—would he deceive them just to make a name for himself?

Ninth Brother turned to look at Jian Ruochen.

Jian Ruochen’s shoes were caked in mud, each step heavier than the last, until he finally had to use the edge of one shoe to scrape the mud from the other.

As he kicked off the mud, he met Ninth Brother’s gaze and suddenly paused. Ninth Brother narrowed one eye slightly, raised the other eyelid, lifted his eyebrows a little, and pursed his lips slightly.

It was a skeptical, scrutinizing expression.

The attitude of the escorting officers had made Ninth Brother uncomfortable.

People like Ninth Brother thought very little of themselves and always assumed the worst.

He thought for a moment and decided to divert his attention, "Ninth Brother, what's your real name?"

"Ninth Brother." Ninth Brother paused, adding with self-mockery, "I was born without a name. Since I was the ninth child in the brothel, the kids after me all called me Ninth Brother. When I followed Lu Qian and could get identification papers, no one gave me a name, so I used the name I was always called."

Jian Ruochen walked over to him. Just when Ninth Brother thought he was going to ask about evidence, he heard him calmly ask, "What about Bao Jiayun? Did you give him his name?"

Ninth Brother was astonished, "How did you know?"

Jian Ruochen chuckled, "Since you both came from the same place, it shouldn’t be that you have no name but he does. He’s a few years younger than you, so he probably got his identification papers later. So I guessed you gave him the name." As he spoke, Jian Ruochen lowered his eyes.

His tone was very calm, as if chatting with a friend, without a trace of interrogation or probing.

If it weren’t for the fact that Jian Ruochen was wearing a police uniform, Ninth Brother would have thought he was a friend he'd known for years.

Jian Ruochen continued, "It must bother you, not having your own name."

Ninth Brother was stunned.

Regret?

He seemed to have forgotten what regret felt like.

At some point, he was just living to survive, and making money was just to fill an ever-expanding desire.

Thinking about it now, though, he actually did feel some regret.

Back then, he thought Lu Qian would give him a name; after all, that person was the one who gave him and his brothers a new life.

Unfortunately, when they went to get their IDs renewed, they didn’t even see a shadow of Lu Qian.

It was said he was busy comforting the crying young master of the Jiang family at the time.

"I don’t regret it," Ninth Brother said.

"Oh," Jian Ruochen responded.

The boats sent by the marine police had arrived, lined up on the water.

Just before pushing Ninth Brother onto the boat, Jian Ruochen spoke up unexpectedly, "After the interrogation, think of a new name for yourself. We’ll process a new ID for you."

"The Police Force will use that new name in the court proceedings. Once you have your own name, focus on your rehabilitation after you go in."

"I don't think 'Ninth Brother' sounds very nice. You can think of something else."

Ninth Brother paused, tears suddenly streaming down his face.

For years, he hadn’t had the energy to feel bitter. He figured his life was cheap; just being alive and relatively happy was enough.

But now, hearing Jian Ruochen’s words, he was overwhelmed with bitterness. The tough shell he had maintained was suddenly shattered.

Ninth Brother lowered his head, crying so hard his whole body trembled, and the last bit of doubt he had toward the cops disappeared.

After so many years, it was the first time someone spoke to him in such a calm tone, as if he were a normal person.

It was the first time he cried so miserably, wailing like a child.

The wailing was even silent, his lips wide open, his expression hysterical, yet still no sound came out.

As the boat started, Ninth Brother knelt by the cabin of the marine police speedboat, and a beast-like cry suddenly erupted from his throat.

Why couldn't heaven have let him meet someone like Jian Ruochen earlier?

If he and Bao Jiayun had met Jian Ruochen when they were young, would everything have been different?

He was filled with regret for taking the wrong path.

But how else could he have survived?

Why?

Why is the world so unfair?

He cried as if pouring out a lifetime of grievances, crying all the way from the New Territories to the Police Force.

At first, Jian Ruochen felt everything was going according to plan and could ignore Ninth Brother's crying.

But when they got off the boat, drove to the Police Force parking lot, and Ninth Brother was still crying,

he started to feel a little scared.

Why was he still crying?

Don’t let him dehydrate and pass out outside the interrogation room!

Bao Jiayun, sitting next to Ninth Brother, was dumbfounded. He had never seen his cousin like this, with a dazed expression as if his worldview had been shattered.

He tried several times to say something comforting but couldn’t find the words.

Two prisoners, one extremely weak, the other with a hoarse voice from crying.

The officers looked at each other, pulling at their half-dry, half-wet sticky police uniforms, and came to a conclusion:

Today was not a good day for interrogations.

Everyone settled the two prisoners, completed the detention procedures, and immediately clocked out.

In the evening, Guan Yingjun openly held Jian Ruochen’s hand as they walked out the main entrance of the Police Force.

The jade bracelet slipped down; Guan Yingjun wore it on his right hand, Jian Ruochen on his left.

When they touched, it was clear at a glance they were a couple.

The colleagues at the Police Force were tight-lipped, exceptionally professional, and all pretended not to notice.

The day had been too intense. Jian Ruochen and Guan Yingjun went back to the Bauhinia Apartments, which were closer to the Police Force.

Jian Ruochen was too exhausted for any bedroom action. After showering, he pretended to forget the promise he made yesterday, wrapped himself in the blanket, and fell fast asleep.

When Guan Yingjun came out of the shower, he saw someone sleeping like a rolled-up pancake.

The blanket was wrapped so tightly.

Who was he guarding against?

He pulled open a corner, reached his hand into the warm blanket and touched. Jian Ruochen drowsily grabbed his wrist, pushed it away, and whispered, "Don’t bother me."

Guan Yingjun leaned against the headboard, lazily watching him through the darkness.

The cool breeze from the air conditioner washed over him, instantly dispelling the restlessness in his heart.

"Jian Ruochen," he called softly.

"Hmm?" Jian Ruochen grunted.

His nasal tone was muffled and soft.

Guan Yingjun found it really cute and reached out to touch his face. "You're only like this with me occasionally."

Only when he was sleepy or when his legs were weak from begging for mercy would he soften up like this, like a cheese-filled rice cake that could be devoured in one bite.

Jian Ruochen took a second to respond before turning over with his back to Guan Yingjun. "I'm tired, my legs hurt. Don't get started. Let's sleep."

Guan Yingjun wrapped his arms around him from behind, tugging half the blanket over himself. After a moment of silence, listening to Jian Ruochen's breathing, he whispered, "Get promoted faster."

Fly higher, so you won't have to face such dangerous scenes again.

The memory of the fishing boat explosion still made Guan Yingjun nervous. He turned Jian Ruochen over, found his lips, and kissed him hard, as if he could devour him and carry him in his belly.

Jian Ruochen let out a muffled "Mmm," putting up a half-hearted struggle before giving in.

He exuded a couldn't-care-less attitude, like a salted fish that had given up on life.

Guan Yingjun was clearly feeling insecure. Jian Ruochen thought, *Might as well indulge him—it wasn't like I had to put in much effort anyway. I could just lie there and let Guan Yingjun get it over with.*

Jian Ruochen said soothingly, "Hurry up, and don’t make it hurt. It can’t affect my work, understand? Honey."

Guan Yingjun paused, stunned, then pulled him close, whispering, "Call me that again, please?"

Jian Ruochen was too tired to respond. Eyes closed, he gave a weak kick, "I need to sleep. Hurry up."

He wasn’t sure if it happened once or twice. He was already exhausted and barely awake, only aware of Guan Yingjun leaning over him, burying his face in his shoulder, as he came, shedding tears.

Jian Ruochen stroked his hair. "Inspector Guan, you’re already a senior superintendent. How come you still cry at the sight of bombs?"

He didn’t wait for an answer before falling asleep.

When he woke up the next morning, his body felt fine, surprisingly. He’d been cleaned up, fresh and comfortable. It probably hadn’t been too many times—Guan Yingjun had been careful enough not to interfere with work.

At noon, the Police Department began interrogating Ninth Brother and Bao Jiayun. Perhaps because they had had their breakdown the day before and received promises of leniency, the two were unusually cooperative, spilling information like beans over the course of three days.

Zhang Xingzong’s hand was cramping from all the writing.

On the fourth day, all the confession records were compiled and preserved. The originals were archived in the Police Department archives, while copies were categorized and distributed to the departments that needed them.

The Police Department CIB had never handled such a smooth process before.

From pursuit to case closure and reporting, it had taken only five days in total.

Starting on the sixth day, they began raiding the drug plantations and factories mentioned in Ninth Brother’s confession.

Cases like these usually took two or three years to close, if they ever did. But this time, it was wrapped up in less than a year.

Since Sir Jian joined, the pace of solving cases had been on fast-forward.

It was amazing.

After the news of Ninth Brother’s arrest broke, those involved in the drug trade were on edge. Anyone who ended up in the hands of the Police Department lost all will to resist, viewing Ninth Brother as their last bamboo pole propping them up.

Once that bamboo pole collapsed, their fighting spirit vanished completely, leaving them paralyzed.

Throughout the summer and fall of 1995, the Police Department detention center’s cells were packed with drug dealers who'd come for an "extended stay."

The CIB had never seen such a flood of achievements and bonuses.

During meals, everyone joked around, clapping each other on shoulders and chatting:

"Man, I’ve been praying at the Wong Tai Sin Temple every year, but this year it really worked!"

"The Little God of Wealth has blessed us! Let’s go upstairs and thank him!"

"When the celebration banquet happens, I’m definitely toasting Sir Jian! And maybe... getting on the good side of Detective Guan too." He winked.

Everyone laughed heartily.

·

Ninth Brother’s new name was Bao Jiayi—no special meaning, just pleasant to the ear.

He signed this name on the Confession Record Form and the statement of guilt.

On December 20, 1995, Bao Jiayi was transferred to the Hong Kong Regional Court and held in custody awaiting trial.

Bao Jiayun was sent to a rehab center, with someone specially assigned to take photos of his progress and send them to Bao Jiayi.

The moment Bao Jiayi received the photos of Bao Jiayun’s rehabilitation in custody, he finally understood why those handled by Jian Ruochen never held grudges against him—instead, they respected and appreciated him.

He truly was as good as his word, deserving everyone’s admiration.

He was a police officer who saw everyone as equals.

In Jian Ruochen’s eyes, criminals were not beasts; they were not inferior.

It was only when facing Sir Jian that Ninth Brother felt unprecedented shame and regret.

Only then did he realize how terribly wrong he had been.

He was Bao Jiayi now.

Even if he died, he would die with this new name, having been a real person for once.

January 1, 1996, New Year’s Day.

Jian Ruochen and Guan Yingjun were on the terrace of their hilltop villa, setting off cheap one-dollar fireworks from a convenience store. As red and blue lights flickered, the phone suddenly rang.

Guan Yingjun answered, putting it on speaker: "Hello?"

"Detective Guan, we followed the leads Bao Jiayi gave us and actually tracked NineFaced Buddha’s trail in Myanmar!"

Guan Yingjun glanced at the caller ID—it was the Rabbit Team.

They tossed the fireworks into a bucket of water, told Uncle Luo they had to work overtime, hastily finished their bird’s nest glutinous rice balls, and rushed back to the Police Department to get to work.

Uncle Luo sighed, "Those two, all they think about is work..."

He turned to the chef, "They probably won’t be back tonight. Let’s eat without them."

The British chef, finally able to join them at the table, said, "Excellent, Mr. Luo. With the young masters away, let’s have bacon-cheese tuna bread and apple pie. Perfect for a holiday like this~"

His voice was lilting and expectant.

Luo Binwen refused without hesitation, "No, British-style bread platters don’t belong here."

He could no longer stand the undercooked and mushy, fishy, and smelly tuna spread.

"If you want to eat it, you can make a single portion," Luo Binwen said.

He felt his Chinese heritage awakening.

On the morning of January 5, 1996, at 9 a.m., the trial of Bao Jiayi and Bao Jiayun commenced.

The CID happened to be on vacation, so Jian Ruochen went to attend the hearing.

After six months in detox, Bao Jiayun looked somewhat listless, but he seemed to have put on a bit of weight and was much more stable mentally.

Bao Jiayi was very calm when he finally stood in the defendant's dock.

He even bowed to Jian Ruochen when he saw him sitting in the public gallery.

Both brothers pleaded guilty to all charges. Due to their cooperation with the police investigation and their good attitude toward admitting their mistakes, they were treated leniently.

At 11:15 a.m., Bao Jiayi was sentenced to death with a five-year reprieve.

Bao Jiayun was sentenced to life imprisonment.

All ill-gotten gains were confiscated, and a fine of 10 million yuan was imposed, which could be worked off through prison labor.

After leaving the courtroom, the two brothers looked at each other, embraced, and wept with joy.

Bao Jiayi had thought he would be sentenced to death—he never expected it to be a suspended death sentence.

With a suspended death sentence, as long as he behaved well, it could be commuted to life imprisonment!

He still had a chance, he still had a chance!

Jian Ruochen had truly kept his word!

He heard that traces of the NineFaced Buddha had been found, which might also be why the court handed down a suspended death sentence.

After the trial concluded, there was a ten-minute press time.

Reporters stood outside the barrier and asked Bao Jiayi, "You bowed to someone outside the courtroom before the trial. Who was it? Why? Was it an accomplice?"

Jian Ruochen: "You..."

Bao Jiayi said, "It was to thank Sir Jian. I thanked him for truly getting Bao Jiayun through detox and for keeping his promise even to a criminal."

The reporter, intending to provoke the criminal and the police, found Bao Jiayi’s contrite demeanor not worth pursuing and turned to Bao Jiayun instead. "Do you accept this verdict? Do you think life imprisonment is too long?"

Bao Jiayun touched his shoulder-length hair, feeling it was getting uncomfortable. "The judge was right about everything. I think the prison arranged by the Hong Kong Regional Court is quite good."

Since the Hong Kong Royal Police used to be full of incompetents, the prison mostly held Chinese inmates involved in petty crimes—not a single NineFaced Buddha-linked drug trafficker was among them.

They won’t get killed once inside.

Bao Jiayun looked relieved. "I’m really satisfied with this outcome."

Reporter: ...

Why do these two have no complaints at all?

Does Jian Ruochen have such magical influence?

"Do you have anything else to say? We heard you were busted because you sat next to Sir Jian while getting a haircut?"

Bao Jiayun: ...

He really didn’t want to answer that question.

Every time he recalled it, he remembered how thoroughly he’d been fooled.

Back then, he’d even been trying to hit on "Liu Yucheng."

How mortifying.

Bao Jiayun answered the microphone shoved in his face off-topic, playing dumb. "Yes, my last wish was to finish my haircut before going to prison."

As the ten minutes were almost up, the reporter, seeing he couldn’t get anything else, turned to corner Jian Ruochen.

Bao Jiayun caught sight of Sir Jian and shuddered.

No!

If Sir Jian said too much about how he’d been deceived and even got a thing for him, how humiliating would that be?

It would be as embarrassing as a thief trying to pickpocket a police officer’s handcuffs and getting caught on the spot!

He wouldn’t even have the face to go out for yard time in prison!

No! Don’t ask!

Bao Jiayun shouted, "Wait—"

The reporter turned back.

Bao Jiayun, choking with shame, said, "Your information is correct. After returning to Hong Kong, I went to my cousin’s barbershop for a haircut and happened to sit next to Officer Jian. He..."

Bao Jiayun forced himself to fabricate, "He said he’d introduce me to a better barber..."

Jian Ruochen raised an eyebrow.

That never happened.

Bao Jiayun looked pleadingly at him, hoping Jian Ruochen would cut him some slack.

His face flushed red with shame, wishing he could vanish into the ground.

Jian Ruochen stared at him for a moment, then opened his mouth to help him save this last shred of dignity. "Yes."

The reporter asked skeptically, "What barber? Is it your personal one? Can you recommend them?"

Jian Ruochen paused, then said under the expectant gazes, "I might not have been clear at the time. I was recommending the barbers in prison. They have clippers that can shave heads bald—their skills are exceptional."

They could shave every newly admitted Hong Kong inmate into a bald "marinated egg."

After speaking, Jian Ruochen gave a friendly smile to the stunned Bao Jiayun.