Ling’ai was slightly breathless from running, a faint blush spreading across her delicate face. When she stopped in front of Zheng Yun, the light shimmering in her eyes was as brilliant and dazzling as a galaxy.

“How did you find me here?” Ling’ai was a little surprised.

“I guessed.” Zheng Yun did not mention that he had already gone to several other hospitals. “I thought you wouldn’t break an appointment for no reason.”

Moved by Zheng Yun’s understanding, Ling’ai said, “I’m sorry. My father was suddenly hospitalized, and when I heard the news I was thrown into a complete panic. Just now I had already asked Mr. Qingfu to go to the cinema to find you — I didn’t expect you to have found me here before he even set off.”

“No need to apologize. Your father was hospitalized — it wasn’t something you wanted either.” Zheng Yun’s tone was easy. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

Ling’ai shook her head.

“Go look after your father first. In half an hour, wait for me here.”

“Half an hour — you’re coming back?”

“Yes, I’ll be back shortly.”

Unable to conceal the joy rising in her heart, Ling’ai nodded vigorously. “Alright.”

She watched Zheng Yun leave, then turned and made her way back to the hospital room. Huicun’s condition had already improved considerably, and one of the servants was attending to him with some rice porridge.

Ling’ai stepped forward, took the bowl from the servant’s hands, and personally fed Huicun.

“How have your studies been lately?” Huicun took a sip of porridge, and some color returned to his face.

“Very well.” Ling’ai smiled. “Yan Qing is remarkable — she knows so much. Father, I want to become someone as accomplished as her.”

“My Aiko is so clever — you certainly will. Study well under her guidance. She is a true talent.”

“Yes, Father, don’t worry. I will work hard.”

After feeding Huicun until he had finished, he grew somewhat tired. “Aiko, go home. You don’t need to stay here with me — having Qingfu around is enough.”

Ling’ai shook her head. “I’ll stay with you tonight. You must get better quickly.”

She gently took Huicun’s hand. “Father, you are my only family. You must always be safe and well.”

Huicun’s eyes grew warm, and he gazed at his daughter with gentle, affectionate eyes. “Alright. I promise you — I will always be safe and well. And you must promise Father that you will live happily every single day of your life.”

Though he held a position of great power, all he wished for was his daughter’s happiness. That was enough.

“Mm.” Ling’ai reached for his fingers. “Let’s make a pinky promise.”

Huicun laughed heartily. “This is another Xin Guo way of making a vow?”

“Yes! I only just learned it — it’s quite fun.” Ling’ai hooked her finger around his. “Pinky promise, one hundred years without change, sealed.”

Huicun smiled as he looked at her. “Aiko, remember — whatever decisions you make in the future, whatever path you choose to walk, Father will support you with everything he has.”

“I’ll remember.” Ling’ai’s eyes curved into a smile. “Father is the best father in the whole world.”

“And Aiko is the best Aiko in the whole world — ha ha!” Huicun fondly ruffled his daughter’s hair, and the air of illness about him seemed to lift considerably.

Ling’ai kept Huicun company for a while until he drifted off to sleep. She glanced at the time — there were still ten minutes before the moment she had agreed to meet Zheng Yun. She tucked the blanket snugly around Huicun, gave the servants a few instructions, and pushed open the door to leave.

The autumn night was vast and open, the moonlight flowing like water. She sat on a bench and waited for a little while, and soon the faint sound of approaching footsteps drew near.

Ling’ai watched Zheng Yun striding toward her. She was just about to stand when he waved a hand. “I bought meat pies. Eat them while they’re hot.”

Zheng Yun sat down beside Ling’ai, and the paper bag in his hands still carried the warmth of the food inside.

“Here.” He placed one of the bags in her hands. “Green onion and beef filling.”

“It smells wonderful already.” Ling’ai took it and opened the bag, and a rush of fragrance immediately filled the air. “Where did you buy these? They’re still warm.”

“There’s a pie shop over that way, not far from the Military Police Division. When the food in the canteen isn’t good, we go there to buy pies. Since we’re regulars, the owner always throws in an extra one.”

“Is the canteen at your division not good?”

Zheng Yun opened his own bag. “The cook’s skill varies — sometimes good, sometimes not. After all, making food for that many people, it can’t compare to cooking for just yourself.”

The pie in Ling’ai’s hands had a very thin crust, pan-fried to a golden crisp. She took a small bite, and the savory, rich flavor immediately filled her palate.

“Is it good?” Zheng Yun asked.

“Delicious.” Ling’ai took another big bite. “I’ve never eaten such delicious meat pies before.”

Seeing that she liked them, Zheng Yun ate contentedly as well. The two of them didn’t say much, but simply sat in quiet companionship, each eating their own food.

Moonlight filtered through thin clouds and fell on the straight backs of the two figures, casting two faint, irregular shadows on the ground beneath them.

Ling’ai ate with a good appetite, finishing both pies in the bag, and still felt a lingering desire for more even after she was done.

“Can you cook?” Ling’ai asked curiously.

“I can.” Zheng Yun handed her a handkerchief. “Just average, though it’s passable. When you live alone, you have no choice but to learn.”

“What about your parents?”

“They’re not in Shun Cheng. I have two older brothers. My parents live with them, and they take care of each other. I only go back during the New Year.”

“Are your brothers married?”

“My youngest nephew is already eight years old.” A trace of warmth crept into Zheng Yun’s eyes at the mention of his family. “The last time I went back, he said that when he grows up, he wants to come to Shun Cheng and join the Military Police Division to uphold justice.”

“They must all look up to you so much.”

Zheng Yun shook his head gently. “They probably just like the uniform.”

Ling’ai laughed too, her feet dangling under the bench and swinging lightly.

“What about you — aside from your father, do you have any other family?”

“No.” Ling’ai gazed at the moon in the sky. “My mother passed away when I was young. For my sake, Father never remarried. Over the years, many people tried to introduce him to someone, and I encouraged him to take another wife as well, but he said he no longer had the heart for it — that being on his own like this was just fine.”

“He is a good father.”

“I think so too. He has sacrificed a great deal for me.”

Ling’ai smiled gently. “Is your hometown far from Shun Cheng? Is it a nice place?”

“Very nice — lush mountains and clear water, most famous for its waterfall clusters. By train it takes two days and one night, and then you still have to walk five kilometers after getting off, since there are no vehicles.” As Zheng Yun recalled it, his eyes were filled with warmth. “Every time I go back, Father makes my brother ride out on horseback to meet me, saying he doesn’t want me to walk a long way — but it’s only five kilometers. It’s not that far.”

“If I ever have the chance, I’d really love to visit your hometown.” Ling’ai felt sure that Zheng Yun’s family must all be very kind and warm-hearted people.

“Alright. If the chance comes, I can take you there.”

“Zheng Yun, could you tell me about the strangest case you’ve ever solved?” Ling’ai asked with curiosity.

Zheng Yun said, “There have been many. The one that left the deepest impression was a case that occurred in Wuyin Village — several mahjong companions died one by one on specific days each year, all by their own hand, each one cutting themselves…”

Zheng Yun’s voice was calm and clear, crisp and pleasant in the open expanse of the night. As Ling’ai listened, she found herself imperceptibly drawn in by the tone of his voice, and began staring at him, utterly transfixed.

Even when he finished telling the story, she remained lost in it.

“Would you like to hear more?” Zheng Yun glanced over at her.

Ling’ai quickly straightened up, looked away with a touch of embarrassment — she hadn’t noticed that she had been staring at him intently for quite a long time, barely blinking.

“If you want to hear more, I’ll tell you another time. I have enough cases to fill three days and three nights of talking.” Zheng Yun checked his watch. “It’s getting late. If you go back too late, your father will worry.”

“He’s already asleep.” Ling’ai said, then almost immediately wished she could clap a hand over her mouth — it sounded as though she wanted to sit there with him a little longer.

“Take good care of him.” Zheng Yun stood up. “I’ll walk you back.”

“Thank you for dinner.” Ling’ai was still clutching the paper bag in her hands.

“You liked it — I’ll bring you more tomorrow.”

“No, no, that’s too much trouble.” Ling’ai waved her hands quickly.

“It’s no trouble.” Zheng Yun said. “Let’s go.”

“Oh, right.” Ling’ai suddenly recalled what had happened with Huicun. “My father’s illness this time is very suspicious. The doctor said that if there were no issues with his medication, this kind of sudden onset shouldn’t have happened.”

“What about his diet?”

“With his condition, he can’t consume excessive amounts of protein or phosphorus — and yesterday, he ate shrimp.”

“How many?”

“Three.”

Zheng Yun frowned. “Three shrimp shouldn’t be an issue. If you have suspicions, you could have the remaining shrimp tested.”

“Yes, that’s what I was thinking too — which is why I wanted to ask for your help. Your division should have the equipment to run those tests, right?”

“I’m not at the division tomorrow morning. If you have time, bring them over in the afternoon.”

“Thank you in advance, then.”

“No need for formality with me.” Zheng Yun walked with her all the way to the entrance. “Go in.”

Ling’ai took a few steps, then turned back around. “I really am sorry about today.”

Zheng Yun took a movie ticket from his pocket and placed it in her hand. “The ticket is valid for one month. If you’d still like to go see the film, once your father is well again, just let me know.”

Ling’ai held the thin ticket stub, which seemed to still carry the warmth of his touch. That warmth set off a surge of elation in her heart. She made every effort to conceal the joy she felt, her slightly flushed cheeks bathed in a soft glow beneath the night sky.

“Mm.” She pressed her lips together and gave a firm nod. “Then — goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

Ling’ai gave him a wave and ran quickly up the steps. Even after she had passed through the hospital’s main entrance, she could still see Zheng Yun standing in the same spot.

She hurried back to Huicun’s room and looked out the window — Zheng Yun had only just turned to leave.

Ling’ai watched his tall, slender figure gradually disappear into the night, a shy smile spreading across her face.

—