By the time Lin Luxiao arrived, the bomb disposal site was already cordoned off with police tape. Several fire trucks stood at the intersection.

He’d just jumped out of the car when Yang Zhenggang — standing outside the line — spotted him and strode over. “Commander Meng called you in too?”

Lin Luxiao made a sound of acknowledgment, lifted the tape, and stepped through. “Has the bomb disposal unit arrived?”

Nan Chu’s apartment was close — from the time he got the call to when he arrived here had taken under ten minutes. The bomb disposal unit had been dispatched from the border defense — this road was already backed up, and they hadn’t arrived yet. Yang Zhenggang shook his head. “These extremist attackers are diabolically cunning — they picked this location on purpose. Just earlier, the fire trucks almost couldn’t even get through.”

Lin Luxiao looked around.

The three devices were bound beneath the beams of a triangular overpass bridge, spaced a meter apart. Outside the cordon, a ring of onlookers had gathered. Lin Luxiao jutted his chin toward them. “Those people — what are they doing here?”

Yang Zhenggang glanced over. “Watching the spectacle, probably.”

The fire that doesn’t burn you: those watching the excitement will never disperse, and in fact seem to hope the fire keeps growing, as if chaos is entertainment.

Meng Guohong, who had been speaking with the bomb disposal specialist from the police side, noticed Lin Luxiao and called him over. After introducing them, he said, “It’s been confirmed — all three are improvised devices.”

Lin Luxiao had been interested in this subject since childhood and knew it well. In plain terms, an improvised explosive device — or IED — was a roadside bomb. Crudely assembled but genuinely powerful. In the Second World War, IEDs made by the Eighth Route Army could destroy an American armored vehicle.

The form of the bombs alone was not enough to determine their yield. Based on estimated blast radius: five meters — shrapnel injuries. Three meters — minor trauma. Two meters — severe injury. One meter — lethal.

“Has the area been fully cleared of people?”

“Still sweeping — there are a few vehicles over there with no owners yet.”

Lin Luxiao said coolly, “Forget the vehicles — find the people. Make sure everyone is accounted for before the disposal unit gets here.”

Under this overpass, there were usually many homeless people — most with congenital disabilities, diminished awareness. If the sweep wasn’t thorough, the consequences would be unthinkable.

Shao Yijiu: “With this much commotion, they should all have cleared out by now.”

“Can’t assume everyone has the presence of mind to leave.”

This sort of thing had happened before. Shao Yijiu said no more — he picked up the pace of the sweep.

Both approach roads had been sealed. Nothing could get in from outside. As time stretched on, the commotion grew. Outside the barrier, several television news reporters had gathered, trying to get in for interviews — Meng Guohong drove them off. Lin Luxiao was standing at the edge of the cordon when a female reporter spotted him coming from the command side and rushed over, trying to get friendly: “Hi there, handsome — what’s the situation inside?”

Lin Luxiao glanced at her, put his hand over the camera lens, and said with zero patience: “Stop filming. Move to the side. I don’t have time for you.”

He looked at Yang Zhenggang, who then escorted the woman back out.

The reporter, seeing such a tall, strikingly handsome individual completely unmoved by soft or hard approaches, stiffened her tone: “I’m from XX Television! We have the right to know the truth! You’ve been out here this long — are you taking any action at all?!”

Lin Luxiao didn’t even bother raising an eyebrow.

But that one provocation was enough to stir the crowd. The onlookers began to grow restless, loudly complaining.

“What’s the hold-up? Are they going to defuse it or not?”

“Exactly — dragging it out this long, and I still need to get home to cook dinner for my kid! What a waste of time!”

“They’re doing their job.”

“If the disposal unit can’t show up, these lot aren’t going to do a thing. And to think how much tax money we pay.”

Scraps of sound drifted and fell into the ears of the officers and firefighters. They exchanged glances, nothing but resignation in their eyes.

Yang Zhenggang only sighed: “The public can be so shortsighted.”

The comment was unfortunately overheard by Meng Guohong, who turned and shot him a sharp look. Lin Luxiao glanced at Yang Zhenggang, unaffected: “What are you getting worked up about?”

By comparison, he had a much calmer disposition about it.

This kid — or more precisely — he was absolutely glowing.

Yang Zhenggang leaned over quietly. “Did you and that girl get together?”

Lin Luxiao slanted him a look, laughed dryly: “What a nose on you.”

Yang Zhenggang shook his head in rueful envy. Just then, the bomb disposal unit arrived. Shao Yijiu had also cleared his team and came back to report: “Squad Leader Lin — sweep complete, all persons accounted for!”

Lin Luxiao was called in to the command meeting. The unanimous decision: use a bomb disposal robot to initiate detonation. These improvised devices were too unstable to move — given the risk to disposal personnel, controlled in-place detonation was the only viable option.

Then, just as the robot was approaching the first device—

Absolute silence fell over the scene. Heartbeats hammered.

Without warning—

From within the undergrowth burst a piercing, shrill cry. A baby’s wail. Estimated position: less than two meters away.

For a device of this type, the expert had just given the estimate: five meters — superficial wounds. Three meters — minor injuries. Two meters — severe disability. One meter — fatal.

The cry tore through the air, and every person there sucked in a sharp breath.

Along with: “Didn’t you say the sweep was done?!”

Shao Yijiu was also stunned.

He was certain the area had been fully cleared — they’d even turned over the grass piles and looked. One moment of frozen shock, then as the first person began moving to run toward the child in the undergrowth, the figure beside him had already vaulted one-handed over the barrier and was sprinting toward the patch of grass beneath the bridge—

“Luxiao!”

Meng Guohong instinctively looked to where Lin Luxiao had been standing — the man was already in the middle of the road.

That momentum. That stride.

Who else could it be.

· · ·

Meanwhile, Xi Gu was complaining to Nan Chu about everything relating to Han Beiyao.

The day Xi Gu’s face got injured, she’d gone to the company the next day and Han Beiyao had caught one look at her. After disappearing for half a month, this man dragged the girl into his office in a fury, demanding to know who had hurt her. Xi Gu politely thanked him and turned to leave — but he pulled her back out again. He still didn’t say whatever it was he was trying to say, yet he dropped his usual manner and softened his voice to coax her, asking how she’d gotten injured.

Xi Gu, heart momentarily weakened, told him about Nan Chu being attacked.

Han Beiyao couldn’t swallow it. Arms akimbo, he exploded: “Beat a dog and you answer to its master! That’s no way to treat someone in my circle!”

Nan Chu, cigarette in hand, said, “Dog?”

Xi Gu knew she’d let it slip, immediately lowered her head. “Just a figure of speech. A figure of speech.”

Nan Chu exhaled a slow ring of smoke, narrowing her eyes, a flash of precise light in them.

“You tell me — does he like me or not? Because if he does, why did he run away after kissing me? And if he doesn’t, why was he so panicked when I got hurt?”

The girl hugged her head in agony.

Nan Chu put out her cigarette and stood up, saying directly: “He likes you.”

Xi Gu was unconvinced. “But I always feel like he doesn’t like me enough.”

Nan Chu laughed — red lips, a touch of knowing wickedness. “If you’re that worried, just ask him outright. You can’t handle being teased — two words from him and your heart’s fluttering all over the place. You can’t win playing his game.”

“I don’t want to play games at all — what if I just confess? Would that work?”

“Want my honest opinion?”

Xi Gu nodded vigorously.

Nan Chu put out her cigarette, stood up. “I think if you like someone, say it. What good does hiding it do? Even if the outcome isn’t perfect, the experience itself is worth having. What is there like ‘forever’ anyway — I think life is short and pleasure should be seized. If it really doesn’t fit, parting ways is also an option.”

“How are things going with that really masculine guy of yours?”

Nan Chu opened her wardrobe, flipped through clothes with one hand, and answered her with casual ease: “Good. Next time he comes, I’ll bring you along to meet him.”

“Have you two…?”

Nan Chu paused a moment, then gave a small nod.

It was rare to see her ears go red.

What could she do — every time she thought of him, pictured his face, his bare body, she felt her own face flush with heat.

At one point, she’d been preoccupied with a single thought:

Two people who love each other — do they, in the end, become what the other most desires? Perhaps neither of them was quite perfect at the beginning.

At first, she’d just thought Lin Luxiao had exceptional looks, that he was masculine, and that even if his personality left something to be desired, the first two qualities more than made up for it. But now, looking back, his personality had hit every last one of her weak points. The wild spirit beneath the surface, the roguish edge — harmless, really. And more than anything, there was a kind of blood-and-bone vitality about him.

Sometimes when he was grinning and murmuring something shameless into her ear, peach-blossom eyes tilted up at the corners, even his eyebrows full of mischief — she would just watch him and think: how is anyone this easy to fall for? She couldn’t let herself think about it.

Think too long, and she was gone.

Suddenly she understood those devoted fans a little better.

Because right now, she was her squad leader’s number one fan.

· · ·

Lin Luxiao was hospitalized for three days. During that time, people came and went through his ward — beyond his own team members, several city leadership figures also stopped by to check in.

The hospital, taking everything into consideration, assigned him the room right next to Lin Qingyuan’s. That way, at least the two of them could keep an eye on each other.

Given that the old man clearly had no interest in seeing him, Lin Luxiao stayed in his own room. But there was a steady stream of visitors coming to see him — Director Yang, team members, Da Liu, Shen Mu, and others — all of which prompted Lin Qingyuan to say to Secretary Zhang with cold sarcasm: “All these years and he’s still just a minor squad leader — his rank hasn’t moved an inch, but somehow his ability to draw a crowd keeps growing.”

When this reached Lin Luxiao’s ears, the man simply rolled his eyes, lay on the hospital bed, and scribbled something on a piece of paper, which he then hung on his door: NO VISITORS.

The next few days were blessedly quiet.

Lin Qingyuan then said: “Just that petulant temper of his.”

Secretary Zhang couldn’t take it anymore and put in two words on his behalf: “I’ve finally figured out where Luxiao gets that sharp-tongued streak from. You’re always finding fault with him, but deep down you’re plenty worried. If you’re really that concerned, go see him yourself — I heard his injury wasn’t minor this time. Back was opened up quite significantly. When they first brought him in, I watched him go into the operating room — the wound on his back was quite a sight, flesh exposed, soaked in blood.”

In reality, the injury was not severe.

Not anywhere near that serious. But Secretary Zhang’s embellished version genuinely alarmed Lin Qingyuan. “Really?”

“Really — city leadership came down to commend him. A boy with real backbone.”

Lin Qingyuan gave a cold snort regardless: “Those leaders just love these reckless types! Foolish kid!”

That day, Shen Mu came to visit Lin Luxiao. “Has that girl been to see you?”

Lin Luxiao was reclining against the headboard with his arm in a sling, playing a game on his phone. When Shen Mu walked in, he set the phone down, reached to the bedside and fished out a cigarette, pressed it to his lips. “No.”

Shen Mu made an astonished sound or two.

He tilted his head, lit it, took a long exhale. “Better she doesn’t know — that girl has a timid heart. Last thing I need is for her to come here and be frightened.”

Shen Mu laughed quietly, watching him, and shook his head. “You really have changed.”

Lin Luxiao was unimpressed. He tapped the ash off. “What’s changed?”

Shen Mu studied him top to bottom. “You seem more human.”

Lin Luxiao gave a short burst of laughter. “Get out of here.”

After a beat, expression settling, he asked: “That thing you were checking on — any results?”

Shen Mu cleared his throat. “Got results. But I have to warn you in advance — don’t get angry when I tell you.”

Lin Luxiao flicked the ash against the rim of the ashtray, tapping slowly, mouth impatient: “Less preamble.”

Shen Mu pulled a sheaf of photographs from his jacket pocket and handed them over, and began to speak.

“These two are out-of-towners — brothers. Not first-time offenders. Da Liu connected with the police side and ran checks too — they’ve got a record. The police tip was that they move around to different cities and go to ground between jobs. Da Liu and I went looking for them a while back, and a village resident told us — just a few days before that, the two were taken away by police.”

Lin Luxiao flipped through the photographs. The two men were solidly built — one-eighty-plus in height, well-muscled. No wonder they’d left bruises like fingerprints on his girl’s arm. He thought about her then — she must have been terrified.

“Where’s their home base?” Voice low and flat.

Shen Mu: “Up north, in the mountains — a small village. Da Liu and I had gone looking, but the locals told us they’d already been picked up by police.”

Lin Luxiao held his posture from a moment ago and turned to look at him.

Shen Mu smiled wryly, a little helpless. “Looked at all the background — those two were most likely hired for the job. I’d originally planned to have Da Liu and the others bring them in so we could question them properly. Then they went and got themselves arrested, and the lead dried up.”

“Who arrested them?”

“Jiang Ge.”

Lin Luxiao: “Does that guy have a problem with his brain?”

“What — only you’re allowed to like her? Nobody else can? He was trying to get justice for Nan Chu too. Credit where it’s due, he’s capable enough — ran the backgrounds on those two and showed up at their home base with the local northern police, shut the whole operation down. Kid’s got problems upstairs, no question, but he doesn’t know to follow the trail any further.”

“He doesn’t have problems upstairs — he has no heart in his chest, that’s his problem.”

Shen Mu nodded in agreement. “We’ve been calling him that since we were kids. Truly heartless. Though you’re also fairly heartless, you know — have you even been in contact with that girl since all this happened?”

Since the day he’d told her to take time to think it over, the two of them had gone without contact. With him half out of commission as well, and given what he’d said when he left, he hadn’t dared reach out — afraid she’d overthink things, and then, truly alarmed, refuse to have anything more to do with him.

Lin Luxiao lay half-propped against the headboard, cigarette in his mouth, saying nothing.

Shen Mu spoke with deliberate weight: “Don’t say I didn’t warn you — Jiang Ge has a birthday tonight. He booked out the whole venue. Planning a huge party. Invited plenty of people from the circle. He’s going to confess to that girl tonight.”

A long silence before anyone spoke. Shen Mu prompted him: “What are you thinking?”

Lin Luxiao took the cigarette from his lips, ground it out, then with sudden purpose flipped himself off the bed — buttoned up the open military undershirt he was wearing, the white bandaging visible beneath, wrapped around his firm chest — sat on the edge of the bed, grabbed his military boots, planted one foot on the bed frame and quickly laced it up.

“Hey, hey, hey — where do you think you’re going?!”

He stood up, stamped both feet firmly into the ground, grabbed his jacket, and walked out without looking back: “Catching a rat.”