Zhou Jin gave a slightly helpless smile. What kind of joke was it for a police officer to go file a police report?

She said, “Maybe charging him with assaulting an officer would be more fitting.”

Hearing that Zhou Jin still had the presence of mind to joke, Yu Dan relaxed, then asked directly, “Your fight with Professor Jiang — it’s because of Officer Jiang, isn’t it?”

Zhou Jin stilled for a moment, then said quietly, “It seems like I was the only one who didn’t see it. Hansheng said I never cared about him… I really did neglect a lot of people around me because of my brother’s case…”

The more she thought about it, the more guilty she felt — toward her parents, toward Jiang Cheng, toward old friends, and especially toward Jiang Hansheng.

“That’s only human. I understand you. Besides, a person’s energy is limited — when you’re throwing everything into your work, how can you possibly keep track of everything else? Still though…” Yu Dan’s attention landed on what she was most curious about. “Professor Jiang said you didn’t care about him? That really sounds like something he would say?”

In her usual interactions with Jiang Hansheng, the man was as proper as they came — outwardly refined and polite, but always giving the impression of a thick wall between himself and the people around him, not easy to get close to.

Jiang Hansheng rarely smiled and said little, only becoming more talkative when discussing case analysis with them.

Yu Dan hadn’t expected that in private, with Zhou Jin, he was apparently a completely different person. She smiled and said, “Doesn’t sound like a fight to me — sounds like he was sulking at you.”

Zhou Jin couldn’t bring herself to smile. Her thoughts were a tangled mess, and she had no idea how things had so suddenly reached the edge of something irreparable.

Seeing that Zhou Jin didn’t seem inclined to pour everything out at once — and that her words kept placing the blame on herself rather than showing any resentment toward Jiang Hansheng — Yu Dan understood that there was still genuine feeling between the two of them.

As a colleague, Yu Dan knew better than to keep pressing Zhou Jin about personal matters. Wanting to offer some comfort, she drew from her own experience instead.

“In this line of work, handling family life well is hard to begin with. My husband and I met in university — we always got along well, never had a single argument. We’d already had a son together, and then we nearly got divorced, all because of my job.”

Zhou Jin looked at Yu Dan in surprise.

“At the time I was working a rape-murder case and a spousal homicide case at the same time. When I got home, I’d take one look at my husband and feel irritated — everything about him annoyed me…”

Zhou Jin found herself almost wanting to laugh.

Yu Dan corrected her immediately. “Sounds like a joke now, doesn’t it? But bringing work emotions into the home is actually a terrible thing. He told me later that he had no idea why I’d suddenly grown so cold toward him, so he was miserable throughout that entire period…”

“Once there’s distance between a couple, what petty little thing can’t spiral into a fight? And each person has their own logic — neither one wants to back down. By the end you’re both so exhausted from fighting that you think, just get a divorce, why keep tormenting each other if living together is this painful?”

Zhou Jin said, “But you two made up after all.”

“How could we not?” Yu Dan nodded and said, “You’ve met my husband — tall, broad, a proper big guy at six feet. One night he drank himself drunk, came stumbling over to the Major Crimes Unit causing a scene, grabbed onto my legs and cried and yelled at the same time, asking me why I insisted on divorcing him and whether it was wrong for a man to want to feel cared for…”

Yu Dan groaned at the memory, covering her face and shaking her head. “That was when I realized how much pain I’d put him through. Forget divorce — I was even thinking about quitting at that point.”

Zhou Jin: “…”

Her own neglect had also caused Jiang Hansheng tremendous pain.

“As long as the feelings aren’t broken, everything else can be worked out.” Yu Dan said. “Same goes for you and Professor Jiang. Think about it — among all the officers in Dongcheng District and Fengzhou District, who doesn’t treat your husband like he’s something precious? Take Director Liu, for example — came over to the Major Crimes Unit to supervise a case and spent every day trying to poach him. And Professor Jiang coming to check in on our unit every other day — do you really think it’s because he’s got a thing for Team Leader Tan? It’s because you’re here.”

“Sister Dan, stop teasing me.”

Zhou Jin couldn’t hold back a smile, but as she listened to Yu Dan talk about all these things Jiang Hansheng had done, something sweet and warm stirred in her chest.

Yu Dan peeled away the old bandage and helped Zhou Jin apply a fresh one, grumbling as she did so. “But what he did was wrong. No matter how jealous you are, you can’t hurt someone like this. Why didn’t you fight back? That time at the friendly match — the other guy was barely doing anything, and you tripped him up, got him on the ground in two moves flat. Where did all that go?”

Zhou Jin said, “Afraid he’d accuse me of domestic violence.”

“…” Yu Dan burst out laughing. “Don’t worry. You’re a police officer. He wouldn’t dare retaliate.”

By the time they finished talking, Zhou Jin’s mood had lifted considerably, and the ghastly pallor on her face had finally given way to a faint warmth of color.

Jiang Hansheng had brought up divorce, and Zhou Jin didn’t know what to do — she could only use work to numb the emotions that were threatening to fall apart.

She had already lost Zhou Chuan, already lost Jiang Cheng — once, then twice — both times leaving her with no chance to turn anything around. She didn’t want to go through that powerless, helpless torment again. She didn’t want to lose Jiang Hansheng.

So when Yu Dan reassured her that as long as the feelings were still there, everything could be resolved, Zhou Jin finally breathed a little easier.

All along, it had been Jiang Hansheng who made concessions for her.

Before they married, there had been a time when the two of them made plans to meet in a park — set for two o’clock in the afternoon. After meeting, they’d walk around for a bit, then catch a movie at a nearby theater, and in the evening, go to a restaurant for dinner before heading home.

It had been Jiang Hansheng who planned every bit of it.

He had no experience with romance — even his dates were arranged in an old-fashioned, unremarkable way, with nothing particularly novel about them. But at least there was nothing about it that put anyone off.

Zhou Jin happened to have that day off. Jiang Hansheng didn’t — carving out that entire afternoon to see her had required him to get through a great deal of work in advance.

Yet he did it willingly.

He took the date seriously, and Zhou Jin didn’t feel right being careless about it either. By one in the afternoon, she had changed into a dress and put on heels, and was just about to head out when her phone rang — the Major Crimes Unit calling to say a case had come in and she was needed at the scene.

There was nothing she could do. She called Jiang Hansheng to suggest rescheduling.

Jiang Hansheng seemed to have been looking forward to the date. He said, “I can wait.”

Zhou Jin figured she’d just take a quick look at the scene and leave. But the situation turned out to be far more complicated than expected, and she ended up following through on fingerprint and DNA analysis all the way until six in the evening. She’d only just let out a breath of relief when she suddenly remembered the date she had completely forgotten about.

She contacted Jiang Hansheng again, intending to cancel. He told her he was still waiting in the same spot. She braced herself for an explosion — but Jiang Hansheng’s tone remained just as measured and calm as ever.

He asked her if she was too tired to meet.

Zhou Jin quickly said, “No, it’s just gotten too late — I didn’t want to take up more of your time.”

“It’s fine.” Jiang Hansheng seemed to smile slightly. “The weather today was very hot. I see there’s still an ice cream stall nearby — do you want some?”

The part of Zhou Jin that had been ready to back out entirely went silent the moment she heard that. She couldn’t sit still for another second, and was already making her way toward the park as she answered, “Yes!”

By the time they actually saw each other, it was seven in the evening — Jiang Hansheng had been waiting on a park bench for a full five hours.

He was dressed casually in a short-sleeved shirt and trousers, seated in the middle of the bench, striking in his good looks even in the fading evening light.

Zhou Jin ran up to him, hands on her knees, catching her breath, and called out, “Professor Jiang.”

“Why did you run so fast?” Jiang Hansheng had her sit down and handed her the cup of ice cream he’d been holding, saying with a touch of embarrassment, “Sorry — it seems to have melted a bit…”

“Perfect, actually. I like it like this.” How could Zhou Jin possibly complain? She was exhausted after a whole day’s work and desperately thirsty — she took it and started eating immediately.

She said, “I’m sorry for making you wait so long. If you’re angry with me, I understand.”

At the moment Zhou Jin said those words, the guilt she had been carrying had reached its peak. Jiang Hansheng smiled faintly and quietly eased her down from that peak.

He said, “It wasn’t that long, and I wasn’t angry — because knowing I was going to see you made me happy.”

His tone when he said it carried no particular intimacy; his voice was its usual unhurried, calm self, as though he were simply and genuinely stating a fact. And yet Zhou Jin felt the warmth rise to her face, her heart giving a startled flutter.

It was then that a thought surfaced in her, sudden and unbidden: if this man were ever to propose to her, she would say yes without hesitation.

His patience, his thoughtfulness, his seemingly bottomless willingness to accommodate her — she loved every part of it.

She didn’t want to lose a Jiang Hansheng like this.

She leaned back in her chair, turning over in her mind how to resolve things, when her phone screen lit up.

A message had come in — from Wang Pengzhe.

“Hansheng is here with me.”

After Wang Pengzhe’s wife passed away, he had been living alone in an old-style apartment building, which was relatively close to the research institute.

When Jiang Hansheng had worked at the provincial department, he used to come by often to share meals with Wang Pengzhe, and occasionally stayed the night — so there were still a few of his old clothes kept at the apartment.

Wang Pengzhe knew him well enough to know he was particular about cleanliness. He tossed the clothes into the washing machine for a quick wash and ran a rapid dry cycle.

In the meantime, Wang Pengzhe asked if he was hungry. Though he received no answer, Wang Pengzhe had a fair idea that Jiang Hansheng hadn’t eaten anything. As it happened, his daughter-in-law had dropped off some small wontons for him last time, left in the refrigerator specifically for him — Wang Pengzhe turned on the stove and cooked him a bowl.

Throughout all of this, Jiang Hansheng sat on the sofa like a sealed jar, not making a single sound.

When Wang Pengzhe asked what had happened, he said nothing. When Wang Pengzhe asked if he’d had a falling-out with Zhou Jin, Jiang Hansheng was silent for a moment before giving a single nod.

Wang Pengzhe understood Jiang Hansheng’s nature well enough that he had never expected to get much out of him to begin with. After some deliberation, he put on his reading glasses, squinted, and sent Zhou Jin a text message.

Wang Pengzhe nudged him with his knee. “The wontons are ready. Go serve yourself.”

Jiang Hansheng said, “I don’t have much of an appetite.”

Wang Pengzhe’s old brow drew together in irritation. “You little wretch — you have a fight with your own wife and come here to stage a hunger strike in my home?”

Not long after, Wang Pengzhe heard the chime of an incoming message. He glanced at it, let out a short, amused grunt, then tossed his phone over to Jiang Hansheng. “Look, look, look — feel like eating now?”

Jiang Hansheng caught a glimpse of Zhou Jin’s name on the screen. He immediately pressed his hand over it, and said with a flash of flustered indignation, “Teacher, how could you just—”

“How could I not?” Wang Pengzhe cut him off. “I’m old. I haven’t got the time to watch you waste another five or six years going around in circles.”

“…”

Jiang Hansheng gripped the phone, then gripped it again, as though steeling himself before finally lowering his head to read the message.

“Professor Wang, I’m sorry for troubling you.”

“Hansheng and I have had a bit of a misunderstanding.”

“Once he’s feeling a little better, I’ll come and bring him home.”

Jiang Hansheng: “…”

Wang Pengzhe watched as the stiff set of his back and shoulders — held rigid for so long — gradually relaxed. He asked with a teasing lilt, “Feel like eating those wontons now? Go on then — bring me a bowl while you’re at it.”

Jiang Hansheng was briefly silent. He said nothing, sent no reply, and after setting down the phone, walked straight to the kitchen.

Wang Pengzhe took off his glasses and leaned back into the sofa with a sigh. “Honestly. Hopeless.”