Blood — blood everywhere, pouring freely.

An ambulance, a police car, piercing sirens tearing through the pale white sky —

Zhou Jin had just finished coordinating with her colleagues in Huaisha, arranging to fly there that evening. She had barely ended the call when Jiang Hansheng’s name lit up her screen.

Even through the phone, she could hear the trembling in his voice.

“Professor Wang — something’s happened.”

Zhou Jin’s ears rang with a sudden burst of noise, and countless possibilities flooded her mind at once.

“What happened?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” He seemed incapable of thought, mechanically repeating himself. Then he said again, “My junior colleague told me — the professor was attacked. Right there in the office building. It might be Qi Yan… who else could it be? A past criminal he helped put away — that’s also… also possible…”

Jiang Hansheng was ordinarily the most composed of people, but now his words were becoming more and more incoherent.

Zhou Jin listened with her heart in her throat, her palms breaking into a cold sweat. She forced herself to stay calm and said, “Hansheng, don’t panic. We’ll go to Huaisha first and see Professor Wang. I’ll call you a car right now. Get dressed and come downstairs — we’ll meet at the airport.”

“…Alright.”

She hung up and immediately called two taxis heading to the airport, then booked the fastest available flight to Huaisha.

On the way, she reached out again to her colleagues in Huaisha, asking them to make the trip to the Criminal Research Center office building and find out what had happened.

Everyone in the Major Crimes Unit had worked cases alongside the Criminal Research Center before. The moment they heard it was Wang Pengzhe who had been targeted, there was no hesitation — they went and got answers quickly.

Just as Jiang Hansheng had suspected, the attacker was a criminal Wang Pengzhe had helped bring to justice in the past. The man had been released from prison not long ago and, disguised as a courier, had ambushed Wang Pengzhe at the office door with a baseball bat.

Fortunately, a security guard had been nearby at the time and subdued the attacker quickly. Wang Pengzhe had suffered a severe blow to the head and had collapsed in a pool of blood. He was rushed to the hospital for treatment.

Word was that he was still in surgery, his condition unknown.

“Has the suspect been interrogated?” Zhou Jin asked.

“We just came out of the police station. After his arrest, he confessed quickly. He said that after his release, he couldn’t reintegrate into society and wanted to take revenge on Wang Pengzhe. When officers searched his home, they found nothing, but at his parents’ house they turned up a hundred thousand yuan in cash. The elderly couple said their son had left it with them for their retirement.”

Zhou Jin’s alertness sharpened at once. Where would a man who had just walked out of prison, complaining he couldn’t fit back into society, come up with that kind of money?

“Could it be a hired attack?” she ventured.

“Can’t rule it out. Don’t worry — we already have people following up on it. The two of us are heading to People’s Hospital right now to check on Director Wang. We’ll be in touch if anything develops.”

“Thank you for your trouble.”

“What trouble? We’re all family here. Take care on the road.”

Zhou Jin urged the driver to go faster. An hour later, she found Jiang Hansheng in the departure lounge.

He was ashen-faced, sitting bolt upright in one of the waiting chairs, stiff as a statue. His hands were folded together, his thumbs restlessly moving back and forth across the back of his hand.

His first words when he saw her were: “It has to be Qi Yan. There’s no other explanation.”

Hengyun Logistics — the lifeline that had sustained the underground trade of Haizhou — had already been shut down. Then the drug manufacturing facility on Kuang Mountain had been dismantled by police. Qi Yan had also lost both his right-hand men — Seventh Uncle and He Wu.

A cornered dog will leap over a wall. Going after Wang Pengzhe out of revenge wasn’t impossible at all.

As for why it was Wang Pengzhe specifically…

Jiang Hansheng shut his eyes, as though trying to contain a pain that had reached its absolute limit.

Zhou Jin sat down beside him. Her hands were warm; the back of Jiang Hansheng’s was ice cold.

“Don’t overthink it,” she said. “Professor Wang is going to be alright.”

But at a moment like this, such words of comfort felt impossibly hollow. No one could bear this anguish in his place.

Every trace of color had drained from his face, his skin white as porcelain — looking fragile and breakable.

Zhou Jin noticed that the buttons on his black overcoat were done up in the wrong order. She crouched in front of him and undid each button one by one, then refastened them correctly.

“I’ll be right here with you.” She straightened his collar. “Hansheng, hold yourself together. If Professor Wang saw you like this, it would only make things harder for him.”

Jiang Hansheng said nothing. He simply wrapped his hand tightly around hers.

The two of them endured three grueling hours together. By the time they reached Huaisha People’s Hospital, night had fully fallen.

Wang Pengzhe had been moved to the ICU after coming out of surgery. His son had been outside the ward the entire time, praying and weeping.

When he saw Jiang Hansheng rushing in, his emotions surged.

Jiang Hansheng’s voice had gone hoarse. He had just begun to ask, “How is the professor—”

The man’s expression twisted. He lunged forward, seized Jiang Hansheng by the collar, and drove his fist into his face.

“You bring nothing but disaster!”

He shoved him back hard. Jiang Hansheng still had an injury on his leg and couldn’t keep his footing — he stumbled and fell to the floor.

Zhou Jin had no time to react. Seeing the man raise his fist to strike again, she immediately seized his wrist and snapped, “What do you think you’re doing?!”

Jiang Hansheng frowned. “Zhou Jin — stay out of it.”

Not wanting to make the situation any uglier than it already was, Zhou Jin released the man’s wrist and turned to help Jiang Hansheng to his feet.

“Are you alright?” she asked quietly.

Jiang Hansheng shook his head, but his color was dreadful.

Wang Pengzhe’s daughter-in-law was there as well. Seeing that it had already come to blows, she rushed forward to restrain her husband.

“Darling, calm down — Dad is still in there.”

“How am I supposed to calm down?!”

His eyes were red. He pointed at Jiang Hansheng and raged, “My dad was almost ready to retire, and he’s been running himself ragged over your cases. What happened to him today — can you honestly stand there and tell me you have nothing to do with it?! I’m warning you, Jiang Hansheng — if my dad doesn’t wake up, you watch what I’ll do to you!”

“I’m sorry.” Jiang Hansheng lowered his head. Half his face seemed to sink into shadow. He said it again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Hearing him apologize, Zhou Jin’s hand at his waist tightened its grip without thinking.

She ached for him. She felt the injustice of it on his behalf. And then the thought of Professor Wang — the person who meant so much to him — still hovering between life and death made her eyes burn sharply.

The moment Jiang Hansheng began to apologize, it only stoked the man’s fury further. “And what good does sorry do? Why isn’t it you lying in there instead of him?!”

A nurse poked her head out from the ward and shouted, “What is all this noise?! This is a hospital!”

Wang Pengzhe’s son swallowed back his rage and forced his voice down to a low, cutting tone.

“I’m going downstairs for a smoke. As for you—” he pointed at Jiang Hansheng, “—get out. Our whole family doesn’t want to see your face.”

He left, his expression dark with irritation.

Wang Pengzhe’s daughter-in-law looked at Zhou Jin and Jiang Hansheng with an expression full of remorse.

“He’s just so worried about his father,” she said softly. “He got overwhelmed and said things he didn’t mean. Please don’t take it to heart… We do understand, truly — none of this is your fault. This is all because of those terrible people. Hansheng, I’m glad you came. When my father-in-law wakes up and sees you, I know he’ll be happy.”

“Thank you,” Zhou Jin said. “How is Professor Wang right now?”

“He still hasn’t woken up. He’s not young anymore — a blow like that… how could anyone withstand that at his age…”

As she spoke, she pressed her hand over her mouth to hold back her tears. Afraid of breaking down in front of them, she made an excuse about needing to use the restroom and hurried away.

Wang Pengzhe had not yet regained consciousness. So they waited.

Jiang Hansheng sat on the long bench in the corridor. Zhou Jin knew the torment he must be carrying inside, and she stayed beside him in silence.

Over the course of the wait, people arrived one after another. In front of Jiang Hansheng, a blur of figures came and went — some anxious, some worried, some in tears, some sighing…

Only he sat there, expressionless, his left hand wrapped around his right wrist, unmoving, not saying a single word for a very long time.

By the time the sky was nearly beginning to lighten into the next morning, Zhou Jin had drifted off for a short while, unable to hold back sleep any longer. When she opened her eyes, Jiang Hansheng was still awake.

He was staring at the clock hanging in the corridor, watching the red numbers tick by, one second at a time.

Zhou Jin felt a stab of worry. “Do you want to try and sleep a little?”

Jiang Hansheng seemed to have drawn himself back from that raw, frantic state. He gave her a quiet, faint smile. “I’m not tired.”

She tried again. “Let me go get something to eat. Small wontons — would you like some?”

Jiang Hansheng paused. Then he said, “Last time I went to the professor’s home, he made me a bowl of wontons… Back then, he was still… still doing so well… still so…”

Zhou Jin pressed her lips together and took his hand in both of hers. “Jiang Hansheng — is it that you don’t know how to cry?”

His back went rigid. “…”

Zhou Jin wrapped both arms around him, her hand moving slowly across his back. “It’s alright. It’s alright.”

At last, Jiang Hansheng’s right hand began to tremble against his will. His eyes, very slowly, turned red.

He held her back — the way a drowning man clings to the only thing keeping him afloat.

His chin rested on her shoulder. He closed his eyes, as though fleeing from reality, or perhaps trying to bury the pain.

His voice came out in a ragged whisper. “Zhou Jin, I think I’ve done something wrong again.”

Hearing him blame himself like that, Zhou Jin held back her own tears by sheer force of will. Her fingers moved through the hair at the back of his head. “It has nothing to do with you. Do you hear me? It is not your fault.”

Time moved on, second by second. They endured the wait together, from morning through to the afternoon.

Jiang Hansheng never slept. He refused to eat.

Then, toward evening, good news came from inside the ward: Wang Pengzhe’s condition had stabilized, and he had regained consciousness.

Everyone who had been waiting let out a breath. Wang Pengzhe’s son in particular was overcome with relief — he grabbed the doctor’s hand and bowed in gratitude again and again.

Standing beside Jiang Hansheng, Zhou Jin clearly saw the tension that had been locked in his shoulders and spine — wound to its absolute limit — suddenly release.

“Professor Wang is going to be alright,” she said.

He took her hand and said, to no one in particular, “Thank you.”

After regaining consciousness, Wang Pengzhe immediately asked to see people.

His son put on an isolation gown and went inside. He spoke to Wang Pengzhe through the patient communication system for a few minutes, then came back out not long after.

He looked at Jiang Hansheng. Ill at ease, he said, “My dad asked for you by name.”

“…”

Zhou Jin gave him a gentle nudge. “Go on in.”

Jiang Hansheng walked over, said a quiet word of thanks to him, and then, following the doctor’s instructions, stepped into the ward.

Wang Pengzhe had just come back from the very edge of death. His whole body felt as though it had come apart at the seams. He lay there with his eyes open, exhausted.

When he saw Jiang Hansheng step in wearing a mask, standing at the bedside without saying a word — just watching him with those two eyes above the mask — Wang Pengzhe’s lips curved without quite meaning to. His mouth was dry and bitter, but after great effort, he managed to force out a few hoarse words.

“…You little rascal… Why are you… crying?”