The sky that day was the same dull amber as the one in his memory.

Night was drawing near. In the special police unit’s locker room, only Zhan Wei and Zhou Chuan remained.

Zhan Wei leaned against the window, smoking. Zhou Chuan sat on the bench, tying his shoelaces.

Neither of them said a word.

Zhou Chuan and Zhan Wei had been classmates, and they worked together in the same special police unit. There was no way Zhan Wei could hide anything from him, and Zhou Chuan had quickly learned about the bribery.

Zhan Wei claimed he had his reasons. Zhou Chuan, however, insisted he turn himself in.

Their relationship had plummeted to freezing point because of it.

Zhou Chuan finished putting on his shoes, tossed his jacket over his shoulder, and made to leave.

Zhan Wei suddenly called out to him: “Can we still talk?”

Zhou Chuan slowly clenched his fist, turned around, and asked, “What do you want to talk about?”

The faint reddish ember of the cigarette in Zhan Wei’s hand continued to burn. Just as he always did, he held out the cigarette pack to Zhou Chuan.

“I’ll be your guarantor — introduce you to them. That two hundred thousand, I can split half with you.”

Zhou Chuan glanced at the cigarette pack, then let out a short laugh. “Giving me that much credit?”

Zhan Wei caught the contempt and disdain in his tone.

He slowly drew the pack back, pulled out another cigarette, and lit it.

“If you were in my position, you’d understand — so much of what I’ve done was out of necessity. I can go confess. I don’t care about my life, I don’t care about my job. But what about my family? Because you refuse to get on the same boat as them, they turn around and come after your sister, your parents. What would you do then?”

Zhou Chuan stepped forward, his gaze sharp and unflinching, nearly boring into Zhan Wei. “If they dared touch my family, I’d put a bullet in each and every one of them, kill them all — and then turn myself in. Zhan Wei, I have that kind of all-or-nothing nerve. Do you?”

“……”

“You don’t. Because you’re not me, and I’m not you.”

“But we’re both in the police force! We’re both part of this society!”

Zhan Wei suddenly crushed the lit cigarette into his palm. The searing heat stung him for an instant, then went out.

He said: “Every place has its own rules — whether good or bad, rules are rules. If you want to break them, you’d better first check whether the people who made them agree. Why is it that you never know how to read the situation? When you have the power to change the rules, then you can change them. But Zhou Chuan — we’re just ordinary people. Getting through our own days already takes everything we have. Right now you still have the chance to sit at the table with those people, to share in the feast, to get a slice of the cake. Why are you still standing there, refusing to bow your head, even just a little?”

Zhou Chuan found him impossible to talk to and said coldly: “Because I don’t want to.”

Such a recklessly willful answer drove Zhan Wei into a fury. He shouted: “So you’re going to sell me out? After all these years as brothers, you’d rather push me to my death!”

Zhou Chuan answered without flinching: “If sticking to what’s right means walking toward death, then maybe the question to ask is — who paved that road to ruin for you in the first place!”

“……”

Both men fell silent. Zhan Wei forced down his rage and turned away, gazing out at the dusk beyond the window.

“Zhou Chuan, you’re not young anymore. How can you still live with such naivety?” He paused, then answered his own question: “Because you’ve never suffered.”

How enviable — to loathe evil without compromise, to see the world in black and white, to live with upright dignity. Because you have so much, you have no fear of losing anything.

Perhaps in Zhou Chuan’s eyes, he was no different from a clown.

But Zhou Chuan said: “You used to train new soldiers in the army to throw grenades. One kid got so nervous he failed to lob the grenade over the trench. You didn’t even think — you picked it up, threw it over, and pinned that kid to the ground. That’s what saved his life. Do you still remember that?”

Zhan Wei was silent.

“I watched you endure so much hardship to get to where you are today. For your parents. To become a better man. You were more diligent and hardworking than anyone. I don’t want to watch you trample on your own honor and everything you’ve built. And I don’t want those people to destroy the Zhan Wei who was once willing to lay down his life to save another…”

Zhan Wei closed his eyes, as though there was nothing left to say.

“I hope the next time I see you, it’ll be in the captain’s office.”

Zhou Chuan turned to leave.

“Wait,” said Zhan Wei.

He reached into his locker and pulled out a small, elegantly wrapped gift box, which he handed to Zhou Chuan.

Zhou Chuan took it with a puzzled look, opened it — inside was a rose gold necklace.

“Xiao Jin’s birthday is coming up. This is a gift I prepared for her. Nothing expensive — bought it with my own money.” Zhan Wei’s gaze was deep and steady as he looked at him. “I still don’t want to lose you as a friend.”

Zhou Chuan was taken aback.

Zhan Wei narrowed his eyes into a smile and said: “I’ll come clean with the captain about the bribery in the unit. But give me a little more time — I want to go home first and see my mother, put her mind at ease.”

As though a great weight had been lifted, Zhou Chuan suddenly broke into a smile and crossed the distance in two strides, pulling Zhan Wei into an embrace.

He patted him on the back and said: “Once the mission on the 17th is done, I’ll take you out for drinks.”

Zhan Wei: “Is that a promise?”

Zhou Chuan: “It’s a promise.”

Zhou Chuan took the gift and left the locker room, leaving Zhan Wei alone.

He stood in the fading glow of dusk for a long, long time — until the sun had fully withdrawn the last rays of light from his shoulders. He stared into the pitch-black night that stretched before him, and let out a quiet, involuntary sigh.

“Zhou Chuan, you were right. I shouldn’t trample on the honor and everything I worked so hard to build.”

Zhan Wei reached into the lower section of his locker and pulled out a second phone. He dialed a number. The other end picked up almost immediately.

“The transport route map — I can give it to you.”

Back then, Qi Yan had been looking to get a thrill and had set his sights on police-issue weapons. Through connections with a bureau chief, he had tracked down Zhan Wei, hoping to obtain advance knowledge of the route being used to transport the firearms.

At first, Zhan Wei refused. Police weapons were no small matter — hijacking them was an open act of provocation, the kind that would eventually bring fire down on anyone involved.

But Qi Yan couldn’t have cared less. He was there to provoke the police — why else would he be targeting police-issue weapons?

Qi Yan even promised Zhan Wei that once the job was done, he would arrange a transfer for him to the provincial department.

Choose Zhou Chuan, and prison awaited him. Choose Qi Yan, and a future he had never dared to imagine would be his.

“I accept every condition you laid out before.” A cold gleam cut through Zhan Wei’s narrow eyes. “But there’s one more thing I want in addition — I need you to help me get rid of someone.”

By the 17th of August, Zhan Wei, fearing Qi Yan might make a mistake, arrived near the ambush site they had planned in advance and kept watch over every move being made.

The terrain in that area was elevated, with wild woods on the hillside and patches of half-withered silver grass carpeting the flatter stretches — ideal for cover.

When the convoy transporting the weapons passed through, Qi Yan fired the opening shot, blowing out the tire of the lead vehicle.

Zhou Chuan, hearing that the enemy had a sniper, decided to make a break for the opposite hillside during the exchange of fire — hoping to flush out the sniper position early.

Had Qi Yan’s target not been him, everything would have gone smoothly enough.

But Qi Yan had fired that brazen opening shot for one reason: to draw Zhou Chuan into the open.

He was certain that at the sound of gunfire, Zhou Chuan would risk exposing himself within the sniper’s line of sight, searching for a suitable position to pin down the enemy.

Qi Yan swept through his scope, found Zhou Chuan’s silhouette — and put a bullet clean through his right leg.

Zhou Chuan went down with a howl of pain. Li Jingbo, serving as observer at the time, threw a smoke grenade to provide visual cover.

Qi Yan assumed he was going in to save the wounded man and kept a close watch on the surrounding area — but he never anticipated that Li Jingbo would abandon Zhou Chuan entirely and instead make his way directly to the area where Qi Yan was concealed.

Li Jingbo leveled his weapon at him and ordered him to disarm and surrender.

Qi Yan feigned compliance, raised his hands — then seized his moment, kicked the gun from Li Jingbo’s grip, and the two of them grappled.

Li Jingbo was young, powerfully built, and skilled in hand-to-hand combat. Under normal circumstances, Qi Yan was no match for him.

Li Jingbo subdued Qi Yan from behind, eyes red with fury on behalf of the leg Zhou Chuan had just taken a bullet through: “Do you have any damn idea who you just shot?”

Even with a forearm locked around his throat, Qi Yan was still smiling. “Who?”

At that very instant, a voice rang out from behind Li Jingbo — utterly cold, and utterly familiar.

“Jingbo. Let go.”

Li Jingbo was startled to find someone there who had no business being there. In that one distracted moment, Qi Yan seized his chance, drew a short blade hidden in his belt, spun around, and drove it into Li Jingbo’s abdomen — fast, vicious, more than ten times in quick succession.

Scalding blood drenched Qi Yan from head to toe.

Li Jingbo’s eyes went wide. He didn’t look at Qi Yan’s twisted face — he strained instead to look behind him.

In the instant before he hit the ground, Li Jingbo saw Zhan Wei standing there, a gun aimed at him.

The wild grass partially obscured his vision. His mouth and nostrils were filled with the taste of blood and yellow earth. Li Jingbo stared in utter disbelief, wanting to ask why — but the moment he opened his mouth, blood surged up from his throat in a great rush, drowning every word before it could form.

Until the very end, Li Jingbo never got to ask.

Qi Yan gave the blade a twist and snapped it back with practiced ease. He looked at Zhan Wei, who had appeared out of nowhere, and smiled coldly: “Thorough work.”

Zhan Wei met Li Jingbo’s lifeless, unresigned stare for a moment, his heart completely numb. Then he raised his eyes and replied: “You flatter me.”

Qi Yan turned back and raised the sniper rifle once more.

Ahead of them, his men had seized control of the transport vehicle and were preparing to pull back. The smoke from the grenades was beginning to thin. The crosshairs swung again toward Zhou Chuan, who had already lost consciousness and lay motionless on the ground.

Just as he was about to fire, Qi Yan suddenly stopped. He turned to Zhan Wei behind him and said: “You do it.”

Zhan Wei understood exactly what he meant, and refused in a flat, cold voice: “I won’t.”

Qi Yan said with utter indifference: “Then he’s lucky today — might just survive.”

Zhan Wei’s fist clenched.

“We’re running out of time.” Qi Yan grinned, glancing at his watch. “You have thirty seconds.”

Zhan Wei gritted his teeth, walked over, picked up Qi Yan’s rifle, and looked through the scope at Zhou Chuan—

Zhou Chuan, in agony.

Ever since he had known Zhou Chuan, the man had existed like a deity — always radiant, always the center of everything. Who would have imagined he would die like this?

A moment passed. Then Zhan Wei suddenly smiled, and pulled the trigger.

Bang—!

The bullet split the air, sending a whirlwind spiraling upward, its shattering report reverberating between heaven and earth.

When the echo faded, there was nothing left but the half-withered silver grass swaying in the wind.

“Do you know what I felt in the moment I pulled the trigger?” Zhan Wei smiled, eyes narrowed. “The whole world went quiet.”

Zhou Jin stared blankly ahead, her entire body rigid and ice-cold.

“It was just — too easy a death. But it doesn’t matter. All these years, watching you suffer so much… it made me genuinely happy. Zhou Chuan loved you so much, his little sister. If he knew you’d been played around by me like a fool, he’d absolutely die with his eyes wide open.”

“Wonderful, just wonderful!” Zhan Wei slapped the steering wheel and burst into laughter. “This is what happens when you refuse to play by the rules. I gave him a chance, and he didn’t want it! Look how it all turned out…”

Zhou Jin reached into her handbag and drew out her handgun, pressing it to Zhan Wei’s temple, chambering a round in one clean motion.

“Stop the car.”

The vehicle was already on the ring road. The cold promise of the dark muzzle hung in the air. Zhan Wei’s expression didn’t change.

“You’re pointing a gun at me?”

“I told you to stop the car,” Zhou Jin said. “Zhan Wei, don’t think I won’t pull the trigger.”

“Is it because I killed Zhou Chuan that you think you can?” Zhan Wei sneered. “Zhou Jin, let me teach you two more lessons. First — a person who knows how to read the room will never lose.”

“Honestly, I despise Qi Yan just as much as you do. That man is a lunatic. All along, I’ve been quietly helping you with the investigation — because I wanted the police to take him down through proper channels.

Five years ago, I also discovered that Yao Weihai had planted two undercover agents in Qi Yan’s circle. One of them was Meng Junfeng. The other — before I could identify him, Yao Weihai found out that the undercover files had been leaked and had all the records scrubbed. But Meng Junfeng wasn’t exposed until five years later — do you know why? Because I protected him. The best outcome would have been for the task force to bring down Qi Yan. But in the end, I never expected Meng Junfeng and Yao Weihai to both be finished off by Qi Yan…”

“Qi Yan is the winner. So I stand on the winner’s side. That’s called knowing how to read the room. And the second lesson — if you want to win all the way to the end, it comes down to who is willing to sacrifice more!”

He floored the accelerator and said with a grin: “Zhou Jin, you never should have gotten in my car.”

Zhou Jin heard a click — the driver’s side door had been shoved open. A gust of wind rushed in, slamming hard against her face.

She went rigid with shock. She saw Zhan Wei wrench the steering wheel, sending the entire vehicle lurching off its path and slamming headlong into the roadside barrier!

Zhan Wei leapt from the car, hit the ground, and rolled violently several times before coming to a stop.

Zhou Jin was thrown forward by the vehicle’s momentum. Boom — the thunderous crack of impact slammed into her eardrums!

Every airbag deployed at once. Glass shattered and sprayed outward.

The violent collision sent the world spinning around her. Zhou Jin lost consciousness for a brief moment.

After some time had passed, she fought through a sharp, piercing ringing in her ears and tried to climb out of the wreckage — but her leg was pinned. Every movement only made the pain worse.

Even those few small movements had exhausted every last bit of Zhou Jin’s strength. Her body went limp. A thick stream of blood ran down from her forehead. Darkness swept across her vision in waves — she could no longer make out anything.

It hurts so much, she thought.

Her phone had fallen beneath the seat, its screen flashing — lighting up again and again with an incoming call from Jiang Hansheng.

Zhou Jin gripped the wedding ring at her throat with all her remaining strength. Before she could make any response at all, she slumped and lost consciousness.

She had no idea how much time passed — perhaps a very long time, perhaps only a moment. She could no longer tell.

She felt herself being pulled from the wreckage. Her head came to rest against someone’s chest, as though she were being held in someone’s arms.

Her vision was completely blurred, and Zhou Jin could make out only the vague outline of a man.

On instinct, Zhou Jin called out: “Hansheng…”

The man’s cool lips pressed against her forehead. Slowly, he licked away the blood there. Then, finger by finger, inch by inch, he traced his way across Zhou Jin’s face, her shoulders, her waist — before finally coming to rest on her legs, beneath the hem of her red skirt.

Like a man who had just claimed a prize, he drew Zhou Jin into his arms and said with a smile: “We finally meet, Officer Zhou.”