Zhou Jin bit down lightly on her lip, cheeks flushed, adrift in sensation, her hand drifting up to rest against Jiang Hansheng’s face.

She watched his brows and eyes — growing darker still where sweat had dampened them — watched the quiet movement of his throat, watched the tension drawn tight across his brow. Achingly, dangerously beautiful.

A man’s appeal really could be lethal.

Especially one who was ordinarily so restrained and remote — now laid bare like this, undone by feeling…

Jiang Hansheng lit something burning along the curve of her waist.

Zhou Jin reined in her racing pulse and caught his wandering hand, pressing it firmly back against the seat.

Their fingers laced together. Zhou Jin pressed her cheek lightly against his, which was burning hot, and murmured: “Professor Jiang. You are truly impossible when you’re drunk.”

He tilted his head, his lips brushing a faint, unhurried trail across her face, and then his teeth closed gently over the tip of her ear. Between ragged breaths, he said: “Zhou Jin. I love you.”

“…”

When it was over, the two of them lingered, tangled together for a while, breaths rising and falling in turn. He held her and kissed her a little while longer — and then, leaning against her shoulder, he was asleep, his breathing even and quiet.

Zhou Jin reached down and found several spots on her own skin that ached where his teeth had been. The state of things between her legs was an absolute disaster. She couldn’t even summon the energy to be properly annoyed.

She pulled some tissues free and wiped them both down in a cursory fashion, shifted Jiang Hansheng so he was leaning against the other side to sleep off the alcohol, and dressed herself before getting out of the car.

Zhou Jin tipped her head back lightly, letting the night breeze clear her head, then lowered the car window and stood there for a moment, watching Jiang Hansheng’s sleeping face with quiet attention.

She was just thinking about getting back in when her phone rang.

The same familiar string of numbers as before.

Zhou Jin walked away from the car, moving to a spot a short distance off where no one was around, and answered.

“How is it going?”

The voice on the other end came through: “I really shouldn’t have told you about this case. It’s against protocol, Zhou Jin.”

“You know how important this lead is to me,” Zhou Jin said, her tone pleading. “Is there any way to verify it further?”

A brief silence. Then a long exhale. “In the ‘8·17’ case, a total of twenty-four service pistols went missing. The overall lead investigator of the special task force at the time was Yao Weihai. During the subsequent recovery operation, he led the effort to retrieve eighteen of the missing firearms — a considerable achievement, and that much is certain and well-documented.”

“I know.”

“If a file related to ‘8·17’ hadn’t passed through my hands on its way out of the provincial bureau, I wouldn’t have known any of this even existed.”

What “this” referred to was something he had already told Zhou Jin in their previous call — that the reason Yao Weihai had been able to locate where the missing firearms were hidden, and recover those eighteen guns, was because an informant had supplied him with a critical lead.

“To protect that informant’s safety,” he explained, “by order of the provincial bureau, every record relating to this individual was either encrypted or destroyed.”

“This person had direct experience confronting the criminal organization,” Zhou Jin said. “I want to meet them.”

“That’s going to be very difficult.”

“Please — just ask around again for me. Consider it a personal favor.”

The man’s tone carried a helpless edge. “…You are something else. I can only promise to do my best — if there’s any way to raise it without creating any risk or danger, I’ll see what I can do… but don’t get your hopes up…”

Zhou Jin smiled quietly. “I won’t. I’ve been disappointed too many times already.”

“All right. Wait for my word.”

The night was deep and still. The evening breeze carried a faint cool dampness, moving down the long street and drifting softly over the roof of the car.

Nearly two hours passed before Jiang Hansheng stirred awake.

The moment he opened his eyes, his head split with pain, his stomach churned with a dull unease, and the unfamiliar discomfort that had settled over his whole body left him momentarily disoriented. When the fog cleared enough for him to find his bearings, he noticed Zhou Jin beside him.

She was still asleep. Jiang Hansheng went very still, afraid to move.

He lowered his gaze and watched her for a moment. His hand reached out and lightly brushed aside the strands of hair that had fallen across her ear — and what he saw made him stop.

Her neck was covered in a map of bite marks and kiss marks.

Jiang Hansheng went still. A moment later he closed his eyes, pressing his fingertips to the furrow between his brows.

“…”

What had he done?

Zhou Jin was a light sleeper. She drifted up through the haze and opened her eyes to find him there. “You’re awake?”

Jiang Hansheng pressed his lips together and gave a small nod.

With his emotional composure restored, it was nearly impossible to catch any excess expression on his face.

Zhou Jin narrowed her eyes slightly and pointed at her own collar. “Do you remember?”

Jiang Hansheng felt something twitch between his brows. He could sense the undercurrent of irritation beneath her surface — faint, but there. He didn’t dare deny it. Fragments of memory were still drifting through his mind.

He dropped his gaze, keeping his voice carefully steady. “I’m sorry, Zhou Jin. I think I…”

Zhou Jin couldn’t hold it back. She laughed.

Jiang Hansheng looked at her — at the way her eyes curved when she smiled, bright and luminous as snow.

“Professor Jiang. Your ears are red.”

She reached up and gave one of his ears a light pinch.

On anyone else, it might have carried a hint of teasing. But this was Zhou Jin —

It didn’t feel like teasing. It felt like playful tormenting.

Jiang Hansheng: “…”

Zhou Jin borrowed his outer jacket and pulled the collar up high around her neck. “Let’s go in.”

She turned over in her mind whether to tell Jiang Hansheng about the latest lead. He had worked at the provincial bureau, after all — his connections ran broader than hers. He might be able to help look into what happened in that old case.

But when the words rose to her lips, she still didn’t know how to begin.

She had her own reasons for hesitation. She didn’t want to draw Jiang Hansheng in, didn’t want one more person carrying the weight of this.

As they neared the entrance to Gardenia Alley, Zhou Jin stopped walking and turned back to look at him. “You’ve never met my brother, have you?”

Jiang Hansheng paused. “No.”

“Then come with me to see him the day after tomorrow.”

Jiang Hansheng nodded. “All right.”

The back of Zhou Jin’s hair was still tucked inside her collar. Jiang Hansheng reached out and drew it free, and in the same motion let his arm settle around her shoulder.

Zhou Jin glanced up in mild surprise, eyes lifting toward the lean line of his jaw. She smiled faintly, and fell into easy, unhurried conversation: “I’m not cold. Feels like rain again soon.”

He answered in a low murmur. He had been about to press a kiss to her forehead — bending slightly toward her — when a strange sensation surged without warning up his spine, a sharp, prickling unease.

He went rigid. His head snapped around.

The night had deepened. The world around them had gone hollow and dark, everything swallowed by shadow. Only a single dim amber street lamp still burned, casting a small pool of pale light at the mouth of the alley.

Jiang Hansheng’s brow drew together. His features had gone cool and still as carved stone. He stayed alert, scanning the darkness with careful, unhurried attention.

Seeing that he hadn’t moved, Zhou Jin asked: “What is it?”

Jiang Hansheng’s palm settled over Zhou Jin’s shoulder. He shifted his body slightly to one side — just enough to bring her fully within the shelter of his shadow.

From a distance, looking toward the alley entrance, all that would have been visible was the sharp, lean line of his shoulders. Zhou Jin’s face would have been almost entirely hidden from view.

Zhou Jin had no idea any of this was happening. “Still dizzy from the walk?” she asked.

The tension that had gathered across Jiang Hansheng’s shoulders slowly eased. “It’s nothing,” he said quietly.