Yan Qing was eating in the military police department canteen. Bai Pang, who was on serving duty, had given her an extra piece of braised pork.

Halfway through her meal, Yan Qing’s wrist gave a sudden jerk, and the piece of pork she had just picked up fell onto the table. She stared at it for a moment, then let out a quiet sigh.

This feeling of unease and distraction had clung to her since Shi Ting left. Even knowing that Shi Ting faced all kinds of dangers regularly, she couldn’t stop herself from worrying.

Before, that concern had been the ordinary kind that a friend felt for a friend. But now it was different. In her heart, Shi Ting had long since become the person who mattered most to her.

After finishing her meal, Yan Qing returned to the autopsy room, intending to study the bodies further. When she lifted the white sheet covering Song Meimei, the outer door suddenly swung open.

Yan Qing’s hand gave a start, and the sheet dropped. Bai Jin stood in the doorway, drenched in sweat.

The moment she saw him, that ominous feeling swept over her again.

“Miss Yan — it’s bad. The boss has been shot.”

The words had barely landed before Yan Qing rose from her wheelchair, staring at him in shock. “Where is he?”

Bai Jin looked down at her feet, standing squarely on the ground, and his astonishment was so profound that for a moment he forgot entirely about Shi Ting being shot.

He pointed at Yan Qing’s legs, stammering, “You — your legs — your legs…!”

Yan Qing looked down and only then realized she was standing perfectly upright. A storm of grief and joy washed over her all at once.

“Miss Yan, you can stand!”

Even as Bai Jin said the words, Yan Qing’s legs gave way beneath her and she sank back into the wheelchair. He rushed over. “Are you all right?”

Yan Qing had no time for that. “How is Shi Ting? Where is he? Is it serious?”

“The boss is at the hospital — the doctors are operating now. I left someone with him and ran back here to tell you, worried you’d be anxious.”

“Take me there, now.”

“Right.” Bai Jin took hold of her wheelchair. “You don’t need to worry too much, honestly — the bullet hit his shoulder, not anywhere vital.”

Yan Qing’s hands gripped the armrests tightly. “That’s still a bullet.”

As a forensic examiner, she understood better than anyone the destruction a bullet could cause.

Bai Jin sighed. “The boss could have dodged it. But if he had, the bullet would have hit the child behind him. He didn’t want an innocent person caught in the crossfire, so he took it himself — deliberately.”

Yan Qing’s eyes filled with pained understanding. She wanted to scold him, but didn’t know where to begin. He was always so sharp, even in the space of a lightning flash, keeping his mind clear.

By the time they arrived at the hospital, the surgery was already finished, and the doctor was speaking with Shi Ting.

Shi Ting sat bare-chested, his left shoulder wrapped in bandages and held in a sling, his expression perfectly composed.

“Fortunately, the bone wasn’t damaged. A few days of rest and he’ll be fine,” the doctor was saying — then noticed that Shi Ting was looking toward the door.

He turned to see Bai Jin wheeling Yan Qing in.

Yan Qing glanced once at Shi Ting, then immediately turned to the doctor. “Doctor, how is his injury?”

“Nothing serious,” the doctor said. “It’s just a flesh wound — the bullet has been removed. Make sure to take the medication on schedule and come back every two days to have the dressing changed.”

“That’s a relief, that’s a relief.” Bai Jin beamed. “I knew the boss would be fine.”

After offering a few more reminders, the doctor left the room. Bai Jin, ever perceptive, announced that he had questions for the doctor and slipped out after him.

When the room grew quiet, Yan Qing wheeled herself to the bedside. Seeing the gauze on his shoulder, tinged already with threads of blood seeping through, her eyes turned red.

“Foolish man, I’m fine.” He raised a long finger and gently nudged the tip of her nose. “The bone isn’t hurt — a few days and it’ll be healed.”

“I heard from Officer Bai that you did it to protect the child behind you.” Yan Qing’s nose stung. “When will you ever stop and think about yourself?”

“The military police can’t let innocent bystanders get hurt when making an arrest — if we did, the pledge to keep the four corners of the city safe would be a joke.” Shi Ting tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “Don’t worry.”

“Did you catch him?”

“Yes. Huo Zhiguo fired one shot and jumped into the water, but he was unlucky enough to run up against Bai Jin — who has quite the reputation as a fish in rough waters.”

“I didn’t realize Officer Bai was so capable.” Yan Qing reached over and poured a cup of water, blew on it gently to cool it, then handed it to him. “Here, drink.”

He wrapped his hand around the cup — and around her hand as well. The warmth from the cup was nothing compared to the warmth of her skin.

“When Huo Zhiguo pulled the trigger, the only thought in my head was: I can’t die. If I die, who’s going to marry you.”

“I’m not someone who can’t find a husband,” Yan Qing said pointedly, lifting her chin. “You worry too much.”

Shi Ting laughed — though from the blood loss, his face was a little pale.

He drank the water, then asked Yan Qing to retrieve his uniform.

“What are you doing? Don’t tell me you’re going back to the department?”

“Huo Zhiguo still hasn’t been interrogated. We don’t yet know for certain whether he killed Song Zixian.”

“But the doctor said you need to rest…”

Shi Ting’s clear eyes found hers. “Yan Qing, you know me.”

She did. She knew him — he was someone who would put a case above his own life. A small injury like this was never going to make him stop.

And hadn’t she always been the same way? She understood him, because she understood herself.

“Then promise me. No showing off how tough you are. You can direct things from a chair, but you stay away from the front lines. Take your medication on time. Change the dressing every two days. Don’t let the wound get wet. No spicy food. No getting agitated. Get enough rest…”

She went on in one unbroken stream, and before she could finish, he leaned forward and wrapped his uninjured right arm around her.

Yan Qing moved to pull away, but then heard him murmur warmly against her ear — “careful of my wound.”

She went perfectly still.

Shi Ting held her quietly for a moment, then released her with evident contentment. “I understand. I’ll do everything you say.”

Yan Qing, taking into account that he was still a patient, reined in her reaction somewhat. “I’ll go get your clothes.”

She retrieved his uniform from the nearby table. “This has a bullet hole in it. What do we do?”

“It’s fine — there’s a tailor across the street who can fix it. His patches are invisible, you’d never know they were there.” Shi Ting took the jacket, considered it for a moment, then held it back out to her.

Yan Qing blinked. “What’s wrong?”

He looked down at his arm in its sling, then back at her, wearing an expression of complete innocence.

Yan Qing felt the urge to laugh despite herself, and accepting the jacket, carefully unfolded it. “What are you wearing underneath?”

“Right, there’s also the shirt.” Shi Ting remembered. “It might be over there.”

Yan Qing found his shirt. The left shoulder had been torn open by the bullet — the hole wasn’t large, but a stain of blood had spread across the white fabric. There was nothing else available to replace it for now, so this would have to do.

This wasn’t the first time she’d seen him bare-chested. Back in Wuyin Village, she had helped tend to his injury then too. But their relationship then had been entirely different from what it was now, and so after one glance at the clearly defined lines of muscle across half his shoulder, her face went warm.

Yan Qing quietly took two slow, steadying breaths, telling herself to think of him as an ordinary man — or even as an emotionless specimen. But when she looked up and met his gaze, which held a faint hint of teasing amusement, her composure deserted her entirely and her face burned red.

He stretched out one arm and, with perfect seriousness, said, “Thank you.”

Yan Qing pressed her lips together and unfolded the shirt, draping it across his back. “Arms in.”

“Right.” Shi Ting slid his arm into the sleeve and extended his hand out the other end. The injured arm couldn’t go through its sleeve properly, so it remained tucked inside along with the rest.

To fasten the buttons, she had to lean in close. Her two small pale hands worked with focused care, doing up each button in turn. He tilted his head down and watched the soft crown of her hair, and the corner of his mouth curved gently upward.

Once the shirt was done, Yan Qing draped the outer jacket over his shoulders.

Just when she thought everything was taken care of, he said, “There’s also the trousers.”

Yan Qing’s eyes went wide. “What?”

The smile in his eyes deepened at a leisurely pace, and his fingers lightly pinched her soft cheek. “I’m teasing you.”

He reached down with one hand and lifted the blanket — his uniform trousers covered his long legs neatly, perfectly put on.

Yan Qing knew she’d been played, and in her exasperation, she grabbed his right hand and sank her teeth into the back of it.

Shi Ting looked at the two small rows of marks — faint, barely visible — then lifted his own hand and pressed his lips to where she had bitten him, placing a gentle kiss there.

“You…” Yan Qing felt her face as though it might actually catch fire, burning with heat. “Shi Ting!”

Shi Ting let out a soft laugh and ruffled her hair. “Let’s go.”

She was irritated with him in her heart, but she stepped forward to steady him all the same, just in case he lost his footing.

“I’m fine. It’s only a shoulder injury.”

Yan Qing gave a short, pointed hum and rolled her eyes.

As they left, Bai Jin emerged having completed all the paperwork, and the three of them returned to the military police department together.

In the interrogation room, Huo Zhiguo sat in a chair, hands in handcuffs, feet shackled in chains — already given the treatment of a serious criminal.

This Huo Zhiguo was, by all accounts, a good-looking man. Before the gambling habit had taken hold of him, he had cut an impressive, high-spirited figure in his career. But the man sitting here now was disheveled, with tangled hair and dirty, unkempt clothes — looking more like a vagrant scavenging by the roadside.

“Do you recognize this person?” Zheng Yun dropped a photograph of Song Meimei in front of him.

Huo Zhiguo glanced at it and said nothing.

Seeing that he intended to stay silent, Zheng Yun gave a cold laugh. “We found your fingerprints — coated in machine oil — on Song Meimei’s body and on the door handle of her home. You don’t have to say a word. We can convict you without any confession at all.”

Huo Zhiguo still said nothing.

At this moment, Shi Ting pushed open the door and walked in. His uniform jacket was draped over his shoulders, his injured arm concealed beneath it.

Zheng Yun rose. “Boss, are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Shi Ting sat down in the chair Zheng Yun pulled out for him, and turned his gaze to Huo Zhiguo, who sat hunched with his head down.

Huo Zhiguo had clearly decided to fight to the last.

Shi Ting set a pistol on the table in front of him. “A homemade firearm?”

Huo Zhiguo’s eyes flared red. He reached out to snatch it, and Shi Ting raised an eyebrow with cool contempt. “No use taking it. Do you really think there’d still be bullets inside?”

Huo Zhiguo slowly withdrew his hand.

“You were originally from Xijin City. The firearm you used to kill Song Zixian was a large-caliber Mauser pistol — a specialty of Xijin City.”

At those words, Huo Zhiguo suddenly lifted his head. “Who says I killed Song Zixian?”

—