The following afternoon, Ling’ai brought the remaining large shrimp from the kitchen to the Military Police Division.

Because of Yan Qing, many people at the division knew who Ling’ai was, and seeing her, they all greeted her warmly.

Zheng Yun had just returned from handling a case outside, and before he had even had a chance to drink a sip of water, he heard one of the junior officers call out: “Captain Zheng, Miss Ling’ai is here.”

When Zheng Yun walked out, Ling’ai was in the middle of exchanging greetings with E’Yuan.

“Zheng Yun, you’re here.” E’Yuan smiled. “I won’t disturb you two, then.”

As he said it, he gave Zheng Yun a conspicuous double wink.

“I heard from Dr. E that you only just got back — do you need to rest a little first?” Ling’ai saw how travel-worn he looked and couldn’t bear the thought of making him work without pause.

“It’s fine. I’m used to it from working cases.” Zheng Yun took the box from her hands. “Let me take you to find Gu Zhen.”

Zheng Yun brought the shrimp to Gu Zhen for testing. While waiting, Ling’ai asked, “Have you eaten yet?”

“No. I’m not sure if there’s any food left in the canteen.” The mention of lunch reminded him that he was actually quite hungry.

“I brought you a lunch box.” Ling’ai had thought of how Zheng Yun had likely had no time to eat while out working the case, and besides, he had mentioned before that the canteen food was only just passable — filling enough, but nothing special in terms of flavor.

Zheng Yun was visibly surprised. “You brought me a lunch box?”

“I didn’t make it myself.” Ling’ai quickly clarified. “My cooking isn’t very good — it was made by our family’s cook, Liu Ma.”

Zheng Yun smiled slightly. “I’m not picky.”

He led her to a door. “Come in and sit for a while. This is my office.”

The squad captains at the Military Police Division each had their own office. Zheng Yun’s was not large, and simply furnished.

The moment Ling’ai entered, she began looking around with curious eyes, her gaze finally coming to rest on a black-and-white group photograph on the desk.

The photo showed more than a dozen people, some standing and some seated. She spotted Zheng Yun at once — he was sitting on the grass to the left.

“The relationship between your colleagues really is wonderful.” Ling’ai admired it deeply.

“We’re all brothers who’ve faced life and death together.” Zheng Yun picked up the thermos, first rinsed a cup with hot water, then poured a fresh cup of tea and set it before Ling’ai. “Bonds forged through risking our lives.”

“When was this taken?”

“About three years ago, I think. I had only just joined the division then — still just a junior officer.”

“You must be very capable. To become a captain in just three years.”

Ling’ai had heard from Yan Qing that Zheng Yun was Shi Ting’s most capable right-hand man, someone Shi Ting was nurturing as a successor. When the time came for Shi Ting to leave the division, Zheng Yun was very likely to take over as Director.

“I’m hungry.” Zheng Yun looked at her, a helpless expression crossing his face.

It was only then that Ling’ai remembered the lunch box in her bag.

She opened her bag and took out two aluminum containers — one held the dishes, and the other held the rice.

“I didn’t know what you liked to eat, so I had Liu Ma make a few different things — there’s both meat and fish.”

The dishes were braised beef, red-braised hairtail fish, and stir-fried mixed mushrooms. The rice was fried rice with sausage and egg.

The moment the containers were opened, a delicious aroma wafted out.

“I’m not picky.” Though he sometimes grew tired of the canteen food, it never stopped him from filling his stomach. “When working a case out in the field, you’re exposed to the elements — sometimes when staking out a suspect, you go two days and two nights without eating or drinking.”

Ling’ai knew their work was grueling, but she hadn’t imagined it was quite this grueling, and felt a pang of sympathy.

“Eat while it’s hot — it won’t taste as good once it goes cold.”

She had timed things carefully and had Liu Ma take it off the stove at just the right moment, then rushed all the way here to the division.

By the time Zheng Yun took his first bite, the food was exactly the right temperature — neither cold nor too hot.

Zheng Yun was truly hungry, and swept through every dish with impressive speed. When he finished, he had the look of someone who could have eaten more.

Ling’ai thought he hadn’t had enough — she had already used the largest lunch box at home, packed as full as it could possibly go.

It was the first time she had realized just how remarkable an appetite a man of Zheng Yun’s age could have.

After eating, Zheng Yun gave Ling’ai a novel to pass the time.

“How is your father doing?” he asked.

“He’s still in the hospital. I’ll go back once the test results come in.” Ling’ai took the novel. “The doctor said there’s no more cause for concern. He should be able to be discharged in a couple of days.”

“Why do you have a romance novel here?” Ling’ai asked curiously. It was titled *Dream of the Mortal World* — it had to be a love story.

Zheng Yun had simply pulled out any book at hand to give Ling’ai, and hadn’t expected it to be a novel.

When he saw the title, he felt a touch of awkwardness. “A victim’s family member gave it to me.”

But Ling’ai didn’t dwell on the content and instead remarked with feeling, “Those family members of the victims — they must be so deeply grateful to you. You’ve brought justice for their loved ones, allowing those who died to rest in peace. The things they give you may be simple, but they come from the heart.”

That reminded him. “Last time you told me how to care for peonies, and I followed your instructions — but the peonies still look wilted, and now they’ve developed bugs.”

“Bugs?” Ling’ai was startled. “There weren’t any when I saw them last time.”

“Perhaps I’m just not suited to looking after flowers and plants.” Zheng Yun laughed sheepishly. “If they end up in my hands, they’ll probably wither sooner or later.”

“Those peony varieties are quite rare and precious. If they were properly cultivated, they could sell for a considerable sum. And even if you don’t sell them, something this precious shouldn’t be left to fend for itself.” Ling’ai thought about it. “Once my father is discharged, I’ll come and see if there’s still any chance of saving them.”

Zheng Yun nodded. “Alright.”

While the two of them were still talking, Bai Pang knocked on the door from outside. “Captain Zheng, the results are in.”

The testing hadn’t been complicated, and the results came back quickly.

Zheng Yun immediately got to his feet. “Did you find anything?”

“The phosphorus content in these cooked shrimp is ten times that of ordinary shrimp. If consumed in excess, it would cause phosphorus poisoning.” Bai Pang’s voice was unhurried.

“What if someone with kidney disease ate them?” Ling’ai already had her answer in mind, but she wanted to hear a professional conclusion.

“Patients with kidney disease must strictly control their phosphorus and protein intake. Consuming a dose this large, eating just a few shrimp would be enough to trigger a rapid deterioration of the kidney condition — or even pose a life-threatening risk.”

Zheng Yun glanced at Ling’ai. “Xiao Gu, do you have any idea why the phosphorus level in these shrimp would be so high?”

“Shrimp naturally contain a high amount of phosphorus, but in small quantities it’s generally harmless. For the phosphorus level in these shrimp to be this elevated, there is only one possible explanation — they were subjected to highly concentrated contamination. Environmental water pollution can be essentially ruled out. If I were to speculate, someone likely placed a large quantity of phosphorus into water and kept live shrimp in it to achieve this effect.”

“Deliberate?” Zheng Yun furrowed his brow. “Even if all these shrimp were eaten, the result would only be phosphorus poisoning — it wouldn’t be lethal. If someone intended to poison him, they could have used something far more potent directly. There would be no need for such an elaborate approach.”

He looked at Ling’ai. “Knowing Huicun as well as you do — could someone be trying to use this as an opportunity to harm him?”

In truth, Zheng Yun had already thought of Nagase, but he could not say so when Ling’ai herself had not voiced any suspicion. He still didn’t know what kind of relationship existed between Ling’ai and Nagase — if their feelings were deep, he couldn’t be sure how Ling’ai would react.

When Ling’ai heard Gu Zhen’s analysis, she had already formed a bold suspicion in her own mind — but she truly didn’t want to connect this to the gentle, refined person she had known.

Seeing her complexion darken, Zheng Yun could tell that she had already thought of Nagase.

“I’ll take you to the hospital first. As for what comes next, discuss it with Huicun and then decide.”

Ling’ai gave a quiet sound of agreement, then turned and bowed to Gu Zhen. “Thank you, Section Chief Gu.”

“Ha ha, not at all.” Bai Pang waved a slightly bashful hand.

Zheng Yun walked Ling’ai out of the Military Police Division. She seemed lost in thought, and just as she was about to get into the car, she suddenly looked over at Zheng Yun, her eyes carrying a faint trace of uncertainty.

“Zheng Yun — are you keeping something from me?”

“Do you want to know?”

“Is it Nagase?”

Zheng Yun knew that Ling’ai was perceptive and sharp. The moment Gu Zhen mentioned that the phosphorus had been deliberately introduced, she had already thought of Nagase.

It was plain to see that whoever had been orchestrating things in the shadows hadn’t intended to take Huicun’s life — only to use Huicun’s hospitalization as a way to distract and restrain her.

“Nagase came to the cinema entrance to find me that night.”

Ling’ai’s heart tightened. It seemed her suspicion had been confirmed.

“What did he say?”

Zheng Yun said nothing, and simply looked at her.

Ling’ai understood that whatever was said must have been unpleasant — or perhaps not the kind of thing that should come from Zheng Yun’s mouth. She lowered her head gently. “If he said anything hurtful, I’m sorry.”

“Nothing he said made any impression on me.” Zheng Yun saw how pale she had gone, and felt a sudden tightening in his chest. “If I had believed him, I wouldn’t have been at the hospital.”

Ling’ai looked up at him again, surprised and then quietly moved, before the corner of her mouth lifted softly. “Because you’re Zheng Yun.”

After so many years in the Military Police Division solving countless cases, if Zheng Yun couldn’t see through Nagase’s scheme, he wouldn’t be sitting in the position he held.

“Does that count as a compliment?”

His half-joking tone made Ling’ai smile. “It does.”

Seeing her smile, the haze that had settled over Zheng Yun’s heart was swept away. “Let’s go. To the hospital first.”

The matter of Nagase was not his place to intervene in. How it was ultimately resolved would depend on Ling’ai’s own decision. All he could do was keep her safe along the way.

When Ling’ai stepped into the hospital room, a familiar voice was already speaking inside. “The discharge paperwork has been taken care of. You can go home tomorrow — the doctor says you’re recovering very well.”

Ling’ai saw that Nagase was sitting with Huicun, speaking to him with a smile, and a flicker of discomfort stirred inside her.

Her feelings toward Nagase had remained rooted in childhood — in those carefree days when they were young and innocent and unguarded with each other. But so many years had passed now. They had both long grown into adults. She had come to see him only as the elder brother she’d known in childhood, but this incident made her realize: she may have seen him as a brother, but that was not how Nagase saw things.

—