But regardless of what Nagase felt, he had no right to gamble with Huicun’s health. That was something she could not forgive.

“Aiko is back.” Huicun spotted Ling’ai standing at the door in an instant, and his face lit up with smiles.

Ling’ai pressed the unease in her heart down and walked over with a smile. “Father.”

Nagase stepped back slightly, making room for her. His gaze, downcast, rested on her profile. “The discharge paperwork is all done. Uncle won’t have to breathe in the smell of antiseptic anymore, and you won’t have to rush back and forth between the school and the hospital.”

“Mm.” Ling’ai gave a mild sound of acknowledgment.

Nagase immediately registered her reaction with a silent question mark.

Though Ling’ai was never exactly effusive toward him, she would always address him by name and call out to him with familiarity. Under ordinary circumstances, if something like this had happened, she would certainly have smiled and thanked him.

Something about Ling’ai’s mood felt off to Nagase’s instincts, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what.

“Nagase.” Just as Nagase was feeling quietly unsettled, Ling’ai suddenly looked toward him. Her eyes were still bright, but they carried a distant coolness that sent a chill through him. “Come with me to pick up the medication.”

Nagase said quickly, “Of course.”

After Ling’ai and Nagase walked out of the room together, Ling’ai headed directly to the back courtyard of the hospital.

Nagase knew she wasn’t actually going to pick up medication — she likely had something she wanted to say to him. With a heart full of unease, Nagase fell in step behind Ling’ai.

“Ling’ai.” Unable to bear the strange atmosphere any longer, Nagase took the initiative and spoke. “Is something the matter?”

“Nagase, was it you who had the shrimp Father ate purchased?” Ling’ai stopped walking and fixed her gaze on a parasol tree in the back courtyard. Autumn had arrived, and its leaves had already been tinged with a pale yellow.

“I was the one who had them bought. A while back, Uncle mentioned he was craving fresh shrimp from the sea.”

“Did you know the phosphorus content in those shrimp was above normal?”

Nagase stood behind Ling’ai, and the guilt in his eyes made no effort to hide itself. “How could that be? These were a fresh batch of seafood.”

“I brought the remaining shrimp to the Military Police Division today for testing. The conclusion was that the phosphorus content in those shrimp is ten times that of ordinary shrimp. For a healthy person, eating them might cause some discomfort or mild phosphorus poisoning, but for someone with chronic nephritis, consuming them would worsen the condition — at best resulting in hospitalization, at worst being fatal.” Ling’ai’s tone was soft, but it carried a coldness that chilled Nagase to the bone.

She turned and looked at him. “Nagase, don’t tell me you didn’t know there was something wrong with those shrimp.”

“I truly didn’t know.” Nagase put on a wounded expression. “Ling’ai, I care about Uncle’s health just as much as you do. Besides, I came to Xin Guo specifically because of Uncle — why would I do anything that hurts others while doing nothing to benefit myself? Yes, I was the one who had those shrimp purchased, but I only gave the order; I never handled them personally. Perhaps something went wrong somewhere along the way…”

Faced with Nagase’s excuse-making, Ling’ai let a contemptuous expression show. Under her calm, level gaze, the remaining words Nagase had to say simply died in his throat.

“You went to find Zheng Yun that night, didn’t you?”

Nagase froze.

“How you found out about my plans with Zheng Yun to see a film, I don’t care. I only want to know clearly — why did you go to find Zheng Yun? Why did you make me break the appointment, going so far as to use my father’s health as a threat?”

Nagase suddenly recalled what Zheng Yun had said to him that night — that Ling’ai was very perceptive, and he had better hope she never found out what he had done.

It seemed he truly had no way to conceal it any longer. Ling’ai had already uncovered everything, and would no longer listen to any of his explanations.

He realized he had always underestimated Ling’ai. In his eyes, she had remained the innocent, guileless little girl from childhood — but he had been wrong. She had grown up, and developed her own thoughts and judgment. A few petty tricks on his part were not enough to fool her.

In that moment, Nagase felt truly afraid, because Ling’ai had never looked at him this way before. That gaze was distant and remote — no longer the clear, unblemished purity it had held in childhood.

“Yes. I did it.” Nagase let out a long, heavy breath, as though steeling himself for something. “Ling’ai, you ask me why? Obviously because I like you. I’ve liked you since we were young. I came to Xin Guo because of you. Can’t you see that?”

Ling’ai frowned slightly. “So because of your feelings, you can go and hurt innocent people? You had Father hospitalized, and you went and humiliated Zheng Yun — all for the sake of your feelings?”

“Then tell me what I was supposed to do. I watched you talking and laughing with him at the door. I saw you gladly agree to go on that outing with him. If I didn’t do something to stop it, I would lose you completely. Ling’ai, I don’t want you to fall for someone else. Don’t you understand?”

“And you think that by doing this, I would fall for you?” Ling’ai shook her head. “Nagase, when I was little I thought of you as an older brother, and I still do now. If your feelings for me lead you to want to harm others, then the friendship between us ends here.”

Nagase stared at Ling’ai’s face. She was still radiant and luminous, but in the depths of her eyes was an unyielding resolve.

This Ling’ai made him feel as though he had plunged into a frozen abyss. In that instant, his heart sank into utter despair.

“Ling’ai.” Nagase stepped forward and grabbed Ling’ai’s arm. “I was impulsive this time — forgive me. I promise you, it will never happen again. I did this because I care about you too much. I was terrified of losing you, Ling’ai.”

Ling’ai pulled his arm away with her free hand and looked steadily at this face that was at once familiar and utterly strange. “Nagase, I hope you can understand — you cannot force someone to love you. Even if you stopped me from going to see that film with Zheng Yun, does that mean I would fall for you? The answer is clearly no. So please don’t do things like this again. Otherwise, I will tell Father.”

“Ling’ai…”

Nagase made to say something more, but Ling’ai had already stopped paying attention to him and walked quickly out of the back courtyard.

“Ling’ai…” Nagase watched Ling’ai’s retreating figure, resolute and uncompromising. The expression on his face shifted from sorrow to a twisted, frenzied obsession. “Ling’ai, I like you so much — why don’t you like me? You’d rather fall for some worthless inspector from the Military Police Division than give me a single moment’s thought?”

Nagase’s fists clenched so tightly the veins rose across them, and both his eyes were shot through with a harrowing, bloodshot red.

“Ling’ai, since you’ve shown no mercy, don’t blame me for being ruthless. You’re the one who wronged me first. I hope — you won’t come to regret this.”

~

The autumn afternoon was overcast and grey, and the trees lining both sides of the road were slowly turning to a beautiful shade of yellow. A faintly cool autumn breeze swept through, sending fallen leaves swirling up from the ground.

A cluster of people had gathered at the glass window of the Military Police Division, each young officer nudging and jostling the others, all of them craning their necks to look outside.

“What are you all looking at? Is it a pretty girl?” Bai Jin had just finished filing a case report and sauntered over.

“Captain Bai, how did you know?”

“You bunch of single men — what else besides a pretty girl could get you this worked up?”

Bai Jin glanced out the window and was immediately taken aback. “Isn’t that Ling’ai?”

Ling’ai was standing under a locust tree on the other side of the road. Evidently worried about the wind tangling her hair, she was holding a book above her head to shield herself.

Her gaze was directed toward the Military Police Division, and she was looking all around as though searching for something.

“Could she be waiting for Zheng Yun?” The thought struck Bai Jin, and she raised an eyebrow, then darted off to Zheng Yun’s office.

Zheng Yun had his head bowed over a case file. Bai Jin didn’t even knock — she walked straight in and sat down on the edge of his desk.

Zheng Yun looked up in exasperation. “What do you want?”

“Your little girlfriend is outside waiting for you. I came out of the goodness of my heart to let you know, and you give me that look.”

“What girlfriend?”

“Your Ling’ai.”

At the sound of that name, Zheng Yun immediately put down his pen, the look of irritation on his face vanishing entirely. “Where?”

“Outside the window. See for yourself.”

Zheng Yun quickly pushed back his chair, turned, and walked to the window.

On the other side of the road, a girl stood holding a book, looking this way and that.

Bai Jin seized the chance to observe Zheng Yun. His eyes had gone soft, and the corner of his mouth held the faintest hint of a smile. Bai Jin was inwardly astonished.

She had known Zheng Yun for this long, and this man practically never smiled. Everyone in the division called him the Cold-Faced Second Young Master — the First Young Master being their Director, of course.

“Lao Zheng, have you caught feelings for someone?” Bai Jin snickered. “Are you saying you like that girl?”

“What if I do?”

Bai Jin hadn’t expected him to admit it so readily, and was left completely speechless for a long moment.

“Are you serious?” Bai Jin stared. “No way — the stone that’s been frozen for ten thousand years is finally thawing?”

“You’re the one who’s been frozen for ten thousand years.” Zheng Yun shot her a look. “Weren’t you the one who said — what’s the harm in giving it a try?”

Bai Jin swallowed hard and stared at him blankly. “For real?”

“Yes. Very seriously.”

Bai Jin clapped him on the shoulder. “Brother, I’m cheering you on.”

“No need.” Zheng Yun knocked her hand away. “I’m heading out. It looks like rain.”

“Don’t worry — the Chief isn’t in today. You can leave early.”

Since the officers frequently worked around the clock without pause, the Military Police Division wasn’t strict about attendance. When there were no active cases, everyone was free to come and go as they pleased.

Ling’ai was slowly pacing back and forth along the roadside. She hadn’t intended to arrive so early, but school had let out after just one class that afternoon. Thinking she’d have nothing to do just sitting around at school, she had come to the Military Police Division to find Zheng Yun — she had promised to come and check on those peonies when she had the time. Being rare and precious varieties, she couldn’t bear to watch them wither away.

But after waiting a little while, the sky above began to fill with dark clouds, and it looked as though a heavy rain was coming. She was still weighing whether to leave first or continue waiting when Zheng Yun came striding across the road toward her on long legs.

—