Chen Zemian was right about everything regarding the fight—he just had nothing to say in front of Lu Zhuonian.
After all, this was only the second day since Lu Zhuonian had let him go.
He and Xiao Kesong had gone out last night and shared half a bottle of wine. Fortunately, he hadn’t thrown up or suffered a stomachache. Young Master Lu had restrained his urge to intervene and hadn’t pursued the matter. And now, he’d simply shown up at the police station to bail him out.
Anyone else would have been furious, but Lu Zhuonian seemed unusually calm.
Yet the more Lu Zhuonian acted as if nothing had happened, the more Chen Zemian felt unsettled—like he couldn’t breathe properly.
They say the calm before the storm is the most dangerous.
Originally, Chen Zemian hadn’t wanted Lu Zhuonian to find out about this at all. He’d planned to have Xiao Kesong, Liu Yuebo, or Zheng Huaiyu and Ye Chen come and get him. But unexpectedly, one of the officers handling the case turned out to be the same young policeman who had gone to Shengting Huafu last time to escort Lu Zhuonian to the Municipal Bureau to give a statement.
His name was Zhou Qirui. He recognized Chen Zemian immediately. Since he didn’t have Lu Zhuonian’s contact info, he called his superior—Captain Luo Jianan—and the matter ended up directly in Lu Zhuonian’s hands.
It really isn’t a good thing to be too recognizable.
Chen Zemian asked Zhou Qirui, “Weren’t you with the Municipal Bureau?”
Zhou Qirui replied, “I was, before the New Year. After the holiday, there was a personnel reshuffling, so I was assigned to the police station.”
Chen Zemian was baffled. He couldn’t help but mutter, “Wait—your mentor is the deputy captain of the Criminal Investigation Corps. With that kind of relationship, how did you end up here?”
Zhou Qirui replied with solemn conviction, “Whether in the bureau or the station, we’re all here to serve the people. It’s the same wherever we are. We have to take root at the grassroots level to grow and gain experience.”
Chen Zemian: “…”
Sure, that makes sense. But then why’d you tell your captain about my fight?
Perhaps because Lu Zhuonian was too important to ignore, Luo Jianan personally came in the middle of the night—arriving even earlier than Lu Zhuonian.
Not long after, the director of the station also showed up and took Chen Zemian’s statement alongside another officer.
Chen Zemian was stunned. It was just a fight… Was the social impact really that significant? Why did even the director need to come?
Was it because of the Yan family? Or the Lu family?
In the interrogation room, the director didn’t say a word. He just sat there, staring at Chen Zemian with a serious, unreadable expression, making his scalp tingle.
Following the principle of “leniency for confession,” Chen Zemian gave a full and honest account of what happened.
It had all started with Yan Luo visiting the hospital to see Old Mr. Yan.
According to the doctor, the old man was unlikely to regain consciousness. His time could come at any moment. Worse yet, he hadn’t left a will. The entire Yan family had rushed to the hospital, terrified the old man might wake up and deliver his final words without them present—or worse, that he’d die without waking, leaving room for someone to forge a will and divide the inheritance behind their backs.
Yan Luo’s father called him over at this critical moment solely to increase his own share of the inheritance.
The Yan family had four branches, and Yan Luo’s father was the second eldest.
If the second branch got a bigger piece, the remaining three branches would lose out. Naturally, those other relatives didn’t like Yan Luo one bit.
With all four branches gathered in the hospital, Yan Luo had no chance to get close to the old man, let alone perform acts of filial piety like wiping his hands or washing his face.
He hadn’t known how things worked the first night and stood outside the ICU the whole time. By the second day, he wised up and brought a schoolbag filled with test papers and textbooks so he could study while waiting.
His third aunt, noticing his diligence, said to her own son, “Yan Xiaozhe, look at how hard he works. He even studies while accompanying the patient. Not like you, just playing games all night.”
Yan Xiaozhe, already annoyed by Yan Luo’s presence—and now publicly criticized—grew angrier. He walked over and jabbed at Yan Luo with a few words.
Yan Luo ignored him.
That night passed peacefully.
But just because Yan Luo didn’t look for trouble didn’t mean trouble wouldn’t find him.
To show off her own filial devotion, Third Aunt fetched water herself to wipe the old man’s face. She removed her jewelry—bracelets and rings—and set them by the sink in the private ward. When she came back, she found her sapphire ring missing.
At first, she didn’t say anything. She thought she had misplaced it and searched around quietly.
That’s when Yan Xiaozhe walked in, asked what she was looking for, and learned about the missing ring. He pointed out that only family had access to the ward—so someone within the Yan family must have taken it. Third Aunt rolled her eyes and scoffed, saying, “Who would steal something so cheap? No one’s that desperate.”
But Yan Xiaozhe said nothing more—just looked toward Yan Luo, who was standing quietly outside the ward.
And that was how the mess began.
The rest of the Yan family, eager to kick Yan Luo out of the inheritance pool, seized the opportunity. They dredged up old stories—his childhood involvement in theft gangs, his so-called “criminal” past.
Yan Luo’s father, unsure of what to believe, still patted him down. He was, for the moment, on Yan Luo’s side—not because he cared, but because Yan Luo had become a bargaining chip in the inheritance game.
Yan Luo hadn’t taken the ring. He let them search him without resistance.
They found nothing.
But then someone suggested searching his schoolbag.
That’s when alarm bells went off in Yan Luo’s head.
He’d been around real thieves. He knew all their tricks. It was hard to plant something on a person unnoticed—but dropping a ring into a schoolbag? That was easy.
Yan Luo spoke up: “Call the police. Check the surveillance footage.”
It was a reasonable request, but the ones who knew they were guilty refused. They even lunged at Yan Luo, trying to snatch the schoolbag away.
In the struggle, the bag fell—and out rolled the missing sapphire ring.
Silence. Then an explosion of accusations.
Yan Luo stood alone, surrounded by the family. Their words pierced his ears like needles. Under the harsh, clinical lighting of the hospital, he felt chilled to the bone.
But he quickly composed himself and pulled out his phone to call the police.
The family tried to stop him, chanting, “Family disgrace shouldn’t be made public,” and “Just discipline him privately.”
His father, anxious to resolve the matter and preserve his own interests, raised his hand and slapped him.
Yan Luo didn’t flinch—just stared coldly at him.
He had planned to resolve the issue peacefully. But now that someone had crossed the line, they would have to pay.
He even tilted his head slightly, letting the slap strike his ear.
A bleeding ear canal and temporary hearing loss could qualify as a minor injury.
Yan Luo had an old injury on that ear, a relic from his days in the underworld. Even changes in air pressure during a flight could trigger bleeding.
He couldn’t remember which fight had caused it—but from today onward, he’d attribute it to the Yan family.
A flawless calculation.
What he didn’t expect was the sound of the elevator dinging open just then.
No one else heard it. They only saw a white blur flash by—and then Yan Luo’s father was flying through the air.
What followed was a brawl.
In short: Chen Zemian and Yan Luo, two versus the Yan family.
Of course, when giving his statement at the police station, Chen Zemian didn’t go into all that.
His version was simple.
He went to the hospital to find Yan Luo. The elevator doors opened. He saw someone raise a hand to strike Yan Luo—so he rushed forward and shoved them.
“They weren’t satisfied, so we fought,” he said calmly.
The officer taking the statement smiled faintly and asked, “Think carefully—did you really just ‘push’ him?”
Chen Zemian nodded without hesitation. “Yes.”
The police officer took out a photo showing the shoe print on Yan Luo’s father’s clothes. “You pushed with your feet?”
Chen Zemian explained, “My hands were in my pockets at the time. I didn’t have time to take them out, so I used my feet.”
The officer raised his fist to his lips and coughed lightly, then faithfully recorded what Chen Zemian said. Tilting his head, he asked, “Director, anything else?”
The director shook his head.
Chen Zemian signed the statement and went out to wait.
Compared to his brief questioning, the Yan family’s statement was much longer—first, because there were more people, and second, because the circumstances were far more complex.
The hospital surveillance footage had been pulled.
Yan Luo never went into the bathroom, not even once. The surveillance clearly showed that it was Yan Xiaozhe who threw something into his schoolbag.
Though the image quality was poor, it was still faintly visible: the missing ring.
This time, it was the Yan family’s third uncle who ended up wanting to beat his own son.
But none of that had anything to do with Chen Zemian or Yan Luo. Their statements were complete, and someone had posted bail—so they could go home early.
Naturally, the police didn’t disclose any case details to Chen Zemian. It was only after he finished his statement that he learned about the earlier false accusation against Yan Luo.
He found out just minutes before Lu Zhuonian did.
After hearing the full story, Lu Zhuonian asked Chen Zemian if he had anything to say.
Chen Zemian only had five words: “Fuck, you hit the wrong person.”
Lu Zhuonian: “…”
Faced with two destinations—the shooting range and Shengfu Huating—Lu Zhuonian instructed the driver to take Yan Luo back to the shooting range, and drove Chen Zemian home himself.
As Chen Zemian got into the car, he saw Luo Jianan and the director stepping out for a smoke.
On this May evening, the faces of the two middle-aged officers blurred into the night. The only thing clearly visible was the soft orange glow of their cigarette tips.
The flames flickered—tiny sparks swaying in the dark.
Chen Zemian rolled down the window and waved goodbye.
The two officers stared at him in silence, neither saying a word.
The night wind rushed in through the window, ruffling his hair.
April was coming to a close. The late-spring breeze was neither too cold nor too warm—crisp, fresh, and oddly comforting.
Lu Zhuonian started the engine. The vehicle left the inner road and turned onto the wide main road.
The tall, still figures of the officers gradually disappeared in the rearview mirror.
Chen Zemian looked back and asked, “When did you and Captain Luo become friends?”
Lu Zhuonian replied, “We’re not friends.”
“Tsk.” Chen Zemian clicked his tongue. “Don’t bluff me. If you weren’t close, why would they come out to see you off?”
Lu Zhuonian glanced at him and said nothing.
He didn’t explain—and couldn’t explain—that they hadn’t come to see him off.
They’d come to see Chen Zemian.
In the eyes of Luo Jianan and the others, his presence was an unexpected surprise—one they’d long hoped for but couldn’t seek out.
Twenty years had passed. For them, time had frozen at the moment Chen Zemian turned away.
He was a new guest… but also someone returning home.
Lu Zhuonian and Luo Jianan shared that understanding without a word.
The only one unaware of the truth was the very person at the center of their gaze—Chen Zemian.
“I really owe it to Lu Shao,” Chen Zemian went on, still interpreting everything by his own logic. “At the station, they were super nice to me. Not stern at all.”
Lu Zhuonian’s throat tightened. He suppressed the sudden sting of emotion. “Maybe they think you’re cute… and they like you.”
It was the first time Chen Zemian had heard Lu Zhuonian say something so absurd. He burst into laughter. “Then there’s no need to come see me in the middle of the night.”
Lu Zhuonian smiled too. “You don’t often get into trouble. Who knows when they’ll get another chance to see you.”
Maybe this would be the only time.
Who knew when—or if—they’d meet again.
****
Perhaps it was because Chen Zemian had upset him over the past two days, but after returning home, Lu Zhuonian fell ill again.
It was nearly one in the morning. Chen Zemian had just finished showering and come downstairs. He hadn’t even finished his bowl of nourishing soup when he heard Lu Zhuonian call out to him.
At the time, Chen Zemian didn’t know what was going on, so he brought Lu Zhuonian’s soup upstairs with him.
After making soup for Chen Zemian for two days, the chef had apparently remembered who the real employer was and added an extra bowl. The two soups had similar bases, so it didn’t take much extra time. But while Chen Zemian’s soup included pilose antler and ginseng to replenish yang, Lu Zhuonian’s was made with polygonatum and dendrobium to reduce internal heat.
Lu Zhuonian had clearly just finished a rushed shower. He threw on a bathrobe, braced his forehead, and sat at the table, looking sideways at Chen Zemian.
His eyes were bloodshot, sharp, and intense. Like a wounded beast, he stared warily at the outsider who had entered his domain.
From the moment he saw him, Chen Zemian knew something was wrong. He put down the soup and stepped forward. “Are you not feeling well?”
Lu Zhuonian’s voice was hoarse, low, and oddly magnetic. “Don’t come closer.”
Chen Zemian froze. “What’s wrong?”
“This time it’s serious. Different from before. Don’t come near. Help me get the meds… in a bit,” Lu Zhuonian panted, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His sanity hung by a thread. “I’ll move to the guest room later.”
The attack had come fast and hard. He hadn’t even dried his hair. Water dripped from his face and neck, soaking the back and shoulders of his bathrobe.
Chen Zemian recognized that this time was different too. He didn’t argue. He quickly retrieved a hidden bottle of medication and held it out.
Lu Zhuonian seemed electrified. With great effort, he raised his hand and tried to take the bottle.
But Chen Zemian held his hand steady, wrapping his fingers around it.
Lu Zhuonian trembled.
“Don’t you want to try first?” Chen Zemian asked quietly.
Lu Zhuonian pressed his thumb to the back of Chen Zemian’s hand. “It’ll be dangerous.”
Chen Zemian’s fingers curled. “What danger?”
Lu Zhuonian didn’t answer. He merely hooked his fingers around the bottle and pulled it from Chen Zemian’s palm.
Chen Zemian watched as he unscrewed the cap. His hands trembled so badly that he spilled the pills multiple times before finally getting one white tablet out.
“All that progress… wasted.”
Suddenly, Chen Zemian seized the pill. “You haven’t taken your meds for over two months. The treatment’s working. It’s my fault—I affected your mood these past two days. Otherwise, the attack wouldn’t be this severe.”
“This has nothing to do with you,” Lu Zhuonian replied. “This illness is unpredictable. No one can say when it’ll be mild or when it’ll be severe. I know my own condition. I need to take it this time.”
Chen Zemian seemed caught between intense thought and utter instinct. He was deliberating—and yet what came out was impulsive.
“Okay.”
Lu Zhuonian froze. His head jerked up. He looked at Chen Zemian, stunned.
Chen Zemian returned the pill to the bottle, walked to the bedside, and placed it on the nightstand. His tone was final. “Try it first. If it doesn’t work, then take it.”
Lu Zhuonian was in complete shock. He didn’t move.
Chen Zemian ruffled his hair in frustration. “Come here.”
Lu Zhuonian remained frozen for three… maybe five seconds.
Then he said, “No, Chen Zemian.”
“I can handle it,” Chen Zemian said.
Lu Zhuonian’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “But… you’re not prepared at all.”
“Prepared for what?” Chen Zemian asked, puzzled. “Do I need to light incense and bow to the heavens first?”
*****
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