“I’m not a cop,” the man said. “I’m Fu Tingchao.”
“Okay, not a cop,” Chen Zemian said, making an ‘I get it’ face. He eyed the man calling himself Fu Tingchao. “So what should I call you then? Undercover? Special agent? Informant? Spy? Are you a long-term plant or a short-term probe?”
Fu Tingchao frowned and stood without expression. “Are you drunk? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Chen Zemian didn’t reply. He took a half step back, moved behind Fu Tingchao, raised his right hand to cover his own lips, then reached forward—right hand to Fu Tingchao’s mouth, left to his neck—and mimicked the exact motion Fu Tingchao had used earlier to pull him down.
It was fluid, fast. Took less than a second.
Fu Tingchao looked trained, but he was clearly drunk. His reflexes lagged. Chen Zemian had the edge by staying sober.
When Fu Tingchao countered with an elbow, Chen Zemian let go, blocking the strike with his arm.
“I didn’t hit back earlier,” Chen Zemian said, tilting his head as he peered around their crossed arms. “I just wanted to let you know you gave yourself away when you pulled me like that.”
Fu Tingchao said nothing.
Chen Zemian studied him a moment longer. The man didn’t act like a long-term informant. He looked too clean-cut.
Sharp features, square build, perfect posture—even when squatting in panic, he dropped back on one leg, knees bent, legs parted in a textbook 60-degree angle.
His squat was flawless.
He looked like a soldier who couldn’t stop being one. The words Police Academy. Military. might as well have been stamped across his face.
Earlier, the thug at Fanlou had called him a “thief.”
But with a watch worth hundreds of thousands and a habit of tipping with stacks of cash, what could someone like him possibly want to steal at Fanlou?
The answer was obvious.
Chen Zemian felt a spark of glee.
Was Lu Zhuonian’s male lead halo finally rubbing off on him?
He’d been visiting Fanlou for days and found nothing. Just earlier he’d grumbled to Lu Zhuonian over the phone. Then, a short walk to the snack street later—bam, a police officer investigating the case ends up unconscious under his car.
It was like the plot fed him the clue directly.
Thinking back, Chen Zemian recalled how Fu Tingchao had cradled the back of his head upon waking. The man hadn’t just collapsed drunk—someone had hit him. He must’ve crawled under the car before passing out.
Most of the alley’s cars were parked overnight. He could’ve woken up, or been spotted by someone passing by. If a driver returned, the designated driver would open the trunk for the electric scooter and definitely see him.
Fu Tingchao had chosen a luxury car. Even if no one noticed him directly, the vehicle’s 360-degree imaging alarm would go off.
He wasn’t hiding from just anyone.
He was hiding from Fanlou.
Because he was a cop. And he had taken something important from there.
Chen Zemian’s gaze dropped to Fu Tingchao’s trouser pocket. “Did you steal the ‘Little Golden Pill’?”
Fu Tingchao’s eyes narrowed. One hand slid toward the back of his waist. “Who are you?”
Chen Zemian’s pupils contracted. He gripped the car hood, flipped backward, and ducked behind the vehicle. “I’m just a helpful citizen, brother. No need for all this, honestly.”
Fighting techniques don’t lie. Movements become instinct, not performance. When Fu Tingchao yanked him into a squat, Chen Zemian knew he was “one of us.” And Fu Tingchao recognized it too, the moment Chen Zemian flipped for cover.
Too clean. Too sharp. You could tell with a glance—they trained at the same school. No way to fake it.
Fu Tingchao studied him. “Helpful citizen? With your skill set? Are you from Public Security or Narcotics? This case isn’t drug-related. Don’t try to steal it.”
Chen Zemian replied, “Who’s stealing anything? What, the police compete for KDAs now?”
“That’s KPI,” Fu Tingchao snapped, pressing the satellite earpiece and quietly reporting his location for backup. Now that his cover was blown, he didn’t bother acting. He launched into interrogation mode. “Name. Origin. ID number. You’re coming with me to file a report.”
Chen Zemian had just promised Lu Zhuonian he’d go home right after picking up snacks. If Lu found out he’d ended up at a police station again—disaster.
He didn’t answer. He glanced around, clearly sizing up angles to vault into the car and bolt.
Fu Tingchao’s stare sharpened. “Name?”
“Lu Xiaomian,” Chen Zemian blurted.
“Xiaomian?” Fu Tingchao raised an eyebrow. “You serious? You could’ve gone with Zhang Qiang or Wang Wei. That would’ve been more believable.”
Chen Zemian checked the imaginary watch on his wrist. “It’s late. I need to get home.”
Fu Tingchao reached out. “Come here.”
Chen Zemian ducked under his arm.
Fu Tingchao hissed softly and reached for his back, aiming for the handcuffs. Chen Zemian thought he was going for a gun.
Truth or not, all life is equal before a muzzle.
Even if he knew the guy wouldn’t shoot, Chen Zemian instinctively gave the Type 92 pistol its due respect.
He pulled out the stack of bills Fu Tingchao had tipped him and waved them overhead.
Fu Tingchao stepped forward, blocking him with that cop’s air of superiority. “I’ve seen people surrender with white flags. But waving banknotes? That’s new. You’re quite imaginative, Mr. Enthusiastic Citizen.”
Chen Zemian twisted the pink bills and held them half over his face. “No, Officer Fu. I’m not surrendering. I’m reminding you.”
“Reminding?”
“You tipped me too much. That’s already beyond the limit of what the regulations allow. If you insist on taking me in, how do I explain the money?”
Fu Tingchao stayed impassive. He clicked the cuffs shut around Chen Zemian’s wrists. “Say whatever you want. I’ve got money. I give it to whoever I want. Not your business.”
Chen Zemian stared at the handcuffs in disbelief.
Red and blue lights flickered. Sirens wailed. For the first time in his life, Chen Zemian was loaded into a police car.
Fu Tingchao straightened his jacket and walked tall, broad-shouldered, looking every inch the triumphant general. The mess from earlier under the car? Gone, like it never happened.
*****
Half an hour later, at the XX Police Station—
The triumphant general got chewed out like a rookie.
Director Yuan personally unlocked Chen Zemian’s cuffs and apologized, flanked by his staff.
Chen Zemian rubbed his wrists and looked at the police affairs board on the wall. “And Officer Fu thought my name was fake. His isn’t that real either.”
On the board, the name under the photo wasn’t Fu Tingchao.
It was Fu Guanlan.
Even as Director Yuan scolded him, Fu Guanlan didn’t buy it. Just sneered and kept quiet.
Director Yuan said, “That ‘Tingchao’ is Officer Fu’s younger twin brother. Officer Fu felt the case was unique, and the location even more so. His brother is young, playful, and well-known. Using his brother’s name made infiltration easier.”
Chen Zemian turned to Fu Guanlan. “No wonder you were so generous with tips. Quite the strategist.”
Director Yuan added, “That’s the situation. I only found out tonight. I’ve already criticized him—this kind of thing is out of line. It violates protocol. He’ll have to write a self-criticism.”
Chen Zemian retrieved his phone and hurried out. “Your internal mess isn’t my problem. I need to go home.”
Even if he didn’t make it back on time, he had to at least get out of the police station’s location range.
Lu Zhuonian must not find out he’d been arrested again.
No—why again? He hadn’t made a habit of getting arrested.
As he walked past the gate, a police car turned in. Fu Guanlan watched him go, brushed dust off his clothes, and said, “I’m heading home too.”
Director Yuan caught his arm. “Home? Think about what you’re going to say when the city bureau leaders get here.”
Fu Guanlan shot him a strange look. “What is there to report? The Xiaojin Pills are out for testing. Until results come in, I’ve got nothing new. I’m also drunk. You want me to slur through an official report and ask for a public scolding?”
Director Yuan pointed at him. “It’s not just about the pills. How did Chen Zemian know about them the moment he saw you? How did he know?”
Fu Guanlan’s expression didn’t change. “You’re asking me?”
Director Yuan clutched his chest. “Who else would I ask?”
Fu Guanlan’s blood pressure spiked.
He’d spent half the night, a fortune in cash, taken a blow to the head, and dragged two Xiaojin Pills out of Fanlou. And now he was being yelled at.
What was so great about Chen Zemian?
So he was Lu Zhuonian’s lover. Lu Zhuonian was the young master—so what? That didn’t make him God.
This job really wasn’t worth it.
Fu Guanlan took a long breath. “If you wanted to know so badly, why didn’t you ask him while he was here?”
Director Yuan sighed. “Of course I couldn’t.”
Fu Guanlan exploded. “Why the hell not? I brought him in because he set off every alarm in my gut. But you didn’t question him. Now he’s gone, and you’re interrogating me?”
Director Yuan looked like he might keel over. “Do you even know who he is? Why would you touch him?”
Fu Guanlan kept his manners—barely.
He already knew the connection between Chen Zemian and Lu Zhuonian. He’d done his homework. But he wasn’t about to broadcast it in front of everyone.
“I don’t know who he is. But whoever he is, he should still cooperate with law enforcement.”
His tone cooled. “Director Yuan, I really don’t understand your need to protect him.”
At that moment, Director Sun Yueping walked in. “Officer Fu, your station seems to take the Xiaojinwan case very seriously. I assume you have reason to believe it’s tied to something bigger?”
Both men stood. “Director Sun.”
Sun Yueping waved them back into their seats. “Go on. Tell me what you’ve got.”
Fu Guanlan straightened his posture. “Preliminary investigation shows Xiaojin Pills is a third-gen iteration of the banned drug Qiongjiangxianlu, from the Yaotai Langyuan case. It’s more subtle, milder, but symptoms overlap by 80%. We’ve sent samples for lab testing. Results should come in tomorrow.”
“More covert, milder…” Sun Yueping echoed. “These rebranded drugs keep resurfacing. Someone from Yaotai Langyuan clearly escaped the net and kept the formula alive.”
Director Yuan nodded. “We’ll speed things up. We’ll round up the stragglers.”
Sun Yueping turned to Fu Guanlan. “You haven’t been here long, but you helped during the Yuanqi Drink cleanup, so your radar for banned compounds is sharp.”
Fu Guanlan nodded. “Yes, Director. Yuanqi Drink and Xiaojin Pills are both offshoots of the Yaotai Langyuan case. If we uprooted the mother plant once, we can handle the leftovers. I’ll work with the bureau and the institute to finish the job.”
Sun Yueping gave a nod. “The files are in the city bureau’s archive. If you need access, come to me for a signature.”
They ran through related data and strategies for the next hour.
Before leaving, Sun Yueping said to Director Yuan, “Whatever happens, don’t let Chen Zemian get involved. This case is dangerous.”
Director Yuan nodded. “Yes, it was probably a one-off. Officer Fu just happened to land on his car.”
Sun Yueping glanced at Fu Guanlan. He didn’t say anything, but the look said it all: Of all places, you had to fall on his car?
After Sun Yueping left, Fu Guanlan finally asked, “Director Yuan, who is Chen Zemian?”
Director Yuan patted him on the shoulder and said, “Read more files.”
Fu Guanlan: “???”
Director Yuan walked away with his hands clasped behind his back, muttering to himself. Once Fu Guanlan saw the connection between the files and Chen Zemian, tonight’s chaos would finally make sense.
The Yaotai Langyuan operation had cost lives. No one even knew whether Chen Zemian’s father had lived or died.
And now Fu Guanlan had handcuffed the man’s son and brought him into the station.
What a genius.
There were many brilliant minds in the world. But Chen Zemian—so abstract, so inexplicably himself—stood out even among them.
Which was why, when Lu Zhuonian saw Chen Zemian’s location flash at the police station, he wasn’t surprised. If anything, it felt inevitable.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, left through the back of the classroom, and started a video call.
Chen Zemian sighed as the call came through.
So unlucky. He’d barely made it out of the police station and already Lu Zhuonian had tracked him down.
But it wasn’t luck.
Lu Zhuonian refreshed his location every ten minutes. Ever since they got the same brand of phone, the [Find Device] app had sat at the top of Lu Zhuonian’s battery usage stats.
Chen Zemian picked up. “I’m on my way home.”
Lu Zhuonian kept his tone neutral. “Just left the police station?”
Chen Zemian grunted in acknowledgment and gave a clipped, carefully edited explanation. He glossed over the handcuffs and said only that he’d cooperated with an investigation.
Lu Zhuonian said nothing. From Chen Zemian’s patchy account, he pieced together the truth.
Chen Zemian added, “We didn’t come up empty. The police are clearly aware of the Xiaojin Pills. Fu Guanlan won’t be easy to approach, but Xue Duo messaged me. He knows his brother, Fu Tingchao. Said he’s interesting—might be able to introduce us.”
Lu Zhuonian’s expression shifted.
“Don’t mess with Fu Tingchao. He’s trouble.”
“I’m not messing with him,” Chen Zemian said. “I just want to ask about his brother.”
Lu Zhuonian’s gaze paused on the screen, lingering on Chen Zemian’s reddened wrist. He didn’t speak.
Chen Zemian noticed. He lowered his hand. “What? What are you looking at?”
Lu Zhuonian said nothing for a moment. His expression was unreadable—equal parts anger, frustration, and restraint. Then he spoke, voice quiet.
“I wouldn’t handcuff you.”
*****
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Author: LazyHermitGal
A Lazy Hermit Gal wondering in the void and falling into the translation abyss.
