Morning sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains, casting long ribbons of gold across the small apartment. The air smelled faintly of toast and orange peels, the scent of something normal, something human, something far from last night's shadows. Zhao Liren stood by the stove, humming off-key while flipping pancakes with more drama than skill. He wasn't trying to cook perfectly; he was trying to keep Li An "Qin Yuelin" distracted.
Li An sat at the dining table, chin resting in his palm, eyes half-lidded. The faint light turned his pale skin almost translucent, like porcelain warmed by a reluctant sun. His dark hair fell across his forehead, messy and soft. He hadn't spoken much since waking up. The nightmares had followed him, clinging like wet clothes, heavy and cold.
Zhao glanced over his shoulder. "You're doing that thing again, Yuelin."
Li An blinked, his gaze slow to focus. "What thing?"
"The thing where you stare into nothing like it owes you rent." Zhao grinned, sliding the plate in front of him. "Eat. It's called breakfast, not brain exercise."
A small, reluctant laugh escaped Li An ... soft and melodic, the kind that seemed to make the air pause for a moment. "You really can't stand silence, can you?"
"Silence means thinking. Thinking means trouble. And trouble means me cleaning blood off the floor," Zhao replied, sitting across from him.
Li An rolled his eyes, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "You're dramatic."
"Damn right I am. Someone has to be. You just sit there all quiet and mysterious, scaring the hell outta me with those siren eyes."
"...Siren eyes?"
"Yeah," Zhao said, pointing his fork. "You look like you could lure people off a cliff just by blinking."
Li An shook his head, hiding a smile behind his mug. "That's not exactly comforting."
"Good. Maybe next time someone calls you 'fragile,' you'll remind them sirens drown sailors."
Their laughter , genuine, fleeting... filled the room. It felt like sunlight after rain, fragile and brief. For a moment, the weight of fear lifted.
Then Zhao's phone buzzed on the counter. He picked it up, his expression shifting ... the playfulness drained from his face, replaced by quiet seriousness. He walked into the hallway, voice low but sharp.
Li An watched him, curiosity and unease stirring beneath the surface. He couldn't hear the words, but the tone told him enough: something was wrong. Zhao's hand tightened around the phone.
"...shen.., it's me," Zhao said. "I need your help."
A long pause. Then a rough, cold voice on the other end. "You don't usually call unless it's bad. What happened?"
"There's been... something. My friend... Qin Yuelin. He's been through a lot. Something's happening again. I don't know if it's psychological or... something else."
"Psychological?" the voice cut in, rough with disbelief. "Since when do you sound like a doctor?"
Zhao exhaled sharply. "Just listen. I'm serious, alright? I wouldn't call you if I didn't think this was real. There was blood... words written, his name. I need you to look into it."
A silence stretched, heavy with static and tension. Then the voice replied, clipped and cold. "You still working under your father's nose?"
Zhao's jaw tightened. "I didn't call for jokes."
"I don't joke. You said his name was Qin Yuelin, right?"
"Yeah. Why?"
Another pause. The man on the other side... the one Zhao called for help, leaned back in his chair, the cigarette between his fingers burning slow. The faint light from his window caught the thin scar that slashed across his cheek, and another, fainter one across his eyebrow and eye. His features were carved from sharpness... the kind of face that didn't just exist but warned.
He looked down at a stack of files on his desk... crime scene photos, red circles, numbers that never added up. The air in his small office was thick with cigarette smoke and unease.
"Fine," he said finally. "I'll meet you. Where?"
"The mall near West Avenue," Zhao replied. "I can't leave him alone. I'll bring him with me."
"You think that's smart?"
"No. But it's necessary."
The voice on the other end grunted, low and unreadable. "Then I'll see you there. Don't be late, Liren."
The line went dead.
Zhao slipped his phone back into his pocket, running a hand down his face. He turned back to see Li An standing in the doorway, arms loosely crossed, worry flickering in his eyes.
"Who was that?" Li An asked quietly.
"Someone who might be able to help," Zhao said. "We're going out."
"Where?"
"The mall." Zhao forced a grin. "You can buy me lunch for all the emotional labor I do for you."
Li An smiled faintly. "You mean for your bad cooking?"
Zhao pressed a hand to his chest. "Ungrateful. Truly ungrateful."
By the time they reached the mall, the afternoon light had mellowed into the amber hues of early evening. The crowd buzzed... laughter, chatter, the hum of escalators ... a symphony of normalcy that felt foreign after everything that had happened.
Li An walked beside Zhao, mask covering half his face, only his storm-gray eyes visible. He looked out of place... delicate yet distant, his quiet grace like glass against noise. Zhao, ever the contrast, was a burst of life beside him... loud, charming, easy in every space.
They reached the café at the corner of the second floor. The smell of coffee mingled with faint perfume and the sound of clinking cups. Zhao's expression turned serious again as he scanned the room. "let's sit there... it's less crowdy" all three of them approached the table in the corner of the café.
....
Zhao introduced both of them. "That's shen lian."
Li An followed his gaze, unease curling in his stomach. "Who is he?"
"A detective," Zhao said simply. "Someone who doesn't believe in mercy."
"hello" qin yuelin said, his voice sounds like melody... alluring though he was afraid of the man infront of him.
The man looked up slowly. For a moment, everything else in the café blurred. His face was striking, two scars cutting through otherwise cruelly perfect symmetry, one tracing his cheek, another slicing through his brow and over his eye. His eyes were darker than night ...unreadable, heavy with something ancient and unspoken. his dark medium mullet making him look dangerously handsome.
His gaze shifted from Zhao to Li An. For a second, it was just silence... thick, electric, unsettling. Li An felt it like a pulse beneath his skin.
"Thanks for coming," Zhao said, sliding into the seat across from him. "This is-"
"Qin Yuelin," the man interrupted, his tone low. "You mentioned him."
Li An's breath caught. The way he said his name... slow, deliberate... felt like a question wrapped in warning.
Zhao hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. He's... he's the one I told you about."
The man's gaze lingered, as though peeling layers without permission. Li An looked away, fingers tightening around his cup.
Zhao cleared his throat, breaking the tension. "We need your help. He's been seeing things. Or... someone's making him see them."
The man leaned back, crossing his arms. "Start from the beginning."
And so Zhao did... the porridge, the blood, the word scrawled on the mirror, the fear. Every detail fell between them like fragile glass. As Zhao spoke, Li An sat silent, his mind replaying every shadow, every echo, every sound that didn't belong.
The man, still quite, listened, expression unmoved. But when Zhao finished, he finally spoke, voice quiet enough to draw them closer.
"What was written on the mirror?"
Zhao glanced at Li An.
Li An swallowed hard. "found you," he whispered. "Qin."
For the first time, something flickered in the man's dark eyes... recognition, perhaps, or memory. Then, almost imperceptibly, the corner of his mouth curved.
"Interesting," he murmured.
He stood, slipping his coat over his shoulders. "We'll talk more soon. Don't go anywhere... Qin Yuelin."
The way he said it... low, final, almost possessive? sent a shiver down Li An's spine.
zhao liren raised his eyebrow.. "didn't you said you'll live with us... shen, don't bail on us."
"I have something to deal with, send me the address..." shen lian paused for a moment "and don't tell me what to do... zhao~" his short temper surfacing... as he mocked zhao liren.
END OF THE CHAPTER