Zhang Xueji carried that pile of pots and pans to the Recycling Station, reminding the staff there that these had been used for boiling chemical substances and couldn’t be reused.
The worker at the Recycling Station knew him—patting his chest to promise he’d remember.
Only then did Zhang Xueji feel at ease and took Xie Qiaoqiao to the nearby Market.
It was just around dinnertime, and the whole Market was bustling like a boiling pot.
The scents of people, vegetables, and sliced-open animal carcasses mingled in the hot, sticky air, so much so that Xie Qiaoqiao sneezed.
She rubbed her nose, her expression unchanged, but stepped a bit closer to Zhang Xueji.
Amid the mixed smells, the orange blossom fragrance on Zhang Xueji stood out as especially fresh.
Although in the elevator Zhang Xueji had said he wanted to talk with Xie Qiaoqiao about life, ideals, and whether she was willing to date—in reality, after entering the Market, Zhang Xueji only asked if there was anything she avoided eating and didn’t bring up those other topics.
Xie Qiaoqiao replied no, and Zhang Xueji grinned, praising her, “Not picky? That’s a good habit. Not being picky means you have a healthy stomach, and people with healthy stomachs don’t get sick easily. Then let’s have garlic ribs for dinner, with stir-fried choy sum. It’s too late to make a proper soup now, but a quick seaweed soup will do.”
As he spoke, he selected ribs with just the right ratio of fat to lean from the butcher, directing the owner to cut off those two rib sections.
The butcher asked if he wanted them chopped, but Zhang Xueji waved him off, saying he’d cut them at home.
While he answered, Xie Qiaoqiao couldn’t help casting a doubtful look his way.
It wasn’t that she underestimated Zhang Xueji—it’s just that this man obviously couldn’t handle corpses; could he really manage chopping up pork ribs?
The kitchen in Zhang Xueji’s home was semi-open, with a walnut island bar outside, and a Glass Wine Cabinet next to it.
Xie Qiaoqiao sat on a chair by the island, facing the kitchen, watching Zhang Xueji’s back as he cooked—he wore a beige apron with writing on it, his sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, hair pulled back with a headband, his forehead and brows completely revealed.
The two rib sections had been cleaned and were laid horizontally on the cutting board.
He pressed the ribs down with one hand, gripping a bone cleaver in the other. The broad, heavy blade struck the board with crisp, rhythmic sounds, sharper and thicker than an ordinary kitchen knife.
Each time the sound rang out, the muscles of the young man’s arms flexed and relaxed—slightly bulkier than a lean build, his muscles stretching so you could see the deep blue veins pulsing under his thin skin.
Xie Qiaoqiao, who’d started out lounging, now sat bolt upright, watching Zhang Xueji chop each piece with precise force, not even blinking.
The two ribs quickly became bite-sized chunks, which Zhang Xueji swept up with the knife and tossed into the pot along with slices of ginger and green onion to boil.
He washed the cutting board and cleaver clean, switched to another board and knife, and began preparing the vegetables.
Xie Qiaoqiao: “Are you really afraid of corpses?”
Zhang Xueji turned around, looking surprised, “What kind of question is that? Of course I’m afraid. Corpses are scary.”
Xie Qiaoqiao: “But aren’t ribs also part of a pig’s corpse?”
Zhang Xueji fell silent for a moment, blinking. “But chopping pig ribs and human ribs are two different things… Pigs don’t look like me, but people… well, they’re a bit too similar.”
Xie Qiaoqiao fell into deep thought—before attending regular high school, she’d taken some common sense classes, but they’d never taught her that humans had such double standards about species.
She’d always thought that humans only ate other animals and not each other due to some unspoken law of the jungle.
…So it’s because of resemblance that they can’t bring themselves to do it? But when she studied history, humans killing each other seemed pretty enthusiastic, too.
Her serious, contemplative look was so intense that Zhang Xueji grew nervous. Afraid Xie Qiaoqiao’s thoughts were going astray, he just asked directly, “What are you thinking about?”
Xie Qiaoqiao answered, “I’m thinking that humans are truly a profound species.”
Zhang Xueji burst out laughing, “Aren’t you human, too? Don’t make it sound like you’re not.”
The smile on his face suddenly froze. “…You are human, right?”
Xie Qiaoqiao: “Of course.”
Zhang Xueji breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good, that’s good.”
He almost thought she was going to cross species.
Zhang Xueji’s cooking was excellent—even though Xie Qiaoqiao had already suspected as much from the tempting aromas coming from the neighbor’s balcony, actually eating his food left her a bit stunned; whether it was the garlic ribs, the stir-fried choy sum, or the seaweed egg soup, the flavors more than honored the lives given by the pig, the greens, and the seaweed eggs.
A few days of heavy rain seemed to have exhausted the month’s quota; for the next two days, it was all blazing sun, not a cloud in the sky, and even the moon at night seemed to radiate heat, making the nights stiflingly hot.
But all that heat was outside; inside the auction room, the air conditioning was strong. The only thing burning was the atmosphere and the sounds of bidding.
A Ruby Pearl Bracelet was bid up from five hundred thousand to seven hundred and fifty thousand, with both sides refusing to give in. The price already far exceeded the bracelet’s actual value.
After all, the only thing truly valuable about this bracelet was its history—it was said to have once belonged to a Western Princess, originally part of a complete set.
Because of war, the set had scattered, and now only this bracelet remained intact.
In the end, it was hammered down at nine hundred ninety thousand—Hua Lingyue sipped her cola in awe, glancing over at the bidder: clearly a proxy, as he wore a Bluetooth headset and paused every few bids to speak with someone on the other end.
Hua Lingyue whispered to her colleague, “Are they inflating the price?”
Her colleague, sucking on a lollipop, whispered back, “Just a game for the rich. Ignore them, focus on the target.”
The two obediently fixed their gazes on a cultured, elegant middle-aged man in the corner. Following ‘Ruan Shiting’s’ social network, this hospital Director was highly suspicious.
Still, Hua Lingyue couldn’t resist the urge to share, sneaking out her phone to post in the work group that someone had bought a bracelet for nine hundred ninety thousand.
[Jiangguo Yihou Buxu Chengjing]
[Qi Chen: ? How much???]
That’s all!
[Xie Qiaoqiao: ?]
[Hua Lingyue: Everyone here? Perfect, then I won’t have to DM—come to the office tomorrow, there’s an announcement!]
Instantly, the group chat was filled with question marks. Xie Qiaoqiao stared wide-eyed at the screen—going out for an External Assignment only earned her a little over ten thousand, and those opportunities were rare!
After all, Xie Qiaoqiao was a public employee. Most rich clients had their own secrets and didn’t dare ask her for help.
Nine hundred ninety thousand! That would be enough for…
Xie Qiaoqiao counted on her fingers for a while and realized it didn’t divide evenly.
Rounding up, it was about six External Assignments. Since starting her job, she hadn’t even done that many.
All the numbers popping up in the group chat started to sting. Xie Qiaoqiao placed her phone face-down on the table, propped her chin up with one hand, and gazed out the window.
Feeling a bit down.
Why is money so hard to earn? And why do some people have so much of it?
The teacher’s lecture faded away. Xie Qiaoqiao’s mind was full of “nine hundred ninety thousand,” and those four words turned themselves into stacks of pink banknotes.
Suddenly, Zhang Xueji’s face appeared atop the pile of pink cash, waving at her in a motion just like Doraemon.
Xie Qiaoqiao blinked, and the stacks of cash vanished, leaving only Zhang Xueji waving to her at the steps downstairs—Zhang Xueji was no illusion.
Since that first time Zhang Xueji invited her for dinner, he’d just naturally taken over all her meals.
Breakfast was usually ready-made, sometimes noodles, sometimes porridge.
Lunch and dinner he made fresh, and since his home had a dishwasher, there was no need to argue about who’d do the dishes—making Xie Qiaoqiao want to buy one herself.
She asked Hua Lingyue, but Hua Lingyue said it wouldn’t get approved, since it wasn’t a necessary expense.
Before the end of class, Xie Qiaoqiao stuffed her textbook into her bag, hopped over her seat, and dashed out. She moved so quickly she left all her classmates behind; by the time she reached Zhang Xueji, the bell hadn’t even finished ringing.
Zhang Xueji handed her a grape soda and opened a parasol for her, smiling, “Princess, please have a drink.”
It was a line he’d learned today.
Earlier, at the group meeting, a senior’s boyfriend came to pick her up, bringing ice cream and a sunshade, and offered it with a respectful bow, saying, “Princess, please enjoy your ice cream.” The senior looked exasperated, then kicked her boyfriend, but was still pleased and laughed.
Zhang Xueji wasn’t sure if Xie Qiaoqiao would kick him, but he found it amusing and decided to try.
Sadly, Xie Qiaoqiao didn’t kick him.
She accepted the soda, giving him a strange look, and said, “I’m not a Princess.”
Zhang Xueji tilted the umbrella toward her, a little disappointed, “I know—but I made soup at noon. We’ll get back just in time.”
Returning to the 27th floor, Xie Qiaoqiao and Zhang Xueji found several cardboard boxes stacked along the hallway wall.
The door to the third apartment, usually tightly shut, now stood open, with two movers hauling furniture inside.
Zhang Xueji glanced at the chair just carried in, one eyebrow arching before quickly smoothing out.
Xie Qiaoqiao walked indifferently past the boxes to her door, entered the code—beep, and it unlocked.
She changed her shoes at the entry as if she were at home, tossing her backpack on the sofa.
Zhang Xueji retracted his gaze, hurried to catch up, and slipped into his own apartment, closing the door behind him.
The next morning, Zhang Xueji headed out for his usual morning run and ran into the new neighbor in the elevator—since he left early, it was just the two of them.
Zhang Xueji glanced at her: a young woman in a pink-and-white dress.
He suddenly realized he’d never seen Xie Qiaoqiao wear a dress.
Every time they met, she wore long pants, sometimes shorts, sometimes capris—her wardrobe seemed to update randomly across school, off-campus, and the neighborhood.
Lost in thought, the new neighbor suddenly spoke: “Hello, I just moved to the 27th floor—my name is Jiang Chenyu.”
Zhang Xueji paused, glanced sidelong at her, then gave a brilliant smile, “Oh, hello—”
Jiang Chenyu waited for him to say more, but after “hello,” Zhang Xueji turned away.
When the elevator door opened, he walked out as if nothing had happened, leaving only his back to Jiang Chenyu.
Jiang Chenyu watched him recede in confusion, then pulled out a mirror to check her own face, her puzzlement tinged with bewilderment.
[Not coming home for lunch, got a part-time meeting, my sister will take me out to eat.]
After sending the WeChat, Xie Qiaoqiao got a string of replies in less than ten seconds.
[Eh? Not coming back? I was going to make lemon shrimp qwq]
[Say hi to your sister for me! Where are you eating? If you’re not coming back, I’ll probably eat in the canteen with classmates—will send you the location.]
[Today’s canteen fruit is lychee, do you want some? I’ll go buy fruit after school.]
[Is the place far? If you need a ride, call Little Zhang Hotline, Kind Zhang is happy to serve you ^-^]
Xie Qiaoqiao’s gaze paused on the last smiley face Zhang Xueji sent; somehow, that emoji really did look like Zhang Xueji’s usual smiling face…
She replied to each message one by one, only putting her phone down when Hua Lingyue walked into the Conference Room and clapped her hands.
Qi Chen was there, too. The wounds on his face had completely healed, leaving no scars—he looked just the same as before.
He shot Xie Qiaoqiao a glance, then took out a jewelry box from his pocket and nudged it toward her arm: “The Amplifier you asked me to make last time—it’s done.”
Xie Qiaoqiao accepted the box, calmly saying “Thanks,” without even opening it.
Her lack of reaction left Qi Chen disappointed. He’d hoped she’d open it, see how nicely he’d woven the bracelet, and chat with him a bit more.
Still, it wasn’t like she singled him out—thinking about how others got even less attention, Qi Chen felt better.
After all, that’s just how Xie Qiaoqiao was: distant and cold, even to her nominal guardian, Hua Lingyue—Xie Qiaoqiao was never chatty or eager to answer questions.
Hua Lingyue stood by, taking in the little gestures and nudges between the teens. Pretending not to notice, she handed them two folders.
“I’ll talk about the follow-up on Ruan Shiting’s case,” Hua Lingyue said, pressing her hand to the table, her expression turning stern.
“The five missing patients are still unaccounted for. Right now, the most suspicious person who helped Ruan Shiting is her hospital’s Director, Mao Boming. His info is in the folder—you two can take a look.”
Xie Qiaoqiao opened the folder, the first page showing Mao Boming’s résumé. After reading it, she raised her hand and spoke up before Hua Lingyue could call on her: “Why isn’t the hospital Director’s university major in clinical studies?”
Hua Lingyue: “…Ahem, Qiaobao, that’s not important. Listen to me first.”
“We submitted the Evidence and Transfer Application, but Mao Boming only agreed to a physical checkup and refused further investigation.”
Qi Chen frowned. “Aren’t we a Special Department? How can he refuse an investigation?”
Not just Qi Chen, but Xie Qiaoqiao was confused too.
Hua Lingyue spread her hands and sighed. “Because he cooperated with the physical check, and the results showed he’s one hundred percent human—bones, organs, all pure human. Plus, he has neither demonic nor yin energy, meaning he hasn’t been in contact with the supernatural recently.”
“Of course, the main thing is—the Director of a public hospital is a division-level official. His position may be slightly lower than our boss’s, but among his friends are people on our boss’s level.”
“Without ironclad evidence, he can refuse our search. And our Investigation Order is stuck in approval—the higher-ups aren’t signing off.”
After she finished, Qi Chen looked thoughtful. Xie Qiaoqiao started doodling pentagrams on the paperwork. Hua Lingyue’s words went in one ear and out the other.
Xie Qiaoqiao didn’t really care about the investigation results.
Qi Chen asked, “So we just drop it?”
Hua Lingyue wagged a finger. “No, no, we keep investigating. The boss said we can keep looking, as long as we’re not caught.”
“Normal Monitoring Techniques are hard to use on him, so we’ll need you two to help with some…unconventional surveillance—like drawing a Red Talisman Script or something.”
She looked expectantly at Qi Chen.
Qi Chen hesitated, then asked, “Is this the Leader’s idea, or yours?”
Hua Lingyue: “Mine! You can draw so many talismans, even tracking people—monitoring someone shouldn’t be hard, right?”
Qi Chen pointed to the Monitoring Camera in the Conference Room corner. “If a Red Talisman Script worked better than a camera, why do you think I’m still working for a government salary and not in the National Defense Department?”