Chapter 15#
I Don’t Know#
Ji Liandong was held in his arms.
Very quiet, with a low body temperature.
Out of place with the glaring sun on the balcony.
Li Heng tried to touch his hair. The person in the sunlight didn’t speak, didn’t move, didn’t close that final gap—like a transparent ice shell without consciousness or sensation.
Li Heng’s palm covered the pale, cold back of his neck, attempting a gentle press, but there was no response. The eyes before him were still curved in what could be considered a gentle, distant arc, except they reflected no image. Li Heng leaned down and touched the corner of his lips curved in a smile.
He felt like he was desecrating an illusion.
Completely different from just moments ago, Ji Liandong had no reaction, allowing him to kiss him. Li Heng whispered an apology, drawing his arms close, holding the limp, quiet head.
He gently caressed Ji Liandong’s slightly parted eyes.
Ji Liandong lay back in his arms, still with a hint of a smile. Li Heng touched these eyelashes and discovered that Ji Liandong didn’t know to hide, didn’t know to blink.
Li Heng wasn’t sure what he was looking at. That patch of sky had no clouds—empty, nothing.
Li Heng grasped the drooping hand.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
Li Heng gently picked up Ji Liandong and placed him back on the living room sofa, kneeling beside it.
After drawing the blackout curtains, the living room was very dark.
Darkness was sometimes dangerous, sometimes safe.
Li Heng lowered his head. He wasn’t practiced at this sort of thing. He mimicked Ji Liandong’s movements, trying to slowly part the powerless lips and teeth. His tongue tip carefully searched for evidence, pressing against the cold upper palate that gave off a frigid aura, the oral cavity with a somewhat bloody sweetness. Slowly sweeping across the root of the tongue, tasting the bitter residue of the medication.
Ji Liandong hadn’t lied. The medicine really was incredibly bitter.
Li Heng found the answer he wanted and slowly ended this process, pushing himself up. It took him a few seconds to understand what he’d just done.
He realized it too late. When he got up, his movements were somewhat hurried and unsteady. Meeting those eyes, he paused.
Ji Liandong lay on the sofa, awakened by him. He turned his head slightly to look at him. In the darkened, quiet space, that face was absurdly beautiful. Li Heng recalled those medieval religious paintings he’d seen—critics had described works featuring Ji Liandong on the big screen in that way.
Perhaps Ji Liandong had heard his thundering heartbeat.
Li Heng moved backward, managing only half a step before stopping.
The person on the sofa smiled slightly, and Li Heng returned, half-kneeling down, grasping that hand, gently supporting Ji Liandong’s neck.
“Chief Li,” Ji Liandong spoke, his voice somewhat hoarse, careless, that same carefree, dissolute movie-star demeanor. “Never kissed anyone before?”
Li Heng was caught on a sore spot, freezing. His expression stiffened.
He heard Ji Liandong laugh softly.
With any other young punk, they would definitely be annoyed, thinking that the great actor Ji Liandong was truly arrogant, looked down on people, was outright insulting them.
But Li Heng was long past that category. He was even older than Ji Liandong, and years of political ups and downs had worn away his competitiveness. He didn’t feel ashamed admitting “thirty years unmarried”: “Yeah.”
Li Heng asked softly: “Did I kiss badly?”
This question seemed to surprise those eyes.
When there was a bit of surprise, a bit of wonder, Ji Liandong seemed more alive.
He looked at Li Heng for a moment, genuine warmth appearing in his eyes as he shook his head and slowly tried to regain control of his body. This process wasn’t easy. Li Heng noticed that Ji Liandong seemed unfamiliar with his own hands.
Pale, almost cyanotic, slender, cold fingers—like artwork, yet trembling slightly beyond his control due to the medication’s effects.
But this didn’t diminish his composure in the slightest.
Ji Liandong had the ability to restore that unshakeable composure the moment he sat up.
“Not bad,” the movie star gave his personal review. “You kissed very well.”
Li Heng lowered his head and smiled. He simply relaxed, kneeling on the carpet in front of the sofa, watching the actor with meticulous attention to detail lean forward and personally straighten his tie, work shirt, and the investigation bureau-issue gun holster strap.
After adjusting all the details, Ji Liandong withdrew his hand and leaned back on the sofa to admire.
Li Heng looked down at himself: “Am I more dashing than before?”
As he asked this, one hand remained behind Ji Liandong’s back, leaning slightly to gather several throw pillows and stack them so Ji Liandong could lean back and sit properly.
The movie star didn’t spare praise: “Captivating.”
Li Heng couldn’t see the difference, but if it let Ji Liandong relax slightly, even just to pass the time, he was more than willing: “Good then.”
Li Heng stood, found the evidence camera, and placed it in Ji Liandong’s hands: “Take my ID photo?”
Ji Liandong’s arm couldn’t support the camera’s weight. It fell to his lap. Li Heng cooperated by half-kneeling back down. They were just passing time anyway. Li Heng taught him to randomly press the shutter without worrying about the shots—after all, they’d switched to digital cameras years ago and didn’t need to worry about wasting film.
The simulated shutter sounds went off haphazardly for a while.
The puppy that had woken up started causing trouble, running back and forth trying to get in frame, quickly becoming jealous of the camera on Ji Liandong’s lap and trying to push it off so it could climb on.
Li Heng stood and took away the precariously placed camera: “Ji Liandong…”
He saw those eyes curve downward.
“Chief Li,” Ji Liandong suddenly spoke. “Don’t say ‘I remember.’”
Li Heng froze.
He swallowed back those three words.
He had indeed been about to say just that. The camera was a perfect opening.
He remembered that Ji Liandong’s deranged stepfather was a photographer. If Ji Ran was so afraid of investigating the past, it must be because uncovering the truth would reveal evidence that was almost destructive to him.
Could it be related to photography?
Could it be photos or recorded videos?
Abusers sometimes have that habit—keeping images for private enjoyment, unable to part with or destroy them… In this chaotic, twisted family, there might be more than one abuser.
These thoughts all disappeared into the whirlpool.
Li Heng crouched in front of the sofa, placing one hand on Ji Liandong’s knee, lifting his head to look at those eyes that suddenly seemed distant again.
He wasn’t sure… whether Ji Liandong truly had some telepathic talent
Or whether he’d acted so much, knew the script so well, that there was nothing new left in this world for him.
“Of course,” Li Heng said. “I just wanted to ask—the snow has stopped, Ji Liandong. Would you like to go buy a piece of toffee pudding cake together?”
He wagered that even this battle-hardened movie star had never dealt with such a sudden, illogical conversational turn—and the atmosphere had been quite tense just moments ago.
Ji Liandong asked like someone experienced in romance, yet his experience was actually quite limited. Based on the logic he’d learned from Li Xingyun, naturally the movie star should break the ice and find a topic to ease the tension and coax him.
Ji Liandong usually wasn’t given such an open choice: since the snow had stopped and the sun was nice, why not go buy a warm, fragrant, sweetly indulgent pudding cake?
…
Perhaps he’d won the bet.
The movie star couldn’t find the right script, so he couldn’t find his lines. He hugged the puppy, belly exposed, its legs in the air, and that look of faint bewilderment appeared in his eyes again.
Li Heng let out an imperceptible sigh of relief.
He discovered his palms were sweating, his heartbeat racing. He realized he’d never been this nervous before.
Afraid that Ji Liandong would think everything he did was just to extract information from a witness.
Afraid that Ji Liandong would be disappointed in him.
This feeling was unfamiliar. Li Heng tapped his chest twice through his ribs, got up to prepare for going out, pretending to casually pass through the living room three times. He discovered the puppy was simply being stubborn, obstructing Ji Liandong’s exit, so he tangled with the pup instead.
Five minutes later, his blue-gray uniform was completely covered in dog hair.
The system gloated as it dragged Ji Liandong along, both laughing freely.
While Ji Liandong leaned back on the sofa for that bit, his lap had already been exchanged for a camera, puppy, and mushroom. Watching the rather disheveled Chief Li, he also smiled slightly.
“Chief Li,” Ji Liandong said softly.
Li Heng held the frantically flailing puppy, looked up, somewhat embarrassed: “It won’t listen.”
“I know,” Ji Liandong said. “It’s scared, doesn’t want to be left behind. Take it with us.”
Ji Liandong: “I’ll take care of it.”
Li Heng didn’t know why he froze.
The way Ji Liandong said this was too ordinary, so ordinary that it wouldn’t draw anyone’s particular attention, as if it were simply natural.
Even though the puppy wasn’t something Ji Liandong wanted—it was just Li Xingyun’s exceptionally futile, arrogant compensation. A dog needed to be walked, fed, cared for, have its fur groomed and bathed. Li Xingyun clearly hadn’t considered that Ji Liandong’s body had deteriorated to this degree—how could he care for another dog?
Li Heng was silent for a few seconds. The puppy also mysteriously became well-behaved, looking up at him, making eye contact.
“…I’ll try once more,” Li Heng said.
He said: “Ji Liandong, you don’t know, but from my first day of school, my grades have all been A’s and S’s.”
Ji Liandong truly didn’t know. Chief Li told a good story.
Li Heng began recounting his achievements.
Li Heng found a leash, failed a few times, but ultimately succeeded in putting it on the twisting puppy. He also tried learning to use the lint roller. There were instructions; none of this was difficult.
“It’s really not hard,” Li Heng washed his hands clean, temporarily tying the puppy to the door, successfully returning to the sofa’s side. “It’s like playing house.”
He leaned down, carefully gathered Ji Liandong close. The person he held was very quiet, but Li Heng knew that while he was learning to care for the puppy, Ji Liandong hadn’t lost focus.
Ji Liandong had been watching him the whole time.
Li Heng picked up Ji Liandong, moving with even more care than when handling the puppy—gentle and meticulous. He wrapped him in a sufficiently warm down jacket, secured his scarf against the wind, and put a knit hat on his head.
He crouched down to help Ji Liandong put on his shoes, adjusted his pants legs, and half-supported, half-carried him to his feet.
He let Ji Liandong lean on him, slowly stroking his neck, patiently waiting for the moment of dizziness to pass completely.
Ji Liandong rarely dressed like this.
No trench coat, no turtleneck, no accessories befitting his status. The long down jacket, knit hat, and travel shoes made him look like a college student.
Li Heng handed him the puppy’s leash.
“Buying toffee pudding cake” was an excuse, as was “the sun is nice.”
Li Heng just wanted to take him out for a drive. Besides, fuel costs were reimbursed by the investigation bureau. Chief Li’s vehicle was stable in the snow—a semi-military, spacious SUV with privacy film and anti-blast armor.
Ji Liandong leaned in the passenger seat, holding the puppy and looking outside. The sun had only been out half the day before snow began falling again. Passersby hurried along, everyone rushing home.
Lights flickered on, one after another.
Li Heng parked on the roadside, turned on the hazard lights, and went out in the snow to buy toffee pudding cake.
Most elaborate, well-renowned desserts were more style than substance. Li Heng took a bite and became delirious from sweetness, vigorously shaking his head and gulping down two mouthfuls of the coffee he’d bought on the side. He discovered that Ji Liandong seemed to accept it quite well.
Li Heng asked: “Do you like sweets?”
Ji Liandong paused with his small wooden spoon and looked up.
He said: “I don’t know.”
Li Heng handed over the coffee, discovering that the movie star was reluctant to take it. He smiled, switched to a different cup of hot latte instead.
…Li Xingyun was utterly selfish waste.
Li Heng actually wasn’t close to Li Xingyun. He’d pieced this much together from case files.
When Li Xingyun publicly cut ties with Ji Liandong, he thought Ji Liandong was hypocritical, self-centered, arrogant, lacking empathy, and had never shown proper care for others… so Li Xingyun dedicated himself to compensating for the “damage” such a Ji Liandong caused others.
Such a shift in perspective naturally included plenty of Ji Ran’s grievance-filled brainwashing.
But that was another matter entirely.
The one who was truly self-centered and lacked empathy was Li Xingyun.
The one who never cared for Ji Liandong was Li Xingyun.
Ji Liandong didn’t know his preferences for sweets, so Li Xingyun never asked? And the meals Li Xingyun made for Ji Liandong—were they really things Ji Liandong liked to eat?
Was it that Ji Liandong liked them, or that Li Xingyun liked them, and since Ji Liandong ate whatever without complaint, he just frequently ordered and made them?
Ji Liandong didn’t even know he liked sweets.
Ji Liandong sipped a little hot latte and searched on his phone for what puppies could eat. He broke off a piece of pudding cake without chocolate and shared it with the puppy whose tail wagged like a propeller.
He broke off a large piece of chocolate pudding cake and shared it with the mushroom.
Li Heng noticed he was already tired, so he took the cup and pudding cake, started the car, and continued driving aimlessly forward.
The puppy’s head was topped with the mushroom.
Ji Liandong held the puppy.
This shadow cast through the window made Li Heng suspect his own sanity had become disordered. He rubbed his eyes. The illusion disappeared, but he still found it cute: “Ji Liandong.”
There was little traffic on the road; they drove slowly. This time, Li Heng parked the car in a desolate area. He raised his hand and gently touched the hair beneath Ji Liandong’s knit hat.
Ji Liandong kissed him.
Without anyone offering explanation, trial, or inquiry, it seemed like merely some form of social courtesy.
Li Heng unbuckled Ji Liandong’s seatbelt. He tried to serve the purpose of that restraint instead, cradling Ji Liandong properly. Initially these kisses were cautious and careful, but they quickly spiraled beyond control.
Li Heng had never imagined he’d use his S-grade level learning ability on this.
But at least the effect was good. Ji Liandong leaned against his arm, pale skin flushed with a thin layer of color, his complexion seeming to improve. His body’s response was disconnected from his consciousness. His scarred chest trembled slightly; his frail heart pressed against his palm.
“Ji Liandong?” Li Heng asked, voice hoarse.
The person in his embrace seemed to briefly lose consciousness.
Li Heng lowered his head, quietly resting his forehead against the thin sweat on Ji Liandong’s brow, regulating his breathing.
He ended it with a very light kiss, the careful exploration of parting lips. This time it wasn’t bitter—he’d bought enough sugar.
Ji Liandong woke in a spoonful of toffee pudding cake, slowly savoring it, swallowing. Li Heng touched his hair, and those thin eyelids drooped slightly, their curve gentle.
Ji Liandong was very relaxed. Li Heng rested his arm and gently touched the corner of his eye.
The puppy squeezed into the back seat finally found an opportunity, dragging its leash, quickly reclaiming its lost territory on Ji Liandong’s lap.
Outside, without anyone noticing, snow began falling again. Cold wind howled, snowflakes swirled, as if a blizzard would swallow everything.
The car door sealed everything outside. In the warm cabin, the overhead light was soft.
“Ji Liandong,” Li Heng pulled the dog away. He couldn’t figure it out: “Why don’t you have any dog hair on you?”
Li Heng had wanted to ask for a while: “Does your ‘friend’ have magic?”
The system’s mushroom, having purely used physical labor to collect every last dog hair, danced triumphantly.
Ji Liandong lowered his head, looking at the magical system mushroom, and his eyes curved slightly in a smile. This kind of smile was rare, and for those few seconds, it created the illusion that perhaps all the hurt had never happened.
Li Heng felt that Ji Liandong had something to say.
Li Heng set down his coffee and drew close to the person reclining quietly in the passenger seat, touching his hair and offering his ear. He was prepared to, after Ji Liandong finished speaking, ask him what he wanted, maybe suggest going to the riverside to catch some fireworks.
“Chief Li,” Ji Liandong asked softly. “What do you want to know?”
Those words were like ice water.
Li Heng went rigid. He looked up toward Ji Liandong, his face impassive in the dim space, but his brows and eyes still had that gentle shape.
“Today was wonderful,” Ji Liandong didn’t mind admitting. This was an unprecedented experience. From as far back as his memory went, he’d never spent a day like this—like a kaleidoscopic hallucination before death.
Ji Liandong confessed to him: “I’m willing to tell you now.”
Ji Liandong asked: “What do you want to know?”