azalea

At four in the morning, the headquarters building was completely silent. Du Siling quietly pushed open the door to Han Beimo's private study—the only place he hadn't searched. For the past three weeks, Han Beimo had gone to the rooftop greenhouse for two hours every night at this time, without fail.

The study was simpler than he had imagined, with various books neatly arranged on oak bookshelves, ranging from business management to gardening, and even a few poetry collections. Du Siling put on gloves and began to inspect the desk drawers.

The bottom drawer was locked. Du Siling took out lock-picking tools from his pocket—the skills he learned at the police academy came in handy. The latch clicked open, revealing only a brown paper file folder inside, its yellowed edges indicating its age.

Du Siling pulled out the documents, and the first thing that slid out was an old photograph. In the photo, a policeman was pointing a gun at a man whose face was covered in blood; the background appeared to be a warehouse. The policeman's face made Du Siling's blood freeze instantly—he looked twenty years younger, but those eyes, that jawline, were unmistakably his father, Du Zhiyuan.

The date and location are written in faded pen in the corner of the photo: May 14, 2003, Warehouse No. 7, West Wharf.

Du Siling's fingers trembled slightly. His father had never mentioned this experience. He quickly flipped through the other documents and found a copy of a case report, which clearly stated: Police officer Du Zhiyuan shot and killed drug lord Han Zhenyue—Han Beimo's father—who resisted arrest during a drug raid.

Did you find what you were looking for?

Han Beimo's voice sounded from behind, and Du Siling turned around abruptly, the photo fluttering to the ground. Han Beimo stood in the doorway, holding a glass of whiskey, the azalea on his collar glaringly red in the dim light.

"I..." Du Siling's right hand subconsciously moved to her lower back, only to find that she was not carrying a weapon.

Han Beimo slowly approached, picked up the photo: "Du Zhiyuan, the ace of the city's anti-drug squad, shot and killed my father on May 14, 2003." He looked directly into Du Siling's eyes, "He was also your father, wasn't he? Chief Du Siling?"

Du Siling's breath hitched for a second. All her pretense crumbled at that moment.

"How long have you known?" Du Siling asked, her voice unexpectedly calm.

"From the first day you stepped into the greenhouse," Han Beimo put down his wine glass, "you look so much like your father, especially your eyes."

Why didn't you kill me?

Han Beimo walked to the window, his back to Du Siling: "I need to know the truth about that night. The official report says my father resisted arrest, but the clues I've uncovered..." He paused, "...were a setup. That night wasn't just a drug bust."

Du Siling's mind raced. Her father never talked about that operation, and would always change the subject whenever asked. Moreover, after that year, her father was transferred from the anti-drug squad to the traffic police department, and his career took a sharp downturn.

"So you kept me alive to find out the cause of your father's death?" Du Siling asked.

Han Beimo turned around, the moonlight outlining the sharp contours of his face. "At first, yes." He approached Du Siling, close enough to smell the aftershave on him. "Then I discovered... you're a pretty good bodyguard."

This answer made Du Siling's heart skip a beat. He should seize the opportunity to subdue Han Beimo; it was a policeman's duty. But something deeper made him stand still.

"What do you plan to do now?" Du Siling asked.

Han Beimo suddenly grabbed his collar with astonishing force: "Tell me, did your father mention that night? Any details!"

Du Siling didn't object: "No. He never talks about work."

Han Beimo stared at him for a few seconds, seemingly assessing his sincerity, then released his grip: "Get lost. Before I change my mind."

Du Siling didn't move: "I can't leave."

"Why?" Han Beimo sneered. "Is it my duty?"

"Because someone framed me." Du Siling looked him straight in the eye. "The drugs at the Jade Club, Liu Qiang's betrayal, even my easy entry into the study tonight—it's all a setup. Zhao Kunyang is waiting for you to kill me or for me to arrest you."

Han Beimo narrowed his eyes slightly: "How much do you know?"

"Not enough. But I know Zhao Kunyang has someone backing him." Du Siling picked up the file folder. "Could I borrow this one? Maybe it can provide some clues."

Han Beimo looked incredulous: "You're truly the most fearless policeman I've ever met."

Just then, an explosion rang out in the distance, shaking the entire building. The siren pierced the night, and Ah Feng's hoarse voice came through the walkie-talkie: "Boss Han! Old Cat's men have broken in! At least thirty, and they're heavily armed!"

Han Beimo quickly took two handguns from the drawer and tossed one to Du Siling: "Do you know how to use this, officer?"

Du Siling skillfully loaded the gun: "More skilled than you think."

When they rushed out of the study, the corridor was already filled with smoke. Intense gunfire and screams erupted from downstairs. Han Beimo led Du Siling towards the emergency exit, but the stairwell was already blocked by gunfire.

"The rooftop!" Han Beimo shouted, "There's a helipad!"

They had just climbed two floors when Zhao Kunyang led five men to surround them from the side corridor. "Master Han!" Zhao Kunyang called out insincerely, "I'm here to protect you!"

Seeing Zhao Kunyang's right hand stealthily reach behind his back, Du Siling immediately raised his gun: "Watch out!"

Gunshots rang out almost simultaneously. Zhao Kunyang fell to the ground, blood blooming from his chest, but Du Siling also felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder—a bullet had entered from behind, the impact slamming him against the wall.

"Du Fei!" Han Beimo's voice seemed to come from a very far place.

More gunshots rang out. Du Siling slid to the ground, his shirt quickly soaked with blood. He vaguely saw Han Beimo take down four gunmen with astonishing precision, then kneel beside him.

"Hang in there." Han Beimo tore open his shirt and pressed it against his wound. "Don't die in front of me, officer."

Du Siling wanted to laugh, but coughed up blood. The world began to spin, and his last memory was the excruciating pain of Han Beimo hoisting him onto his shoulder, and the soft touch of the azalea on his collar against his face.

——

A field of azaleas. An endless expanse of red, like blood, like fire. Du Siling stood among the flowers, a woman's silhouette visible in the distance.

"Mom?" he called out. He was only seven years old when his mother died, but that figure was so familiar.

The woman turned around, but it was Han Beimo's face. "Find me," he said, but the voice was Du Siling's own.

——

The pain pulled Du Siling back to reality. He was lying on an unfamiliar bed, his right shoulder wrapped in thick bandages. The room was spacious and bright, with a panoramic view of the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows—this was not a hospital.

"Welcome back." Han Beimo sat on a chair by the bed, holding a book in his hand. He looked exhausted, with obvious dark circles under his eyes, and that damned azalea was still pinned to his collar.

"I... am dead?" Du Siling's voice was hoarse.

"Almost." Han Beimo handed him a glass of water. "The bullet missed the pulmonary artery by only two centimeters. A little more and you'd be in the forensic office right now."

Du Siling tried hard to recall the last scene: "Headquarters..."

"Half of it burned," Han Beimo said calmly. "Twelve brothers died, including A-Feng."

Du Siling noticed that Han Beimo's voice trembled slightly when he said "brother." This detail spoke volumes about Han Beimo's pain, more than any facial expression.

"Why did you bring me here?" Du Siling asked. "Shouldn't you have left me on the battlefield, or handed me over to the police in exchange for a favor?"

Han Beimo closed the book: "Good question." He stood up and walked to the window. "Perhaps I want to know why a policeman would take a bullet for a gang leader."

Du Siling didn't answer immediately. He himself wasn't sure of the answer. Professional instinct? Or some kind of...connection that had developed over the past two months?

"An instinctive reaction," he finally said.

Han Beimo chuckled lightly, "Liar." He walked back to the bedside, suddenly pulling back Du Siling's blanket to reveal his bandaged wound. "Do you know who performed your surgery? Me. Do you know why? Because I can't trust any doctor right now." He leaned down, placing his hands on either side of Du Siling. "We have a lot to settle, officer. But until then, you have to live."

Their faces were inches apart, and Du Siling could smell the whiskey and mint in Han Beimo's breath. Those amber eyes now had an almost transparent gold hue, churning with too many emotions—anger, confusion, and something else that Du Siling couldn't define.

"Zhao Kunyang is dead?" Du Siling changed the subject.

"Hmm." Han Beimo straightened up. "But the trail has gone cold. The person behind him is very cautious."

Du Siling remembered the file folder: "Those documents... could I take another look at them?"

Han Beimo raised an eyebrow: "Still want to continue the investigation? You're my prisoner now, remember?"

"Cooperation is more efficient than imprisonment." Du Siling tried to sit up, but was defeated by the pain. "My father's reputation is also involved."

Han Beimo paused for a moment, then took out his phone and pulled up a photo: "I only took pictures of part of it. A floor plan of the old warehouse, and the duty roster for that night."

Du Siling examined the picture carefully. There were six names on the duty roster, and besides his father, there was another name that made his heart race—Chen Yan.

"Chen Yan... is my current boss," Du Siling said slowly.

Han Beimo's eyes lit up: "An interesting coincidence."

The two exchanged a glance, a silent understanding forming in the air. Du Siling knew that from this moment on, this was no longer a simple undercover mission. The feud between the two families, the murder case from twenty years ago, and the bullet aimed at Han Beimo but hitting himself—everything was intertwined, like a tangled mess of threads.

At the other end of the line was Han Beimo, who always wore a rhododendron on his collar, and the complex emotions of Du Siling that he could not define.