Chapter 28 Dawn

As morning light filtered through the old, thin curtains of the safe house, casting dappled patterns on the floor, Hei Xiazi had been awake for a while. He lay on his side, his gaze fixed on Zhang Qiling by the window—the man sat in a wooden chair, head slightly tilted back, eyes closed, but his back taut like a fully drawn bow, fingertips unconsciously pressing against the windowsill, even his breathing extremely soft, clearly a posture ready to rise at any moment to deal with danger. Hei Xiazi knew this posture all too well. From Tamutuo to the Seven Star Lu Palace, whenever danger lurked nearby, Zhang Qiling was always like this, seemingly relaxed, but in reality, not a single hair on his head had loosened his guard.

"Hey," Black Bear spoke, his throat still dry from last night's fever, hoarse like sandpaper rubbing against wood, "Who are you pretending to be asleep for? You thought I didn't see your eyelashes flutter three times?"

Zhang Qiling's eyelids snapped open. Those eyes, always shrouded in coldness, softened slightly in the morning light, yet remained astonishingly bright, like a cold pool concealing stars. He didn't speak, but rose and walked to the bedside, his knees lightly touching the edge of the bed. His fingertips, carrying a slightly cool temperature, gently touched Hei Xiazi's forehead—pausing for two seconds to confirm there was no heat before slowly moving away.

"The fever has subsided." Zhang Qiling's voice was still flat, but Hei Xiazi stared at his brow and clearly saw that the crease that had been tightly furrowed for half the night had quietly relaxed a little, and even the coldness in his eyes had faded.

“Of course,” Black Bear grinned, the scabs on his cheeks aching slightly, but he didn’t hold back. “With Chief Zhang personally watching over me, even if I wanted to burn myself to the point of delirium, I’d have to give you face, wouldn’t I?”

Zhang Qiling ignored his teasing and turned to walk towards the kitchen. A short while later, she returned with a bowl of porridge, still steaming warm. The chopped vegetables were so tender they seemed to burst with juice, and the minced meat was finely chopped pork belly, with even the tendons and membranes removed. The soft, cooked rice grains settled at the bottom, releasing a fragrant aroma with every stir. Hei Xiazi raised an eyebrow, his sunglasses sliding down to his nose, revealing surprise in his eyes: "You can pick out such fine details? I thought you only looked for 'filling your stomach' when buying porridge."

“It’s from the breakfast stall downstairs,” Zhang Qiling handed over the bowl of porridge, her fingertips accidentally brushing against Hei Xiazi’s palm before she quickly withdrew them, her tone still calm, “The owner said this is good for healing injuries.”

When Hei Xiazi took the bowl, he deliberately let his fingertips rub against Zhang Qiling's wrist for an extra half second—Zhang Qiling's wrist was very slender, with clearly defined wrist bones, and skin as cool as jade. He saw the other's wrist pause almost imperceptibly for half a second, but his knuckles curled slightly. He didn't flinch, but just lowered his eyes and moved closer to the edge of the table, as if trying to hide something.

“Dumb,” Black Bear stirred the porridge with a spoon, the steam rising to his face, warming his heart, “I dreamt of you last night.”

Zhang Qiling was squatting on the ground arranging medicinal herbs—Yunnan Baiyao, gauze, and several packets of dried honeysuckle that he had taken out of his backpack were all neatly arranged. Upon hearing this, his movements paused, his hand stopping on the medicine packets, and he didn't move.

“I dreamt of the Yardang landforms on the edge of Tamutuo,” Hei Xiazi said slowly, his voice softening. “The wind was blowing so hard that the sand was hitting my face. You carried me for three whole hours, your shoes filled with sand, but you didn’t stop. I asked you if you were tired, and you just hummed in response, and then you lifted me up a little higher on your back so I wouldn’t slip off.”

Zhang Qiling turned around, his gaze falling on Hei Xiazi's shoulder—it was wrapped in thick gauze, and faint red bloodstains could be seen seeping through the edges. He walked over, stopping a centimeter from the gauze with his fingertips, and asked softly, "Does it hurt?"

"Are you asking about the wound, or about your heart?" Hei Xiazi brought the bowl of porridge to his lips, the steam blurring his smiling eyes. "The wound really hurts, it hurt so much last night I was even talking nonsense; but seeing you squatting by the bed wiping my sweat, your brows furrowed so tightly they could trap a mosquito, my heart aches even more—do you believe me?"

Zhang Qiling's fingertips twitched, but in the end she didn't touch his wound. She just turned around, grabbed a spoon, and handed it to him: "Eat quickly, the porridge is getting cold."

The door was flung open with a bang, and Wu Xie burst in, rubbing his eyes. His hair was sticking up like a bird's nest, and his nose twitched first. "Holy crap, what kind of porridge smells so good?" Seeing Hei Xiazi leaning against the headboard with a bowl of porridge in his hand, his eyes lit up, and he rushed over. "Brother Hei, you can finally sit up! Last night you had a high fever and kept saying 'Little Brother, don't go,' which scared me so much that I thought you were going to die here!"

Hei Xiazi raised an eyebrow, gestured towards Zhang Qiling with his chin, and said with a hint of pride, "Thanks to your little brother, he stayed up half the night last night, feeding me medicine and wiping my sweat. He took better care of me than your fat man."

Zhang Qiling retorted, "I'm not one of yours, only you." Zhang Qiling looked at the blind man with a wronged expression, while the blind man laughed heartily, "Yes, one of my family." Wu Xie was speechless.

Xie Yuchen followed him in, holding a miniature telescope in his hand, the lens still dusty. He was much neater than Wu Xie, his shirt collar buttoned up tightly, and even the cuffs rolled up to the same height: "I've checked the fire exits and back doors of the entire building, there are no signs of forced entry, and the water and electricity are all normal, but that black Passat across the street hasn't been moved once since 2 a.m.

Zhang Qiling immediately went to the window, his fingers pinching the corner of the curtain—the edge of the fabric was already frayed, and he brushed his fingertips over the frayed edges, his movements so light that he was afraid of disturbing those outside. His gaze was like a knife tempered with ice, scraping inch by inch across the window of the Passat: the dark tint was too thick, and he couldn't even see if there was anyone in the driver's seat, only vaguely seeing an inconspicuous thing mounted on the roof, like a miniature camera.

“That car has been parked there since last night,” Black Bear said, sipping his porridge. His tone seemed relaxed, but his fingers were secretly tightening their grip on the spoon. “Should I go and say hello to them? And see which kind of culprit is watching us like this?”

"Don't move." Zhang Qiling turned around, her voice a little deeper than usual. She walked quickly to the bedside and reached out to press down on Hei Xiazi's shoulder—her fingertips were pressed on the gauze at the edge of the wound, and she used very light pressure, afraid of tearing the wound open. "The stitches haven't been removed yet. If you move again, the stitches will break, and no one will be there to treat you."

"Yes, sir," Black Bear smiled and lay back on the bed, deliberately rubbing against his hand. "Then I'll trouble Chief Zhang to continue protecting this wounded man."

Zhang Qiling didn't leave the safe house all day. He sat on a small stool by the bed, and when changing Hei Xiazi's bandages, he would first scald the scissors in hot water, his movements as slow as if he were disassembling a fragile piece of porcelain; when Hei Xiazi said he was thirsty, he went to the kitchen to let the boiled water cool down, and when he came back, he would test the water temperature with his fingertip to make sure it wasn't too hot for his mouth before handing it to him; occasionally, when he stood by the window observing the car, he would also turn back to look at Hei Xiazi every ten minutes to make sure he wasn't moving around before turning back.

Hei Xiazi fully utilized his "wounded soldier privileges," asking Zhang Qiling to hand him an apple one moment, asking him to help elevate his pillow the next, and even deliberately putting his foot on Zhang Qiling's knee—Zhang Qiling didn't push him away, but simply pulled down his trouser leg to cover his exposed ankle, afraid that he would catch a cold.

As evening fell, the setting sun painted the curtains orange-red, and Zhang Qiling came to change Hei Xiazi's dressing again. As he unwrapped the old gauze, his fingers accidentally touched an old scar on Hei Xiazi's collarbone—a gunshot wound from five years ago at an underground casino in Changsha. The bullet had grazed his collarbone, just a centimeter away from piercing his artery. Zhang Qiling had dragged him out of the hail of bullets; blood had soaked through their clothes, making them stick together like glue.

"Do you remember this?" Hei Xiazi asked softly, his gaze falling on Zhang Qiling's fingertip—the finger remained on the scar, not moving away, carrying a familiar coolness.

Zhang Qiling lightly pressed her fingertip against the scar, very lightly, as if confirming something, then nodded: "Yes. Changsha, casino."

“You weren’t as considerate back then,” Hei Xiazi laughed, but his eyes softened. “You just dumped me in the hospital emergency room, left me with the words ‘Take good care of yourself,’ and then went to the Qinling Mountains. I lay there for half a month without seeing a single person.”

“At that time, the team members were trapped in the Qinling Ancient Tomb,” Zhang Qiling continued his work, the new gauze wrapped just right. He spoke very softly, but the tips of his ears were quietly flushed red, as if dyed by the sunset, or as if he was hiding something. “I had to go.”

“I know,” Black Bear interrupted him, reaching out to touch his earlobe—it was burning hot. “I was just teasing you. Back then, I thought that next time I partnered with you, I would never let you walk alone again.”

Zhang Qiling paused, said nothing, but folded the old gauze he had taken off and put it in the trash bag. He then slipped a piece of candy into Hei Xiazi's hand—a fruit-flavored hard candy that he had bought from the supermarket downstairs that morning, knowing that Hei Xiazi disliked bitterness.

In the living room, Wu Xie and Xie Yuchen were engrossed in studying information about the Queen Mother of the West's Palace on the table. Wu Xie leaned over to look at the map, but his eyes kept glancing towards the bedroom door out of the corner of his eye. He lowered his voice and said, "Are they always like this? Little Brother is as cold as ice to everyone. I've never even seen him hand someone water to test the temperature, except for Blackie... He even picks and chooses when buying porridge."

Xie Yuchen pushed up his glasses, circled the entrance to the Queen Mother of the West Palace on the map with the tip of his pen, and said in a calm tone: "Last time, when Master Hei was scratched by a zongzi in the Seven Star Lu Palace, Brother Xiao stayed by his side for three days straight, barely eating anything, just staring at his wound. At that time, I felt that the two of them were different."

As night deepened, the living room lights went out, and Wu Xie and Xie Yuchen returned to their respective rooms. Only a small nightlight remained on in the bedroom of the safe house, its warm yellow light enveloping the two of them. Zhang Qiling was still sitting in the chair by the window, in the same posture as in the morning, without moving.

Hei Xiazi patted the bed next to him, speaking softly so as not to disturb the outside: "Come up and sleep. The chair is too hard. Your back is bad, and it will hurt if you sit for a night."

Zhang Qiling shook his head, glancing again at the car outside the window: "Night watch."

“Then I’ll stay with you,” Hei Xiazi said, and was about to get up, but Zhang Qiling pressed him down as soon as he moved his shoulder.

"Don't move." Zhang Qiling walked to the bedside, placed his hand on Hei Xiazi's shoulder, his strength steady but not forceful. The two stared at each other for a moment in the darkness, and Zhang Qiling finally gave in—he slowly sat on the edge of the bed, his back still tense, but his hand naturally rested on Hei Xiazi's uninjured shoulder, his fingers gently tugging at his collar, as if afraid that he might turn over and fall off in the night.

Black Bear smiled triumphantly, moved over to the other side, and offered him half of the pillow: "Is this alright? You keep watch, and I'll keep you company. We won't bother each other."

Zhang Qiling didn't speak, only gave a soft "hmm," leaned her head against the headboard, and looked out the window—the Passat was still there, like a dark shadow, staring at the safe house.

“Dumb,” Black Bear whispered in the darkness, his voice devoid of its usual nonchalance, replaced only by seriousness, “Don’t shield me from arrows next time. Last time in the desert, that arrow was poisoned with corpse poison, and you took it for me, remaining unconscious for most of the day, and I…”

Before he could finish speaking, Zhang Qiling interrupted him. Zhang Qiling tightened her grip on his collar, her fingers pressing harder, her tone flat yet unwavering: "Impossible. I won't let anything happen to you."

Black Bear didn't speak again, but moved closer to him, his shoulder resting on his arm—it was warm and comforting. This time, he didn't have any nightmares, and he even breathed softly, afraid of waking the person next to him.

Outside the window, the night grew even darker. In the black Passat, the man tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, his fingernails still stained with gravel. He whispered into his headset, "Target is all normal. Zhang Qiling is sticking to Hei Xiazi. Should we proceed?"

A gentle yet chilling voice came through the earpiece, like a snake flicking its tongue: "Wait a little longer. Let them head towards the Queen Mother of the West's Palace, then we'll pick up the pieces. It would be more interesting if Zhang Qiling and Hei Xiazi could both fall in there."

The man responded, put away his headphones, and his gaze returned to the window of the safe house—the bedroom light was still on, and in the warm yellow light, two shadows could be vaguely seen leaning against each other.