It soothed the lingering obsession and pain about Qianluo that remained deep within me, and gently wiped away the sharp longing that kept me tossing and turning at night.
Only a faint tenderness remains, like her gentle embrace.
Little did he know that the trajectory of his destiny, which was supposed to lead to a brief reunion with Qianluo, was being disrupted by the infusion of spiritual power, like a dandelion seed scattered by the wind.
It falls silently into the cracks of time, leaving no trace.
The moment I pushed open the door, the warm yellow light in the entryway felt like a layer of soft velvet, gently enveloping my weariness.
As I changed my shoes, my gaze fell on a pair of brown leather shoes on the shoe rack—a gift from Qianluo, the toes of which had been worn down to a light white ring.
But I couldn't bear to throw it away, always feeling that the warmth of her smiling as she handed me the shoes was still inside.
I sank into the sofa, the familiar citrus scent of the house filling my nostrils.
That familiar scent was like a pair of gentle hands, slowly dissolving the tension that had been building up for so long, like a punctured balloon letting out its contents.
On my desk, the fountain pen that Qianluo gave me before she passed away still stands in the pen holder, the scratches on the pen cap clearly visible.
That was when we were on a police call together years ago, and she accidentally dropped her pen on the cement floor and knocked it over.
My fingertips gently traced the mark, the rough texture stirring the softness in my heart. I was finally able to calm down and face the guilt and longing that I had never dared to think about before.
After a three-day break, I plunged back into work.
I examined every inch of skin and every wound on the dissection table more closely than before, and held the tweezers more firmly.
It was as if they wanted to grasp the last shred of truth for the deceased from those subtle traces.
The case files were piled up like a small mountain. I stayed up all night, studying them word by word, not even letting go of the punctuation marks, for fear of missing any clue that could solve the mystery.
The advanced forensic medicine course I signed up for over the weekend started on time, with the teacher on the other side of the screen explaining the latest toxicology analysis techniques.
As I quickly took notes, I remembered what Qianluo used to say: "The more forensic doctors know, the closer they get to the truth of those who died unjustly."
The notebook was filled with writing, and occasionally a small sun would be drawn unconsciously in the margins—that was Qianluo's habit.
She said that no matter how dark the case is, you have to keep a bright spot in your heart and not let the shadows swallow you up.
I work so hard not only to excel myself, but also to see the truth for Qianluo and to shoulder more responsibility for all my comrades who are fighting against darkness on the front lines like her.
I want to become a better forensic doctor so that those innocent people who have been swallowed up by silence can see the light.
Through my voice, I can clearly tell the world all the grievances I haven't spoken and the stories I haven't finished telling.
Actually, I never really believed Xin Ziming's words. I always felt that when she sat in the villa that day and slowly uttered the words "not my destined partner," she was deliberately teasing me.
As I left the villa covered in ivy, I breathed on the car window and drew a large "science" sign with my finger.
Looking at the blurry reflection, I mentally prepared myself: "What era are we living in? People still believe in this nonsense about 'destined marriage'? It's unreliable."
But fate is like a sprout hidden in the soil in spring; it emerges without you even realizing it, making your heart itch with longing.
That day, I went to the bureau to deliver a report. Just as I turned the corner of the corridor, I bumped into her carrying a stack of documents—Lin Xi, who later became my lover.
The documents were scattered all over the floor. I hurriedly squatted down to pick them up, and when I looked up, I met her eyes, which were so bright that it looked like stars had been crushed and scattered inside.
There were still some coffee stains on the corners of his mouth that he hadn't wiped off, making him look like a flustered little squirrel.
"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I was walking too fast and I wasn't watching where I was going." She apologized, her face flushed, and hurriedly picked up the documents, her ears as red as ripe cherries.
In that instant, my heart suddenly felt like it had been hit by something, pounding wildly, and even my ears felt hot. I almost dropped the documents in my hands.
I later learned that she was a new administrative staff member in the bureau, and that day was her first time delivering documents to the department. She was so nervous that she could barely walk steadily.
We became friends because of a bowl of wontons late at night. That day, I worked overtime until the early hours of the morning and was so hungry that my stomach felt empty, so I went to the old wonton shop on the street corner to buy something to eat.
As soon as I opened the door, I saw her—Lin Xi was sitting by the window, with a bowl of steaming wontons in front of her, staring blankly at the streetlights outside the window.
"Is the work of a forensic doctor particularly tiring?" she asked me as I sat down, her eyes full of curiosity, without any taboo about the profession of "forensic doctor".
I smiled and said, "It's tiring, but every time I uncover the truth and let the deceased rest in peace, I feel that all the tiredness is worth it."
We talked for a long time that day, from the apricot tree in her hometown yard that blooms every spring to the embarrassing story of how my hands were shaking with nervousness when I went on my first call.
Later, on nights when I worked overtime, she would secretly bring me a cup of hot milk tea with a sticky note on the cup that read, "Don't stay up too late."
When I came back late from a crime scene, there was always a light left on in the office, and she would leave some snacks she had brought from home on the table.
Once, when I had a cold and fever, she ran around with a thermometer, even more anxious than I was.
He kept muttering, "If you collapse, what will happen to those cases waiting for the truth, and what will happen to your own health?"
At that moment, I suddenly understood that this must be the "true love" that Xin Zimo was talking about—not a grand display of roses and confessions.
It's the quiet, enduring companionship and peace of mind; it's the warmth of having someone leave a light on for you no matter how late you get home.
The day I took Linxi to see Qianluo, the sky was unusually clear, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of osmanthus, just like the hand cream that Qianluo used to love.
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