dialogue
Du Siling awoke in pain. It was already dark outside, and the city lights cast dappled shadows on the ceiling through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He tried to move his right arm, and a sharp pain immediately made him grit his teeth.
"Don't move." Han Beimo's voice came from the corner of the room. "You got eighteen stitches. Do you want to go back into the operating room?"
Du Siling turned her head and saw Han Beimo sitting on a single sofa in the shadows, a laptop on his lap, the blue light of the screen reflecting on his sharply defined face. He had changed into black loungewear, the collar open, revealing his collarbone and a small patch of chest. That damned azalea was still pinned to his collar, only now it was a fresh one.
"What time is it?" Du Siling asked, his voice hoarse and unlike his own.
"2:17 AM." Han Beimo closed his laptop. "You slept for almost twenty hours."
Du Siling tried to prop himself up with his left hand, and Han Beimo immediately came over to help him. The hand was warm and strong, with calluses on the fingertips from holding a gun for a long time, and the touch was surprisingly reassuring.
"Are you hungry?" Han Beimo asked, handing him a glass of water.
Du Siling took a small sip; the water was just the right temperature. "A little," he admitted.
Han Beimo picked up the intercom on the bedside table and said a few words. Less than ten minutes later, a young man dressed in black pushed in a food cart, respectfully set out the food, and quickly left. Du Siling noticed that the man kept his head down the whole time, avoiding eye contact with Han Beimo.
On the dining car was a bowl of steaming congee with preserved egg and lean pork, a few light side dishes, and a small plate of pickled radish, Du Siling's favorite—this detail made his heart flutter.
"You investigated my dietary preferences?" Du Siling raised an eyebrow.
Han Beimo ladled a bowl of porridge and handed it to him: "That's what Aunt Li from the orphanage said. I visited her last week."
Du Siling's hand froze in mid-air: "You're going to find Mother Li? Why?"
"Curious." Han Beimo shrugged. "I want to know what kind of environment can cultivate a policeman willing to take a bullet for the enemy."
Du Siling didn't reply, focusing on his porridge. The porridge was soft and flavorful, and the pickled radish was sweet, sour, and crisp, reminding him of his childhood days in the orphanage. Back then, Aunt Li would always secretly give him an extra half bowl of porridge, saying he was too thin and needed to grow.
"Let's cooperate," Du Siling suddenly said.
Han Beimo paused, his hand still holding the teacup. "What do you mean?"
"Your father and my father, Chen Yan, that case from twenty years ago," Du Siling put down her bowl. "We both have things we want to know. Let's take a temporary break and share information."
Han Beimo chuckled lightly: "You know you're my prisoner now, right?"
"No." Du Siling looked him straight in the eye. "If I want to leave, you can't stop me."
This was a bluffing lie. In his current state, Han Beimo could subdue him with one hand. But strangely, Han Beimo didn't refute it.
"Why should I believe you?" Han Beimo asked.
Du Siling slowly unbuttoned the top button of his hospital gown, revealing an old, round scar below his collarbone: "Seven years ago, when I was undercover in the Green Dragon Gang, I was discovered. They burned this spot with a red-hot iron rod and asked me for my badge number." He pointed to the blurry numbers on the scar, "I counted to three and passed out, but I never said it."
Han Beimo's gaze lingered on the scar for a few seconds before shifting to Du Siling's face: "What do you mean?"
"If I agree to cooperate, I will keep my promise," Du Siling said. "Unlike you police officers, the police value integrity."
Unexpectedly, Han Beimo smiled. That smile brightened his entire being, and fine lines appeared at the corners of his eyes. "Alright," he said, extending his hand, "a temporary truce."
Du Siling grasped that hand. The instant their palms touched, a subtle electric current surged up his spine, almost causing him to let go. Han Beiming seemed to sense something as well, quickly withdrawing his hand and pretending to straighten his collar.
"We'll start exchanging information tomorrow." Han Beimo stood up. "You need to rest now."
"Wait," Du Siling called out to him, "Could you show me all the information you've collected about that case?"
Han Beimo hesitated for a moment, then took a USB drive from his desk drawer and tossed it to him: "The password is RHODODENDRON0509."
"Azaleas plus your mother's death anniversary?" Du Siling raised an eyebrow.
Han Beimo's eyes instantly turned cold: "How did you know?"
"You said it the night you had a fever," Du Siling told the truth. "You mentioned that she died protecting you; that was the day before your birthday."
Han Beimo's expression became complex, as if anger was mixed with some softer emotion. "Go to sleep," he finally said, closing the door and leaving.
Du Siling spent an hour browsing the files on the USB drive. Most of them were case files he had already reviewed, but one encrypted folder caught his attention. The file name was "LC," and he couldn't open it despite trying several passwords.
Night had fallen, and the wound began to throb. Du Siling pressed the call button, hoping to get some painkillers. Unexpectedly, Han Beimo came in personally with a bottle of medicine and water.
"Can't sleep?" he asked, pouring out two white pills.
Du Siling nodded, took the pill, and swallowed it. Han Beimo stood by the bed without leaving, moonlight shining through the gap in the curtains onto half of his face, outlining his perfect profile.
"What is RHODODENDRON?" Du Siling asked.
Han Beimo was silent for a moment: "My mother's research notes. She was a botany professor specializing in azalea breeding."
"What about LC?"
Han Beimo's expression instantly turned wary: "How do you know about this file?"
"I saw it, but I can't open it," Du Siling honestly admitted.
"Don't touch that." Han Beimo's voice was as cold as ice. "That's personal property."
As the medication began to take effect, Du Siling's vision blurred. In the last moments before falling asleep, he vaguely saw Han Beimo leaning over to tuck him in, the azalea blossoms on his collar gently brushing against his cheek, carrying a faint fragrance.
——
The dreams swirled during the high fever were chaotic yet vivid. Du Siling dreamt that he had returned to the orphanage when he was ten years old, hiding in a wardrobe and listening to the sounds of fighting outside. Suddenly, the wardrobe door opened, and a dark-eyed boy reached out his hand to him: "Come out, I'll protect you."
"Xiao Bei?" Du Siling murmured in her dream.
——
What did you just call me?
A voice pulled Du Siling back from his dream. He opened his eyes and found Han Beimo bending down to change his dressing, his face showing an expression of disbelief.
"What?" Du Siling asked blankly.
"You call me 'Xiao Bei'." Han Beimo's voice sounded strange. "That's... the nickname my mother gave me. Nobody else calls me that."
Du Siling's mind was still fogged up by the medication: "I dreamt that when I was little, in the orphanage... there was a boy named Xiao Bei..."
Han Beimo's hand stopped above the bandage, his eyes widening slightly: "Sunshine Home Welfare Institute? From 1998 to 2000?"
Du Siling instantly snapped to attention: "How did you know the date?"
The two stared at each other, an invisible current seeming to flow through the air. Han Beimo looked away first and continued bandaging, but Du Siling noticed his fingers trembling slightly.
"A coincidence," Han Beimo finally said, his tone regaining its composure. "After my mother died, I spent short periods in several welfare homes."
Du Siling wanted to ask more, but a sharp pain struck him, and he couldn't help but groan. Han Beimo immediately quickened his movements, his technique surprisingly gentle and professional.
"Where did you learn your medical skills?" Du Siling asked through gritted teeth.
"Self-taught," Han Beimo replied briefly. "My father often 'educated' me that learning to bandage is essential for survival."
After bandaging him up, Han Beimo handed him two pills and a glass of water. When Du Siling's fingers accidentally touched his palm, Han Beimo quickly withdrew his hand as if he had been burned.
"Go to sleep," he said, his voice a little hoarse. "We'll look at the materials tomorrow."
Du Siling nodded, the drug quickly pulling him back into darkness. In his half-dreaming, half-awake state, he felt someone gently brush away the stray hairs from his forehead, the movement so tender it seemed unreal.
The next day at noon, Du Siling was awakened by a knock on the door. A young, unfamiliar woman pushed in a food cart and respectfully set out lunch.
"Master Han went to headquarters and will be back tonight," she said, head down. "He said to just ring the bell if you need anything."
Du Siling noticed fresh bruises on her wrist. "Who did this?" he asked, pointing to the marks.
The woman hurriedly pulled down her sleeve: "N-no, I bumped into it by accident."
Du Siling didn't press the matter, but he noted the detail down his mind. After the woman left, he tried to get out of bed and move around. The wound was still painful, but he could bear it. He slowly walked to the desk and opened the laptop Han Beimo had left behind.
The USB drive was still plugged in. Du Siling opened the RHODODENDRON folder, which contained dozens of research notes and photos about azaleas. He quickly browsed through them until he saw a group photo—Han Beimo's mother standing among a group of children, with the Sunshine Home Welfare Institute in the background.
The photo was taken in May 1999, Du Siling's second year at the orphanage. He zoomed in on the picture and spotted a blurry little figure in the corner—a boy with dark eyes, standing next to a young Li's mother.
The boy's eyes sent a jolt through Du Siling. Sharp, wary, like a small animal ready to flee at any moment. Even across twenty years, he could recognize that it was the young Han Beimo.
"Xiao Bei..." Du Siling murmured to herself. So it wasn't a dream after all.
He continued flipping through the pages and found a newspaper clipping tucked inside a notebook: "Drug Enforcement Hero Du Zhiyuan Receives Commendation." Next to the article was a handwritten note: "Is LC referring to him?"
LC—the name of the encrypted folder. Du Siling tried several possible passwords but failed. Just as he was about to give up, he noticed that the desk drawer was not closed properly, and the corner of a leather notebook was sticking out.
Morally, he shouldn't have been peeping, but professional instincts prevailed. Du Siling opened the drawer and took out the notebook. The title page read "Linghua Research Notes," dated 1995 to 2003—Han Beimo's mother's name.
The notebook was mostly academic, but the last few pages turned into a diary. One page read:
"LC came again today, bringing more 'funding.' He said it was for the children's good, but I saw him talking to Han behind the warehouse. That look in his eyes... I know it all too well. Police and drug dealers shouldn't have that kind of relationship. I have to get Xiao Bei away."
The diary entry ends here; the next entry is three months later, and the handwriting is trembling:
"It's too late. Han found out. He said if I dare to report him, he'll make Xiao Bei 'die an accident.' What should I do? LC is the only one who can help, but he..."
The last diary entry was written on May 13, 2003, the day before Han Beimo's mother passed away:
"Tomorrow is Xiao Bei's birthday. I've decided that no matter the cost, I must take him away. I've contacted LC to arrange a witness protection plan. Han is going to the docks tonight for the transaction; the police will arrest him on the spot. God forgive me..."
Du Siling's hands trembled slightly. These fragments pieced together a terrifying picture: Han Beimo's mother was trying to report her husband, and the police mole "LC" had likely betrayed her.
He recalled the caption on the photo: "LC is referring to him?"—which most likely referred to his father, Du Zhiyuan.
The vibration of his phone interrupted his thoughts. It was a text message from Han Beimo: "Guests are arriving at eight tonight. Don't leave your room."
Du Siling replied, "What guest?"
"Chen Yan."
Those two words sent a chill down Du Siling's spine. He quickly hid his notebook and returned to bed to think. Chen Yan's sudden visit was no coincidence. Was he there to confirm his death? Or had he discovered something?
As evening fell, Du Siling retrieved his police badge from a hidden compartment in his suitcase. The metal gleamed coldly in the setting sun. He had once been proud of this badge, but now he felt an unprecedented sense of conflict.
If Chen Yan is indeed involved in the death of Han Beimo's mother and the subsequent cover-up, then his purpose in sending Du Siling undercover is definitely not simple. And Han Beimo... the "Little Bei" who once protected him at the orphanage, the man who sponsored the orphanage, hated violence but had to maintain a fierce image—should he really be his enemy?
Du Siling put the police badge back in the hidden compartment, deciding to play the role of "prisoner" for the time being. No matter what Chen Yan came tonight, he had to remain vigilant.
Outside the window, the setting sun dyed the sky a blood red, like that of azaleas.
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