Chen Hede lowered his eyes, a faint smile playing on his lips, but it was tinged with an unyielding bitterness: "She is indeed... dazzling."
Like a blazing flame in the night, it can burn your eyes even from a great distance.
Zhu Zhishui patted his shoulder again, this time with more force, and with a hint of sincerity: "That girl was really good. It's a pity. Heaven is jealous of talent. Go to the funeral. I'll give you seven days off. Go out and clear your head."
He paused, then brought up the previous topic again, "But after you come back, you should really think about what I said. I truly treat you like my own child, and I hope you can settle down and start a family—I'm grooming you to be my future son-in-law."
Chen Hede simply nodded silently, his lowered eyelids concealing the turbulent emotions surging within him—gratitude, helplessness, and above all, an indescribable bitterness, like cotton soaked in bitter herbs, suffocating him.
When Zhu Zhishui first joined the police force, he took a liking to Chen Hede at first sight.
He was handsome and upright, with a dignified air about him. He was not only good-looking, but also possessed a rare loyalty and courage.
For this reason, Zhu Zhishui taught him almost everything he knew, personally guiding him from a newcomer to the current Deputy Director Chen.
If it weren't for Zhu Zhishui's strong support, how could Chen Hede have been so successful in dealing with Liang Shaozun?
The weight of that kindness he had received weighed heavily on his heart—he would have to repay that debt of gratitude should Zhu Zhishui ask for it.
But Chen Hede of today is no longer the carefree man he once was.
He has a weakness.
Xu Zhuohua is currently being cared for by Dr. Liu at a station in Nanhu that has been deliberately left unmarked.
He couldn't reveal a word of this secret. Right now, his position as deputy police chief was not only to protect her, but Xiao Wuxin was also waiting for his help.
Not to mention that madman Cheng Muyun.
It was he who gradually drove Cheng Muyun to become the way he is today.
Chen Hede knew in his heart that he owed him an explanation, and even more so, he owed him the truth.
I want to manage it, but I feel like I'm entangled in an invisible net, with countless threads and no idea where to start.
After leaving Zhu Zhishui's office, Chen Hede didn't linger. With heavy steps, he headed straight for the prison area where prisoners were held.
The cold sound of iron bars clashing echoed in the corridor. He knew that some things were ultimately unavoidable.
In the cell, only a dim oil lamp hung from the beam. The tiny flame flickered in the draft, casting Cheng Muyun's shadow on the mottled wall like a curled-up ink stain.
His hospital gown's wide sleeves dangled loosely, and he huddled in the corner, his shoulders slightly raised, as if trying to embed himself into the damp shadows.
The sound of leather shoes striking the concrete floor grew louder as it approached, as rhythmic as a pendulum, and was particularly clear in the deathly silent cell.
Cheng Muyun's eyelashes trembled, and he wearily lifted his eyelids, but still maintained the posture of having his back to the door.
“If you’re here to persuade me, then please leave.” His voice was hoarse, as if it had been sanded, and filled with a deep weariness. “Deputy Director Chen, rumors outside can drown a person. Stay away from me; it’s better for your future and for Zepeng.”
Chen Hede stood outside the prison gate, his fingertips holding a thick stack of newspapers, the edges of the pages fluttering slightly in the wind.
A dozen or so newspapers were stacked together, heavy as if they were filled with the city's scorn.
"I brought today's newspapers," he said, waving the papers in his hand. "Would you like to take a look?"
Cheng Muyun's back remained completely still.
He could come up with all those baseless accusations and exaggerated fabrications with his eyes closed.
What he really cared about was whether the reporter he had bribed had published the most important footage.
Chen Hede seemed to see through his thoughts, his tone calm and even: "The photo of me handcuffing you was on the front page of the Jianghai Daily, the largest page, the clearest photo. Today, the street corner newsboys are shouting the loudest and selling the best of it."
The person in the corner finally stirred, and a very soft laugh escaped from the back of their knees, tinged with self-mockery and a sense of relief: "Of course."
He paused, his voice revealing a cold clarity, "I offered that reporter an amount he couldn't refuse, and I also promised him an exclusive deal—how could he let go of such an opportunity to climb up by stepping on my reputation, Cheng Muyun? It would be strange if it didn't sell well."
In the glow of the oil lamp, his profile was hidden in shadow, only the smile at the corner of his mouth, like a shard of ice, was dazzlingly bright.
Chen Hede paused, his lips pressed into a tight line, and a wave of guilt washed over him, almost overwhelming him: "Everyone outside is saying you're a murderer... People from Nanjing have already come to investigate."
These words were like a stone thrown into stagnant water; Cheng Muyun finally turned around slowly.
He had removed the gauze from his hand at some point, revealing a patch of bloody marks from the scalding fire on his palm. The newly grown granulation tissue was so tender it trembled, and its red color was shocking, as if it would bleed at the slightest touch.
But he seemed oblivious, slowly using his injured hand to support himself against the wall, trying to stand up.
He swayed a few times, like a reed broken by a gale, about to fall over.
Chen Hede's heart tightened, and he hurriedly unlocked the chains on the cell door, rushing forward to help him up.
The moment Chen Hede's fingertips touched Cheng Muyun's arm, his breath hitched—the arm was so thin it was just bones, and through the thin hospital gown, he could clearly feel the jagged joints.
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