[Cloud City · Public Security Bureau · Major Crimes Unit Office]
"Ye-ge, your delivery's here."
Little Lu came trotting down the corridor with two brown paper bags, each printed with the logo of a chain congee shop. He came to a stop beside Yin Wuwang's workstation, set the bags on the desk, and peered inside with open curiosity.
"You ordered two?"
Yin Wuwang pulled his gaze from the computer screen. He'd been organizing the notes from yesterday's interview with Dragon Brother—transcribing the dialogue, Dragon Brother's micro-expressions, and the key information points into a chronological written record. His typing speed was nothing impressive; keyboards still felt less natural than a calligraphy brush, even now. But at least he'd stopped hitting the wrong keys.
"One preserved egg and lean pork congee. One red date and longan congee." Yin Wuwang unpacked the bags, lifted out two insulated bowls, then fished two packets of pickled vegetables and two fried dough sticks from the bottom.
"The red date and longan one's for Dr. Shen?" Little Lu asked.
Yin Wuwang placed the red date and longan congee on top of its lid with a packet of pickles balanced on the side, picked the whole thing up, and walked toward the forensic examiner's office.
Little Lu watched his retreating back. His mouth opened, then closed again.
The forensic office door was half open.
When Yin Wuwang pushed through, Xie Qingyan was seated at his desk, a toxicology analysis report spread before him, pen in his right hand annotating the margins. The dark gray stainless steel travel mug sat at the corner of the desk, lid half-twisted open—the water inside had probably gone cold, judging by the absence of steam rising from the surface.
Old Sun wasn't in. A sticky note on the desk read: "Gone to the tox lab to follow up. Back before noon."
Yin Wuwang set the congee on the open space to the right of Xie Qingyan's desk—not placed randomly, but positioned where his right hand could reach it without stretching too far, yet wouldn't encroach on the report.
Then, in the same fluid sequence, he picked up the travel mug and unscrewed the cap.
The water was indeed cold.
He didn't say "your water's gone cold." He simply turned, walked to the water dispenser, poured out the cold water, refilled the mug with warm water, screwed the cap back on, and returned it to its original spot.
The entire routine took roughly fifteen seconds.
Xie Qingyan's pen paused on the paper.
He didn't look up, but Yin Wuwang noticed his lashes move—his gaze leaving the report for a fraction of a second, sweeping across the congee bowl and the freshly refilled mug at the desk corner, then returning to the report.
"Thanks," Xie Qingyan said.
Not a syllable more. But the tone carried no politeness and no question. As though "Yin Wuwang appearing at this hour, bringing congee, replacing the water" was a fact as unremarkable as the sun rising in the east.
Yin Wuwang sat down in the chair across from him and opened his own preserved egg congee.
Two spoonfuls in, he realized something.
When he'd placed the delivery order, he hadn't hesitated for even a moment over "should I get one for Fuguang too." He'd opened the ordering app and his very first action was selecting two portions. The red date and longan congee was because Xie Qingyan had been working overtime a lot recently and didn't care for greasy food—longan for qi and blood, red dates for the stomach. Little Deer Assistant 9527 had mentioned it in passing last week during a lecture on mortal health maintenance. Yin Wuwang hadn't said a word at the time, but he'd quietly committed it to memory.
And when he'd placed the order, he hadn't thought about "whether any NPCs were watching."
Nobody was watching. Everyone in the office area was busy with their own tasks; Little Lu was running errands, Old Sun was in the lab. There was even a line in the notes app on his phone—"Fuguang: doesn't drink coffee, doesn't eat cilantro, prefers congee on the sweet side, noodles on the bland side"—observations he'd been accumulating one by one since Chapter 9, entered by his own hand.
These things had nothing to do with "performing for the role" anymore.
Yin Wuwang stared at the preserved egg in his bowl and bisected it with his spoon.
Forget it. Stop thinking about it. Overthinking leads to OOC.
"The hundred and twenty thousand Dragon Brother mentioned yesterday." He steered the conversation back to the case. "What do you make of it?"
Xie Qingyan twisted open the congee lid and blew on the steam.
"Borrowed two years ago. The timing—" He paused, stirring the congee with his spoon. "If Zhou Wen was admitted five years ago, then for the first three years Chen Wan was covering the costs out of his own pocket. By the fourth year, he couldn't sustain it anymore and went to Dragon Brother for a loan."
"Which means the hospital fees aren't cheap. And nearly all of his income was going toward the debt repayment." Yin Wuwang recalled the staggering figures in Chen Wan's bank statements—no personal spending on record. Not a single line item that resembled an ordinary living expense.
"The warrant application went in yesterday." Xie Qingyan took a sip of congee. "Before the paperwork comes through, we close out Xu Ruolin first."
"Interview's set for this afternoon," Yin Wuwang said. "She agreed."
One step at a time. No rushing it.
Yin Wuwang lowered his head and went back to his congee.
At eleven-thirty, Yin Wuwang returned to his workstation.
The office area hummed with the standard rhythm of a weekday morning—keyboard clatter, phone calls, the occasional person walking past to retrieve a file. Little Lu was at the neighboring workstation sorting through the surveillance footage he'd collected yesterday. Zhou Jie sat diagonally across, speaking into her phone in a voice kept deliberately low.
Yin Wuwang finished the last paragraph of the Dragon Brother interview record and saved it. Then he opened the master case file and added "Zhou Wen," "Kangning Psychiatric Hospital," and "120,000 yuan loan" to the keywords.
He was mid-keystroke when Little Lu's chair glided over.
Not walked—glided. Seated in his swivel chair, one foot pushing off the floor, coasting roughly two meters before coming to a precise stop beside Yin Wuwang's workstation. Yin Wuwang had witnessed this mode of transit many times and still found it baffling. Mortal office furniture was bewilderingly designed—putting wheels on the bottom of a chair was practically an invitation not to sit still.
"Ye-ge." Little Lu's tone was the unmistakable register of "I have gossip to share but I'm pretending it's work-related."
Yin Wuwang didn't look up: "Go ahead."
"Yesterday when you two came back from seeing Dragon Brother, I saw you in the parking garage."
"Mm."
"You reached into the back seat and handed Dr. Shen his jacket."
Yin Wuwang's fingers paused on the keyboard.
He thought back—after they'd left Long Teng Tower yesterday, the evening wind had indeed turned cool. He'd grabbed the light jacket Xie Qingyan had left on the back seat that morning and passed it to him.
Was there... something wrong with that?
"Then you adjusted the rearview mirror for him—angled it for the passenger side." A note of wonder crept into Little Lu's voice. "And then, before you walked around to the driver's side, you glanced over to check whether he'd put on his seatbelt."
Yin Wuwang finally looked up: "How long were you standing in the parking garage?"
"Not long, not long at all—just passing through." Little Lu threw up both hands in a "genuinely just passing through" gesture, but the gossip gleam in his eyes was bright enough to serve as a flashlight.
He leaned in closer, dropping his voice.
"Ye-ge, I've known you for almost half a year now. You've always been good to Dr. Shen. But lately—" He chose his words carefully. "It's like you've gotten more... attentive?"
[End of V2_Chapter 57]
Next: "More Attentive?"—This Sovereign's Mouth Muscle Commits Insubordination