Ling Lie got out of the police car holding an umbrella and ran towards Ji Chenjiao, who was about to collapse. The umbrella fell to the ground as Ji Chenjiao crashed heavily into his arms.

“Captain Ji! Wake up, Captain Ji—!”

The hospital was crowded as always. Ji Chenjiao followed behind Ling Lie with his head hanging low, feeling so uncomfortable that he didn’t want to speak. Ling Lie held the registration and examination slips in his hand, looking back at him several times before finally grabbing his wrist.

Ji Chenjiao raised his eyes to look at Ling Lie. Because of his sickness, his gaze appeared particularly gentle.

Ling Lie pulled him to sit on a crowded bench outside the consultation room. Ji Chenjiao’s eyelids felt heavy, and he sat there listlessly.

He had only fainted for a short while and woke up by himself on the way to the hospital. When he learned they were going to the hospital, he even protested irritably, thinking that a minor cold could be fixed with a cup of hot water—no need for a hospital visit.

But Ling Lie called Xie Qing right in front of him. Xie Qing gave a direct order: go to the hospital, forget about the case for now, rest well, and only come back after recovering. Xie Qing even jabbed him with sarcastic concern: “We don’t want our Major Crimes captain fainting on the street into someone’s arms.”

Ji Chenjiao: “……”

Soon, the speaker called his number. Ling Lie escorted him to the door. Five minutes later, Ji Chenjiao came out holding a stack of prescriptions.

The doctor had suggested IV fluids, but Ji Chenjiao firmly refused—too time-consuming, and he hated staying in hospitals. Seeing that he was young and generally healthy, the doctor only prescribed an injection and some oral medicine.

Outside the injection room, many children were crying loudly—noisier than a frog pond in the countryside during summer. Ji Chenjiao stood expressionless among them; the kids in front and behind him cried even harder after seeing him.

Just before Ji Chenjiao’s turn, a parent comforted their child, “It won’t hurt, it won’t hurt.”

Ling Lie glanced at Ji Chenjiao and repeated, “It won’t hurt, it won’t hurt.”

“……” If speaking didn’t feel like such a chore right now, Ji Chenjiao would’ve covered Ling Lie’s mouth.

There were four seats working simultaneously in the injection room. As luck would have it, Ji Chenjiao was surrounded by children getting their shots. A young father, trying to coax his son, said without thinking, “Look at that boy—so brave, he didn’t make a sound!”

Ling Lie nearly burst out laughing on the spot, while Ji Chenjiao walked out with a dark face, his voice hoarse: “Still laughing?”

Ling Lie carried a bag of medicine. “Don’t walk so fast, young master, you’re still sick…”

Outside, the wind howled and the rain poured. Ji Chenjiao had felt a bit better at the hospital, but after the wind hit him on the way home, he felt awful again.

Though technically a tenant, Ling Lie acted as if he were the other owner of the house. He told Ji Chenjiao to shower, dry his hair, take medicine, and sleep—wake up three hours later to drink congee. Everything was arranged perfectly.

It was the season when Ji Chenjiao would normally be wearing shorts and a T-shirt at home, but now he was forced into long-sleeved pajamas, every button done up tight. He sat on the bed, confused, as Ling Lie stood at the bedside with his arms crossed, looking down at him.

Suddenly remembering something undone, Ji Chenjiao lifted the covers to get out of bed.

Ling Lie: “Need to pee?”

Ji Chenjiao: “…You haven’t told me to drink hot water yet.”

In the kitchen, without being told, Ji Chenjiao obediently poured half a glass of boiling water and mixed it with cool water, drinking it all down in big gulps.

Ling Lie chuckled. Ji Chenjiao frowned. “What are you laughing at now?”

“Why do I have to remind you to drink hot water?”

Ji Chenjiao’s head felt slow, but after thinking for a while, he said, “To show concern?”

Ling Lie grinned. “Captain Ji, why do you get all silly when you have a fever?”

Ji Chenjiao felt weak, too tired to argue or fight, so he gave up and went to sleep.

The bedroom door wasn’t closed. Half-asleep, Ji Chenjiao heard Ling Lie humming off-key and the clanging of kitchen utensils, followed by the smell of rice and meat simmering together.

Under the effect of the medicine, he finally slept deeply, his dreams a broken collage of the past—pieces of a false home that could never be put back together.

Dream after dream: when he couldn’t solve an Olympiad problem, Ji Nocheng sat with him patiently explaining; on his adoption anniversary, Zhou Yun made a feast and gently watched him blow out candles…

Maybe, in those moments, they truly loved him. Not because of guilt, but because he was their adopted child.

In his sleep, Ji Chenjiao frowned deeply. It was a happy dream, yet it felt like a nightmare.

The saddest thing about people is how complicated they are. The same person could be a vile murderer and also a loving father or mother. As a detective, he could bring them to justice. But as someone who lived with them for twenty years, that pain cut like a blade to his core.

“Captain Ji, Captain Ji—”

That familiar voice was like a strong hand pulling him from the nightmare. He opened his eyes to see Ling Lie’s face close to his own. Sitting up in a daze, he heard Ling Lie laugh, “Time to get up and have some congee. Special Lie-Lie Brand Loving Meat Congee.”

The congee smelled wonderful—the aroma he’d caught before falling asleep. The meat juices had fully soaked into the rice without being greasy. There was also garlic cucumber and tofu with greens—a perfect meal for a sick man.

Halfway through eating, Ji Chenjiao felt less tired and suddenly muttered, “Haven’t you been using way too many double words lately?”

Ling Lie: “Hm?”

Ji Chenjiao mimicked him: “Lie-Lie, meat-meat, hurt-hurt…”

Ling Lie laughed so hard he nearly squatted down. “Captain Ji, you’re a big strong man—ashamed of saying baby words?”

Ji Chenjiao was speechless. “I was copying you. And I’m not even 1.9 meters tall!”

Maybe he’d slept enough and eaten well—Ji Chenjiao was feeling much better and even offered to wash the dishes. Ling Lie leaned against the kitchen door, watching him.

Normally efficient, Ji Chenjiao nearly dropped the bowl twice. Ling Lie changed into outdoor clothes, grabbed an umbrella, and headed out.

Ji Chenjiao asked, “Where are you going?”

“The shop downstairs.”

The little shop didn’t have much, but it had everything Ling Lie wanted. Ten minutes later, he returned with a plastic bag containing apples, oranges, and cheap red wine.

Ji Chenjiao picked up the thirty-yuan bottle suspiciously. “What is this?”

“Don’t look down on cheap stuff,” Ling Lie said, pulling rock sugar and star anise from the spice drawer. He washed the fruit, cut it up, put it into a glass pot, poured in the wine, and set it on the stove.

Ji Chenjiao had seen this before—but why now? It wasn’t winter. What was Ling Lie up to?

“I’ve got wine. You got a story?” Ling Lie said.

Ji Chenjiao met his gaze and suddenly understood.

“You’re upset,” Ling Lie stepped closer. “I can listen if you want to talk.”

Ji Chenjiao turned his eyes away, muttering insincerely, “Nothing to talk about.”

“Really? Then have some wine with me as payment for taking care of you all day.”

Ji Chenjiao retorted, “You had nothing better to do anyway.”

The wine gurgled on the stove, fragrant and intoxicating even before drinking. Ling Lie washed two cups and scooped out wine and fruit.

“I’m not drinking,” Ji Chenjiao said.

Ling Lie raised his cup. “I’ll drink. You do as you like.”

He sipped while lounging on the couch—plain cotton T-shirt, loose pants, barefoot, hair slightly messy. But strangely, it was Ji Chenjiao who felt tipsy, because he suddenly began speaking about his adoptive parents as if chatting with an old friend.

“Lively, healthy kids always got adopted fast. I was healthy, but not lively. They said they wanted a kind child, so the director pulled me out. But I wasn’t kind—I chased off boys who bullied the girls just because they were too noisy and bothered me.”

“I stayed at Lily Fragrance for a long time. When they took me away, it was spring, after days of rain.”

Ling Lie suddenly glanced at Ji Chenjiao with surprise and curiosity. Actually, when interrogating Ji Nocheng, and hearing the adopted child’s name was ‘Xia Chengshi’, he’d already guessed—but the case had been too urgent to think about it.

Dazed and lost in memories, Ji Chenjiao continued.

“We moved to Liyun City. From elementary to high school, I went to the best schools. Ji Nocheng liked to buy me toys, but I didn’t enjoy them. He thought I just couldn’t assemble them, so he stayed up whole nights building them for me—then made me sit among them, take pictures, and put them in his study to claim I’d done it.”

“Every time Zhou Yun came to a parent meeting, she’d spend hours dressing up. I never told her, but I was secretly happy—childish vanity, I thought my mom looked prettier than all the other moms.”

After a pause, Ji Chenjiao shook his head. “I wish Zhou Yun were still alive so she could confess what she did—or didn’t do. But it’s too late now.”

Ling Lie had finished the apple and orange. The couch creaked. Ji Chenjiao turned; Ling Lie, smelling faintly of wine, rested his chin on Ji Chenjiao’s shoulder.

“Then why… have I never seen you?” Ling Lie murmured drunkenly.

Ji Chenjiao stared, suddenly realizing why Ling Lie asked that. The question he’d buried for so long slipped out under Ling Lie’s gaze: “Do you know A’Dou?”

Ling Lie’s eyes lit up instantly. Neither moved nor spoke. The air smelled of wine and fruit.

Ling Lie straightened up, eyes bright. “You knew A’Dou?”

Ji Chenjiao seemed bewitched, voice low and unthinking. “I did. Twenty years ago, outside the first McDonald’s in Xiarong City. That day, my adoptive parents picked me up from Lily Fragrance orphanage. I was about to leave the city. But he—he looked like he’d just arrived.”

“All the kids loved McDonald’s, but I didn’t. I saw him standing outside the glass wall. I ran out and gave him my untouched food. I even told him: just keep going north—there’s an orphanage called Linglan Fragrance. You’ll have food and shelter there.”

Ling Lie’s eyes were dark and deep, like the sea before a storm. He opened his mouth but no sound came.

Ji Chenjiao felt as if he’d fallen into that sea. He whispered, “A’Dou?”

A’Dou—a name so old Ling Lie almost never thought of it. He’d had many names. A’Dou was the first—not a surname, not a real name, just what his sister called him because he was tiny as a bean sprout.

Later, he kept walking north, arriving at the Lily Fragrance orphanage like the “little rich kid” told him. The kind director asked his name. Unable to think of anything else, he said, “I’m A’Dou.”

At the orphanage, all the children took the surname Xia. So he became Xia Xiaodou. But that name hadn’t stayed with him long.

How did Ji Chenjiao know about him sharing chicken wings with the “little young master”?

The answer was obvious—because Ji Chenjiao was that “little young master” who had once saved his life.

Ling Lie raised his hand, letting his fingers trace Ji Chenjiao’s brows, nose bridge, and lips, as if sketching the face from his memory. Surprisingly, Ji Chenjiao sat there quietly, allowing this trespass.

Suddenly, Ling Lie smiled in disbelief. The fierce little snake in front of him was actually the “little young master.” He really hadn’t expected that the refined, well-dressed young master would grow up to become the captain of the criminal investigation team.

Ji Chenjiao’s heart surged with emotion. He spoke as if asking a question, but in a tone of certainty: “You really are A’Dou?”

Ling Lie carefully studied Ji Chenjiao’s features. Now that he knew the truth, he could finally find traces of the “little young master” in them. “I never told you my name,” he said.

Ji Chenjiao recalled how Ling Lie had once mentioned being saved by a box of chicken wings and called the person “little young master.” His brow arched slightly. “And I never told you I was that little young master.”

Ling Lie burst into laughter. “But back then, you wore such clean and pretty clothes, your hair neatly combed, your little face white and spotless—what else could you be but a little young master?”

After saying this, Ling Lie suddenly realized something. He had always thought that the one who gave him chicken wings was the child of some rich family, simply because he had lingered outside that McDonald’s so many times, and no child had ever given him anything. When he was on the brink of starving to death, Ji Chenjiao had run over wearing brand-new clothes bought by his adoptive parents—like a clean little angel.

Before that, he had never seen a boy as beautiful as Ji Chenjiao. No one had ever stuffed his arms full of food and kindness without asking anything in return. To him, Ji Chenjiao was the embodiment of kindness, perfection, and wealth—the “little young master.” Over the years, this belief had only grown stronger. In his mind, the “little young master” was the little young master; he didn’t even need to know his real name.

Ling Lie suddenly found it very funny. He laughed so hard he flopped onto the couch, his long hair falling over his brows, the corners of his eyes glinting with light.

Ji Chenjiao’s imagined drunkenness was swept away in an instant. But something unfamiliar and restless stirred in his chest. Ling Lie accidentally kicked his leg; Ji Chenjiao patted him, pretending to stay calm. “You kicked me.”

After some squirming, Ling Lie finally sat properly. “The little young master’s all grown up—not cute anymore.”

“…”

“Little young master, you still haven’t said—how did you know I was A’Dou? You’d already left Xiarong City by the time I went to the orphanage, right?”

Ji Chenjiao felt a creeping sense of awkwardness, like a secret was being slowly stripped away. He didn’t want Ling Lie to know that after becoming a protector of this city, he had once gone back to the orphanage to ask about him.

Ling Lie leaned in. “You asked about me, didn’t you?”

Ji Chenjiao immediately shoved his face away and retorted, “You actually went all the way to the orphanage?”

Ling Lie answered simply, “Because you told me to. You said if I kept going north, I’d find a place with food and shelter.”

Ji Chenjiao fell silent.

“You were the only one who ever gave me food. So I believed you.”

A strange, sour tightness welled up in Ji Chenjiao’s heart. He didn’t know what to say. Giving Ling Lie that food had only been because he really didn’t like chicken wings, and his adoptive parents had ordered too much. If he didn’t eat it, it would be wasted. On the verge of joining a new family, he hadn’t wanted to leave a bad impression of wasting food.

Ling Lie had simply appeared at that moment.

What for Ji Chenjiao had been a cautious act to please his adoptive parents had turned into a life-saving grace for Ling Lie. And because of that, Ling Lie had remembered him for so many years. The word “believe” suddenly felt unbearably heavy, pressing down on Ji Chenjiao’s breath.

Ling Lie said, “But you were making it up, weren’t you? You’d never walked that road—you didn’t even know how far the orphanage was from McDonald’s.”

Ji Chenjiao instinctively refuted, “I wasn’t making it up!”

Ling Lie narrowed his eyes like a fox. “Then you also believed I could make it there and survive.”

Their eyes locked. Ji Chenjiao heard the voice in his heart: Yes, I believed.

Not until he returned as an adult and stood on that street again did he realize how far apart the two places were. Only then, with the reason and coldness of an adult, did he conclude that no child could have really walked all that way.

But reality had delivered a miraculous surprise to his childhood self: the child had not only followed his words, reached the orphanage, but had also somehow walked right back into his life after twenty years.

The young man in front of him no longer resembled the skinny, dirty boy of the past. Now he carried that irritatingly attractive face, stirring trouble wherever he went, able to anger people with just one sentence. The last time, he’d eaten Ji Chenjiao’s chicken wings without thanks and then mocked him. But Ji Chenjiao could still see the starving little boy behind that familiar expression.

Why hadn’t he realized it sooner?

A sudden wariness gripped Ji Chenjiao. Was this a dream? Was his fever messing with his head again—too much medicine?

The orphanage director had said A’Dou had gone missing shortly after arriving—come mysteriously, left silently. Ji Chenjiao stared at Ling Lie and asked, “And after that? Where did you go?”

The light in Ling Lie’s eyes dimmed. He glanced at the empty wine cup on the table, then replied after a long pause, “I went back to wandering.”

Ji Chenjiao shook his head. That answer sounded like something to placate a child. He wanted to ask more, but the illness was making his head throb painfully.

“Time for more medicine.” Ling Lie supervised him swallowing it, then tucked the blanket around him.

Ji Chenjiao kept staring at him, the corners of his eyes reddened from fever. Ling Lie bent over, pressing the back of his hand to Ji Chenjiao’s forehead. “Captain Ji, do you turn into a little kid when you’re sick?”

“…”

“Quick, switch off the second tile.”

Ji Chenjiao didn’t want to sleep, but he couldn’t fight the exhaustion and the medicine. The doctor had said this fever and cold, sudden as they seemed, were really the result of long-term stress and overwork, made worse by getting caught in the rain—a fuse, nothing more.

Ling Lie’s palm covered his eyelids, blocking out all the light. Ji Chenjiao smelled the faint scent of red wine and apples on Ling Lie’s fingertips—fresh and intoxicating.

“Ling Lie.” On the edge of sleep, he spoke again. “Why did you come to Xiarong City?”

This time, Ling Lie answered. “I could survive anywhere. But other cities were just cities. This one held a memory.”

__

Author’s note:

This was Lie-Lie’s only memory left QAQ