TTB C21

Chapter 21 

18 “Captain He, you’re drunk.”

He Lin had meant for Li Shang to rest longer, but after lunch break Li was back at his desk, working as if nothing had happened.

Seeing his color back to normal, He Lin finally relaxed a little.

With the case solved and the weekend arriving, the whole office felt light.

The afternoon slipped by.

With ten minutes left, Fang shut his computer early and flopped onto his desk. “So hungry.”

Li Shang: “?”

Sitting beside him, he clearly disapproved of shouting about hunger in the office, but in the spirit of not understanding yet respecting, he still offered comfort: “Just wait a bit—off work soon.”

Being acknowledged—especially by the usually cold-faced Li—made Fang both flattered and even more excited.

He started singing outright: “Hungry hungry hungry, I’m really so hungry…”

Used to quiet, Li couldn’t take it. “Then eat something—or talk less.” Though reluctant, he pointed toward He Lin’s desk to save himself from the auditory torture. “There are candies there.”

Cheng doubled over laughing. “Don’t indulge him—he wants someone to offer dinner.” She fished out a little pack of crackers and beckoned like feeding a puppy. “Here, Little Fang—emergency rations—want some?”

Fang, who had just been wailing, waved it off. “No, saving room for a feast.”

Seeing Li more confused, Old Wu explained, “We have an unwritten rule—if a case is solved and it’s the weekend, Captain He treats.”

After everyone had their fun, He Lin finally looked up. “Alright, alright—no reminders needed. I was just replying to a leader’s email—you’re acting like I starve you. Restaurant’s already booked—hot pot tonight. We’ll take my car.”

He tossed his keys.

Fang whooped and reached up.

The keys landed—squarely in Li’s hand.

Under Fang’s shocked stare, He Lin arched a brow and smiled. “Since you’re ‘too hungry,’ for everyone’s safety—Li drives.”

Fang’s face scrunched up. “You used to call me ‘Sweetie,’ now I’m ‘unsafe.’ Love doesn’t vanish—it transfers. Sigh—new blood replaces old…”

Old Wu chuckled. “Li’s driving is solid—fast and steady. I’m at ease.”

Fang wilted. “Even you, Master…”

Finally off work, they packed up and headed downstairs; He Lin and Li brought up the rear.

Recalling Li’s midday discomfort, He Lin asked, “Hot pot okay for you?”

“No problem,” Li said evenly.

He Lin fished out a chocolate. “Hungry?” Without waiting, he slipped it into Li’s hand. “These are good—no saccharin taste. I like them—try one.”

He always seemed to conjure snacks from nowhere.

Li held it a moment, then quietly pocketed it.

He Lin unwrapped one for himself. “I like these small chocolates—handy. Back at the base that sadist captain always confiscated them…”

Li: “?”

He Lin was still mourning his sweets, oblivious to the vein throbbing at Li’s temple. “No idea how he always found them—no matter where I hid them. He took them so often I wondered if he just wanted a free snack.”

Only then did He Lin notice Li’s face was off—but didn’t know why. He tried again, sheepish. “Want another?”

“No.” Just the sight of chocolate gave Li a headache. He cut coldly, “I’m not the type to bum chocolates.”

He left He Lin standing there, baffled.

Who poked the bear?

—

The hot pot place was downtown.

Li barely spoke during the drive. At the restaurant, it was peak dining—noisy and bright—but Li seemed born insulated from bustle. In the clamor he sat quietly in a corner, at odds with everything around him.

They ordered a red-and-white split pot. He Lin, Old Wu, and Fang drank; even Cheng sipped some; only Li said he’d taken medicine and couldn’t drink—didn’t touch a drop.

He Lin thought Li was too reserved—how would he fit in?

As a responsible leader, He Lin tried to bring him in, recommending cuts of lamb, then beef—straight through the meal.

Li didn’t exactly give face—neither refusing nor accepting—just “mm” and “okay,” barely moving his chopsticks.

After half the meal doing outreach, getting nowhere, He Lin lowered his voice. “Not into hot pot? Or not used to team dinners?”

Li’s tone was mild and unreadable. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

There weren’t many who could leave He Lin speechless at a steaming hot pot table. To raise the mood, He Lin had even ordered extra bottles. People drank, shared gossip, laughed—yet Li never quite merged into it.

Like the steam that couldn’t warm him, an invisible barrier hovered around him, keeping out the heat of human bustle.

While others ate with gusto, Li put his chopsticks down early and sat quietly, watching like an outsider.

He Lin rubbed his brow—several attempts to coax him in failed.

He concluded with some disappointment: it wasn’t for lack of trying—Li simply couldn’t be “brought along.”

Thankfully, the others kept things lively, drinking and trading tidbits.

Fang turned pink from alcohol and cheerfully contributed. “Hear the gossip? A couple in CID split—now both transferred.”

“Office romances seldom end well if they don’t end in marriage,” Wu added. “Probably to avoid awkwardness—the man to Narcotics, the woman to Admin—neither stayed on.”

Cheng sighed. “So that’s why Xiao Song left.”

Buoyed by interest, Fang got carried away, hiccupped, and—under everyone’s eyes—threw an arm around Li’s shoulders.

Li: “…”

As the table stared in horror, Fang—blissfully unaware—patted his chest, bragging, “Brother Li, you being here is all thanks to my intel. I saw you with Deputy Bai, figured you were new, and tipped off Captain He to recruit you.”

“You don’t know how unromantic Captain He is. Last year a new policewoman in the next squad applied several times to transfer here—got approval—he refused to even meet her, directly said no. A few months before you came, another one—what was the name—never mind—also wanted in. He said no.”

Then, leaning in, with mysterious glee: “You know why they wanted in? They were both into Captain He.”

He Lin had found Li’s stiff discomfort amusing, even wanting to snap a photo—until the melon came for him. His face darkened.

Li’s expression went even darker. Even Wu and Cheng felt the air shift. Only Fang kept beaming, arm draped.

Wu couldn’t take it—he pried Fang off. “What nonsense. The woman’s from Immigration—would we use her? The other one works foreign liaison—what is Captain He supposed to do, have her translate our reports into eight languages?”

He explained twice; the mood stayed odd. He forced a toast. “Let’s drop it. Li’s joining us is fate; we just wrapped a case; cheers—good work.”

“Right, right—cheers,” Cheng echoed quickly. “Eat well, rest up—we’ve pulled several late nights; my crow’s feet are sprouting.”

They finally made it through dinner; everyone scattered home.

He Lin’s head swam from the drink; unexpectedly, stoic Li reached out to steady him.

He Lin swayed, then righted himself, muttered thanks, and reached for his phone to call a driver; Li offered, “I didn’t drink—I’ll drive you.”

He’d had more than a little; the alcohol triggered the old aftereffects—headache, dizziness. He stared at Li a moment, then gave in.

Fine.

He slumped in the seat, mumbled an address, and shut his eyes. Li drove smoothly; when He Lin opened them again, they were in the garage.

Feeling better, He Lin didn’t let Li go—tugged his arm and, emboldened by the booze, drew him upstairs. “We’re already here—come in a bit.”

Li hesitated—ready to refuse—then met He Lin’s steady, warm, insistent gaze. The “no” died.

Fine—call it not leaving a drunk alone. Li sighed inwardly and followed.

It was a new development—just over a year old—fingerprint lock at the door.

Three bedrooms, one living room—spacious for one person.

Li looked around—the place was done well, black-white-gray with low-saturation wood—clean, minimal—his taste.

He asked, “You bought it yourself?”

“Yeah—used separation payout plus bonuses—paid in full.” He Lin paused. “I’d saved for years—didn’t expect the base to supplement that much. Seeing the number, I was shocked.”

As host, He Lin was enthusiastic. “Water?”

“No need,” Li said, wanting to minimize fuss.

He Lin ignored the refusal and went for glasses. Dizzy, unsteady—he nearly spilled half. Worried he might scald himself, Li hurried to lift the cup from beneath. “Captain He, you’re drunk.”

He Lin shook his head, woozy. “Not drunk—just dizzy. Old injury.”

Li rubbed his brow—didn’t believe a word—decided to treat him as drunk.

He Lin handed over the glass and pointed to a scar at his temple. “Bullet passed through here—hair covers it now.”

Li’s fingers twitched—almost reaching—then thought better, drew back, fist tightening around the cup—hiding his reaction as he lowered his gaze and drank.

He Lin didn’t notice. “I’ll go change—settle in—look around if you want.” Hot pot and booze clung to him; the smell turned his stomach.

Li didn’t look up—kept his head down over the cup. “No…”

With the ease of old dorm mates, He Lin headed for the bedroom, unbuttoning as he went.

Once He Lin turned away, Li raised his head, eyes following—watching him into the bedroom, watching the bathroom light come on. It was so familiar—and so unreal.

He Lin didn’t close the door—unguarded under the same roof. At the hallway by the master, he pulled off his shirt—bare torso exposed.

Li: “…”

From his angle, lit by the living room and bath, the silhouette was clear.

One glance—and it burned. He snapped his eyes away, turned toward the window—but the pull was stronger; he glanced back—letting his gaze linger, greedy.

Ashamed of himself, he took a gulp of water to drown it. The steam fogged his sight; his heart simmered, damp and hot.

Whatever the internet said about “turn off the lights and undress,” none matched the feast before him.

He Lin’s build was textbook—broad shoulders, narrow waist; taut abdominal muscles; eight-pack carved with strength; thin blue veins rising, trailing down the Adonis lines into low-slung cargos.

Li shut his eyes in pain—ordering himself to stop. But with He Lin—eyes weren’t required; memory could redraw him perfectly.

Thankfully, He Lin hadn’t forgotten his guest and didn’t stay long—sparing Li from his own storm.

Clean black tee, fresh face—he looked steadier.

Li’s lashes dipped, releasing a secret breath. He tipped back the last of his water and set the cup gently on the coffee table.