Chapter 127: Analyzing the Problem

An Feng drove home, fuming as he stomped into the foyer. Without even bothering to shower, he grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and began drinking it straight down.

His uncle, hearing the commotion, hurried out. Seeing this, his brow furrowed in deep concern. What could have happened to the usually composed An Feng to drive him to drown his sorrows in alcohol?

Without a second thought, the uncle snatched the bottle from An Feng’s hand and scolded, "Is there something you can’t talk about? Why resort to drinking? You know full well that alcohol is bad for your health."

An Feng felt helpless, his mind a chaotic mess. Thoughts buzzed like flies, digging tunnels in his brain, and every tunnel felt like a trap he couldn't climb out of.

"Uncle, you don't understand. I love Mo Lan so much, and I’ve treated her so well. Yet, in her eyes, I don’t even compare to Qian Yin." As he spoke, An Feng reclaimed the beer, took another gulp, and stared blankly at the ceiling with glazed eyes.

Outside, the rain continued its rhythmic patter. The house felt extraordinarily quiet and vast. The uncle stood silently, listening, no longer trying to take the bottle. Instead, he opened one for himself and sat down beside An Feng.

An Feng was young, prone to overthinking, and lacked maturity. He acted impulsively, rarely considering the full picture, and he lacked both charm and keen judgment. A man with low emotional intelligence is often blind to the nuances of affection.

"Mo Lan and Qian Yin have been like sisters for years; why do you feel the need to compete with her? Besides, Qian Yin is a good girl. You should treat her with kindness rather than constantly clashing with her," the uncle said, taking a sip and offering comfort. As an outsider, he could see things much more clearly than those caught in the storm.

Seeing that someone was willing to listen, An Feng poured out everything that had happened recently. He felt he hadn't done anything wrong, yet at times, he doubted his own actions. Was it a hallucination, or was his resolve simply wavering?

As the uncle listened, his face darkened. He hadn't known the full extent of these events. No wonder Mo Lan was angry with him; their perspectives were fundamentally different. An Feng had acted too decisively, leaving himself no room to retreat.

"Let me analyze this for you, and you can think it over. In your mind, you are a lead detective first, and An Feng the man second. You believe your duty is to catch the boss and save the masses first, and only then consider saving Qian Yin’s life."

An Feng nodded, feeling the logic held weight, and finished half the bottle. Yes, he had wanted to be an officer since he was a child; surely that mindset was correct, wasn't it?

"Perhaps Mo Lan doesn't see it that way. You know how much Qian Yin has sacrificed for her. In Mo Lan’s heart, she likely prioritizes things differently: she is Qian Yin’s best friend first, Mo Lan second, and a deputy captain of the police force last."

An Feng’s expression turned strange at these words. It wasn't as if he hadn't considered it, but shouldn't one prioritize the greater good over personal ties? The greater good meant catching the boss to keep the public safe, while personal affection meant saving Qian Yin at any cost.

Watching him, the uncle realized how thoughtless An Feng could be. He sighed inwardly; even he, a man who had never been in love, had more wisdom than this. What was going on with this young man?

They continued to drink until the scent of alcohol filled the hall. Two men sat on the sofa in the vast, empty space, drinking until they were both intoxicated. Outside, the rain seemed to weep, growing heavier, accompanied by the ceaseless rolling of thunder.

"Sometimes, you need to put yourself in someone else's shoes. If you were Qian Yin, and all your friends refused to save you, how would you feel?" The uncle hit the nail on the head. An Feng never practiced empathy; he always assumed his own perspective was the only one that mattered.

An Feng listened intently, raising the bottle to his lips repeatedly, hoping to drink until he forgot the troubles of the world, only to wake up tomorrow as the same ace detective.

Seeing An Feng fall silent, the uncle finished his own bottle, and the two men eventually drifted off to sleep, slumped on the sofa. An Feng remained in his soaked clothes, oblivious to any discomfort.

Meanwhile, after showering, the four youngsters knocked on Mo Lan’s door, but she refused to open it. It was late, so they had no choice but to head back to rest. Xiao Bei, in particular, was unwilling to leave Qian Yin’s side. He hated the Mo family, and being trapped within their territory made him restless; he didn't want to act recklessly and risk a total fallout with Mo Lan.

Dong forcibly pulled him away despite his reluctance, with the others assisting. Dou Dou nearly knocked Xiao Bei out; they all cared for Qian Yin, but they knew they couldn't disrupt her rest.

***

After feeding Qian Yin her medicine, Mo Lan finally showered. Upon stepping out, she began to sneeze repeatedly. Rubbing her nose, she found it strange—she usually had a robust constitution; how could a little rain give her a cold?

She looked at Qian Yin, who was fast asleep, and lay down quietly beside her. She tucked Qian Yin in, covered herself with another quilt, reached out to take Qian Yin’s hand, and whispered, "Wake up soon. I’m waiting for you."

She offered a sweet smile, hoping for Qian Yin's swift recovery.

That night, the Mo residence fell into a deep slumber. However, Mo Fan, who should have been asleep, sat up with an eerie smile on his face. His naturally beautiful eyes glowed with a faint, crimson hue.

Giving a strange look to the sleeping Elder Mo, Mo Fan tucked the quilt in around him. Once done, he carefully opened the door and headed toward the courtyard of the Immortal Elder.

The path was deserted; everyone seemed fast asleep. Mo Fan looked at his own soaked body, then up at the sky. The rain-drenched grass swayed as if trying to shrink away from his approach.

As he stepped into the Immortal Elder's courtyard, a peculiar fragrance wafted through the air, and Mo Fan collapsed to the ground with a loud thud. The Immortal Elder was awake, but he had no intention of investigating.

The Elder was considering leaving the Mo family; he didn't want to stay here any longer. Cold-Blooded was dead, and Qian Yin was in a coma. He wanted to take her to a quiet place and live in seclusion. That was the only wish of a master—the Mo family affairs were too tangled, and Qian Yin could no longer be involved.

Back at Wolf Bear Mountain, the boss’s face was grim. What was going on? The weapon he had brought was formidable; how could it have failed? Was the target knocked unconscious, or was that physician truly as skilled as they said? If such a master existed, he had to be recruited—or if he couldn't be won over, he had to be destroyed.

Cold-Blooded and Han had nothing to say to one another. They despised each other, so the boss had them housed separately. Both had failed their missions, yet the boss issued no punishment.