Chapter Forty-Six: Two Minds Adrift in Wild Imaginings

An Feng heard Mo Lan’s scream and hurried over, opening the door. Only then did he realize that a man was lying on the bed, his upper body bare, sleeping soundly. Mo Lan stood nearby, surprised, her face flushed bright red, nearly as red as a boiled shrimp.

An Feng quickly pulled the blanket over the man, awkwardly saying, “This is my uncle. Sorry, I’ll take you to another room.” Mo Lan nodded and strode out first, then leaned quietly against the corridor wall, breathing in the fresh air.

An Feng glanced at his sleeping uncle, concern flickering in his eyes, then walked to the door, turned off the light, and carefully closed it behind him. He looked at Mo Lan, embarrassed, and headed upstairs. Mo Lan followed, observing everything—even the stairs here were swept spotless.

“My uncle must have been tired, that's why he slept there. Usually, it’s a guest room. I’m sorry you were startled. Please don’t mind.” An Feng opened a room door, explaining gently.

Mo Lan nodded, entered, closed the door, and immediately locked it. She checked every corner, searching for any hidden cameras. After making sure there were none, she opened the window and gazed at the night view outside, falling into quiet contemplation. How could anyone sleep so soundly in someone else’s house?

Hearing the door close, An Feng shook his head helplessly and went downstairs to deal with his uncle.

He opened the door and saw the man sitting calmly on the floor. An Feng sighed, patting his shoulder, and realized the man’s eyes were open, filled with grievance.

An Feng dragged him back onto the bed, and carefully removed an apple, placing it on the table for his uncle to clean up in the morning.

The man didn’t complain about the pain, but his eyes remained full of grievance. That gaze would break anyone’s heart—clear, innocent eyes tinged with a pitiful look.

After finishing, An Feng wiped his hands with a tissue, sat beside him, and interrogated, “Who are Qian Yin and Cold-blooded? You should tell me.”

“Promise me something, and I’ll tell you. Otherwise, forget it.” The man remained proud, tilting his head away, as though he still had room to negotiate.

“What’s your condition? If I can manage it, I’ll consider.” An Feng felt sympathy for the man, those aggrieved eyes making him wonder what he had done to upset him so.

“When you lock me up later, please leave the light on, and bring me a glass of water—I’m thirsty.” Hearing the chance to negotiate, the man quickly spoke up.

An Feng nodded, thinking he wanted to be released for peeking, but letting him go wouldn’t be impossible. After all, a day or two in custody was the worst that could happen; there’d be no other punishment. Such a simple request was easily granted, so he went out and brought the water in.

“If you want to know... I’ll tell you, but don’t say it was me, or I won’t be able to stay here anymore.” The man gulped the water, hesitated, then continued.

“They’re assassins—top-notch ones, too. I don’t know why they’re together. That’s something I can’t figure out, and how your relationship is so good. Aren’t you some sort of detective?” The man stared at An Feng, confused, as if the world was becoming more and more mysterious.

Assassins? Hearing this, An Feng suddenly understood. No wonder those four little ones’ protection fees were so high. If that’s the case, everything made sense. But why was Mo Lan so close to her?

Having found the answer he sought, An Feng knew he needed some peace, so he left the room and locked the door behind him. He returned slowly to his own room, walked to the window, and let the cold wind blow over him.

Did that woman not know how dangerous assassins were? Assassins and the police were natural enemies—so how could those two get along so well? An Feng touched the four-leaf clover hanging from his neck, pondering silently as its cool touch seeped into his palm.

The more he thought, the less he understood. Even with the cold wind, his mind wouldn’t settle. He wanted so badly to find that woman and ask her directly—was she not afraid of death?

Saving Xiao Qi, too—falling from such a height, wouldn’t she die? Was she really so fearless?

No matter how An Feng tried, he couldn’t make sense of it, and his head began to ache. He rubbed it, but it still hurt.

Mo Lan was also standing by her window, letting the cold breeze wash over her, unable to calm herself. Should she have taken a different path from Qian Yin? They were good friends—if one day they had to point guns at each other, what then?

And An Feng—had she started to like him?

She realized her feelings for An Feng were growing, not the slightest aversion, even wanting to get closer. What was happening to her?

She felt she was losing herself. Both lay down in bed, tightly closing their eyes. And as soon as they did, that person’s face appeared vividly in their minds.

They both opened their eyes again, realizing they truly were losing themselves.

At the same time, they opened their doors and walked into the living room. Seeing each other, their faces were equally embarrassed.

“I’m thirsty,” Mo Lan said softly, her face still flushed.

“Then come drink some water,” An Feng replied naturally, but his hands trembled as he poured.

Mo Lan came over and sat beside him, noticing the four-leaf clover hanging from his neck, which brought a smile to her lips.

The four-leaf clover on Mo Lan’s neck was always worn outside; for some reason, she liked to keep it visible.

Both reached for a glass of water and realized they grabbed the same one. An Feng’s hand was a beat slower; Mo Lan’s reached the glass first, and An Feng’s hand covered hers. Their hearts raced, as if their hearts would leap out and fly toward the other.

An Feng, feeling like he’d been struck by lightning, quickly withdrew his hand, took another glass, and drank. Mo Lan sat dazed, holding the cup, unable to recover.

After finishing, An Feng poured himself another glass, and as he drank, he glanced at Mo Lan, seeing her still lost in thought, and laughed. But as he laughed, he inhaled water and choked.

“Cough… cough!”

Mo Lan quickly set down her glass and patted his back, muttering, “How can you be so careless? You’re not a child anymore, yet you still choke on water.”

What had felt normal now became even more awkward after Mo Lan’s words, and An Feng coughed harder. He dared not speak, letting Mo Lan pat his back for a long time until he was finally fine.

Mo Lan hurriedly said, “I’m going back to my room. Good night!” She fled back to her room.

An Feng watched her disappearing figure, a smile appearing at his lips. He whispered softly, “Good night!”