Chapter Forty-Seven: The Strange Sheriff

Early in the morning, the scent of porridge wafted through the entire villa, rousing two sleepy souls from their slumber. After tidying themselves up, Mo Lan and An Feng stepped out, only to discover that Uncle had dragged the man out and seated him at the table, treating him as a guest and offering him porridge.

"Uncle, why did you let him out?"

"He’s a person too, he must be hungry. Come, have breakfast—you still need to go to work," Uncle replied indifferently, sitting quietly and admiring the meal he had prepared, evidently satisfied.

"He’s a criminal, not like us. Well, it’s just this once. Mo Lan, sit down and eat," An Feng chose to yield to Uncle over such trivial matters, knowing Uncle usually yielded to him.

Uncle, hearing Mo Lan's name, paused in confusion—was there someone else? He turned and saw a peerless beauty, visibly surprised.

"Is this young lady your girlfriend? Why didn’t you wake me up when you brought her home? Hello, miss, I’m his uncle." He moved to shake Mo Lan’s hand.

Upon hearing the word "girlfriend," Mo Lan’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Uncle, stop teasing. Let’s eat—don’t scare the young lady away," An Feng said helplessly. He’d never said anything about that; what if Mo Lan misunderstood?

Uncle, seeing their reactions, realized neither was ready and grinned, nodding cheerfully. He invited them to sit and personally served them each a bowl of porridge, garnished with delicate petals.

Mo Lan accepted it with a soft "thank you," gazing quietly at the bowl. It was unique—her first time trying it. After a taste, she found it delicious.

"Big brother, your cooking is truly superb," the man remarked, unaware of his own lack of presence.

"Eat more. There’s nothing good to eat inside," An Feng teased, his gaze fixed on the man.

The man choked and coughed, then closed his mouth and ignored the three. After all, he wouldn’t be inside for long—he’d soon be out.

After breakfast, Heng once again rode in An Feng’s car toward the police station.

Arriving at the station's entrance, they found Xiao Qi waiting, arms cradling a bouquet of roses.

An Feng stopped the car, and Xiao Qi hurried over as Mo Lan stepped out, saying, "Thank you for saving me."

"You're welcome." Mo Lan smiled, accepting the roses and looking at Xiao Qi with gentle relief.

Xiao Qi felt uneasy under such a gaze and turned his attention to the man brought along.

"This is a flower thief. Let him stay inside for a few days. You handle this, we’ll go see the chief." With that, An Feng moved on, and Xiao Qi stepped forward, gripping the man and dragging him inside.

"Pretty lady, let me whisper something to you," the man called out, refusing to budge, standing his ground and calling for Mo Lan. Xiao Qi, unable to move him, paused.

Mo Lan hesitated briefly, then decided to let Xiao Qi release him. She walked aside with the man, who spoke a sentence she couldn’t quite understand, leaving her stunned. The man quickly strode over to Xiao Qi and entered, as if returning home, not at all like entering such a place.

Mo Lan stood for more than ten minutes, with An Feng waiting nearby. Though watching closely, the words were too quiet to hear.

An Feng felt they'd waited long enough and hurried over, tugging gently at Mo Lan’s sleeve, his eyes asking: What’s wrong?

Mo Lan shook her head, unable to decipher the man's words herself.

The two walked side by side, slowly approaching the chief’s office. Officers all around greeted them, then whispered among themselves.

"Actually, Deputy Captain Mo Lan and Captain An Feng make a great pair."

"Of course, they’re a perfect match—talented man, beautiful woman."

"Do you think they’ll end up together?"

"Shh, keep your voice down."

Both overheard these conversations, their ears reddening, but they pretended nothing had happened, knocked on the door, and entered.

The chief saw them, smiled faintly, and nodded, inviting them to sit.

"Sorry, I’ve just returned from Nanjing and am only now reporting in," Mo Lan said, remaining upright rather than sitting, saluting before continuing.

An Feng stood beside her in support, and saw no need to sit—the relationship between superior and subordinate was just that, neither too intimate nor too distant. Simply put, you pay, I do the work.

"No worries, please sit," the chief behaved somewhat strangely, personally pouring water for them.

Mo Lan took her seat, raised the glass, sniffed it, and her brows furrowed immediately—there was venom powder in it.

Ordinarily, Mo Lan wouldn’t have been so sensitive, but the earlier warning and the chief’s odd behavior made her certain something was amiss.

Seeing her reaction, An Feng also refrained from drinking, sitting and staring at the chief.

With the awkward atmosphere, the chief began to suspect he’d revealed too much. Palm sweating, he sat there, staring at them, absentmindedly wiping his brow and asking, "Aren’t you thirsty?"

The two stood, slowly approaching, prompting the chief to retreat and suddenly grab his gun, startling them.

"What are you doing?" An Feng’s face darkened—he’d only been cautious, not expecting such an intense reaction.

"Are you hiding something from me?" The chief calmed, holstered the gun, sat down, and stared at the two glasses.

"Chief, I only saw sweat on your brow and wanted to help, nothing more," Mo Lan replied, genuinely unaware of the chief’s intent.

"What could we possibly hide from you?" An Feng retorted, sensing there was more to this than met the eye.

"Did you bring something you shouldn’t have from Nanjing?" The chief pressed, his tone tinged with anger.

"No," they replied in unison, utterly baffled by the chief’s behavior. What could they possibly have brought from Nanjing?

"Someone informed me there’s a large amount of venom powder in your car. That’s why I set this test—I put venom powder in your water. Since you didn’t drink, I’m particularly suspicious." The chief laid his thoughts bare; just the other day, someone told him An Feng’s car was loaded with venom powder. Doubting it, he bought a small packet himself.

Mo Lan’s brows knitted. They had indeed used An Feng’s car that day—so Boss Wang’s venom powder was still there. Now the man's warning made sense.

"There’s no such thing. There’s nothing in An Feng’s car. But as for you poisoning us, shouldn’t you explain yourself? You can check the car, find a packet of powder, and I’ll take your name," Mo Lan asserted confidently, trusting Qian Yin would never make such a blunder.