Chapter 28

Chapter 28: Chapter 28 – The Cat That Loves to Pounce on Windows

Reason told him that the other person was just trying every possible trick to trick him into seeing Qu Tao, but emotionally, Jian Qing also felt that He Linfeng was indeed capable of doing something this childish.

The safe distance was invaded. He tilted his head slightly to the left: “Consultant He can do it himself.”

“Why go far when there’s something close by?”

Hearing that the other person was mocking his WeChat profile picture, He Linfeng wasn’t annoyed at all. Instead, he laughed openly, his voice low and pleasant, making one’s ears itch.

“So Jian Zong actually prefers me,” he said as if seriously stretching his muscles, then raised his hand and leaned back.

The mountain path was rough and uneven. Jian Qing had been subconsciously watching his movements from the corner of his eye, and instinctively grabbed He Linfeng—only to realize the man had no intention of applying any force at all.

“Tired,” He Linfeng quickly said before the speechless young man could scold him, and smoothly grabbed his wrist instead, eyes curved in a pleading smile. “Jian Zong, help me a bit.”

There were two layers of clothing between them, reducing most of Jian Qing’s discomfort. Seeing that the man became obedient after grabbing him, he simply stopped struggling.

Just for peace and quiet.

Jian Qing thought, saving himself from He Linfeng pulling tricks again.

Běijiang City was located on a plain, and the surrounding mountains weren’t very tall. Although He Linfeng kept saying he was tired, he actually didn’t rely on Jian Qing’s strength at all—his forehead remained clean the entire time, not even a trace of sweat.

As Wang Lai had said, this temple was indeed quite spiritual. Incense was abundant, and the welcoming pine trees were hung with red prayer ribbons, swaying gently in the breeze along with all kinds of wishes.

Although he knew about the existence of the system and transmigrators, Jian Qing did not believe in gods or ghosts, so he didn’t enter the main hall. He simply found a quiet corner to wait.

The temple was built at the mountaintop, and climbing up had already taken effort. Ordinary people, even without faith, would often think “since I’m already here” and join the fun. People as “boring” as Jian Qing were rare.

For example, He Linfeng.

Or Yan Qiuyu, who not long ago was still tapping Wang Lai on the head with a water bottle.

The higher the ground, the wider the view. Standing by the railing and gazing into the distance, the heaviness in Jian Qing’s chest seemed to dissipate slightly.

Qu Tao was alive.

And there was no third victim from the original novel.

No matter how it was said, he had finally nudged the predetermined track slightly off course, getting closer and closer to the outcome he wanted.

—The truth of the massacre case.

Once the main timeline began, even if the author ended the story poorly, clues would always surface during the process to fill in the protagonist’s background and setting.

That was the fundamental motivation that kept him going until now.

However, in the previous two cases, Jian Qing had not been able to find any meaningful connections.

Could it be that his line of thinking was wrong?

“Jian Qing.”

Suddenly, someone called him. Jian Qing gripped the railing and came back to his senses, seeing He Linfeng standing a few steps away, waving at him.

Jian Qing didn’t really want to move.

Normally, He Linfeng would have followed his preference and stood beside him to admire the view—but this time, he stubbornly stepped forward and pulled him slightly inward.

Jian Qing: ?

“I’m afraid of heights,” He Linfeng said without even blinking. “Looking down makes me dizzy.”

A vague sixth sense kept interfering with him. He always had the illusion that the young man would, in the next second, cross over the railing and fall.

Like a cat that loves to pounce on windows.

There was no way to install a safety net on the mountaintop, so he could only try his best to keep the other person away from dangerous places.

“He Linfeng.” Jian Qing had originally thought the man was just making excuses to mess around again, and instinctively struggled twice. But seeing his expression didn’t seem like it, he gradually loosened his strength.

The man obediently responded: “I’m here.”

“…So that was also the case when we were climbing earlier?”

Looking awkwardly at the hand circling his right wrist, Jian Qing frowned, but in the end said nothing.

“Yan Team and the others will take a while,” only when they reached a shaded, safe area did He Linfeng let go. “Tired? I brought water and candy.”

Jian Qing straightened his sleeve and politely declined.

He had little appetite, and since the round trip only took a morning, there was really no need to rest or eat.

He Linfeng didn’t insist either. He rummaged through his pocket, peeled open a chocolate ball and tossed it into his mouth on his own. From the packaging, it was the same kind he had given Jian Qing before.

Jian Qing suddenly recalled his earlier absurd association when the man first sent him home, and then confirmed how ridiculous it had been: this person wasn’t some “Doraemon-like machine cat,” just someone who liked sweets.

“I just asked for a little trinket,” He Linfeng said, his Adam’s apple rolling lightly as he swallowed. He folded the candy wrapper and put it into his pocket, then mysteriously clenched his fist and held it out. “On a whim—I suddenly wanted to give it to you.”

A little trinket?

In Jian Qing’s mind, Wang Lai’s repeated mention on the way immediately surfaced—the red string.

It was said to be one of the most effective “talismans” in the temple, used for attracting romance and sustaining marriage bonds. Zhou Shan and his wife reacted indifferently, but Song Xiaotong had been eager and immediately rushed to the destination upon entering.

Palm facing down, He Linfeng held his clenched fist up and raised an eyebrow, signaling him to take it.

It was hard for Jian Qing to describe the thoughts surging in his mind at that moment.

He never accepted gifts from people who pursued him.

Yet this time, Jian Qing did not refuse.

Because he had already thought about how to cut ties with the other person afterward. After their chaotic first encounter, and through someone’s ever-increasing efforts, his interactions with He Linfeng had only grown more frequent.

Even though Wu Nan’s system had unintentionally revealed that transmigrators would gradually become fewer, the protagonist of a crime novel was still inevitably drawn into various cases.

He Linfeng was a good police officer.

There was no need for him to take on unnecessary risk for someone who could not reciprocate.

He just hadn’t expected this day to come so quickly, nor had he wanted to ruin the rare gathering of the criminal investigation team.

Who would have thought that what ultimately fell lightly into Jian Qing’s palm was not a winding red string—but a neatly folded, triangular, pale-yellow talisman.

“Safety protection,” He Linfeng said, lightly closing the young man’s fingers over it. “Even though I don’t really believe in this either, they say sincerity brings spiritual response. I kept thinking about Jian Zong in front of the Buddha, so it should carry a bit of blessing power.”

Jian Qing: …

What does he mean, “kept thinking about him in front of the Buddha”? As improper as it could possibly be.

“This is the first time I’ve asked for something in a temple,” seeing him still unmoving, the man softly urged again, “Give me a bit of face?”

Even sillier.

Jian Qing thought that it was his first time going into a temple to ask for something, not for himself but for someone else—and for an obvious atheist like him, it was probably something he had already prepared to be thrown away from the very beginning.

His arm dropped, and Jian Qing pulled his hands back into the sleeves of his tracksuit:

“Mm.”

His tone was as indifferent as always—not like a thank-you, more like something done reluctantly.

Only He Linfeng noticed the stiffness in the young man’s movement, and couldn’t help but curl his lips into a smile: “What did Jian Zong think I was going to give you?”

“You stretched your hand out so quickly—I almost smelled the vibe of a last meal before execution.”

Jian Qing, whose thoughts had been inexplicably exposed: …

So the instincts of a beast really didn’t follow logic.

Ten minutes later.

The biggest spender, Song Xiaotong, arrived late.

As expected, Zhou Shan and Xin Lan both had matching finely crafted red strings tied around their wrists. Wang Lai, who had failed in his attempt to pay, muttered under his breath: “I said I’d pay, I said I’d pay. Now look, I seem like some shady plant getting kickbacks.”

Zhou Shan laughed honestly, but instantly threw a whole wave of public affection straight into his face: “We appreciate the thought, but this thing definitely has to be bought by me and your sister-in-law ourselves.”

Yan Qiuyu glanced at Song Xiaotong’s bulging little bag: “You bought that many?” Although each one only cost a little over ten yuan and was basically just buying happiness, her attitude made it seem like she was very serious about it.

Wang Lai teased as well: “Nice one, Xiaotong, planning to become a universally adored love scammer?”

“No, no,” Song Xiaotong waved her hands, currently not very interested in romance. “They’re for the CPs I ship. I hope they keep working hard, don’t fall apart, and stay together forever as my emotional food.”

The Criminal Investigation Team were all heavy internet users; despite the ten-year age gap, Yan Qiuyu still seamlessly joined the conversation: “A whole pouch? How many pairs are you shipping?”

Song Xiaotong: “Not many, not many—just following seven or eight fandoms.”

The larger the base, the faster the turnover, so she wouldn’t get hit by too many breakups.

She secretly glanced at He-ge’s exposed arm, feeling both regret that it was empty and relief that she hadn’t forgotten to buy some for him and Jian Zong when she went on her shopping spree.

The temple also had vegetarian meals, but unfortunately everyone in the Criminal Investigation Team were hardcore meat lovers. Wang Lai had already booked a farmhouse restaurant near the foot of the mountain in advance, so after returning they arrived just in time for lunch.

Whether intentional or coincidental, when Jian Qing finished washing his hands and came back, only the seat next to He Linfeng was left.

A clean, warm glass had been pushed toward him as if it had just been rinsed with hot water. The man thoughtfully slid over the menu and looked at the tea and lemon juice options: “What would you like to drink?”

Jian Qing chose the latter.

Aside from special situations requiring all-nighters, he rarely drank tea or coffee.

Wang Lai had originally worried that Jian Qing might not adapt, after all, someone with his “style” seemed like he should be sitting in a Western restaurant with live piano music and the scent of luxury all around.

Until the young man picked up his chopsticks and ate two bowls of rice with quiet elegance.

—Energy expenditure needed to be replenished with food. Even if Jian Qing’s appetite was average, he was still a healthy adult male by all standards.

Strictly speaking, the Criminal Investigation Team was a mobile unit that could be called in at any time, so even on a day off, everyone consciously skipped alcohol options like beer and liquor.

After gulping down half a bottle of cola, Song Xiaotong’s face turned red from a spicy dish of boiled pork slices.

Jian Qing’s seat was closer to the door, with tissues placed beside him. His chopsticks paused slightly—he was about to reach out and hand some over—when his phone in his pocket suddenly vibrated.

The screen lit up.

It was a name saved in his contacts: Xu Hao.

Strictly speaking, based on seniority, the other person should call Jian Qing “older brother,” but Jian Qing’s maternal aunt had married young and late, and the two were separated by a full twelve years.

Surprised that this usually distant younger relative would contact him during what should have been a vacation spent playing freely, Jian Qing politely gestured, stood up, and went out of the private room to take the call.

He swiped right with his thumb and brought the phone to his ear: “Hello?”

But there was only a crackling static sound on the other end of the line.

As if a wrong button had been pressed by accident—or as if it were a clumsy prank.

“Xu Hao?” Confirming that the other party didn’t have the guts to joke around like this, Jian Qing suspected his cheap younger relative might be in trouble. He kept his tone as gentle as possible. “Speak.”

Crackle——

“…Hello, Jian Zong.”

The voice carried slightly excited, heavy breathing, and was clearly a distorted electronic sound, yet still spoke in a polite and refined manner: “Xu Hao is in my hands.”

“Twelve hours later.”

“You will see his corpse with your own eyes.”