BL Ch118

Pingyi City’s entire police system must share the same office supply vendor, because Mu Hao’s desk looked nearly identical to those at Xingjin Sub-Bureau.

Ji Lin, having made countless trips to the city bureau for Mu Hao’s case, knew exactly which desk was his but had never dared step into the office to touch it.

For a long time, Mu Hao, presumed dead, was mourned by grieving colleagues. On a past visit, Ji Lin glimpsed several potted plants and flowers at the desk, now cleared away. The surface held a new computer, file rack, pen holder—ready for its owner’s return tomorrow. Spotless, not a speck of dust.

Ji Lin had no real work to do but felt elated.

Feng, rarely visiting lower offices, didn’t know the team’s sentiment. Everyone missed Mu Hao, eagerly awaiting his return.

Proof of Mu Hao’s popularity.

Ji Lin couldn’t help smiling, caught by a female officer across the desk who found him vaguely familiar. She asked warmly, “Hi, looking for someone?”

Snapped out of it, Ji Lin explained his purpose, got permission, and gingerly sat in Mu Hao’s chair.

An ordinary desk and chair, made extraordinary by his quiet hopes. Still, he didn’t forget business. While awaiting Feng Jinmin’s update, he opened the computer to check the online situation.

Du Shuyan, like his father, had a knack for creating news storms but lacked the clout to run a company, his potential stifled by the board. Today, he finally seized a chance to shine.

Online buzz had hit a second wave, an unseen force controlling the leaks’ rhythm. As public outrage cooled, Yu Wencheng’s case resurfaced, and the mayor’s name quietly slipped from trending lists, all pressure now on Yu Duqiu alone.

Du Shuyan wasn’t dumb—he knew crossing the mayor wouldn’t help, so he feinted, focusing fire on Yu Duqiu.

Ji Lin’s phone buzzed. Xu Sheng called. “Just checked—the first media outlets breaking the story aren’t tied to Du Shuyan but have links to Peizhuo.”

Ji Lin skimmed the flood of news. “Typical. He’s used Peizhuo before, knowing we’d trace it, keeping himself clean.”

Poor, naive Peizhuo, unprotected without his brother, exploited yet believing it’s help against his foe.

The sudden uproar was manageable—they’d prepped a response. Xu Sheng said, “Cyber unit will suppress the heat, ban rumor accounts, but the spread’s bigger than expected. It’ll take time.”

Ji Lin’s mind turned. “Yu’s mess—he should foot the bill and help fix it. I’ll contact his PR manager, that little glasses guy.”

Xu Sheng chuckled. “Makes sense. How’s it there? Yu Duqiu okay? I worry he’ll crack under the heat.”

“His skin’s thicker than a city wall. Even if a billion people curse him, he’d shrug it off—heart of diamond, no worries…”

Then Ji Lin spotted a report with an odd title: Richest Man Once a Murderer?

“What’s this nonsense, too far-fetched…” Assuming it was tabloid trash, he clicked with curiosity and disdain, only to freeze at the opening name. “Wait, how does Du Shuyan know about this?”

Ten minutes later, the chief’s office door opened. Feng Jinmin, bidding farewell, led out a sharply dressed Yu Duqiu and his lawyer, arms crossed in admiration. “Turning an interrogation into a business deal, Mr. Yu—you’ve impressed me. This was in your plan?”

Yu Duqiu, more reserved before someone his grandpa’s age, let pride curl his lips. “Sort of. Thanks to the chief’s reason and the mayor’s leniency.”

“You didn’t actually gain property, so it’s a gray area. Push it, and the mayor could charge attempted fraud,” Feng Jinmin snorted. “But you donated a hundred million in one go. The mayor’s too busy planning your commendation to care. Lucky you’re rich—money buys peace. Otherwise, you’d be stuck here.”

Yu Duqiu smiled. “I always plan for the worst. If detained, I’ve got escape routes from the lockup.”

“…” Feng Jinmin’s temple vein throbbed. “Oh? Like what?”

Yu Duqiu, fearless, listed off. “Plenty. One, bribe the guards. Two, have Bai Zhao smuggle escape tools during a visit. Three—”

“Stop.” Feng Jinmin pointed at the corner camera. “Keep talking, and even the mayor can’t save you.”

Yu Duqiu shrugged harmlessly. “You looked too serious—just a joke, no offense. Back to business—this is still within my plan. I’ll contact my PR manager to roll out a solution…”

“Yu Duqiu!” Ji Lin’s shout echoed from the corridor’s end, rushing over, face scrunched with urgency, skipping questions about the chief’s talk or his release. “Look at this—how’d Bai Zhao spill that?”

Half an hour later, a crowd gathered by Mu Hao’s pristine desk.

Bai Zhao, summoned from home, raised a hand, swearing, “I didn’t tell anyone.”

Ji Lin snapped, “If not you, who? Only four of us were in that mine. It can’t be Mu-ge.”

Bai Zhao’s gaze sharpened. “Why not you?”

Ji Lin bristled. “I don’t care about his childhood! You two were all cuddly whispering—I barely heard, so how’d I know this much detail?”

At “cuddly,” Zhao Feihua, also called to the bureau, shuddered, flashing back to a shocking scene, sneaking a glance at one of the protagonists—

Yu Duqiu, jovial when hauled into the squad car, now looked icy, his pale eyes reflecting the headline, lips parting with blatant menace. “Whoever it is, they better hope I don’t find them.”

Everyone knew it wasn’t the sensational title or reputational hit angering Yu Duqiu—it was the article’s content.

Written as if firsthand, it detailed Yu Duqiu’s childhood kidnapping, dripping with condemnation, painting him as a cold-blooded rich kid from a selfish Yu family that let a driver’s sick relative die, pushing the driver to desperation. Despite no harm done, police, to appease the Yus, shot him dead.

The writer’s skewed narrative, if spread, would spark a frenzy—gossip-hungry netizens craved elite scandals far more than fraud tales.

Luckily, Ji Lin caught it early, pulling the article before it went wide.

“You must know who leaked it, right?” Ji Lin pressed.

Yu Duqiu paused. “It can’t be him.”

With outsiders present, Ji Lin used code. “Besides Chariot, who under King knows this old case?”

“He said it’s not him, so it’s not. You know Chariot better than he does?” Bai Zhao backed his ally. “It’s only a decade back—check old reports. King’s in that business; they’d have archives.”

Yu Duqiu shook his head. “My mom spent a fortune erasing it—locked down internally and externally to prevent copycats and shield me. Only me, the experiencer, and the cops on scene should know this much detail… Captain Ji, can you check if any officers from the rescue leaked it?”

Feng Jinmin, listening, finally spoke. “This matters that much? If it’s not urgent, shelve it. Our priority’s catching the suspect.”

Yu Duqiu insisted, “It’s critical. I need to know who betrayed me and knows my past this well. If they’re not caught, our plan could leak.”

Feng Jinmin thought, then nodded. “Fine, I’ll ask. It’s been over a decade—many of those cops are probably higher-ups now. Ji Lin’s too young, too junior for this; he’d step on toes.”

Yu Duqiu smiled. “Feng’s always thorough, caring for the young.”

“Save the flattery.” Feng Jinmin didn’t hold back. “Clear this online mess by tonight. If I see more ‘collusion’ or ‘bribery’ rumors, you’re out of our case.”

Yu Duqiu, unfazed, called Zhao Feihua, who looked sleepless, dark circles under bleary eyes, jolting at the second call. “Huh? Oh, yes, don’t worry, I’ll give it my all!”

Reporters swarmed the city bureau’s entrance, a frenzy usually reserved for heinous crimes. For a non-criminal economic case to draw such a crowd, someone was clearly fanning the flames.

As reporters waited eagerly, a low-key Volkswagen slipped past unnoticed.

After all, everyone knew Yu Duqiu only rode million-yuan luxury cars.

“Where’d you get this car?” The nonchalant young master sprawled in the back, long legs cramped under the seat.

Bai Zhao cleared the gate’s barrier, merging into traffic, ensuring no tails before speaking. “Saved some pay, bought it recently. Your cars are too flashy. Thought a plain one might come in handy.”

Yu Duqiu didn’t praise his foresight, leaning over the front seat’s backrest, scolding, “Hiding private cash behind my back?”

Bai Zhao’s stoic face softened, lips curving. “Not married yet, and you’re this strict?”

Yu Duqiu tilted his head. “We’ve done everything else—don’t need a certificate. And money management? You think you’re better than me? Hand over your salary. Use my no-limit card for anything, but I want to know every cent’s purpose.”

Paying wages only to claw them back—Sherlock and Grandet would bow in shame. Yet Bai Zhao seemed unbothered by the control, smiling wider. “Fine, you handle the money.”

Yu Duqiu, pleased, said, “I earn to support you, manage your cash—where do you find a boss and partner like me? Right, Feihua?”

Zhao Feihua, shrinking into the corner to vanish, jolted, gripping the door handle, tempted to jump out and escape their suffocating sweetness.

“Y-Yes, yes… I’ll get off at the next stop.”

Yu Duqiu slung an arm around him, whispering close, “You’re so calm today. Usually, you’re loudest when my scandals hit. My scam’s exposed, project’s toast, and you’re not yelling?”

Zhao Feihua swallowed hard, forcing a shaky smile, his glib tongue stuttering. “I get your… good intentions… It’s no big deal… I’ve got the PR plan ready, I’ll send it for review…”

Yu Duqiu raised a brow. “That fast?”

Zhao Feihua nodded like a bobblehead. “Your tasks are my top priority!”

Truth was, he’d had a nightmare—Yu Duqiu wielding a real machine gun, mowing him down, then stomping his riddled corpse, sneering, “Make him a specimen for the meeting hall, see who dares spy again.” Waking in a cold sweat, to save his bonus, raise, and fragile life, he’d slaved all night on ten PR drafts, hoping Yu Duqiu would forgive his snooping.

“It’s not a big deal, don’t scare yourself,” Yu Duqiu said, his smile as chilling as the dream. “But keep it quiet, got it?”

Zhao Feihua thought, Even if I blared you’re the bottom, no one’d believe me!

Bai Zhao glanced at the rearview. “What’re you two talking about?”

Yu Duqiu let go, leaning back. “Nothing, just briefing Feihua. Stop at the next intersection, let him out.”

Zhao Feihua, seeing the page turned lightly, felt his heart settle, exhaling in relief, reborn. To ensure Yu didn’t backtrack, he piped up, “B-Besides the plan… anything else?”

“Contact Du Shuyan, like last time. Get him to help lower the heat.”

“Huh? He was useless last time—why him again?” Zhao Feihua frowned. “With police help, we don’t need him.”

Yu Duqiu rubbed his temple. “Just do it.”

“Fine… Where? The racetrack again?”

“No, somewhere bigger.” Yu Duqiu chuckled. “Say I’m laying low, taking a sea trip to unwind, and invite him along. I bet he won’t say no.”

Back at the office, everyone returned to their posts. Ji Lin shut the computer, grabbed a clean rag, and meticulously wiped Mu Hao’s desk again, every nook spotless.

Done, he snapped a photo, hesitated, then opened a chat dormant for nearly a year.

Since Mu Hao’s rescue, they’d been inseparable, no need for texts. Lately, with fewer meetups, Ji Lin had kept his distance, avoiding outreach. But Mu Hao’s demeanor the other day… didn’t seem to mind staying in touch.

Maybe it was a misunderstanding. At graduation, maybe he hadn’t slipped up—Mu Hao was just swamped, too busy to grab that dinner.

Had to be.

Ji Lin psyched himself up, tapping send: [Mu-ge, I’m at the city bureau for work. Look, your desk’s spotless. Rest up, come back soon—everyone misses you.]

He sat, waiting, rubbing his thighs anxiously, second-guessing his overly familiar tone.

Using “everyone” to sneakily express his own longing—would it be noticed?

His phone buzzed. Ji Lin grabbed it, tense—

His worry was pointless.

Mu Hao, the case-obsessed workaholic, zeroed in on the first half: [Thank them for me. What’re you doing at the bureau? For Duqiu? I saw the news—he was taken by my colleagues. Is he okay?]

The flicker of hope dimmed. Ji Lin touched Mu Hao’s uniformed profile pic, unsure whether to reply.

Even as friends, he’d never outrank Yu Duqiu.

He got Pei Ming’s frustration now—pouring in effort and care, yet gaining no ground. It sucked, easy to breed jealousy.

[Yeah, I’m here for him. He’s fine, back home.] He followed the topic.

Mu Hao sent a polite, distant thanks: [Good, thanks, Xiao Ji.]

[No problem, my job.] Ji Lin matched the courtesy. [We’re setting up the final op. He’s sailing, might be offline a few days, but don’t worry, I’ll keep him safe.]

[Thanks, waiting for your good news.]

Another thanks.

Ordinary, yet it cemented their bond as mere friends, no closer.

Intentional? He didn’t know. If so, he had no clue how to handle it.

Maybe Mu Hao’s kindness was just gratitude. Without these events, he’d likely have forgotten this old classmate’s name.

At the police academy, Mu Hao—upright, capable, handsome—was tight with everyone. Ji Lin was just another face in his circle… No, six years post-grad without a single shared meal, maybe not even a friend.

The screen dimmed, reflecting a dejected face.

Ji Lin startled, rubbed away the gloom, and left the office.

In the hospital room, the day’s news ended. Meng Lan turned off the TV, seeing her son still staring at his phone. “Less screen time. The doctor said your eyes, strained from darkness, are light-sensitive. Nap.”

Mu Hao snapped back, nodding. “One last message.”

Mama Mu asked curiously, “Chatting with who, looking so serious? Feng?”

“Not serious… thinking about something important.” He typed a long message, double-checked, and sent solemnly:

[Duqiu, heard you’re sailing. Stay safe—enemies might have hidden moves, don’t underestimate them. Xiao Ji’s joining, right? Look out for him. He’s sensitive to sun, tires easily, hates pain, acts impulsively. Scold him if needed, but not too harsh—he’s a bit of a crier. His left arm got hurt in college training; another injury could disable it. Keep him safe. He’s allergic to peanuts, hates cilantro, prefers firm pillows. Meet those if you can; if not, no biggie. Lastly, he’s thrifty, skips birthday cakes. If there’s self-funded costs, don’t charge him—I’ll cover it. Thanks.]