At 10:30 PM, the restaurant was empty, and Fatty clocked out.
Gu Fei and Zhou Zhou wiped down the tables, swept the floor, and closed up for the night.
The second floor of the restaurant was originally part of the business, but one room had been partitioned off for Zhou Zhou to live in. Later, when Gu Dalei was hospitalized due to a sudden stroke, Gu Fei decided to cut costs wherever he could. He gave up his rental apartment and moved into the restaurant as well.
It turned out to be convenient—he got to sleep in an extra half-hour every morning.
At dawn the next day, Gu Fei woke up right on time. Zhou Zhou, hugging his pillow, clung to sleep like a lifeline.
“Five more minutes… just five more minutes…” he mumbled.
Gu Fei washed his face, brushed his teeth, and shaved. While waiting for the shaving cream to soften his stubble, he called Zhou Zhou again.
“Three more minutes… last three minutes…”
Gu Fei shaved his face clean in front of the mirror. “Zhou Zhou.”
“Alright, alright, I’m up.” Zhou Zhou yawned so hard his eyes teared up.
Gu Fei grabbed a random dark-colored short-sleeved shirt from his wardrobe—his closet was full of black and gray—threw on a sweater, and headed downstairs to start the day’s work.
Zhou Zhou followed a bit later, wiping down tables and sweeping the floor. He took a moment to bow in front of the cash register’s God of Wealth statue and the golden toad figurine before opening the shop doors.
At 5 AM, the sky was just beginning to brighten, with a faint, misty moon still visible.
Zhou Zhou propped the door open with a fire extinguisher.
Gu Fei poured the soybeans that had been soaking overnight into the soymilk maker and brought out the marinated meat filling he had prepared the night before. Zhou Zhou wasn’t the best at everything, but when it came to making buns, he was a master—five seconds per bun, each one perfectly folded with eighteen pleats, satisfying even the worst cases of OCD.
Once the buns were in the steamer, Gu Fei took a moment to check his phone.
His social feed was chaotic—filled with posts from neighbors, suppliers, and customers. The customers came from all walks of life, so his feed was a miniature version of Weibo, buzzing with activity and variety.
As he scrolled, he noticed a friend with the username “Crane.”
On impulse, Gu Fei tapped into the profile.
Lin Hening’s posts were colorful and full of life, anything but dull.
He shared aesthetic afternoon teas with strawberries, cherries, and Italian coffee, set on marble countertops, surrounded by succulents and greenery—elegant and refined. But he also posted about simple instant noodles soaked with chicken sausage and marinated eggs, eaten off a plastic stool, with a bamboo broom as decoration—humble and down-to-earth.
Every now and then, he shared pictures of his cat—a common Chinese domestic tricolor cat.
Gu Fei thought about Lin Hening’s profession. Given its nature, having such a lively and personal social feed meant this was definitely his private account.
Accidentally, Gu Fei refreshed the feed and a brand-new post popped up.
It was a missing cat notice.
Crane:
[Dear friends and family, my cat, Cupid, ran away from home at 2:15 AM yesterday. Though the ungrateful brat has betrayed me, I, as his father, am heartbroken. He’s a male tricolor cat—yellow, white, and gray—stubborn, aloof, and loves to bite. If you encounter him, please don’t hit him. Contact me immediately, and I’ll deal with him myself! Also, there’s a generous reward!]
Gu Fei clicked on the attached photo. It was indeed the same tricolor cat Lin Hening had posted before.
He had noticed cat food and litter at Lin Hening’s place but hadn’t seen an actual cat—so it had run away.
The post had been made just three minutes ago. That meant Lin Hening was already awake. His words were sharp and humorous, which meant his cold was much better—at least he wasn’t feverish anymore.
Gu Fei exited the feed, found Lin Hening’s WeChat, and sent a message:
[Do you want breakfast delivery now?]
He waited for a reply. Lin Hening didn’t respond right away, so Gu Fei went back to work.
Business was average that day—no dine-in customers, but takeout orders kept rolling in. Zhou Zhou was busy packing food when he noticed a car pulling up to the storefront. Finally, their first walk-in customer of the day. But when he looked up, he was so shocked he nearly dropped the takeout box.
“Prosecutor Lin?!”
Lin Hening never wore his uniform outside of work, so today he was dressed in a white cashmere turtleneck under a camel-colored long coat—fashionable yet casual. Zhou Zhou was practically green with envy. The outfit was simple, yet Lin Hening made it look like a luxury designer piece. With his tall frame, broad shoulders, slim waist, and long legs, he was practically a walking clothes hanger.
Zhou Zhou sighed internally—unlike himself. Short neck, short legs, short stature—if he wore the same outfit, he’d look like he was fleeing from a famine.
But what truly blew Zhou Zhou’s mind, even more than Lin Hening looking like a movie star, was the car he had just arrived in.
A Bentley Mulsanne.
Zhou Zhou might be broke, but he had big dreams of luxury cars and knew every top brand, logo, and model like the back of his hand.
His jaw practically hit the floor. Wrecking a Ferrari was already tragic, but now he had swapped it for an even more expensive Bentley?
Lin Hening sat down at an empty table.
After admiring both the perfect man and the luxury car, Zhou Zhou felt like sitting on pins and needles. When Gu Fei had told him that Lin Hening was a prosecutor, Zhou Zhou had nearly had a breakdown.
Crashing into a rich second-generation heir was already bad enough. But crashing into someone in law enforcement?
Seriously, what kind of messed-up luck was this?!
Lin Hening watched as Zhou Zhou stood frozen in place for ages. “Are you being punished to stand still?”
Zhou Zhou shuddered, his face turning pale. “Prosecutor Lin, you’re here for…?”
Lin Hening chuckled, both amused and exasperated. “I’m here to eat.”
“Huh?” Zhou Zhou’s face turned beet red.
Anyone would assume that a prosecutor showing up in person meant he was here to collect debts. No wonder Zhou Zhou was so nervous.
Gu Fei had already heard the commotion outside and came out carrying a tray of freshly steamed beef soup dumplings.
Zhou Zhou quickly busied himself with handling takeout orders.
Gu Fei asked, “Why’d you come in person? Feeling better from your cold?”
Lin Hening replied, “Freshly steamed dumplings taste the best. What’s that term again? ‘Wok hei,’ right?”
Gu Fei chuckled. “Yeah.”
Honestly, if it weren’t convenient, Lin Hening wouldn’t have come. There were two routes from his home to the prosecutor’s office, both about the same distance. He usually took the one that passed by Jian Xiaoxi’s precinct—sometimes he’d run into a friend there and chat for a bit.
But that morning, after checking his Gaode Map, he realized Gu Fei’s restaurant was actually right on the way—over a hundred meters closer than the other route and without traffic.
Gu Fei lifted the lid off a stainless-steel thermos and ladled out a steaming bowl of soy milk, white vapor curling into the crisp early winter air.
Lin Hening cupped the bowl in both hands, took a sip, and felt warmth spread through his stomach. His hands, too, were toasty.
Then, he took a bite of the juicy beef dumplings, followed by a crunchy, soy-marinated cucumber pickle. A simple, unremarkable breakfast, but it filled him with energy, warming him from throat to stomach.
Gu Fei asked, “I saw your WeChat post—your cat’s missing?”
Lin Hening nodded. “Yeah, I caught a cold looking for it. I’ll keep searching after work.”
“Had it for a long time?”
“Just two years.” Lin Hening sighed. “Xia Zhile insisted on adopting it, but in the end, he dumped it on me.”
He complained about the trouble, yet he was sick with worry over that “trouble.”
Gu Fei reassured him, “If it’s meant to be, you’ll find it again.”
Lin Hening thought so too.
As he got up to leave, he said, “Put it on my tab. I’m off to work.”
Zhou Zhou, hearing that Lin Hening was leaving, hurried to escort him out.
When Zhou Zhou heard that Lin Hening had generously reduced the compensation to just two million yuan—even rounding off the small change—he burst into tears.
Granted, he still couldn’t afford two million. But one shouldn’t be too greedy—after deducting the amount the dog owner was responsible for, he only had to pay 1.9 million.
Zhou Zhou’s total assets didn’t even amount to 90,000 yuan.
For now, he had no choice but to rely on Gu Fei. Overwhelmed with gratitude, he declared, “Bro, you’re like my real brother. I’ll work for you for life!”
His words happened to be overheard by Fatty, who arrived precisely on time for work. Without hesitation, he exposed Zhou Zhou’s reality: “You could only ever work for Gu Fei anyway, hahaha!”
………………………………………………
While waiting at a red light, Lin Hening glanced at his phone notifications.
Apparently, he had good karma—his post had been shared countless times.
Scrolling down, he saw that Gu Fei had shared it too, though his post was buried among many others.
Just then, a message popped up—he had received a one-million-yuan transfer. He was surprised; Gu Fei actually had that much savings?
A moment later, Gu Fei sent a WeChat message.
[Still owe 899,908 yuan and 37 cents.]
“….” Lin Hening laughed at the “37 cents.”
He wasn’t actually bothered about the money. Back in his school days, he and his friends would blow through hundreds of thousands in a single night of partying.
If he was in a good mood, he might have written off the remaining balance out of consideration for Gu Fei’s financial struggles. But he didn’t say that—he felt that doing so would wound Gu Fei’s pride, even insult his character.
Call it stubborn pride or playing tough, but Lin Hening respected Gu Fei for insisting on bearing responsibility, even if it meant tightening his belt.
That kind of foolish persistence reminded him of Xia Zhile back in the day, surviving on plain noodles while striving to be independent.
Thinking of Xia Zhile, Lin Hening felt an emptiness inside.
It had been over twenty-four hours. Xia Zhile hadn’t called or texted.
And Qiu Bi was still missing.
Two years ago, on a rainy night, they had picked up the little thing together. Xia Zhile had been ecstatic, clinging to him, saying it was a gift from Cupid, a symbol of their love. Hence, they named it “Qiu Bi”—after Cupid.
Lin Hening had laughed, saying, “You keep calling it Qiu Bi, and now all I can think about is mayonnaise.”
And so, the cat’s full name was Qiu Bi, but its nickname became “Mayonnaise.”
At the prosecutor’s office, Lin Hening changed into his uniform, greeting colleagues as he walked through the hallway.
When he entered his office, a mother of two, buried under case files, was munching on a Chinese pancake. She looked up and asked, “Had breakfast?”
“I did,” Lin Hening replied, but the maternal instincts of his colleague kicked in anyway—she tossed him two packs of bear-shaped cookies.
Lin Hening absentmindedly crunched on the cookies while reviewing a gruesome case file filled with dismembered body photos.
At the same time, he mulled over where to look for Qiu Bi after work.
He had a bad feeling—if he didn’t find Qiu Bi, something bad would happen between him and Xia Zhile.
At noon, Lin Hening and his assistant, Xiaowei, conducted an investigation into the dismemberment case. The nearby residents were gossiping in excitement, while the victim’s family wailed in despair.
Just then, the suspect’s family happened to pass by. Since they lived in the same residential area, running into each other was inevitable. The moment they met, a physical altercation broke out.
Lin Hening and Xiaowei hurried to break up the fight. Both families were agitated, exchanging insults and even grabbing at each other. The victim’s mother clung to Lin Hening’s arm, wailing uncontrollably, demanding to know why the suspect hadn’t been indicted and sentenced to death. Why had the case been sent back to the police?
Before Lin Hening could explain that there wasn’t enough evidence and that additional investigation was necessary, the suspect’s father grabbed his other arm and added fuel to the fire, insisting, “It wasn’t my son! Even the prosecution isn’t siding with you!”
The victim’s mother collapsed onto the ground, screaming that there was no justice left in the world and that she couldn’t go on living.
The scene was absolute chaos.
Just then, Xia Zhile called.
Lin Hening didn’t pick up.
By the time the victim’s family was taken away in an ambulance, Lin Hening, physically and mentally drained, returned to the prosecution office. He checked his phone—thirteen missed calls.
He called back. Xia Zhile asked, “Busy?”
“Yeah, things just settled down.”
“Did you find the cat?”
“…No.”
“When do you get off work? Let’s look again.”
“…”
“What’s wrong? Why aren’t you saying anything?”
“Nothing.”
Lin Hening hung up, got out of the police car, and got into his Bentley to drive home.
As he was about to enter his residential area, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. But after a closer look—was that really Gu Fei?!
Gu Fei was riding a small scooter—probably delivering food?
Lin Hening got out of the car and walked toward him, just as Gu Fei stopped a passerby and showed them a picture on his phone. “Have you seen this cat? It’s a male calico—stubborn, aloof, and loves to bite.”
