“Stop fooling around.”
Bai Chunian didn’t know why, but usually impatient himself, he found he could tolerate this little fish’s antics without irritation.
“Still hurting?” he asked, retying Lan Bo’s loosened tie. His gaze swept down to the fin along Lan Bo’s lower body; it arched unnaturally in a small curve, with gauze likely stuffed inside.
“Em…” Lan Bo pressed the fin closer to his body. From the pained expression, Bai Chunian could tell the wound was still healing. Lan Bo said nothing, and Bai Chunian didn’t forcefully lift the fin like before.
He no longer wanted to pry into how the injuries had come about. Seeing Lan Bo embarrassed made his heart ache.
“Going to work today? How will you get there? I’ll drive you.”
Lan Bo pulled another note from his pocket, left by the president: “I’ve sealed your garage. Don’t draw attention for the next few days. I’ll handle it.”
“…Tch, fine, I’ll just take a cab to drop you off.” Bai Chunian hadn’t even finished the curse when Lan Bo pulled out a third note, which read: “I’ve frozen all your spending accounts for the same reason.”
Finally, Lan Bo reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a crisp one-hundred-yuan bill, placing it in Bai Chunian’s hand. He patted the alpha’s head and left for work.
Bai Chunian stared at the bill in disbelief for a long moment, then angrily tossed it to the floor and stamped on it, sitting down and lighting a cigarette.
He hadn’t eaten properly for days. In the confinement cell, he had been given only a bottle of water and a tiny compressed biscuit each day. Now he couldn’t even order takeout… He suddenly remembered the fried egg Lan Bo had wrapped and placed on the fish tank earlier.
Turning back, he realized that the annoying little fish had taken the eggs away.
“Trying to keep me from eating, or what…” Bai Chunian leaned against the fish tank for a moment. Just after waking, he hadn’t felt the hunger, but now his stomach gnawed painfully. Humbling himself, he picked up the hundred-yuan bill from the floor, slipped on his flip-flops, and headed out.
Bai Chunian wasn’t a pampered rich kid; he could make a hundred yuan stretch. First, he grabbed a bowl of ramen at the ground-floor shop, then wandered through the local market.
The market was full of elderly folks strolling and shopping. Bai Chunian, a tall alpha in a black tank top with hands in his shorts’ pockets, stood out instantly.
“Two potatoes, please.”
“Pick me a cabbage… Tch, not that one, the leaves are wilted.”
“Fish? No fish.” Bai Chunian waved, crouching by the aquatic stall with a few bags of vegetables, rubbing the head of a bubbling crucian carp in the water. “Hey, what do fish eat?”
The live-fish vendor froze, holding his scaler.
Bai Chunian: “Whatever fish eat—just weigh me two jin.”
He returned home with meat, eggs, vegetables, and fruit stocked in the fridge. Ten yuan remained in his pocket, and he wasn’t sure what to do with it.
After a shower and a clean shave, he changed into casual clothes, put on a black baseball cap, sunglasses, and a mask, and planned to take the subway to the Alliance police station to see what Lan Bo was actually capable of.
By the time he arrived, it was already noon, and the station was closed.
Trying to get in with a flimsy excuse was pointless. Bai Chunian skillfully avoided cameras and patrols, scaled walls through blind spots, and sneaked into the main hall, hiding in the ceiling to observe.
Several omegas in police uniforms returned from the cafeteria with lunchboxes, chattering about the day. One whispered excitedly: “We have a new half-blood guy in our department—blonde hair, blue eyes, his eyes practically glow. So handsome! Guess what’s under the belt?”
“Hmm? Really big?”
“Mermaid tail! A mermaid guy!”
“Wow, lucky… any photos?”
“No, I didn’t dare take any. So aloof, not a word said.”
“Handsome alphas always act like that.”
“I just saw him in the cafeteria, heating his lunch in the microwave.”
“Alpha…?” Bai Chunian, sitting in the ceiling vent, rested his chin in his hands, listening to the little omegas’ gossip.
He pulled out his phone and sent a message to Lan Bo’s number, written entirely in emojis: a rice bowl after the character “在,” ending with a question mark.
Lan Bo’s phone had been provided by the president, so he probably didn’t know how to use it. Bai Chunian found it amusing and didn’t expect a reply—there was no way the fish could text.
He pocketed his phone, crawled toward the cafeteria, exited the vent, and climbed the drainpipe to the rooftop. Hands in pockets, he casually hopped across two office buildings, perching by the transparent cafeteria skylight to look down for Lan Bo.
Lan Bo sat in a corner directly below, dressed in the police uniform, with a neatly arranged lunchbox in front of him.
Bai Chunian craned his neck to see what he was eating.
Lan Bo carefully opened the microwave-warmed lunchbox and took out the fried egg from the morning, wrapped in cling film.
“Ah, so he brought it for lunch.” Bai Chunian lounged lazily, resting his chin and watching him eat.
But Lan Bo ate the lunchbox, lid and all, and then carefully placed the fried egg into a new container.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. Startled, Lan Bo shivered and looked around cautiously before realizing the source. He pulled out his phone and examined it.
Bai Chunian watched with amusement as Lan Bo struggled to draw a heart on the screen to unlock it, taking a long time before he finally saw the new message.
Holding his face, Lan Bo peered through his fingers at the screen, then mashed a few keys and sent a reply.
Bai Chunian checked his phone: the new message read, “→→[email protected]%-％honglanbokadinlion~.@％jiji mua→←”
“Hmph… you silly fish.” Bai Chunian screenshot it and posted to his Moments with the caption: “Encountered an advanced code on a mission, can’t crack it. Need code-breaking experts.”
Within seconds, seven or eight expert friends were arguing in the comments.
After lunch, Lan Bo received a digital meeting notice, told to bring a notebook and pen. He tilted his head, listening several times before roughly understanding the instructions.
Bai Chunian watched the scene with mixed amusement and concern; the clumsy little fish clearly struggled in human society.
He quickly bought a notebook, a pen, a small bread, and a lollipop at a convenience store, tied them with fishing line, and gently lowered the bundle through the skylight into Lan Bo’s backpack, cutting the line afterward.
Lan Bo hurriedly slid down the stair railing to the meeting room. Bai Chunian changed his route to follow. Avoiding all cameras was second nature to him; tailing his target was effortless.
Lan Bo found a seat, discovered the food, and calmly unwrapped the candy under the astonished gazes of colleagues. Just before the supervisor entered, he finished the lollipop and bread wrapper, appearing completely normal.
The meeting topic: a string of disappearances, investigated under the codename “The Triangular Pyramid House Incident.”
The whole situation began with an escape expert who had gained fame online through some unbelievable escape videos. He sent invitations to his fans, challenging them to try his latest escape room.
In the videos, the escape expert wore a hooded cloak that completely concealed his face and limbs. Using a trembling electronic voice, he introduced his masterpiece: the game began in a small, triangular-pyramid-shaped house. The only rule: “Those who successfully exit through the door will win ten million yuan.”
The video had been posted three days ago, and statistics showed that over a dozen daring adventurers had already accepted the challenge. They came from various backgrounds—unemployed thrill-seekers, nearly bankrupt business owners, and writers or adventurers looking for a rush. None had managed to escape; all had vanished without a trace.
Police traced the video’s ID to “Escape Expert Leon,” but it led only to a fake IP address. No one knew anything about him, except for a triangular pyramid house left near Red Maple Mountain.
During the meeting, the leaders asked each attending officer for their input. When it came to Lan Bo, he was scribbling in his notebook. Hearing his name, he looked up, brushed his golden hair behind his ear, and said calmly: “I’ll go… kill him.”
His statement was far too bold, throwing the meeting into chaos.
The supervisor walked over, flipping open Lan Bo’s notebook. It was filled with strange sketches: a hooded man dangling by a rope from a noose, eyes bulging and tongue unnaturally long; beside him were a sharp-toothed piranha and a ferociously puffed-up cat.
It appeared that this hooded figure was the escape master just mentioned in the meeting.
The supervisor stared at the drawings, a chill running down his spine. When he met Lan Bo’s deep, gem-like eyes, a shiver of unease crept over him.
After assigning field tasks, the meeting ended. Lan Bo returned to his desk, where his job was to organize files—both paper and hard drives—by number before sending them to the archive.
Lan Bo didn’t notice the alpha who had been secretly watching him from outside the window. By the time he realized a gaze had been glued to him, there was no one there.
At that moment, an omega carrying a stack of files approached and began placing them on Lan Bo’s desk. Trying to make conversation, the omega said, “Um… that’s all the work for this afternoon. Are you getting used to it? How’s the workload?”
Lan Bo’s eyes stayed fixed on the file numbers, replying coldly with a simple “Mm.”
Receiving the cold shoulder, the omega tried to save face: “If you run into any problems, feel free to ask me for help.”
Lan Bo lifted his lashes and glanced at him, but even without showing emotion, the line running through the center of his sapphire-blue pupils gave him a distant, unapproachable aura.
The omega, intimidated by the depths of his gaze, stepped back in panic and returned to his own desk.
Lan Bo didn’t notice anything unusual. After finishing one side of the bookshelf, his moisturizing bandages had dried, making his skin itchy. He got up to dampen the bandages in the breakroom.
Pouring himself a cup of water, he turned and suddenly noticed an alpha on the single sofa. Black T-shirt, black baseball cap, black mask, and sunglasses.
“En?” Lan Bo immediately recognized him and set the cup down on the coffee table in front of Bai Chunian.
Seizing the opportunity, Bai Chunian grabbed Lan Bo’s wrist and gave a strong pull. Lan Bo lost balance and fell into the alpha’s arms, his uniform scraping against his chest.
Even during work hours, he couldn’t play rough. Lan Bo raised a hand to block Bai Chunian’s jaw, preventing him from making a sound. The transparent membrane between his fingers bulged slightly under the alpha’s nose. With his free hand, Lan Bo pulled out two one-hundred-yuan bills from his chest pocket, stuffed them into Bai Chunian’s pants, and winked: “Go buy food. Don’t cause trouble.”
Bai Chunian held Lan Bo’s slender waist with one hand, pressing the back of his head with the other. Pulling down the mask, he whispered in Lan Bo’s ear with a low chuckle: “I’m not causing trouble, just checking on the post.”