“Only two hundred? Not enough to spend,” Bai Chunian teased, lifting his chin.
Lan Bo cooed softly, “Be a little lenient, make do for now.”
“Alright, then I’ll make do for now,” Bai Chunian laughed, taking Lan Bo’s wrist and pressing it to his lips, kissing the thin membrane between his fingers.
The membranes were full of capillaries and tiny nerves, extremely sensitive. When the alpha’s cool lips brushed against them, the skin turned red.
Lan Bo’s body seemed to halt as if a switch had been triggered, letting out a small, involuntary sound, and unconsciously releasing a faint, soft pheromone from his glands.
Even this subtle emission was intoxicating to the alpha; Bai Chunian reacted almost instantly.
The breakroom door suddenly opened. The omega who had been carrying files peeked in awkwardly: “The officers from the international prison are here to hand over files. Have you organized them?”
Lan Bo glanced back at the sofa; the alpha was gone. Only he remained in the breakroom, and the window near the sofa was open.
“Mm.” Lan Bo poured himself another cup of water and followed the omega out.
Outside, Bai Chunian hung by one hand beneath the balcony, waiting until he heard the door close before quietly flipping back inside. The fabric of his shorts was pressed uncomfortably against him.
He crouched, scrolled through his phone, trying to calm himself and his partner. During Lan Bo’s brief absence for water, he had snapped a slightly blurry photo—enough to see the omega’s side profile partially hidden by a few strands of golden hair. From the side, his nose was small and slightly upturned, with a lean neck, shoulders, and collarbone. Not as delicate as other omegas, but still undernourished.
Bai Chunian sent the photo to a tech department colleague in the Alliance.
The colleague quickly replied: “What aspect are we investigating?”
Bai Chunian said, “Make the picture clearer, don’t make his face thinner—he’s already too skinny.”
The tech colleague blinked: “?? Could you speak in plain language?”
Lan Bo left the breakroom and returned to his desk. Hearing that officers from the international prison were coming to hand over files, he realized he was responsible for this batch. As the person in charge, he needed to sign off on the transfer, so he got up and headed to the archive.
Pushing open the archive’s meeting room door, he saw an omega dressed in a police uniform with epaulets, raven-black hair, seductive phoenix-shaped eyes, and a tear mole at the corner of one eye.
Du Mo stood to greet him, pausing mid-handshake when he saw Lan Bo: “Lan Bo?”
Lan Bo raised an eyebrow, his tail curling around the sofa arm as he sat, glancing past Du Mo’s outstretched hand, one hand propping his chin in a slouched, relaxed posture.
Even though Du Mo’s rank was several levels higher than Lan Bo’s, the natural aura of the merman pressed down on him, forcing him to sit up straighter.
Lan Bo flicked his tail tip slightly, signaling Du Mo to proceed.
“All right,” Du Mo said, presenting the approval documents from his superiors. “I know that in the past five years, your omega Alliance station captured several terrorists marked with bird tattoos—they’re members of the Red Throat Bird organization. I need the files on them.”
Lan Bo tilted his head slightly, processing the information. From Du Mo’s perspective, the merman’s regal sitting posture and deep, penetrating gaze seemed as if he could peel him apart and examine every inch of his insides.
Suddenly, Lan Bo straightened, prompting Du Mo to instinctively retreat to the far corner of the sofa.
Using some sort of method, Lan Bo floated to the filing shelves, quickly locating the folders in different sections, unlocking them with his iris, and placing them neatly in front of Du Mo.
“So fast,” Du Mo said, surprised, flipping open the first folder. “No computer search needed?”
Lan Bo shook his head. He didn’t use computers.
Du Mo packed the files into his bag. Just as he was about to leave, he paused, remembering something, and sat back down: “Don’t you have any questions for me? About… the previous exam?”
Reflecting later, Du Mo realized that his near-death incident with the snake-woman had been part of Bai Chunian’s plan. He knew his actions seemed suspicious, so it wasn’t surprising that other teams had doubts.
Lan Bo remained silent, resting his elbow on the sofa arm and idly flicking his tail tip, waiting for Du Mo to finish speaking. He wasn’t really concerned; while fetching the files, he had glanced at the wall clock several times, calculating how much time remained until the end of his shift.
“I’m an officer from the International Maximum Security Prison,” Du Mo continued. “On the night before the ATWL exam, our computers were attacked by a super hacker. The hacker sent an email claiming to have cracked Institute 109’s database, intending to dump this intelligence into the ATWL exam system and expose all their crimes to the public. Many of the seasoned investigators were too old to take the exam, so I infiltrated it myself to collect evidence.”
“Unfortunately, it seems the hacker wasn’t entirely successful,” Du Mo sighed. “Institute 109 operates in an ungoverned border area, committing inhumane experiments for profit, but no one can stop them. What’s been revealed is just the tip of the iceberg—insufficient to shake them.”
“But the hacker said in the email that they won’t give up; this is only the beginning. Well… I’m keeping my expectations moderate.”
“By the way, I heard about a recent string of disappearances here. I looked into it. Compared to boring terrorist attacks or kidnappings, this case is interesting… If you need help, you can reach out. I’m not saying you lack the ability, but I’m curious about the triangular pyramid house. It’s under your jurisdiction, but if possible, I’d like to see it for myself.”
Lan Bo nodded.
Truthfully, he didn’t understand a word.
The wall clock showed it was time to leave. Lan Bo quickly signed Du Mo’s documents with rimbaud, then got up and left.
Du Mo stared at the few letters at the bottom of the form, then watched Lan Bo’s departing figure, sighing as he massaged his temple: “No one ever complains about his attitude.”
Lan Bo, backpack on, used his tail to support himself at the time clock. The wall clock crossed from 5:29 to 5:30 exactly. He punched out successfully.
His coworkers were startled; in this office, no one left on time, and staying until midnight without overtime was considered slacking.
Lan Bo glanced back at his colleagues, flicked his tail tip, and released a surge of electricity into the clock, punching out all the staff in the building. Then he walked off with his backpack.
Seconds later, cheers erupted across the building as officers rushed out, eager to leave before being dragged back to work.
Bai Chunian sat on a swing in a nearby park, waiting for Lan Bo. His long legs dangled lazily from the child-sized swing, little different from squatting on the ground.
Several children tried to squeeze onto the swing beside him.
“Heh-heh, not giving it to you,” Bai Chunian said, sucking on a lollipop, casually holding both swing ropes, and succeeded in upsetting three kids at once.
On his way to the subway, Lan Bo passed the park. Bai Chunian waved: “Come over.”
Lan Bo scaled the railing, curling his tail around the swing frame: “En?”
Bai Chunian hopped off, squatting to the side: “Come on, sit here.”
One child tried to snatch a seat, but Bai Chunian lifted him by the back of his neck and set him aside effortlessly.
Lan Bo had never seen human toys before. Curious, he sat on the swing and gave a gentle push. Losing his balance and nearly falling backward, Bai Chunian used his knee to steady him, letting him enjoy the ride safely.
“Off work?” Bai Chunian asked from behind, holding the swing ropes and leaning close to Lan Bo’s ear.
“En.”
“Heading home? I’ve been wandering outside all day, starving.”
“En, okay.”
“But I don’t have a car right now, so we’ll take a cab.”
“Dit… subway.”
“Oh, so frugal? Aren’t you even tired?”
“You’re tired… then ride.”
“I’m not tired.”
The evening subway was packed, a black tide of bodies pressed together, the air thick with overlapping pheromones and scents, noisy and chaotic. Amid all that, no one noticed an omega standing on his tail.
When the train arrived at their stop, more passengers pressed in. Someone accidentally stepped on Lan Bo’s tail. He let out a startled cry.
Bai Chunian’s eyes stayed on Lan Bo’s face. As soon as he opened his mouth, Bai Chunian shoved the unfinished candy stick into it. Lan Bo blinked, dumbly holding it in his cheeks.
“You’re so playful,” Bai Chunian said, bending down to scoop up Lan Bo’s tail tip and pocketing it so no one else would step on it.
Back at home, Bai Chunian wrapped a blue polka-dot apron around himself and went into the kitchen.
Normally, he disliked cooking. Even on days off, he usually ordered takeout—too much trouble buying, washing, chopping, and cooking. But today, he was bored, wanted to do something, and searched online for recipes to try.
He followed an online tutorial to make a plate of hot-and-sour shredded potatoes and a plate of stir-fried cabbage with meat. Sneaking a taste, he was pleasantly surprised at how good it was, then brought the dishes to the table for Lan Bo.
Seeing Lan Bo about to wrap the dishes in cling film and eat them directly from the plates, Bai Chunian pressed down on the edges, allowing him to eat only what was on the plates.
Lan Bo looked up at him for a moment, then took out his phone. In a minute, he had the camera open and carefully snapped twenty photos of the two dishes from different angles before setting the phone aside and scooping a small bite.
Bai Chunian’s gaze followed him involuntarily. He swallowed and asked, “How is it?”
Lan Bo’s eyes shone with little blue sparkling stars.
Bai Chunian finally straightened and sat back, pretending to eat normally. “Hmm, it’s okay,” he said lightly.
Before sleep, Bai Chunian came out of the bathroom, only a towel around his waist, drying his wet hair and heading to the bedroom. Lan Bo had fallen asleep on the fish tank edge, eyelashes lowered, the light casting shadows under his lids.
Bai Chunian crouched down, touching Lan Bo’s water-damp hair, gently brushing his cheek with his ring finger. Due to years of fighting and gun handling, only his ring finger had few calluses.
Lan Bo’s phone vibrated—it was a temporary work assignment from the police station. The special task force had been established, and Lan Bo was assigned to investigate the triangular pyramid house at Red Maple Mountain.
Lan Bo lazily opened half an eye, grumbling, curling into a fish-ball shape and sinking to the tank bottom. “Tired… don’t… want to go.”
“Right, don’t go. And what’s this business about a trip bonus—three thousand bucks? That’s like feeding beggars.” Bai Chunian scrolled through the Alliance Police notice but saw nothing that tempted him. Such low-level assignments were brutal for rank-and-file officers; night shifts only paid this little.
“Bonus?”
Lan Bo climbed out of the tank, soaked, grabbed a towel, and started putting on his uniform.