Love on the Turquoise Land

Yan Tuo never expected that he had actually been in the same frame as Han Guan.

When did that happen?

Then he remembered—it was when he got scratched by Mazha. Nie Jiuluo had taken him back to the hotel and even used her innate fire to cauterize his wound. By the time he left the hotel, it was already dark, and as soon as he stepped out, a heavy snowfall greeted him.

So, Han Guan had been checking in at the time.

Yan Tuo’s lips felt dry. Though he knew Xiong Hei was watching him, he pretended not to notice, still staring blankly at the projection before muttering, "People really shouldn’t lie."

He turned to Xiong Hei, patted his thigh, and said in a low voice, "Don’t tell Aunt Lin about this, no matter what."

With that, he picked up a bite of mixed vegetables, chewed, then popped open a beer can and took a big gulp.

Xiong Hei was utterly baffled. "Wait… what exactly shouldn’t I tell her?"

Yan Tuo, his mouth full, mumbled indistinctly, "You already figured it out. It’s so obvious."

Figured what out?

Xiong Hei felt like he was lost in a fog. Still, that didn’t stop him from recalling: On the day Han Guan arrived in Shihe, he had been busy leading a team to raid Jiang Baichuan’s group. Along the way, he even got a call from Yan Tuo but had no time to deal with it, so he just sent A Peng’s address to him.

The night before that, he had "lost contact" with Yan Tuo in the reed marshes because he was busy dealing with Lao Dao and that useless dog…

He said, "Didn’t you say you ran into some punks, your phone got smashed, and you had to get it repaired?"

Yan Tuo: "Yeah, that’s right."

Xiong Hei: "You went to a hotel to get your phone fixed?"

Yan Tuo was torn between laughter and tears. "Are you stupid? We split up late one night and only reconnected the next evening. Do you think dealing with a few punks and fixing a phone would take that long? Obviously, I did other stuff too."

Xiong Hei was getting dizzy from the mental gymnastics. "What other stuff?"

Yan Tuo’s expression darkened. "Are you messing with me, Xiong? You’ve got it all recorded here, and you’re still asking me?"

Oh, now he’s pissed.

Xiong Hei felt like he needed to think this through: disappearing for a night, caught on hotel surveillance, getting angry and refusing to explain, and telling him not to tell Aunt Lin…

His eyes widened. "You booked a room… for a hooker?"

Yan Tuo facepalmed. He figured it was best to stay silent, even if Xiong Hei accused him of selling himself…

"You weren’t selling yourself, were you?"

Yan Tuo cursed inwardly. He really shouldn’t have let Xiong Hei’s imagination run wild.

The more Xiong Hei thought about it, the more convinced he became of his own brilliant deduction: "Damn, Yan Tuo, last time you disappeared, Lin Ling compiled those videos, and I saw them. That driver Lao Qian said you were in the… adult service industry. We all brushed it off, thought it was just a one-night stand, messing with the driver."

He leaned in closer. "You got some kind of psychological issue? Now I get it—why you dumped that woman in such a remote mountain. You felt disgusted with yourself afterward. But you can’t control it. What’s that called… split personality or something—"

Before he could finish, Yan Tuo grabbed Xiong Hei by the collar and slammed him against the back wall.

The entertainment room fell silent. The projection screen showed Yan Tuo’s enlarged image, while right in front of Xiong Hei was Yan Tuo’s face, backlit and shrouded in shadow.

It was a face he had seen countless times, yet now it felt unfamiliar—not just unfamiliar, but twisted, vicious, and filled with malice.Yan Tuo gritted his teeth and spat out a sentence through clenched teeth: "If you breathe a single word of this to anyone, I'll kill you."

Had he actually hit the mark?

Xiong Hei sighed inwardly—life was truly like a drama. Tonight, while intentionally planting flowers, they had unintentionally nurtured willows. They hadn’t uncovered a single clue about Han Guan’s case, but instead, Yan Tuo’s secret had been exposed.

He slowly raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, trying to reassure Yan Tuo: "Relax, I’m not some gossipy old woman. Let’s just pretend nothing happened, alright?"

Yan Tuo stared at him for a long moment before finally letting out a cold laugh and releasing his grip. He sat back down by the small low table, grabbed a beer can, and took a deep gulp.

His palms were faintly damp with sweat.

This wasn’t the excuse he had planned. He had intended to admit, at worst, that he was trying to reconcile with Nie Jiuluo...

Xiong Hei’s imagination was absurd, yet bizarrely self-consistent. Whatever—as long as it got him through this.

Setting down the beer, he casually called out to Xiong Hei: "Brother Xiong, let’s keep going. There’s still a lot of footage to review."

The way he switched moods...

Xiong Hei also returned to his seat. People, after all, were multifaceted. Only by spending more time with them could you uncover their hidden sides.

He clicked the play button.

With the faint hum of the projector, the video continued as usual, showing nothing out of the ordinary: Han Guan had finished his check-in procedures, cheerfully headed for the elevator, and even grabbed a candy from the front desk’s snack tray.

Xiong Hei didn’t connect Yan Tuo to Han Guan’s disappearance—after all, when Yan Tuo had passed through the lobby, he hadn’t even glanced in Han Guan’s direction. Moreover, that same night, Yan Tuo had checked into A Peng’s place.

The two sat facing the projection, each lost in their own thoughts.

After a while, Xiong Hei cleared his throat and spoke without turning his head: "With things like this... it’s best to see a doctor early and get it under control."

Yan Tuo didn’t look at him either, keeping his eyes fixed on the screen. After a long pause, he finally gave a quiet hum of acknowledgment.

By the time they finished reviewing the footage, it was already past midnight.

During this time, Li Yueying and Yang Zheng had both sent messages to Xiong Hei, essentially saying they’d reviewed their portions and found nothing suspicious. Only Feng Mi remained silent, prompting Xiong Hei to call and urge her. After a brief, heated exchange, he angrily hung up and cursed, "Damn it."

Three out of the four video reviews had passed without issue. Yan Tuo felt somewhat relieved, but his tension remained: "What’s her problem?"

"Says she’s a nightlife person, that her schedule’s different from ours. Claims she’s in the middle of a live singing stream and will check the footage after work."

For now, that was all they could do. It wasn’t like he could linger at Xiong Hei’s place just to get the latest updates.

...

Back in his room, Yan Tuo took a quick shower. He considered sending Nie Jiuluo his usual greeting but decided against it, seeing how late it was.

After a moment, he opened a short-video app on his phone.

Feng Mi was a locally well-known bar singer. Since Xiong Hei mentioned she was "live singing," she was likely on one of the most popular platforms.

He opened each app one by one, cross-searching for "Feng Mi," "currently live," and "location: Xiamen." Sure enough, it didn’t take long to find her.

She was indeed live. Her follower count wasn’t huge—just over twenty thousand—but the stream was lively, with many viewers leaving comments. Some were downright vulgar, shouting things like, "Hey beautiful, can you wear less?"

Feng Mi, however, would read these comments aloud without hesitation, take a sip of red wine, then adjust the collar of her shirt and reply, "Depends on how many gifts you send."Some viewers sent gifts and requested songs like "Love Me and Hug Me," "Magic Castle," and "Peace Bridge."

Feng Mi wasn’t lying—she sang quite well, especially after drinking. Her voice carried a tipsy undertone, mixed with a hint of huskiness. On her youthful face, traces of an unwarranted weariness gradually surfaced.

Feng Mi, number 009, held a higher seniority than Chen Fu, Yang Zheng, Han Guan, and the others.

Don’t be fooled by that face—she was a veteran too.

Yan Tuo topped up his account and immediately sent a Porsche—virtual Porsches on the platform weren’t expensive, but among fans gifting flowers and beers, his stood out like a crane among chickens.

And it wasn’t just one. He sent another at intervals, ten in total.

He knew Feng Mi could see these gifts. More importantly, his account was registered under his real name. Only during his edgy teenage years had he used handles like "King Tuo"—after that, he mostly stuck to his real name.

Sure enough, before long, Feng Mi’s expression turned subtly different, her gaze flickering toward the screen repeatedly.

For his final gift, Yan Tuo sent a pumpkin carriage.

Feng Mi leaned closer to the screen, smiling sweetly. "A fan named Yan Tuo sent so many cars—thank you! Let me sing a song for you, one I often perform live: 'Waiting for You for So Long.'"

It was clearly a saccharine love song. Yan Tuo exited the livestream before it finished.

Soon after, as expected, a message popped up in his inbox—from Feng Mi. No words, just a phone number.

Yan Tuo called ten minutes later.

Feng Mi answered, her voice honeyed even in the dead of night. "Yan Tuo?"

Yan Tuo asked, "Off work?"

"Left early. Didn’t feel like singing for a bunch of idiots anymore. How’d you end up watching my stream?"

Yan Tuo deftly steered the conversation toward business. "Just finished reviewing surveillance footage with Brother Xiong. Heard you hadn’t submitted your work yet, so thought I’d nudge you. Since you’re off, can you get started?"

Feng Mi sounded surprised. "You watched surveillance with Brother Xiong? Two men staring at footage—what’s fun about that?"

Yan Tuo replied, "Wish he were a beauty, but alas."

Feng Mi giggled. "Then keep me company. I am."

Yan Tuo: "Sure."

Feng Mi clearly hesitated. After a pause, she said, "Aren’t you afraid I’ll misunderstand?"

Yan Tuo shot back, "Misunderstand what? Brother Xiong didn’t when I kept him company."

Feng Mi huffed playfully. "And what about all those gifts you sent?"

Yan Tuo: "You know my net worth. Those trinkets aren’t even worth mentioning."

Feng Mi had no comeback. Yan Tuo was always like this—one smooth line followed by a jab. It infuriated her, yet she couldn’t do anything about it. After a pause, she asked, "How will you keep me company? Coming to the farm?"

Yan Tuo: "Remotely. Chat while working—efficient, no?"

Feng Mi’s disappointment was palpable. "Remotely?"

Yan Tuo: "Then I’ll hang up."

He ended the call before she could respond.

Feng Mi called back almost immediately. This time, Yan Tuo connected his headphones.

Her voice now carried a hint of grievance. "Yan Tuo, why so petty? Hanging up over one wrong word. I never said remote was bad—just worried you’d get bored. There’s so much footage to review. You’ll really stay on the line the whole time?"

Yan Tuo grunted in affirmation.

Feng Mi: "You promised."

...It sounded like a good idea, but when Feng Mi actually started the video call, she quickly felt awkward. She was fine since she had videos to review and could focus, but what about Yan Tuo on the other end? Just holding up his phone, listening to her typing sounds? How boring would that be?

She awkwardly said, "It'd be great if you could see it too. We could discuss and brainstorm together."

Yan Tuo replied, "Sure. Don’t you know there’s a feature called 'screen sharing'?"

Following Yan Tuo’s instructions, Feng Mi downloaded the software and clicked to share her screen. Once their screens were synced, this "companionship" suddenly became much more interesting.

The main screen was under her control, with the pace dictated by her. She could chat with Yan Tuo about the street views of Shihe, the hideous buildings along the road, a certain traffic violator, or the idiot driver in the car.

Traffic surveillance footage wasn’t as abundant or as high-definition as hotel videos.

After one round of reviewing, Yan Tuo sensed the risk.

Feng Mi clearly noticed it too. At first, while sharing the screen, she had been joking around and chatting casually with him. But now, her words gradually dwindled. Several times, she even went back to previously viewed videos and rewatched them.

Yan Tuo’s heartbeat quickened: Nie Jiuluo’s real risk wasn’t in the hotel surveillance or the untraceable restaurant footage—it was here.

After a while, Feng Mi’s voice came through the headphones: "Yan Tuo, if you compare them, don’t you think Chen Fu’s car seems to be tailing the one in front?"

Yan Tuo tried to downplay it: "Does it?"

"Yeah, just watch a few more intersections," Feng Mi said as the videos on the screen opened one after another, dragging to key moments. "Look, there’s a taxi that’s always ahead of them. Brother Xiong even told me to pay extra attention to whether anyone was following Chen Fu’s group. But if you think about it differently, maybe it’s Chen Fu’s group who’s following someone else?"

Yan Tuo’s throat went dry. He replied softly, "That makes sense."

Feng Mi: "Let me zoom in."

As she zoomed in on her end, Yan Tuo could see it too. He quickly grabbed a pen and paper and jotted down the car’s license plate number.

When Nie Jiuluo had exchanged information with him, she’d only mentioned this car in passing, saying she’d thrown her luggage in it and noted the driver’s phone number to retrieve it later when she had time. Neither of them had expected this car to become a liability.

On the screen, the image continued to enlarge.

Feng Mi: "Let me see if I can spot the passenger inside..."

Thankfully, traffic surveillance wasn’t that advanced. Yan Tuo relaxed slightly: "Just getting the license plate is enough. But you’re not familiar with Shihe—I’ve been there a few times. Judging by the route, the taxi is heading out of town, and so is Chen Fu’s group. The same route could just be a coincidence. You’ll need to check the surveillance footage outside the city to be sure."

The footage outside the city was Li Yueying’s responsibility, and she had already reported to Xiong Hei that the videos were fine.

Feng Mi grumbled, "Aunt Li wouldn’t bother checking properly. Right now, she thinks the whole world has wronged her. Brother Xiong was blind to assign this to her."

Yan Tuo chuckled. "Congrats on spotting the issue. My supervision wasn’t in vain. The rest is for you and Brother Xiong to discuss. I shouldn’t get involved. Hanging up now."

The call ended, but the screen sharing remained.Yan Tuo's heart pounded like a drum as he immediately opened the self-destructing message app and sent Nie Jiuluo a text.

—You left your luggage in a taxi. Get the driver's number, quick.

He needed to race against time: even if Feng Mi contacted Xiong Hei right away, they only had the license plate number for now. Tracking down the person would still take a while. But with the phone number, they could reach the driver immediately.

At this hour, Nie Jiuluo should have been asleep long ago. Just as Yan Tuo was about to call her directly, unexpectedly, she sent the number back.

With the number in hand, Yan Tuo didn’t waste a second. He immediately dialed it.

...

By the time the call ended, it was already 3 a.m.

The screen-sharing session had concluded, and the computer screen went dark. Yan Tuo let out a long exhale, resting his forehead on the desk as he slumped there for a while.

This whole night had been as exhausting as fighting several battles.

Suddenly, another thought struck him: why was Nie Jiuluo still awake so late?

He picked up his phone and realized that while he was on the call, she had sent two more messages.

—Is something wrong?

—Didn’t get your reply. Made some progress today. I’ll explain in detail when we meet. Too tired now. Goodnight.

Self-destructing messages—such a double-edged sword. The words didn’t allow you to linger or reflect, vanishing instantly like smoke in the wind.

For now, there was nothing left to do. He could finally sleep peacefully again.

Yan Tuo replied with two words.

—Sweet dreams.