The Hunt

"Let me say it again, I'm not close with Ni Xiangdong."

Wu Ximei braced her arm against the door, blocking Meng Chao and Tong Hao outside.

"We really don’t have any ulterior motives, we just came to see the child," Meng Chao pushed open a narrow gap, lifting the fruit basket and supplements to his chest, shaking them slightly. "Let us in, don’t block the door—you’re holding up others too, aren’t you?"

The family member from the neighboring bed, also shut out in the hallway, was holding a washbasin and clicking their tongue impatiently.

Wu Ximei had no choice but to reluctantly step aside.

During the last investigation, just as they were about to break through Wu Ximei’s psychological defenses, Cao Tianbao suddenly had an episode in the inner room. He was rushed to the hospital and barely survived after hours of emergency treatment, remaining under observation for days.

Now he lay sunken into the hospital bed, an oxygen tube under his nose, his eyes half-open and unfocused, clouded over.

His dull, lifeless skin clung tightly to his bones, making him look less like a growing child and more like a long, thin date pit gnawed clean.

The boy lay motionless, yet still seemed utterly exhausted. After glancing at them, his eyes slowly, wearily closed.

Tong Hao felt a pang of sorrow and stepped forward, taking the hand connected to the IV drip.

The small hand was icy cold, like a piece of raw iron.

No matter how long he held it, it didn’t warm up. Unsure of what to say, he patted the back of the hand a couple of times before timidly withdrawing his own.

Logically speaking, the two of them were Cao Tianbao’s saviors.

If not for the police car clearing the way, he might not have made it to the hospital alive.

But Wu Ximei didn’t care about that. Her frayed nerves couldn’t handle the relentless upheavals, leaving her like a tightly corked thermos ready to burst. She needed an outlet. Without regard for propriety, identity, or the situation, she exploded right there in the emergency room, unleashing a full-blown outburst at the two of them.

Now that Tianbao was out of danger, she had deflated, her face crumpled like an old leather ball as she sat sideways on the chair.

Deep down, she knew she had gone too far, but stubbornly refused to admit it, pressing her lips together in silent resentment, unsure who she was even angry with.

A phone rang, its monotonous ringtone slicing through the awkwardness between the three.

Wu Ximei glanced at the screen, then quickly peeked at Meng Chao, who was intently studying the medical chart posted at the head of Cao Tianbao’s bed.

She slipped out urgently but quietly, returning a few minutes later with a pale face.

"Who was it?"

Meng Chao looked up from the chart, his tone light, more curious than interrogative.

"No one."

"I hope you’re not hiding anything. You have an obligation to cooperate with the investigation."

Wu Ximei flustered, glancing around.

The ward wasn’t large, with several beds lined up. The family member from the neighboring bed suddenly fell silent, eavesdropping while peeling an apple.

"The insurance company, discussing the claim."

Meng Chao said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

"They said Xiaojun had bought himself an insurance policy before," she choked up, "with Tianbao as the beneficiary."

"Did you know about the insurance?"

She shook her head wearily, not seeming to lie.

"Just go," she pleaded, yet commanded. "You’ve seen him. Let me and my son have some time alone, okay?"

Out in the hallway, just as Tong Hao handed Meng Chao a bottle of water, his phone rang. It was forensic examiner Xia Jie.

"Meng, the results are in. The scalp found in the sewer is indeed Cao Xiaojun’s.""Got it," Meng Chao was about to hang up when he suddenly remembered something. "Oh, Xia, check the blood type for me. Yes, and try to find out Wu Ximei's blood type too."

After hanging up, Meng Chao took a gulp of water and fell silent.

The two of them stood side by side by the window, waiting.

Sunlight glittered behind them, while the hospital corridor remained cold and pallid—two worlds, one bright, one dark.

Tong Hao stared at the photo of Cao Xiaojun in his hand. The man was dark-skinned and gaunt, with sunken cheeks. His eyes were dull and vacant, staring blankly at the camera. His messy hair was streaked with gray.

"Doesn’t look like someone in his thirties."

"If you slept only four hours a day, worked three jobs back-to-back, and kept it up for four or five years, you’d look like that too." Meng Chao crushed the empty water bottle in his hand. "Here he is, draining his own blood to keep his son alive."

"Boss, what about that insurance—"

"Probably afraid he might not make it someday. It was his way of securing another lifeline for the widow and orphan. Whether he lived or died, he wanted to protect them."

From deep within the corridor came a wail, twisting and turning into sobs.

Soon after, a hospital bed covered with a white sheet was wheeled out. A middle-aged man clung to the railing, staggering and weeping as he chased after it. He wore only a thin undershirt, and there was a hole in the sole of his sock.

No one laughed at his lack of decorum.

He was their tomorrow.

Passersby merely glanced at him woodenly before lowering their heads again, returning to their own lives—fetching meals, boiling water, frowning over medical bills, struggling to turn patients over, stealing a moment to chat with other caregivers.

Outside the window, the sunlight remained bright and warm.

But the sun of the living world could never warm the bodies of the departed.

"Cao Xiaojun has a record."

Meng Chao suddenly spoke up.

Tong Hao was surprised—this was the first he’d heard of Cao Xiaojun’s past.

"Got into trouble in Nanyang Province. Fighting and brawling. He was only in his teens back then, got released not long after.

"His original name was Cao Xiaojun, with the ‘jun’ meaning ‘gentleman.’ The kid wanted to be a soldier, so he changed it to the ‘jun’ meaning ‘army.’ Wrote it that way himself, made others write it that way too. Over time, no one remembered the original character."

Tong Hao opened his mouth but found no suitable words. Instead, he unscrewed his water bottle and took several large gulps.

"What a shame. Doubt he’ll ever get to be a soldier now."

"Captain, what do you think Cao Xiaojun is really—"

The phone rang again, and Meng Chao answered reflexively.

"Yeah, go ahead."

Tong Hao held his breath as he watched him.

Watched his brows furrow, then relax. Watched his lips press together until they lost all color. Finally, he let out a long sigh, as though forced to accept an answer he’d already known.

Meng Chao hung up and stared at the floor, as if speaking to the corridor tiles.

"Cao Xiaojun is blood type AB. Wu Ximei is type A." Before Tong Hao could ask, he continued, "Did you see Cao Tianbao’s medical records?"

"No."

Meng Chao pressed his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose.

"Type O."

Cao Tianbao was not Cao Xiaojun’s child.

"Then—"

"Ni Xiangdong is type O," Meng Chao turned to him, answering the unspoken question. "Not certain if they’re father and son, but it’s very possible."

Ni Xiangdong likely had a son with Wu Ximei.

The child Cao Xiaojun was giving his life to protect might very well be Ni Xiangdong’s son.

"Captain, do you think Cao Xiaojun knew?"

Meng Chao looked out the window, where bare branches swayed in the wind, and answered a question with another."He had the chance to be a good father," he murmured to himself. "No, he already was a good father."

When the two of them turned back toward the ward, Wu Ximei was just coming out carrying a bedpan. Spotting them from a distance, she stopped in her tracks.

Meng Chao didn’t beat around the bush and went straight up to her.

"Are you worried about the child’s father?"

"What kind of question is that?" Wu Ximei seemed both angry and embarrassed, her cheeks flushing red. "Of course I am."

"Which father? Cao Xiaojun or Ni Xiangdong?"

"You—"

"I can request a paternity test between Cao Xiaojun and Cao Tianbao at any time," Meng Chao said, pinching a few strands of fine, soft hair between his fingers. "Wu Ximei, stop dragging this out. Should I expose it, or will you tell the truth yourself?"