Chapter 8: A Natural Bad Seed

In this world, Jiang Hanyu was the only one who addressed him like that. Jian Ruochen studied the person who had appeared before him.

Jiang Hanyu wore tiny diamond studs in his ears and a delicate silver chain on his wrist, centered with a single, iridescent bluish-purple baroque pearl. He was bundled in a long down coat, though the collar was flung wide open, revealing a button-front cashmere vest layered over a white shirt.

A button on the vest was misaligned, and the shirt underneath wasn’t fully buttoned either. Sunlight glinted off his delicate collarbones, highlighting a sapphire necklace nestled there, making it sparkle.

At first glance, he seemed to have dashed out in a hurry. But who dashes out in such a coordinated set of expensive accessories? One might sleep in earrings, perhaps, but who sleeps wearing a matching sapphire necklace and a baroque pearl bracelet to bed? Wouldn’t that be incredibly uncomfortable?

A gust of early winter wind swept by. Jian Ruochen instantly buried the lower half of his face deeper into his soft yellow scarf, breathing warmly into the fabric against the chill. Looking up again, he saw Jiang Hanyu shivering violently, his face pale from the cold blast.

Jiang Hanyu lifted his hands, blew warm breath onto his palms, and rubbed them together briskly before looking up with wide, pleading eyes. “Brother,” he murmured pitifully, “I’m so cold.”

Each gesture seemed carefully choreographed.

A pity, Jian Ruochen thought.

Because the audience for this performance consisted of: one micro-expressions expert and former ace of the FBI’s BSU; one RCU Team Leader and former CIB intelligence operative; and one police academy valedictorian in micro-expressions and psychology. This whole smooth sequence of calculated moves was utterly wasted on this particular audience.

Jiang Hanyu’s eyes darted towards the yellow scarf around Jian Ruochen’s neck. “Brother,” he repeated, a note of urgency creeping into his voice. The previous Jian Ruochen would always immediately offer up his own scarf and gloves whenever Jiang Hanyu complained of the cold.

Those cheap, rough-spun things always carried the faint scent of laundry soap and were neither comfortable nor truly warm. Jiang Hanyu had always enjoyed seeing Jian Ruochen choose to suffer the cold just to make sure he was comfortable. Why wasn’t it working now?

Following the direction of his gaze, Jian Ruochen reached up to touch his scarf. The moment his fingers brushed the cashmere, Guan Yingjun’s deadpan voice cut in, directed at Jiang Hanyu. “If you’re cold, fasten your coat. Don’t leave it open intentionally next time.”

So blunt. Utterly clueless about subtlety or charm.

Beside them, Professor Li was visibly trying not to laugh.

He’s had professional training, Jian Ruochen recalled sarcastically, he never laughs, no matter how hilarious the situation.

Professor Li cleared his throat with difficulty, assuming a kindly expression as he attempted to smooth over Guan Yingjun’s bluntness. “Young man,” he addressed Jiang Hanyu gently, “you mustn’t value fashion over function. See how warmly your brother is dressed?”

Jian Ruochen, feeling Jiang Hanyu’s eyes on him, simply hummed noncommittally. “Mm.”

Annoyed and flustered, Jiang Hanyu looked down, fumbling with the zipper pull at the bottom of his coat. He struggled unsuccessfully to engage it, growing so agitated that tears began to well in his eyes.

Why isn’t this working? Jiang Hanyu wondered frantically. Where did I slip up? Since when did my naive, foolish brother start hanging around such sharp people?

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Seeing Jiang Hanyu’s struggle, Jian Ruochen considered for a second, then sighed inwardly and crouched down. Taking the edge of the coat, he efficiently engaged the zipper mechanism and pulled the tab smoothly upwards.

Guan Yingjun was still suspicious, and the professor was observing. He couldn’t afford to seem overly cold or callous at this juncture. Besides… you couldn’t condemn someone for sins they hadn’t actually committed yet. Surely Jiang Hanyu wasn’t just inherently malicious?

Jian Ruochen straightened Jiang Hanyu’s collar, adopting a tone both familiar and gentle. “What are you doing waiting for me out here?”

They were standing very close. Jiang Hanyu seemed momentarily flustered by the shift in demeanor. “Huh?” He stared dazedly at Jian Ruochen’s face, sensing the subtle but undeniable difference in him.

He really has changed. Is it… is it because of the inheritance?

Jiang Hanyu’s heart began to race as embarrassment and awkwardness flooded him. Clutching the pearl bracelet tightly, he mumbled, “I… I came to bring you home.”

“Jiang Ting Residence is not my home,” Jian Ruochen replied evenly. “There was never any place for me there.”

Agitated, Jiang Hanyu grabbed Jian Ruochen’s hand again. “There is! There’s a place for you!” he insisted loudly. “As soon as Jiang Yongyan returns, I’ll make him get your room ready immediately!”

Jian Ruochen lowered his gaze, looking down at Jiang Hanyu.

Wait for Jiang Yongyan to return? Does he truly not know what the steward did? Under the law, someone who hires a hitman is charged with intentional homicide alongside the actual killer. Jiang Yongyan is facing either death or life imprisonment. He’s not coming back.

Jiang Hanyu flinched, slowly letting go of Jian Ruochen’s hand. There was something in that downward gaze that was just too cold, too piercing to meet head-on.

“Jiang Hanyu,” Jian Ruochen said softly, “before today, you had three years in which you could have said that.”

Guan Yingjun’s eyebrow twitched almost imperceptibly, his eyes narrowing. Professor Li also adopted a contemplative expression.

Jian Ruochen stepped forward again. “Even though you’re not Jiang Minghan’s biological child, he clearly favors you. In these three years, you had innumerable chances to convince him to soften his stance towards me.”

Jiang Hanyu’s gaze flickered away evasively. It was nearly 10 AM now, and more students were converging on the university entrance, hurrying to make their classes, chatting and laughing as they clutched their books. But to Jiang Hanyu, it felt like every eye was on him, every ear had caught Jian Ruochen’s accusation.

Would they think he was selfish? What if this got around campus… what would people think…? Jiang Hanyu clenched his fists hidden at his sides.

Jian Ruochen pressed, his tone pointed, “I heard… that you received a diagnosis. Myelofibrosis. Requires transfusions. And that, coincidentally, we share the same blood type. Is that correct?”

Professor Li’s expression sharpened instantly, his gaze drilling into Jiang Hanyu like sharp pins.

“No!” Jiang Hanyu’s face went stark white as he instinctively denied it. “No…”

How could he possibly admit it now? Acknowledging his illness would be tantamount to confessing he only wanted Jian Ruochen back for his own selfish reasons! Jiang Hanyu stared, eyes wide, searching Jian Ruochen’s face desperately for any trace of the timid, subservient, eager-to-please boy he used to know.

But there was nothing. This Jian Ruochen was all sharp edges, his tilted, fox-like eyes devoid of their earlier softness, now holding only an assertive, pressing intensity.

Jiang Hanyu took a shaky breath, forcing himself to regain composure. He lowered his gaze, but then his eyes suddenly fixed on something. “You… cut your nails?” he asked, sounding stunned.

Guan Yingjun, having finished his first cigarette, was in the process of lighting a second. At Jiang Hanyu’s words, his gaze shifted to Jian Ruochen’s hands. The nails were trimmed short and clean. The fingers were long, pale, and slender. Perhaps he’d forgotten lotion; there was a tiny patch of dry skin near the cuticle on one side.

Jian Ruochen simply stated, “Long nails are impractical.”

The breeze shifted direction. Guan Yingjun adjusted his stance slightly, moving downwind so his cigarette smoke wouldn’t drift towards the others. He directed his question to Jian Ruochen, “Why didn’t they seem inconvenient previously?”

Jian Ruochen replied smoothly, “That’s a question better posed to Jiang Hanyu.”

Panic surged through Jiang Hanyu; things felt completely out of his grasp now. He kept them long because Lu Qian liked them that way! And I was the one who told him Lu Qian preferred long nails!

Back then, Jian Ruochen had bought a cheap manicure set and painstakingly kept his nails perfectly shaped, coating them with a one-dollar bottle of protective oil from a street vendor that reeked faintly of chemicals.

But now? He’d completely clipped off the nails he’d maintained solely for Lu Qian’s approval. Jiang Hanyu couldn’t fathom the change. His unease grew as he noticed, from the corner of his eye, that the tall, handsome officer’s attention seemed consistently focused on Jian Ruochen.

It hadn’t been like this in the past! Before, all eyes were always drawn to him. Why couldn’t Jian Ruochen just go back to being an invisible, wandering shadow? Consumed by a sudden, burning jealousy, Jiang Hanyu couldn’t bear it a second longer. Forgetting entirely why he’d come, he abruptly turned and fled, flagging down the first passing taxi. He needed to get home! He needed to find Lu Qian!

Jian Ruochen calmly watched the taxi disappear down the street before turning back to Professor Li with an apologetic smile. “My apologies, Professor. Sorry you had to witness that bit of drama.”

His eyes were slightly lowered, his voice soft, his expression serene. Yet, the calmer Jian Ruochen seemed, the more convinced Professor Li became that the young man must have endured immense hardship in his past.

Professor Li reached out and gave Jian Ruochen a couple of comforting pats on the back. The puffer jacket yielded with soft whooshing sounds beneath his palm. Professor Li cleared his throat slightly, then gave another couple of pats nearby, trying to fluff the compressed sections of the jacket back out.

“Alright then,” the professor declared. “Let’s go get that brunch.”

He directed towards Guan Yingjun, “You’re driving.”

Without a word, Guan Yingjun produced his keys and brought a white Toyota around. Professor Li slid into the back seat with the ease of long familiarity. Jian Ruochen felt it wouldn’t be appropriate to join the professor in the back; it would make the Team Leader of the West Kowloon RCU seem like a personal driver. He opened the passenger door and slid in. The moment his seatbelt clicked shut, Guan Yingjun slammed the accelerator, launching the car forward at a speed that felt perilously close to the legal limit.

Jian Ruochen spotted scraped paint on the wing mirror and noticed the dashboard needles vibrating slightly. He swallowed nervously. “Sir Guan… is this car… pre-owned?”

If it had been bought new… he shuddered to imagine the kind of driving required to inflict this much wear and tear on a reliable Toyota.

“Brand new. Picked it up six months ago,” Guan Yingjun replied, casually shifting gears, then wrenching the steering wheel to execute a drift that sent them skidding around a corner, barely missing the curb.

Tires screamed in protest. Jian Ruochen was nearly flung against the passenger-side window. He braced himself by gripping the seatbelt strap, while his other hand fumbled for the window crank. Mid-swerve, he managed to wrestle the passenger window shut. The window cranked shut with a series of protesting squeaks.

 Jian Ruochen stared ahead.

This ‘new’ car certainly felt vintage.

Guan Yingjun’s driving style was certainly… exhilarating. Maybe tolerable in summer, but the draft from that window crank was definitely too cold for winter.

By the time they pulled up outside Royal Gourmet, even Professor Li looked pale around the lips.

The trio followed a waiter into a private dining room and began to peruse the menu. Recalling the battered Toyota with its unrepaired wing mirror, Jian Ruochen suspected Guan Yingjun might not actually be affluent enough to casually drop four thousand dollars on a bowl of congee. In the end, he refrained from ordering the shark fin congee, opting instead for the Golden Soup Noodles – priced at 200 dollars, roughly the same as a pack of Sir Guan’s cigarettes.

Guan Yingjun shot him another glance before ordering the same noodles for himself. After Professor Li requested Pineapple Fried Rice, Guan Yingjun retrieved the menu, added three orders of Braised Lamb Shanks in Soy Paste and a plate of Grilled Chicken Wings, then summoned the waiter with the call button and stepped out of the room with him for a private word. He returned a moment later carrying a bottle of red wine.

When the dishes were served, Jian Ruochen found himself staring incredulously at a lamb shank larger than his own head, placed before him along with a pair of disposable plastic gloves.

How on earth do you eat this?

Isn’t fine dining supposed to involve… carving? Shouldn’t it arrive already portioned?

Guan Yingjun instructed him, his tone heavy with implication, “Pick it up and eat.”

Meeting Professor Li’s equally surprised expression, Guan Yingjun looked back at the hesitant Jian Ruochen, considered briefly, then added, “Finish it. And then I’ll tell you exactly why Jiang Yongyan hired a killer and arranged the frame-up.”

Jian Ruochen looked up sharply at Guan Yingjun. The man sat straight-backed, elbows on the table edge, fingertips lightly steepled before him, radiating absolute confidence.

“I managed to extract Jiang Yongyan’s motive during questioning,” Guan Yingjun stated calmly. “However, departmental regulations prevent me from disclosing the details at this time.”

Professor Li remained pointedly silent. If Guan Yingjun gave a damn about ‘regulations’, he thought wryly, he wouldn’t have been booted from CIB and dumped into RCU the second his undercover status was lifted…

Guan Yingjun tilted his chin slightly and continued, “Consider eating this part of your cooperation with the investigation. Cooperating witnesses may, under certain circumstances, be privy to relevant case details.”

Rumor has it, Guan Yingjun recalled, that people with major facial reconstruction, especially jaw work, have limited mouth mobility. They have to take small, careful bites.

He intended to find out just how wide Jian Ruochen could open his mouth.