Chapter 256: My Room Tonight

The blood outside the barrier had begun drying by the time Hanchuan came to relieve Qinghe.

On the monitor, a thin trail led from the abandoned gun to the stairwell door. Nobody had returned for it, though Qinghe had watched several people stop on the landing below and listen before going back down.

Hanchuan set his water beside the controls and checked the adjoining passage.

"Go and eat," Hanchuan told him. "Zeyu left something in the kitchen."

Qinghe stood, stretching the stiffness from his back.

He had spent most of the watch listening to Shichen’s reports from the lower floors, where the man in the green jacket had started going from room to room.

Apparently, having armed men waiting outside had made him brave enough to search other people’s bags.

"Has he taken anything else?" Qinghe asked, pausing beside Hanchuan’s chair.

"Shichen will know." Hanchuan looked up at him before Qinghe could reach for his radio. "You can ask him on your way past. I’ve got this door."

Qinghe left the radio on the desk and went back to the sitting room.

On the main screen, the woman who had given away her food stood in a doorway with a chair held across her body.

The child and his mother were behind her. Qinghe stopped beside Shichen as the man in green caught one of the chair’s legs and tried to pull it aside.

"You want them coming in here?" the man demanded, jerking his head toward the window. "Because that’s what happens if I go back empty-handed."

The woman braced her foot behind her and held on.

"Then take them your things," she replied. "You know I’ve got nothing left."

He pulled harder, bringing her a step into the hallway. Before he could drag the chair away, the angry man who had tried to stop her surrendering the shopping bag came out of the next room. He caught the green jacket at the shoulder and shoved its owner against the wall.

Two others joined him. Qinghe watched the woman stumble backward into the room while the men forced her would-be collector toward the window.

The boatman outside rose when he saw them coming, but the man carrying the radio caught his arm and pulled him down again.

They let the man in green climb aboard without helping him. As he scrambled over the side, someone inside slammed the window shut.

Shichen lowered the volume once the engine started.

"They might come back," Shichen said, keeping the boat on the screen. "But nobody’s going toward our stairs."

Qinghe watched the woman set her chair down behind the closed room door.

The man who had helped her remained outside it, talking through the gap. She opened it just wide enough to listen.

He hoped they would keep that door shut when the boats returned.

In the kitchen, his lunch waited beneath an overturned plate. He uncovered it and ate standing at the counter until Zhiyi came in, took one look at him, and pulled out a chair.

"The table is still available," she said, moving his glass beside it. "You don’t have to eat over the sink."

Qinghe carried his plate over and sat. Zhiyi took the next chair, bringing with her the book he had left open that morning.

"I didn’t read ahead," she told him, setting it between them. "Although you stopped in an inconvenient place."

He smiled as he swallowed. They had spent several evenings following a woman through a murder investigation, with Zhiyi arguing that the detective kept asking the wrong questions.

"You thought you’d solved it yesterday," Qinghe reminded her. "Have you changed your mind?"

"I want to know whether the author has noticed the same things I have." Zhiyi opened the book at his marker, then pushed it toward him. "Finish eating first. I can wait."

She stayed while he ate, telling him about the argument she had had with Zeyu over a game that afternoon.

Qinghe listened with growing amusement as she explained that Zeyu had accused her of changing the rules.

"He never explained that rule until he was losing," Zhiyi said, folding her arms on the table. "I told him we could start again if he wanted to write them down."

Qinghe laughed, nearly spilling his water. "I wish I’d been here for that. What did he say?"

"He said he’d rather lose," she replied with a slight shrug.

By the time Qinghe finished eating, he had stopped listening for his radio.

They took the book to the smaller room beside the bedrooms, where rain tapped against the windows and a lamp cast warm light over the sofa.

Zhiyi tucked her feet beneath her and leaned against him while he found their place.

For a while, she listened without interrupting.

Her hand lay on his arm, and he could feel her fingers move whenever she disagreed with something in the story. Eventually, she reached across him and held the page before he could turn it.

Qinghe stopped reading.

"You’ve found something," he said, looking down at her. "Tell me before I get to the part that annoys you."

Zhiyi smiled, but she didn’t look at the book.

"You smell different," she told him. Her fingers touched the open collar of his shirt. "You changed your soap."

He had. The old bottle had finally run out, and he had chosen something from the cupboard without paying much attention to the label.

"Is it bothering you?" Qinghe asked, setting the book on his knee.

Zhiyi shook her head and moved closer, her cheek brushing his shoulder as she drew in another breath.

"I like it," she said. "I was just trying to decide whether I liked it because it was on you."

Qinghe looked at her hand against his collar. He had been halfway through a sentence about a missing watch, and now he couldn’t remember why it mattered.

She lifted her face when he touched her cheek. He kissed her softly at first, then again when she slid her hand behind his neck and stayed close. The book tipped against his thigh, and he caught it before it fell.

Zhiyi took it from him and placed it on the table without checking the page.

Qinghe smiled against her mouth. "We’re going to lose our place."

"I’ll find it tomorrow," Zhiyi replied, drawing him back. "I’d rather you kept doing this."

He put his arms around her and let her settle against him. She was warm and familiar, yet he still felt a rush of pleasure whenever she reached for him first.

When they paused, Qinghe brushed his thumb beneath her chin.

"Come to my room tonight," he said. "I want more time with you than we get before someone remembers the kettle or calls us to dinner."

Zhiyi rested her forehead against his for a moment, then slipped her feet to the floor.

"Bring the book," she told him, keeping hold of his hand as she stood. "But leave it beside the bed when we get there."