Ever since Han Qiang had a traffic accident two years earlier, Commander Han had strictly forbidden anyone in the family from driving fast. “Better wait three minutes than rush one second” had become a household rule.
Yet the moment Han Yue left the house without a word and sped off in that jeep to find Chu Ci, he wished he could push the speedometer straight to 180 km/h.
Even though Chu Ci was now essentially in his hands—someone he could wear down or shape however he wanted—Han Yue still had a predator’s instinctive unease. Chu Ci had not truly accepted his fate and stayed by his side. Given the chance, he would still leave without hesitation.
He still wanted a normal marriage with a woman. He still wasn’t used to living with someone of the same sex. He still rejected Han Yue’s identity, his family, and everything tied to him. No matter how calm and indifferent Chu Ci appeared on the surface, no matter how powerless he seemed, Han Yue could still sense the extreme resistance beneath that cold exterior.
It made him restless and irritable.
He feared that the moment he turned away, Chu Ci would seize the chance to escape, or become involved with some woman, or disappear completely beyond his reach.
When Han Yue pulled up outside Chu Ci’s apartment and rushed upstairs in three steps at a time, all he could think was: if he’s not home, I’ll break his legs when he comes back.
He unlocked the door and kicked it open, shouting sharply, “Chu Ci! Get the fuck out here!”
The sound of porcelain shattering came from the bathroom, followed by continuous running water.
Han Yue actually felt a flicker of relief—he’s home.
He rushed into the bathroom and saw Chu Ci standing at the sink with his back to him. A bottle of hand soap had shattered on the floor, glass fragments scattered everywhere. Chu Ci had a deep cut on his finger, blood flowing freely as he rinsed it under cold water.
“What are you doing? I just called you, and you broke the bottle?” Han Yue’s anger dissipated instantly. His expression even softened as he walked over and hugged Chu Ci from behind. “Did I scare you?”
Chu Ci didn’t respond. His body seemed to tremble slightly for some reason.
Han Yue didn’t care. He wrapped an arm around Chu Ci’s waist and lifted his injured hand to inspect it. “Tch, that’s a pretty deep cut. I’ll get you a bandage.”
He was extremely familiar with this rented three-bedroom apartment and quickly found the medical kit. He carefully cleaned the wound and wrapped it.
During that time, Chu Ci stood motionless in the bathroom, washing his hands under running water. The water pressure was so strong that by the time Han Yue finished bandaging him, his hands were completely cold, as if they had been soaked for a long time.
“What were you doing washing so long?” Han Yue asked casually. “I called you several times. Why didn’t you answer?”
Chu Ci opened his mouth but no sound came out. After a few seconds, he said, “…I was showering. I didn’t hear.”
Han Yue smiled and leaned in to sniff his neck. “Fresh. What soap are you using? That mint scent’s pretty nice.”
Chu Ci subtly pulled back. “What are you doing here?”
“What, I can’t come? You weren’t answering my calls. Fucking hell, I was stuck at home the whole time dealing with that mess. My whole damn family’s useless…”
He paused, then patted Chu Ci’s face lightly and familiarly. “Baby, you’re still the most to my taste.”
Chu Ci turned his head sharply, but still failed to avoid it completely. Han Yue’s fingertips brushed his cheek, and the faint touch sent a strange electric sensation through him.
In the next instant, Chu Ci tried to stand, clearly wanting to leave the cramped and ambiguous space, but before he could fully rise, Han Yue dragged him back down and pinned him in his arms.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“…Let go of me.”
“No.”
Han Yue bit his neck, speaking indistinctly. “I want to fuck you.”
Chu Ci shoved at him hard, but before he could break free, Han Yue flipped him over and pinned him against the sink. The sharp edge pressed into his abdomen, making him groan. Han Yue covered his mouth with one hand and quickly stripped off his shirt with the other.
At that moment, Han Yue’s phone suddenly rang sharply. The screen showed: Hou Yu.
He cursed under his breath but did not stop.
The phone rang again shortly after—this time from Hou Yu’s father.
Chu Ci’s voice trembled slightly. “…There’s… a call…”
“Later,” Han Yue said hoarsely, pushing deeper.
The ringing stopped, then started again. This time it was the old Commander of the Han family.
Han Yue’s temper snapped completely. He almost wanted to smash the phone. His movements turned rougher.
Chu Ci clenched his teeth, nails digging into his palm, and finally cried out with a trembling voice, “…Han Yue, stop—stop for a moment…”
Hearing his name from Chu Ci’s lips had an almost drug-like effect on Han Yue. His blood surged violently to his head, burning through every nerve.
He climaxed abruptly, earlier than usual, his body trembling with the intensity of it.
Afterward, he held Chu Ci lazily, kissing his neck and collarbone with unhurried familiarity.
“Baby, why are you embarrassed?” he chuckled softly.
The phone rang again.
Han Yue answered lazily while still holding Chu Ci. “Yeah? What is it?”
“Han Yue,” the Commander’s voice came through, stern and heavy. “Call the Hou family immediately. I don’t care what you were doing—call them now. Hou Yu’s nephew, Hou Hongchang, has had an accident.”
Han Yue raised an eyebrow. “What, did he drunk-drive again?”
“Fuck!” Commander Han roared. “He’s been murdered!”
It took Han Yue a full hour to drive to Cheng Xurong’s apartment.
That couldn’t really be blamed on him. He and Hou Hongchang had never been particularly close, and besides, the man was already dead. Even if Han Yue had driven like a maniac, it wouldn’t have changed anything—he didn’t possess any elixir capable of bringing the dead back to life.
More importantly, under those circumstances, Han Yue had to deal with his lover first. He had to settle him down, help him wash up, carry him to bed, and prepare something to eat and drink, maybe exchange a few intimate words. Although Chu Ci never gave him a warm response, Han Yue could still ramble on for ten or twenty minutes by himself. By the time he left Chu Ci’s place, half an hour had already passed since Commander Han’s call.
Hou Yu was squatting at the entrance of the apartment building, smoking with a dark expression. The moment he saw Han Yue, he stood up immediately.
“It’s over,” he said, his voice trembling. “It’s really over.”
“What’s over?” Han Yue asked. “What, was it his mistress who did it?”
“Someone actually dared to touch one of us—what else would you call that if not ‘over’?” Hou Yu’s fingers shook as he pointed at a guard beside him. “Go. Take Young Master Han upstairs to the scene.”
The scene had already been fully sealed off by the police. The area was on high alert. When Han Yue reached the doorway, he saw a large spray-pattern bloodstain on the floor, clean and decisive in its distribution—blood spatter radiating outward without any sign of interruption.
Hou Hongchang’s body lay on the ground, covered by a white sheet. Han Yue stepped carefully over the blood and lifted the sheet slightly.
Hou Hongchang’s face was still frozen in the extreme terror he had died with—eyes wide open, unable to rest in peace.
Although Han Yue hadn’t been close to him, seeing someone who had been alive and energetic not long ago reduced to a corpse still made him sigh inwardly.
“His entire neck was almost severed. The trachea was completely cut, cervical vertebra shattered. If the wound had been two centimeters deeper, his head would’ve come off,” Pei Zhi said as he stepped forward and crouched beside Han Yue. “I just spoke with the coroner. Guess what the weapon was?”
Han Yue studied the wound. “A dagger?”
“A knife. A short blade.” Pei Zhi gestured with his hand. “Slightly longer than a dagger, with a wider curve on the edge, and extremely—extremely sharp. A wound like this can only be produced by a single strike. Definitely not an ordinary short knife.”
Han Yue fell silent for a moment. “Sounds like some kind of military blade.”
“Ordinary people don’t have access to military knives. Even if they did—” Pei Zhi paused. “—they couldn’t possibly use it with the skill of a professional soldier.”
At that moment, two forensic officers approached with equipment cases. Pei Zhi and Han Yue stepped aside. Hou Hongchang’s parents and Hou Yu’s mother had also arrived; the two women were crying uncontrollably, while Hou Hongchang’s father, the deputy mayor Hou, stood off to the side smoking in silence, his expression grim and terrifying.
Because of family ties, Pei Zhi comforted them briefly. Han Yue, sent by General Han, stayed on the perimeter, organizing security, coordinating police, and keeping reporters from swarming in.
As the owner of the apartment, Cheng Xurong had already been taken under supervision in the outer living room. Normally she carried herself with charm and confidence, but now she was completely undone, pale and shaken, sobbing incoherently.
“The moment I heard about this, I knew it probably wasn’t her,” Hou Yu said after finishing his cigarette and returning with a drained expression. “She clung to Hou Hongchang too tightly. She didn’t have the nerve or the capability to do something like this.”
Han Yue nodded and walked into the living room, signaling the two female officers guarding Cheng Xurong to step away slightly.
“It really… really wasn’t me!” Cheng Xurong’s usual composure was gone. She looked almost hysterical. “I didn’t know anything! I was in the bathroom, I never came out. By the time I did, it was already… already…”
Han Yue cut her off. “Go through it carefully. Tell us exactly what happened.”
“I was in the bathroom!” she suddenly broke down. “When Hou Hongchang arrived, I was still in there. I told him I’d come out in a few minutes. Then I heard the doorbell. Yes, the doorbell. He asked who it was…”
“He went to open the door?”
“He said ‘coming, coming.’ I had the water running, I didn’t pay attention to anything. I didn’t hear a single sound! I thought it was his friends. When I came out of the bathroom, I saw him lying at the doorway… already…”
“From the moment you heard him go to open the door to when you came out, how long was it roughly?”
“Five minutes…” Cheng Xurong hesitated. “Maybe… three or four?”
“You didn’t see anyone suspicious?”
“No! I really didn’t!” she cried out. “I don’t know anything!”
Han Yue and Hou Yu exchanged a look. Both of their gazes were heavy.
Although Cheng Xurong was already terrified out of her wits, her recollection of the situation remained clear. From her account, after Hou Hongchang opened the door for the killer, he didn’t even have time to cry out before he was immediately killed—instantly transformed from a living person into a corpse.
Within just two or three minutes afterward, when Cheng Xurong came out of the bathroom, the killer had already vanished without a trace. Whether the killer ran down the stairs or left by some other method, the departure was extremely fast and efficient. This clearly was not a crime of impulse, but one that had been carefully planned and calculated in advance.
Strike upon arrival, kill in one blow, leave immediately after completion—every aspect, from timing to execution to outcome to escape, was controlled with extreme precision. It was chilling. Such a ruthless and efficient method of killing was not something an ordinary person could achieve; even professional assassins rarely reached this level.
An ominous feeling hung over everyone like thick clouds, pressing heavily on their minds.
At that moment, Pei Zhi stepped forward and patted Hou Yu’s shoulder. “Come take a look. The people sent to check the surveillance footage in the neighborhood are back.”