Chapter 3: The Silent Danger of Amber Eyes
Yan Han was taken aback. He thought she might know some self-defense moves, but unexpectedly, her delicate frame fell into his arms, warm and fragrant.
She was surprisingly fragile, easily subdued. Twisting and struggling, she whined anxiously, yet no sound escaped her lips.
He frowned, applied a bit more pressure, and she immediately stilled. He released her mouth; she understood and remained silent.
“Zhen Nuan, Doctor of Pathology and Toxicology.” His tone was cool, yet certain.
The woman in his grasp felt as if acupunctured; her body froze.
“You’re working at the Yucheng Crime Lab now. Why?”
“Who are you?”
“Yan Han.” He feigned cooperation, though it was meaningless—she had no idea who he was.
He didn’t explain further. “The drug in the water was trivial for you, but I missed the one in the cigarette and inhaled it. Now I feel…”
He spoke slowly, each word deliberate in the darkness. Her hair stood on end. She tried to feign ignorance, but he pressed: “We should do something.”
Zhen Nuan was on the verge of tears but couldn’t let them fall. She twisted anxiously, saying, “You know Shen Yi, right?”
“Um.”
“Someone is trying to sow discord between you and him.”
“Heh.” He chuckled, intrigued. He had expected her to use Shen Yi to threaten him, but she seemed cautious.
She softened her voice. “Don’t fall into their trap, okay? If you inhale drugs, I can help you eliminate it. You don’t want to be taken advantage of, right? What a coward.”
He raised a faint corner of his lips. She was clever, her words precise—but he didn’t care.
When he remained silent, she sighed, resigned, and whispered softly, “…Please… don’t hurt me. I’m afraid of pain.”
“…“ Yan Han froze, struck silent.
He let her go and stood.
Zhen Nuan’s wrist throbbed. Once free, she rubbed it, producing two sharp “crunch” sounds, like an old woman’s joints.
“Tsk,” he murmured politely, “Sister, I apologize for offending you just now.”
Zhen Nuan stood, knees creaking in anger.
“Don’t worry. No one can drive a wedge between Shen Yi and me.” His tone was flat, yet Zhen Nuan sensed an underlying edge.
She opened to question him, but he left, opening the door. Light poured in, and she squinted. In the ethereal white glow, his silhouette appeared unreal and slender.
“See you later, Miss Zhen Nuan.”
She blushed inwardly. Who wants to see you again!
She donned her coat, picked up her bag, and left the room. In the lobby, faint cries for help reached her ears.
A man in black-framed glasses rushed toward her. “Sister-in-law, are you okay?”
It was Dai Qing, Shen Yi’s right-hand man and the hotel’s owner. He approached with utmost respect.
Zhen Nuan blinked, confused. “Ah? What’s the matter?”
Dai Qing’s eyes widened as he noticed unfamiliar waiters, recalling that Shen Yi’s rival, Yan Han, was present today. Suspicion gripped him.
Seeing her flushed cheeks, he asked nervously, “Sister-in-law, were you beaten?”
“No,” she said, rubbing her face. “I hit myself a few times; my teeth hurt.”
Dai Qing, knowing her delicate constitution, said, “It’s cold. I’ll take you home.”
Suddenly, a loud bang echoed outside, like an explosion. Dai Qing shielded her as she checked her watch: 5:27:41. She pushed his hand away and ran, recognizing the sound—flesh hitting concrete.
“Ah!” screamed a voice. “The bride jumped off the building!”
Dai Qing called Shen Yi, reporting Zhen Nuan’s safety. Shen Yi’s response was curt and analytical. Dai Qing explained: someone was trying to sow discord between Shen Yi and Yan Han.
Meanwhile, Zhen Nuan, headphones on, dialed 120 and rushed to the scene. Between the clubhouse and hotel lay a lawn and parking lot. People gathered, too fearful to approach.
The woman in a bloodied wedding dress lay twisted on the ground, her white gown blooming like a snowy flower, crimson stains scattered across it.
Zhen Nuan knelt, inspecting her head. The junction of the temporal and occipital bones was nearly flat, puncturing the scalp. She was alive but barely; her hands flailed, twitching like a skinned snake.
“Did someone push you, or did you jump?” Zhen Nuan asked, leaning closer.
“Jiang Xiao!” A man’s urgent voice interrupted. He was Shen Zetian, the groom. The deceased in the wedding dress was his ex-girlfriend.
Zhen Nuan checked the pulse, heartbeat, and pupils. She was dead.
“Don’t get close!” Zhen Nuan warned Shen Zetian. “Wait for the police!”
A man in a black windbreaker examined the body calmly. His gray scarf covered his chin, but his eyes, when revealed, smiled faintly.
“Hi, nice to see you again so soon,” he said. Yan Han. His gaze then froze on Zhen Nuan—not her beauty, but her amber eyes, reminiscent of Xia Shi, the only girl he ever loved.
Zhen Nuan glanced at the squatting man, recognizing him from earlier encounters. Her colleague Guan Xiaoyu arrived, whispering through the crowd:
“Captain Yan… Captain Yan, what a coincidence, why are you… squatting here?”
Yan Han asked flatly, “Should I lie here?”
Guan Xiaoyu chuckled bitterly, then went upstairs for the trace test. Zhen Nuan only glimpsed black before her eyes—Captain?
Returning to China, Zhen Nuan chose Yucheng’s C-Lab, following a recommendation from Professor Zheng at the University of Pennsylvania. The lab combined pathology, toxicology, chemistry, physics, anthropology, entomology, botany, and dentistry—China’s only multidisciplinary crime lab.
Yan Han, her immediate superior, knew her connections and motives. Zhen Nuan realized why he had questioned her work at the lab in the dark. Shen Yi had a complicated past, and anyone could exploit small details if Yan Han wished.
With resolve, Zhen Nuan prepared her tools, tied her hair, donned gloves, and began examining the deceased, noting the wedding dress, its tears, and missing belt sections. Yan Han observed the white belt, sprayed it with ninhydrin, and instructed her to take it for chemical treatment.
Zhen Nuan’s nervousness was palpable. Yan Han noticed and smirked faintly.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked.
She shook her head guiltily.
“I won’t eat you,” he said lightly.
The investigation continued. Zhen Nuan analyzed shoes, blood, and debris. Police arrived, setting up cordons. Yan Han instructed her upstairs. The room on the 7th floor showed signs of struggle: moved sofas, a broken ashtray, scattered petals and confetti, and a piece of lace matching the deceased’s dress.
Shen Zetian’s bride, Dong Sisi, appeared, noble and composed, while Ji Fala, a mischievous girl from the Ji family, tried to intervene. Yan Han restrained her, teaching her a lesson in authority, leaving Zhen Nuan both impressed and relieved.
“Who said this is the crime scene?” Yan Han asked.
“This is not the crime scene,” Zhen Nuan affirmed.
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