The chemistry and physics labs of C-Lab were on the seventh and eighth floors, their doors left slightly ajar.
Zhen Nuan wasn’t familiar with this place. She wandered around a few times, hesitant to ask anyone for help, just peeking timidly into doorways, searching.
“Who are you looking for?”
A soft, gentle voice drifted from an open office.
Relief washed over her. She hurried toward the sound.
Inside, the office was bright and orderly. A woman in a white lab coat stood by a bookshelf, flipping through a book. She looked about Zhen Nuan’s age—fair-skinned, calm, and kind.
Zhen Nuan held up an evidence bag awkwardly. “I’m new in pathology. I have some evidence that needs testing.”
“I know,” the woman smiled. “Nuan Nuan Beauty.”
Zhen Nuan blushed. That nickname—Guan Xiaoyu had really made it famous.
The woman looked at her for a moment, still smiling. “I’m Qin Shu.”
“Oh, I’m Zhen Nuan.”
Zhen Nuan handed her the bag and explained the case. Qin Shu glanced at it. “You think there are fingerprints?”
“Yeah. But the initial test didn’t find any.”
“Maybe they were wiped off. That’s fine. There’s still a way.”
Zhen Nuan’s eyes lit up. “What way?”
“Want to come see?”
“Okay.” Zhen Nuan found the lab staff surprisingly approachable.
Qin Shu led her upstairs to the chemistry lab. She switched on a device that looked like a vertical microwave, hung the belt inside, poured a thick, transparent liquid into the tray, and closed the door.
Zhen Nuan leaned closer. “What’s that?”
“Cyanoacrylate.”
“Super glue?”
“Yes,” Qin Shu smiled. “When fingerprints are wiped off or absorbed by material, they can’t be detected normally. But if you heat cyanoacrylate, the vapor attaches to any remaining prints and turns them white.”
Mist began forming inside.
“It’ll take a while. Have some water.” Qin Shu handed her a cup and sat beside her. “Are you adjusting well? It’s nice here—people are simple, and the focus is on the work.”
Zhen Nuan smiled softly, glancing at the neat instruments around them. She felt content, though words failed her. She wanted to connect with this kind girl.
She blushed slightly and said, “The C-Lab’s equipment is incredible—better than the U.S.”
“Working here gets addictive,” Qin Shu laughed. “Have you seen the crime simulation lab?”
“The one that reconstructs crime scenes? I have—it’s amazing!”
Before she could finish, the door opened.
Zhen Nuan turned, still smiling shyly—and froze.
It was Yan Han.
He stopped too. For a moment, the air between them seemed to still. Then both looked away.
Her heart skipped. He held paper bags—desserts, maybe?
He brought food for Qin Shu? The thought left a strange feeling in her chest.
The atmosphere in the late-night lab suddenly shifted, delicate and hard to name.
Zhen Nuan set her cup down, ready to leave. Yan Han placed the bags on the table and turned toward the door.
“You…” Qin Shu called softly, then stopped.
He turned back. “What?”
She smiled faintly, her tone warm, “Just leaving already?” A trace of something hopeful slipped through.
He paused. “Smoking,” he said, raising a finger toward the hallway.
After he left, Qin Shu looked regretful. Maybe she’d been too obvious.
Before awkwardness could set in, the device behind them beeped.
Qin Shu put on gloves, opened it, and carefully took out the belt.
A faint white print appeared along the uneven ridge.
“Not a full print,” Qin Shu observed. “Quality’s low. If Guan Xiaoyu or I redraw it, it’ll take a day.”
Redraw? Zhen Nuan was curious but didn’t ask. She thanked her and left.
The stairs were quiet. As she pushed open the security door, she heard the rough swish of a match being struck.
Yan Han stood there, leaning against the wall, lighting a cigarette. The glow flickered, painting his hand in warm pink.
The flame was soft—nothing like the harsh spark of a lighter. It made his features stand out, his deep-set eyes calm yet shadowed.
He flicked the match into the sand bin. Thin smoke curled up, carrying the faint scent of wood.
Through the blue-gray haze, he watched her. His gaze was steady, unreadable.
Zhen Nuan shifted uneasily, unsure why he looked at her like that.
Then, amusement glimmered in his eyes.
He noticed the faint red fingerprints still visible on her cheeks—his doing. They stood out clearly against her pale skin.
A smile tugged at his lips. At first, he tried to suppress it, but then he chuckled outright.
Zhen Nuan blinked, confused. When she caught her reflection in the wall mirror, her face flushed scarlet.
“…”
How could this man be so shameless?
Yan Han’s gaze softened. He remembered how her cheek had felt beneath his fingers—warm and soft, like kneading mochi.
He exhaled smoke slowly. That fleeting sensation lingered, hazy and light, like smoke itself.
“It’s really funny,” he said, then laughed again.
She glared, furious, but he only shrugged. He didn’t smoke further, waiting for her to pass. He never smoked around others—especially not women.
Zhen Nuan didn’t know that.
Silence stretched between them.
She looked at him, recalling what Ji Farah said about his past. How could someone like him still work as a detective after all that?
But she couldn’t ask directly.
“Captain,” she said instead, “why did you become a criminal police officer?”
He raised a brow. “Why, you want to talk about life and ideals?”
She sighed inwardly. He really wasn’t one for serious answers.
After a pause, he added lazily, “People like me fit this job best.”
“What kind of person?”
He smiled faintly. “Someone who treats life and death lightly—without attachments.”
Zhen Nuan froze. Her throat tightened.
He smiled often, she realized, but he never seemed happy. His eyes, though beautiful, looked so empty.
Before she could speak, he looked down at her face again. “Next time you’re in danger, break the fingers—or kick here.”
Her eyes widened when she saw where he pointed.
Her face burned.
He smirked. “But if your opponent is me—you can’t kick there.”
Zhen Nuan’s mind went blank. Why would I even want to?
Before she could retort, her phone rang. Shen Yi.
Grateful for the interruption, she nodded quickly and hurried upstairs, her heels tapping against the floor.
“Hello?”
The voice on the other end was cool. “Busy?”
She smiled softly. “Just working. Needed to take off my gloves first.”
Downstairs, Yan Han listened to her voice through the quiet air. The corners of his mouth lifted.
He knew her well—every small motion timed in his head. Nine seconds to remove gloves, one to reach the sink, three to wash, two to dry. She answered within five.
Shen Yi wasn’t easy to fool.
“Why aren’t you talking?” she asked.
“Checking emails,” he said slowly. “I didn’t agree with you taking that job. It’s exhausting.”
“I didn’t hide it,” she said gently. “I just didn’t want to tell you unless I passed.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll pick you up.”
She hesitated. “A case just came up…”
“Then we’ll see tomorrow.” His tone softened. “Rest well.”
“Okay.”
She ended the call, pushing through the door to the corridor.
Below, Yan Han stubbed out his cigarette. The sensor light flicked off, and his shadowed figure melted into the darkness.
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