A buzzing sound filled Luo Hai’s head. Before he could even process what was happening, he had already rushed to the window and flung it open.
The late autumn wind poured into the room, lifting the strands of his hair that had just been dampened with sweat.
The music became clearer, but when Luo Hai looked outside, he saw nothing.
There were too many blind spots around the buildings—just looking out wouldn’t be enough to spot the violinist.
But the violin continued to play, its notes drifting through the air, elusive yet persistent. The player’s technique was far from perfect, with frequent pauses and off-key notes.
Luo Hai gripped the window frame tightly, his body stiff for a long moment before finally walking over to the desk, pulling out a sheet of paper, and writing down the corresponding letters for each note.
He had long since memorized the cipher they had discovered at the Lightwing Society’s hideout. He didn’t even need to glance at it—he could decode the hidden message within the melody instantly.
—— No. 184, South Third Road, District Seven.
It was an address.
Luo Hai clenched the paper with the address, his emotions tangled and chaotic.
He couldn’t understand what was going through Eugene’s head.
He should have taken the first chance he got to run far away, leaving his sight forever—leaving this dangerous city behind.
Luo Hai had already steeled himself, prepared to never see Eugene again in this lifetime. And yet, this bastard had ignored every warning, loitering around him like nothing had happened, even using this kind of method to send him a coded message!
Did he have a death wish?
Did he not fear that Luo Hai would hand over this address to the Prosecutor’s Office immediately?
Luo Hai had half a mind to storm downstairs, grab that unfazed violinist by the collar, and land a punch straight on his face. But he forced himself to hold back.
That would be too conspicuous. It might attract unwanted attention from the neighbors.
Just as he was about to put the paper away, the violin began playing again—a different melody this time.
As the notes pieced together in Luo Hai’s mind, forming a coherent message, his pen froze above the paper.
—— I miss you, Luo Hai.
…..
In the end, Luo Hai didn’t tell anyone about the message.
He didn’t submit it to the Prosecutor’s Office.
He didn’t tell Doyle.
Not even Colin.
The next day, as soon as work ended, he placed his unfinished paperwork on his desk, walked out of the Prosecutor’s Office alone, started his car, and drove toward District Seven.
District Seven was in the most remote corner of Nantes, far from the city center. Everywhere he looked, there were barren fields and desolate land. He drove for miles without seeing a single soul.
The willow trees lining the road were so thick that it would take several people to wrap their arms around one. Wild grass swayed gently in the crisp autumn wind, and the setting sun cast a golden glow on Luo Hai’s car window.
He reached out and flipped down the sun visor, keeping his eyes locked on the road ahead.
South Third Road was even more isolated than the rest of District Seven. By the time he got there, there was barely any sign of human activity.
The road was mostly occupied by heavy-duty trucks carrying large cargo and coal tankers. In the dense foliage by the roadside, a herd of sheep meandered along leisurely, occasionally glancing up at the strange metal beast passing them by.
Luo Hai drove up and down the road for a long time but found no sign of No. 184.
He got out of the car and asked around, feeling an urge to just turn around and leave—but he held himself back.
Eugene had a hold on him.
His desire to see him again was overwhelming—so much so that it drowned out reason, silenced duty, and overrode the beliefs he had held for over a decade.
He asked a shepherd by the road, asked a middle-aged woman chewing bubble gum at a toll booth, asked a little boy running along the edge of a field—and finally, he confirmed the location of No. 184.
It was an unassuming, run-down bungalow near an old willow tree by the lake.
The house was dilapidated, its walls covered in faded graffiti. It had probably been built as a commercial space once, but now it just stood there inconspicuously, blending into the landscape like any other abandoned building.
But as Luo Hai parked, he noticed that the area around the house was kept spotless. The windowsills were dust-free—clearly, someone had been cleaning it regularly.
A simple sign hung outside the door, placed almost deliberately out of sight:
— Corner Café.
He stepped out of the car, pushed open the door, and entered. The bell above the entrance gave a crisp chime, ringing softly through the dimly lit space.
A single flickering ceiling lamp cast a faint glow, barely illuminating the compact interior. Wooden walls lined with subtle grain patterns framed the room, and green vines wrapped in plastic draped over the bar counter.
Luo Hai stopped in his tracks.
Behind the counter, a familiar figure stood, unhurriedly washing a glass.
Blond, slightly wavy short hair swayed gently with his movements. Half of his face was hidden in shadow, while the other half was highlighted by the dim light, accentuating his sharp, striking features.
“Take a seat,” he said, his tone as casual as if Luo Hai were just another ordinary customer. He didn’t even pause his motions as he cleaned the glass. “What would you like to drink?”
Luo Hai said nothing.
“The menu’s on the wall,” the blond man said, nodding toward it lazily, continuing his work.
“Coffee,” Luo Hai finally spoke.
“What kind of coffee?” the blond man asked.
“Cappuccino,” Luo Hai replied.
“Freshly brewed or instant?” the blond man asked.
“Freshly brewed,” Luo Hai said.
The blond man made an “OK” gesture at him, humming a tune as he got to work.
Luo Hai watched as he unbuttoned the top of his collar, his slender fingers pouring coffee beans from a paper bag, filling a small pot with water, and placing it on the stove.
Even someone as unfamiliar with coffee as Luo Hai could tell that his skills were improvised—he had no idea what temperature the water should be or how to properly grind the beans.
But his hands were beautiful, graceful in their movements. The sunlight happened to fall on his forehead, making his blond hair shine even brighter.
A single snapshot could easily grace the cover of a magazine.
The handsome blond man finally managed to brew the coffee. When he brought it over, he almost forgot to add the milk foam. What he did manage to whip up was a disaster—half of it sank to the bottom, while the rest barely floated on top, looking absolutely unappealing.
Yet, he still seriously placed a tiny umbrella in the coffee cup, pushing it toward Luo Hai with an earnest expression.
“Here you go, sir. Your coffee.”
Luo Hai didn’t respond. The moment the man leaned in, Luo Hai drew his gun from his waist and pressed it against his forehead.
The coffee was warm. The muzzle was cold.
Eugene showed no surprise. Instead, he smiled—his voice soft and affectionate, like a whisper against a pillow.
“Here we go again,” he chuckled.
“I told you not to come back,” Luo Hai said, his voice strained with barely suppressed anger, perhaps even a slight tremor.
“I still have things to do.” Eugene’s lips remained curved in a faint smile.
“What things? Waiting to get caught and executed?” Luo Hai’s voice rose, unable to contain his fury any longer.
But Eugene only gave a faint smile before slowly lowering his head, pressing his forehead against the barrel of Luo Hai’s gun.
Between them, the coffee let off wisps of rising steam.
Luo Hai instinctively tried to pull his hand back, but Eugene grabbed the gun, keeping him from retreating.
“Then shoot, Luo Hai.” Eugene gazed at him with amusement. “You already missed your first chance—don’t miss the second. Pull the trigger. Kill me. Bring my body back to the prosecution office, present my head on a platter, and turn me into your greatest achievement.”
Luo Hai glared at him fiercely, his expression so sharp, yet his eyes shone with a watery light, reflecting the sun—on the verge of tears.
His fingers trembled uncontrollably. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t steady his grip on the gun.
Eugene slowly lifted his head, pressing down on Luo Hai’s gun, forcing it onto the table.
“I’m a fugitive,” Eugene whispered. “And you—you’re the traitor who let a fugitive go.”
“We’re tied together, Prosecutor Luo Hai.”
Luo Hai had no time to react. His mind blanked for a split second, and when he came to, he was already pinned against the wall, Eugene’s arms wrapped around him, kissing him.
The crash of furniture rang out—a chaotic noise.
Somehow, one of them must have knocked over the coffee cup. The poorly made cappuccino spilled over the bar counter, forming a steaming, warm little river.
He didn’t even know who moved first—whether Eugene pinned him or he reached for Eugene first.
He couldn’t remember who touched whose lips first. But in that moment, when their warmth connected, the entire world disappeared.
The rich scent of Eugene’s pheromones enveloped him like strong liquor, igniting a familiar pain that spread through his entire body, pulling at every nerve.
It gave him a twisted thrill—made him feel alive in his heavy, hollow shell, as if he had been drowning for centuries and had finally caught hold of a thin rope.
He held on tightly, desperately, willing to break his fingers before letting go.
Eugene’s embrace was broad and burning hot. The sound of fabric rubbing against fabric tingled against Luo Hai’s ears.
He melted into every ragged breath, into every heated glance. He greedily inhaled Eugene’s scent, diving into the warmth like a moth to a flame.
He had no idea how long the kiss lasted.
The pheromones in the air thickened to an unbearable level until Luo Hai’s arm suddenly knocked against the bookshelf by the bar. A few books slid off, brushing against his shoulder as they fell to the floor with a dull thud.
Eugene pulled back, looking at him like a half-tamed beast, suppressing his instincts—yet his eyes remained bloodshot.
“…Does it hurt?” he asked.
Luo Hai felt as if he had just been doused in cold water, jolted awake from a dream.
He suddenly pushed Eugene away and slapped him across the face.
