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Shen Wei is making dinner when the doorbell rings.
He takes a moment to check that nothing will suffer if he leaves it for a moment to answer the door. Satisfied, he crosses the length of the apartment he, Zhao Yunlan, and Da Qing had selected together.
They had only moved in a little over a month ago and just finished unpacking three days prior to this. Everything still has the shine of newness and just looking around at all of their things in the places they chose together—Shen Wei is smiling when he opens the door.
He’s surprised to find a uniformed female Dragon City police officer accompanied by an older male—civilian if his clothing is anything to go by. Shen Wei inclines his head. “Officer. Sir. How can I help you?”
He hopes they’re not here to investigate him for some kind of crime. Zhao Yunlan would be amused and completely unbearable.
They bow formally and the officer says, “May we come in?”
“Of course.” Shen Wei steps back, widening the opening and allowing them to step inside. He glances back at the kitchen as they enter. “Pardon me, I’m just in the middle of making dinner.”
“No problem,” the officer says as Shen Wei moves back into the kitchen. She holds out her badge. “I’m Officer Han Qingyang. This is He Tingxuan, a police chaplain.”
Shen Wei pauses, a funny feeling tickling at the back of his mind.
“You are Shen Wei, professor at Dragon City University, is that correct?”
Shen Wei turns away from the stove. “Yes, that’s correct. What is this about?”
The officer gestures to one of the seats at their dining room table, pulling the chair out. “Would you mind taking a seat?”
The ominous feeling grows. It feels as though Shen Wei’s lungs are constricting, forgetting how to draw breath. The man—He Tingxuan—a police chaplain—gingerly touches his shoulder and guides him toward the chair. Shen Wei sits, but he doesn’t want to.
Both the officer and He Tingxuan draw up chairs, sitting at either of Shen Wei’s knees. Their expressions are solemn. Shen Wei’s eyes flick between them, and he asks again through numb lips, “What is this about?”
“I’m sorry,” He Tingxuan says, eyes pinching, “we have some very bad news for you.”
Shen Wei tries to swallow and finds he can’t.
“Your partner, Zhao Yunlan, he was killed this afternoon.”
A choked, whimper of a noise bursts from Shen Wei’s mouth, and he covers it with the back of his wrist. The top of his head feels hot, overfull, but he can’t feel anything from his lips down. He’s frozen, unable to process—to comprehend . Are they certain? How—how can it be true? He would know, would have felt something—
He doesn’t realize how long he’s been silent until he looks up and finds that the officer has moved to the stove to turn the burner off and set aside the pan he’d been using. That’s for Zhao Yunlan , he almost tells her. He’s breathing too sharp and too fast when he manages, “How?”
The officer returns to her seat, meets his eye. “He was shot while pursuing a suspect.”
“Shot,” Shen Wei breathes, and another noise wrenches from his throat. While he struggles to wrap his mind around that, around the mental image of Zhao Yunlan taking a bullet—there had been so many times when it could have happened before and now—why this time?—part of him immediately thinks of the rest of the team. “Was anyone else injured?”
Both shake their heads.
“No, only Zhao Yunlan.”
“Where were they?” he demands harshly and they exchange a look.
“They were also in pursuit—”
Shen Wei realizes his hands have begun to shake and he curls them into fists, presses them against his knees. “Was the suspect captured?”
The officer nods decisively. “Yes,” she says, and her voice hardens to steel, “and he will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”
Shen Wei stares unseeingly at the hardwood floor. That won’t be enough. Haixing punishments are so lax. Putting them in a cell for a few dozen years—it could never begin to weigh justice for Zhao Yunlan’s life. But maybe the suspect was Dixingren—if that’s the case—
“Haixing or Dixing?” he asks and the officer and the chaplain exchange another look.
“That’s information we can’t share,” the officer says slowly.
It doesn’t really matter. Shen Wei will find them wherever they are and make them pay for what they’ve done, even if it will only be paltry indemnification. He owes Zhao Yunlan at least that much.
His heart aches as though he’s been driven through with poisoned needles. It’s been mere minutes he’s lived in a world without Zhao Yunlan, but the pain is consuming, unlike anything he’s ever felt. He must make it long enough to see to Zhao Yunlan’s affairs, to ruin his killer—
“Professor Shen, is there someone we can call for you?” the chaplain asks.
The team must already know if they were also pursuing the suspect. How could they let this happen? Shen Wei shakes his head stiffly. “No.”
“Can we help you notify anyone else?”
Zhao Xinci , he thinks dimly. Someone will have to inform him. Shen Wei isn’t sure he could be trusted not to tear Zhao Xinci limb from limb for— any reaction he may have to the news of his son’s death. “His father.”
“Okay, we can do that.”
The officer scribbles in her notepad while the chaplain keeps looking at Shen Wei. “Would you like to view Zhao Yunlan? We’re certain of the identification, but some people find that—”
“Yes,” Shen Wei replies. The idea of seeing Zhao Yunlan’s corpse is nigh unbearable, but he needs to see, he needs to feel for himself— “When?”
The chaplain looks to the officer.
“We can go now,” she says, “or tomorrow, when you have someone—”
Shen Wei pushes to feet he can hardly feel. When he wobbles, one of them catches him by the arm. “Now,” he says.
“Okay,” the chaplain says gently, “we can go now.”
Shen Wei’s life has already ended, he can at least see that justice—meager though it may be—is swift.
—
They pack him carefully into a ministry car.
Shen Wei is hardly aware of his surroundings, having retreated into his memories. He returns to the moment he first saw Zhao Yunlan in this millennium, head poking out of a window. It had ached then, but it aches more now, knowing how excruciatingly short their time together would be. No length of time could have ever been enough, but he had foolishly hoped—
It had seemed like a dream after so long, like something he had wished into being. But Zhao Yunlan had taken his hand and everything had changed. It had been like going from Dixing to Haixing, the whole world brightening and going more vivid around him. Kunlun lived .
Now, just a few scant months later, hardly longer than they’d spent together the first time, and he was gone again. This time with no promise to return.
It gutted Shen Wei.
He didn’t realize they’d arrived until the car door opened for him and the chaplain—what had his name been? Did it matter?—peered inside.
“I’m going to stay with you the whole time, Professor Shen,” he assures as Shen Wei steps unsteadily out of the car.
There are stars twinkling overhead, the same stars he and Kunlun had looked up at all those years ago.
Shen Wei’s chest constricts and their small party pauses on the sidewalk as he breathes through the enormity of the pain. Even vengeance seems pale and meaningless in a world where he can no longer see Zhao Yunlan’s smile.
It takes a long moment, but he gathers himself and allows the officer and the chaplain to guide him inside the building. The hallways are blank and gray, which is appropriate, if not comforting. He pays little mind to their path, merely going where he’s led.
Finally, they stop in a plain gray room with a glass window embedded in one wall, currently obscured by a gray-green curtain. A monitor is mounted to one side, currently dark. Shen Wei stares at the window numbly. Somewhere under the surface of the numbness is rage and grief and sick desperation, but they’re far off.
Behind that curtain lies Zhao Yunlan.
That thought is enough for a spike of something to punch through the numbness, though he can’t put a name to it.
“...won’t be able to go in and touch him, unfortunately,” the officer is saying. “We need to preserve evidence until it can be collected.”
Shen Wei nods, throat sticking. He understands. As much as he wants to hold Zhao Yunlan, perhaps it’s better to have his last memory of Zhao Yunlan in his arms be when he was warm and full of life. Oh, god, he can’t bear this.
The chaplain takes his arm, holding it tightly, and that makes it all too real.
“Please,” Shen Wei whispers, and the officer opens the curtain, switches on the monitor.
Zhao Yunlan has been stripped of all his clothes, his torn jeans and leather jacket and soft t-shirt, left covered only with a thin, white sheet. His hair is cut short.
Shen Wei stiffens. “They cut his hair?”
The officer looks through the window and frowns. “No, Professor. This is how his hair was.”
Shen Wei is shaking his head before she can finish. “Zhao Yunlan’s hair curls around his ears. His hair has been cropped short on the sides.” He has the sickening thought that maybe Zhao Yunlan had been shot in the head and perhaps that was why his hair had been cut. That shouldn’t be worse, but it is.
Then he looks closer, his gaze darting up to the monitor next to the viewing window that offers a direct view of Zhao Yunlan’s face. Shen Wei’s knees go weak.
“That isn’t him,” he whispers.
“What? That’s impossible—”
The chaplain shores him back up and says, gently but firmly, “Are you absolutely certain?”
“Yes,” Shen Wei breathes, staring intently up at the monitor, “that man is not my Zhao Yunlan.”
He would know the curves and planes of Zhao Yunlan’s face anywhere. He has studied them so carefully, committing each dip, each imperfection, each beloved detail to memory. The man lying on the steel table in that room is not Zhao Yunlan.
And if that’s not him— where is he?
Adrenaline surges through Shen Wei’s body and he very nearly calls a gate right there in front of these two strangers. Sense wins out, barely.
The chaplain is apologizing. “We’ll find out what happened, Professor. I cannot begin to tell you how sorry we are—”
“I need to go home,” Shen Wei says. “I have to find Zhao Yunlan.”
“Of course,” the chaplain says. “We’ll take you home immediately.”
The trip back to the car is fraught. Shen Wei desperately wants to race ahead, but thanks to his earlier fugue, he has no idea where they’re going. Fortunately, the police staff seem to understand his urgency and they move quickly.
“May I borrow your cell phone?” Shen Wei asks once they’re inside.
“Of course,” the chaplain says and hands back his cell phone.
Shen Wei is grateful at least for his ability to remember numbers. He may not often make use of cell phones, but he can admit now that they have their uses. He dials Zhao Yunlan’s number first.
It goes directly to voicemail.
Shen Wei hangs up and dials Da Qing’s number next.
“Hi, Professor, what’s—”
“Da Qing, where is Zhao Yunlan?”
Da Qing is only fazed for a moment. “He headed home just a little while ago, he should be arriving if he hasn’t yet. Is something wrong?”
Shen Wei breathes and controls the urge to panic. It had been a mistake, there’s no reason to believe anything has happened to Zhao Yunlan. “No, everything’s fine. Thank you, Da Qing.”
“No problem,” Da Qing replies cheerfully. “See you later.”
Shen Wei says goodbye and hands the phone back to the chaplain. “Did you get a hold of him?”
Shen Wei shakes his head. “No, but I spoke with—his deputy. He said everything was normal. Zhao Yunlan should be home.”
“That must be a relief,” the chaplain says.
“I will feel better when I can see him for myself,” Shen Wei replies quietly.
“Understandable.”
The officer glances at Shen Wei in the rearview mirror. “Your Zhao Yunlan, he’s a police officer?”
“Chief of the Special Investigations Department.”
The officer’s eyes widen. “Oh,” she breathes. “Oh, I think I know what happened.”
“There is another Zhao Yunlan,” Shen Wei guesses, and gets a guilty, embarrassed look from the officer.
“I’m so sorry,” she says. “We should have been more careful. We should have checked the information more carefully.”
Shen Wei waves away her apology. “It doesn’t matter.” If Zhao Yunlan is alive, that’s the only thing that matters. Perhaps he should sympathize with the family of the Zhao Yunlan who was killed, but all he can bring himself to feel is desperate gratitude.
It feels like an eternity before they finally pull up in front of the apartment.
Shen Wei doesn’t bother waiting for the officer or the chaplain, sliding out of the car as soon as it comes to a stop and racing up to their unit. He pushes his key into the lock and startles when the door opens, swinging away from him and revealing—
“Zhao Yunlan,” he breathes and relief rushes through his body, weakening his knees.
“Shen Wei!” Zhao Yunlan exclaims and grabs hold of his arms, his fingers curling around Shen Wei’s elbows. “There you are! Where did you go? I got home and dinner was on the stove, but you were gone—are you all right? Did something happen?”
Shen Wei shakes his head and pulls Zhao Yunlan into his arms, clutching him tightly and feeling his chest rise and fall against his own, feeling Zhao Yunlan’s quick-beating heart under his hand.
“Baby?”
Zhao Yunlan’s arms tighten around him at the sound of approaching footsteps. He lays a hand over the back of Shen Wei’s neck and Shen Wei shudders, breathing in deeply and taking in the smell of leather and Zhao Yunlan’s skin, the faint scents of his grooming products. “Who are you?”
“You must be Chief Zhao,” Shen Wei hears the officer say.
“I am,” Zhao Yunlan replies warily, holding Shen Wei like he might fling him inside the apartment if need be. Shen Wei should say something, try to explain, but it feels as though he can barely breathe around the relief of seeing Zhao Yunlan, of feeling his body, alive and well.
The officer takes a deep breath. “Chief Zhao. I’m afraid we made a terrible mistake.”
“What kind of mistake?”
“We gave your partner a very bad shock,” the chaplain explains. “We mistakenly informed him that you had been killed in the line of duty today.”
Zhao Yunlan jolts. “You what? How the hell do you make that kind of mistake?!”
Both drop into a deep bow.
“The officer who was killed shared your name. There must have been a mixup when the records were pulled to notify the next of kin. We are deeply sorry. We should have verified the information before making the notification.”
“You’re damn right you should have,” Zhao Yunlan growls.
Shen Wei draws back from Zhao Yunlan reluctantly. He would rather cut his own hands off than remove them from Zhao Yunlan’s person at this moment. “It was an accident,” he says to Zhao Yunlan. “It doesn’t matter now. You’re here.” A reminder and a benediction.
“It matters to the family of the officer who was killed! It matters to the next person they have to notify! It matters to you .” He looks down into Shen Wei’s face, bringing one hand up to gently run his thumb over his jaw. “You must have lost your mind,” he murmurs. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, baby.”
Shen Wei would rather not think about it.
“We’ll leave you now,” the officer says. “Professor Shen, again, we are deeply sorry.”
Shen Wei nods at her in acknowledgment and then puts the both of them out of his mind. He clings embarrassingly as Zhao Yunlan retrieves his keys, leads him back into the apartment, and closes the door behind them. Zhao Yunlan squeezes him, so he must not mind terribly. He kisses the side of Shen Wei’s head, hanging the keys on the hook by the door.
Shen Wei glances toward the kitchen. “Dinner won’t be good anymore. I left it.”
Zhao Yunlan looks at him, puzzled, “Yeah, I saw that. Where did you go?”
Shen Wei tightens his grip on Zhao Yunlan’s arm. “To view your body.”
“To view— fuck ,” he says, with feeling.
Shen Wei laughs without humor and presses his forehead to Zhao Yunlan’s throat, feeling his pulse beat back against his own. He feels it when Zhao Yunlan swallows with some difficulty, his arms tightening around Shen Wei.
“If it had been me—” He sucks in a shaky breath.
Shen Wei glances over to the clock on the microwave and realizes it’s only just after seven. He’d started dinner around five-thirty, so that meant he’d spent hardly an hour under the impression that Zhao Yunlan had been killed. It had seemed so much longer. “I thought you were dead,” he murmurs, “and it was the worst hour of my life by far.”
Zhao Yunlan squeezes him and then draws back far enough to take Shen Wei’s face between his hands. “Well, I’m not,” he says sternly. “I’m alive, and I plan to stay that way.”
Shen Wei smiles wanly at him. “Good. Because without you I won’t be long for the world.”
Zhao Yunlan’s eyes darken, but he says nothing—so different from his reaction the first time Shen Wei had shown that he was willing to do anything, pay any price, to keep him whole and healthy that night in the kitchen with the knife. He hadn’t understood then, hadn’t experienced their full history together yet. They’re on more even footing now, with everything laid out between them the way it hadn’t been then.
“I don’t particularly feel like cooking,” Shen Wei confesses and Zhao Yunlan laughs wryly.
“No, I imagine you don’t. I’ll call Da Qing, have him bring something.”
“Did he have plans?”
Zhao Yunlan waves off his concern, tapping speedily at his mobile, plugged into the wall. “Nothing he’ll be upset about. Now come on,” he says, dropping the phone on the coffee table, “sit and cuddle me, okay?”
Shen Wei needn’t be asked twice.
He and Zhao Yunlan curl up on the couch together, Zhao Yunlan slouching with his feet on the coffee table, with Shen Wei against his side, hand resting on his belly where he can feel his breaths going in and out. An hour ago he’d thought he’d never have this again. Shen Wei’s eyes start to burn and he turns his face into Zhao Yunlan’s chest, his breath catching as the turmoil of the last few hours hits him.
“Baby,” Zhao Yunlan says softly, stroking his fingers through Shen Wei’s hair. He presses gentle lips against Shen Wei’s hairline and Shen Wei can feel his concerned gaze. After a long moment, he says, “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” Shen Wei replies and his voice is rough, “anything.”
“This isn’t to criticize. I’m just wondering. Why didn’t you call Da Qing? Or Chu Shuzi—any of them?”
It’s an understandable question. Now it seems silly. Why would it be these strange people who notified him if Zhao Yunlan were killed?
He listens to Zhao Yunlan breathe for a moment, feeling the warmth of his body against his face, his chest, his hip, and then tries to remember what he’d been thinking in that moment. “They said you’d been shot pursuing a suspect. I asked where the others were, if they’d been hurt, and they said they’d also been in pursuit, but they were unhurt. I… I suppose I thought they were still involved in the follow up of the pursuit, I… I don’t know. If they had been able to come, I believed they would have.”
Zhao Yunlan nods. “They would,” he says decisively, “they would never let you hear that from a stranger.” Shen Wei shudders and Zhao Yunlan winces. “Not that they ever will need to! C’mon, you know I’m not going down without a fight. You’re never gonna find out.”
It’s what Shen Wei wants to hear, even if he knows it’s an impossible promise.
“Why did you go to see the body?” Zhao Yunlan asks. “Why would you do that to yourself?”
“If I didn’t, I would always feel like you were out there, somewhere. I had to know. To know what I should do.” He blows out a breath and Zhao Yunlan uses a knuckle to wipe a tear from his cheek. “I was right to. That’s how I discovered it wasn’t you.”
Zhao Yunlan sighs forcefully. “Yeah, I guess there’s that. Damn, if I’d just gotten home earlier today.”
“I’ll be all right,” Shen Wei assures him. “You’re here.”
Zhao Yunlan looks down at him, eyes soft and sad. “I love you, Xiao Wei. The universe is gonna have to take me kicking and screaming if it wants me.”
Shen Wei smiles, and this time it feels a little more solid on his face. “And I, you.” He leans up and allows his hand to leave Zhao Yunlan’s belly to curve around the back of his head and draw him closer into a kiss. It’s gentle, Zhao Yunlan’s mouth soft and warm against his own, the hair at the nape of his neck tickling Shen Wei’s knuckles.
He kisses Zhao Yunlan until his neck hurts and his lips are sore and swollen, then he sinks back down against his chest—heaving with each breath—and murmurs, “I’m afraid I’m going to be rather needful for awhile.”
Zhao Yunlan huffs out a laugh, ruffling his hair. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
He pauses, taking Zhao Yunlan’s hand and turning it delicately with his own, fingers skimming across the skin. “I may even want a cell phone.”
Zhao Yunlan makes a noise of surprise. Then he says, “Well, then we’ll get you one, baby. I’ll even set it up so you can see where I am whenever you want.”
Shen Wei twists to look up at him. “That can be done?”
Zhao Yunlan grins, one of those smiles he thought he’d never see again, and nods. “Sure.”
“And you’d let me have that?”
Zhao Yunlan laughs lowly, cupping his hands around Shen Wei’s waist and leaning in until their faces are a breath apart. “You want it? You got it.”