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Chapter Text

It’s his second week working at the convenience store, and Zhang Qishan thinks that if he doesn’t get shot soon, he’s going to lose it.

He leans against the counter, dragging his hands over his face to try and mask the exhaustion that has to be lurking there. He’s used to long shifts, but there’s something about working in a dead store for twelve hours in a row that wears a person out like no other. He’s barely served seven customers today, and four of them were just there to use the bathroom.

It makes sense, since it isn’t really a convenience store. The store is just a front for the money laundering business that’s going on behind the scenes, and Zhang Qishan is just a front for the Changsha Police Department to crack the scheme wide-open.

Still, undercover work is typically more interesting than this. The targets had taught Zhang Qishan how to use the cash register, told him never to go into the back room of the store, and then left him alone to work his shifts, watching people pretend to look for snacks and drinks while surreptitiously slipping contact details in between the bags of chips. Occasionally, a real customer will come in, but that happens so infrequently that Zhang Qishan has barely had to do anything at all. At least he’s getting paid, the money going into a spare account that’s set up under the name of his secret identity.

He’s not the only one in the store right now; there’s a teenager, wearing baggy pants and a baseball cap that hides his eyes, who is very interested in all of the Mountain Dew varieties. At least, that’s what he looks like, but Zhang Qishan could recognize Yin Xinyue’s eyes anywhere, and knows that she’s here for backup, which means that the rest of their team must be nearby.

He doesn’t know why they’ve suddenly shown up, but he trusts Lao Jiumen, as their unit has been nicknamed by the rest of the force. If Xinyue’s here, then something is going to happen, which means that Zhang Qishan needs to be ready.

Just then, the bell above the door rings, and a tall, imposing-looking man comes in. He’s wearing a three-piece suit that looks far out of place in the dingy store, and his eyes are definitely not looking for chips.

“Good evening,” Zhang Qishan says, because even if this is what he’s been waiting for, he’s not going to blow his cover quite yet. “Can I help you find anything?”

The man ignores him completely, stalking through the store and to the back loading bay, which leads to the building that Zhang Qishan was not supposed to go into (he did, of course, the second night on the job, which is where he’d found filing cabinets, but no more evidence than that, and they can’t arrest anyone without significant proof).

Which is why it’s slightly confusing and slightly worrisome that Xinyue’s here. If there’s something they need to tell him that urgently, it means that they know something he doesn’t, and it doesn’t bode well.

He checks to make sure his gun is still stashed under the cash register, just as the young man in the store comes up to the counter, tossing a tube of Pringles and a soda onto it.

Zhang Qishan scans them. “That’ll be ¥30.50”

Xinyue digs money out of a wallet that isn’t hers, and then leans forward. “Something’s going to happen. Ba-ye said.”

Zhang Qishan blinks, but doesn’t react anymore than that. On the inside, though, his instincts are all sitting up and sniffing the air, trying to feel out exactly what it is that Ba-ye has sensed.

He can’t, though, because Ba-ye never actually senses anything. At least, that’s Zhang Qishan’s firm stance on the whole thing.

“Who did he talk to?” Zhang Qishan asks anyway, because that’s the only thing Ba-ye will ever say for sure about his premonitions; that someone told him.

“One of the gang members,” Xinyue mutters. “He was killed for trying to steal money from the boss two weeks ago. Apparently they’re closing a big deal tonight, and the guy seemed worried that something would happen. Stay alert.”

Zhang Qishan nods and hands over her change. She takes the money and her purchases and leaves. He feels suddenly lonely without her in the store with him, which is silly, because he should be trying to figure out what’s going on, and also the rest of his team can’t be far away. He’s not alone in the least.

He double-checks to make sure that no one is in the store, then turns so that his back is leaning up against the counter, and he can slide the gun out and tuck it into the back of his waistband so that he has easy access to it. Then, he goes over to the door and flips the sign over to CLOSED; he doesn’t want any civilians to get wrapped up in this. Any of the money launderers will just ignore the sign, and if his boss happens to come out and see that it’s wrong before Zhang Qishan has a chance to fix it, he’ll just say he must have forgotten.

Cautiously, he goes to the back of the store, slipping through the door and going past the extra products and actual store stuff, and presses his back to the wall, lying the side of his face against the door to see if he can make out any of the conversation happening inside. This is probably not what Er-ye meant when he said to “Stay alert,” but Zhang Qishan loves exceeding expectations.

He can just barely hear voices inside; the familiar drone of the head of the operation, and an unfamiliar growl that must be from the man who had just come in.

“You said that you would have the paper company set up by yesterday,” Growler says.

“Laoban,” Zhang Qishan’s boss says, a little shakily, “It’s not our fault. We needed to get the business license forged, and that takes time. If you just give us a few more days—”

“I don’t have a few more days,” Growler yells. “I have one billion yuan sitting in a warehouse, and if it doesn’t start getting filtered into accounts, we’re going to have the police on our asses. Do you want that?”

“N-no,” Convenience Store Laoban says, and Zhang Qishan thinks, Too late.

“You’ll be in charge of moving the money, now,” Growler orders. “Since you couldn’t get what I asked for in time. It’s the location on Zhongqian Road. Tonight, midnight. Do not mess this up.”

Zhang Qishan’s eyes widen as he commits this information to memory. If they can catch the crew in the act of moving smuggled funds, that should be enough to arrest all of them on the spot—

His thoughts are halted abruptly, because he hears a familiar click, and feels the muzzle of a gun being pressed into the back of his skull. He freezes, still crouched against the wall, and swears to himself. He’d been so busy eavesdropping that he hadn’t heard the bells on the door, signaling that someone had returned to the store.

He slowly stands, raising his hands carefully to show that he’s unarmed, the gun still digging into his skin.

“What do you think you’re doing?” It’s a familiar voice, one that belongs to one of the nastier members of the crew, the one who always sneers at Zhang Qishan when he comes in, and often has blood streaked across his knuckle tattoos. He’s known as Nails, for some reason, and he’s the type that will track mud across the floor right after Zhang Qishan’s finished mopping it, and even though Zhang Qishan isn’t really a service worker, he has enough rage against customers built up just by dealing with him.

He looks over his shoulder, trying to give a reassuring smile. “I was just trying to find laoban.”

“You’re not supposed to be back here,” Nails says, shifting the gun so that the barrel is against Zhang Qishan’s temple instead of the back of his head.

“I know,” Zhang Qishan says, “But I really needed to talk to—”

“Shut up,” Nails says, and opens the door, giving Zhang Qishan a little nudge in the skull with the gun.

Convenience Store Laoban and Growler look over at them when they enter. Growler is scowling, and Convenience Store Laoban looks five steps away from panic.

“What the fuck is this?” Growler demands.

“Caught this one eavesdropping outside,” Nails says.

Convenience Store Laoban frowns. “Li Meng? He’s not supposed to be back here.”

“Well, apparently he decided to take it upon himself to visit,” Nails says.

“I didn’t hear anything!” Zhang Qishan exclaims, trying his best to look like a civilian who has been suddenly faced with the belly of the underworld, but his acting skills aren’t exactly the best, so he probably doesn’t sound very convincing. “I promise, I didn’t. You can just let me go—”

“Like fuck we’re letting you go!” Nails says, digging the gun into Zhang Qishan’s temple so hard that he winces. “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you on sight, you little sneak.”

Growler says, “Search him.”

Convenience Store Laoban comes over, since Nails is busy holding Zhang Qishan at gunpoint, and pats him down. He pales when he finds the distinctive shape against the small of Zhang Qishan’s back and pulls out the gun, giving Zhang Qishan a supremely shocked look.

“Oh,” Zhang Qishan says. “That. Right.”

“What are you?” Nails hisses, pressing the gun into Zhang Qishan’s forehead so hard that he can’t hide his wince. “Are you a cop?”

“No,” Zhang Qishan insists.

“He is,” Growler says, squinting at him. “He’s way too calm for a civ.”

Convenience Store Laoban is looking remarkably betrayed for someone who betrays people for a living. “We just hired you!”

Zhang Qishan sighs, calculates, and then moves.

It doesn’t take much movement for him to smack Nail’s gun upwards, ducking under it when it goes off as Nails staggers backward in surprise, swearing. He punches him in the stomach, and when the man doubles over, slams his elbow into his kidneys sending him to the floor. The gun flings out of his fingers, and Zhang Qishan steps over Nail’s body to sweep Convenience Store Laoban’s legs out. The man is still startled, so he goes down with just a squeak, and Zhang Qishan grabs his wrist as he falls, placing a foot on the small of the man’s back and wrenching it backward to dislocate his arm.

He freezes, then, because the click of a handgun shocks him out of his battle stance, and he snaps his head up to see Growler’s own gun pointed directly between his eyes.

“You should have been quicker,” the man says, and Zhang Qishan tenses, preparing to launch himself to the side so that maybe the bullet will lodge somewhere less fatal.

He doesn’t even have the chance, because at that moment, a bright spurt of blood appears from the center of Growler’s forehead as the back of his head is shot clean through, and he falls onto the cement floor of the warehouse, his gun never getting the chance to fire.

Only a second later, the door is kicked in, and Zhang Rishan takes its place, filling up the doorway, his weapon drawn and aimed. He freezes for a moment, taking stock of the situation, and when he sees that it’s only Zhang Qishan still standing, his shoulders relax a fraction, and he moves to point his gun at Nails, who is groaning on the floor.

“Are you alright?” he asks, and Zhang Qishan has to forcibly stop himself from rolling his eyes, because that’s the first question that Zhang Rishan always asks.

“I’m fine,” he says. “When did you get here?”

“We heard the gunshot,” Zhang Rishan explains. “Also, Ba-ye said.”

“I was notified,” Zhang Qishan mutters, tightening his grip on Convenience Store Laoban’s arm just slightly, which makes the man moan in pain, right as the rest of their team enters the warehouse.

Xinyue is out of her disguise now, her weapon drawn as well. Jiu-ye is right behind her, followed by Qi-ye, and finally, Er-ye appears in the doorway, his face drawn and serious as his eyes take in Zhang Qishan, making sure he isn’t hurt. Zhang Qishan raises an eyebrow at him, and Er-ye returns the gesture, as if to say You got lucky this time.

“Get them into the cars,” he orders, and Zhang Rishan and Jiu-ye bring out their handcuffs, the recitation of the rights fading into the background as Zhang Qishan leaves them to it.

He walks over to Er-ye. “Hi.”

“You’re an idiot,” Er-ye says in lieu of a greeting.

“Okay,” Zhang Qishan agrees.

Er-ye doesn’t even tell him off for that response, which means that he was worried. “Go outside. Lao-Ba is losing his mind.”

He probably is, so Zhang Qishan heads out of the store, into a swarm of police vehicles with their lights flashing, officers milling around, and one forensic scientist pacing back and forth along the sidewalk, biting his thumbnail to the quick.

When he sees Zhang Qishan, Ba-ye alights, dropping his thumb from in between his teeth and running up to him. “Fo-ye!” He takes Zhang Qishan’s upper arms in his hands, turning him back and forth to examine him thoroughly. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Zhang Qishan says, very gently removing himself from Ba-ye’s nervous fingers. “Nothing happened to me.”

“I thought we were going to get there too late,” Ba-ye admits. “He said that the air smelled like death, that something was going to happen.”

“But not what?”

“They aren’t good at seeing the future clearly,” Ba-ye says, with the air of someone who has repeated the phrase many, many times, which he has. “You know that.”

“Uh huh,” Zhang Qishan says. Movement from the corner of his eye has him turning, nodding to the officer who has just joined them. “Did you make that shot?”

Chen Pi, his sniper rifle slung across his back, only stares at him from under the ridge of his forehead, which is enough of an answer in and of itself. Chen Pi was trained by Er-ye, who is the only person who can outshoot him. Growler’s death had to have been his handiwork.

“It was good,” Zhang Qishan compliments, which serves to soften Chen Pi’s face just a little.

“Glad you’re not dead,” he mutters, then goes to the armory truck to put away his weapon.

“Me too,” Ba-ye says, almost insulted, as if Zhang Qishan was ever doubting his levels of concern. “I’m also glad you’re not dead!”

“I know,” Zhang Qishan says.

Er-ye comes back out, followed by Zhang Rishan and Xinyue, who have Nails and Convenience Store Laoban handcuffed in front of them. Nails spits at Zhang Qishan, who just stares at him.

Er-ye gives Zhang Qishan a long look, which to anyone else would look blank, but Zhang Qishan knows that Er-ye is scrutinizing him carefully, trying to locate any cracks in his psyche, but Zhang Qishan is a professional Er-ye Handler, so he passes inspection.

Er-ye sighs. “Debrief in my office when we get back.”

Zhang Qishan salutes him. “Yes, sir.”

Er-ye waves him off, and Zhang Qishan grabs Ba-ye by the arm.

“Come on,” he says. “We have a crime scene to look into.”

Ba-ye frowns. “Why do I have to come? You saw everything that happened. Why do you need forensics? Ow! Aiyah, Fo-ye!”

Debriefing, as it turns out, mainly means Er-ye yelling at him.

“Do you know how hard it was to mobilize an entire unit to come and save your ass?” he shouts, pacing back and forth in front of his desk. “I had to call in several favors.”

“Did you tell them you knew that something was going to happen?” Er-ye is not sitting at his desk because it is currently occupied by Zhang Qishan, who is curled up in Er-ye’s very large and very comfortable captain’s chair, even if that’s not exactly becoming of a police detective, but no one’s going to see. Well, except Ba-ye, who is there too, for some reason that Zhang Qishan has yet to figure out beyond the fact that Ba-ye is everywhere.

“I can’t go to the commissioner and tell him a ghost said that Fo-ye was going to be killed if we waited more than five minutes to mobilize,” Er-ye says, an excuse he’s given multiple times. “Our operational policies are not in the rulebook.”

Zhang Qishan sighs, because that truly is the thing that gets them, every time; the fact that half of their cases are solved not because they are a brilliant police force, which they are, but because they have a forensics officer that can talk to ghosts.

Ba-ye, for his part, does not look nearly as concerned about this as Zhang Qishan thinks he should be. “Shouldn’t he be used to it by now? Besides, I was right.”

“That’s not the point,” Er-ye groans, collapsing onto his office couch. “The point is that if Fo-ye had just waited for backup—”

“If I had waited for backup, we wouldn’t have found out the main warehouse location,” Zhang Qishan points out. “We wouldn’t have made those arrests.”

“Yes, and you also wouldn’t have put yourself in unnecessary danger,” Er-ye stresses. “How many times do we have to go over that? You are entirely too expendable to take risks like this.”

“Xinyue was there,” Zhang Qishan shoots back. “I knew that backup wasn’t far behind.”

Er-ye gazes desperately at Ba-ye, as though Ba-ye will help him, but Zhang Qishan is Ba-ye’s favorite, so he just shrugs.

Er-ye groans. “Get out of my office.”

Zhang Qishan salutes him lazily and gets up from the chair, dragging Ba-ye out the door with him. The rest of the precinct is quiet, except for Yatou, who is filling out paperwork at her desk.

She gives them a small smile as they pass through. “Is Er-ye finished?”

“Probably not,” Zhang Qishan reports. “If you go in there, I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to rant about my lack of a brain for a while longer.”

Yatou laughs, but she gathers her stack of papers and heads for Er-ye’s office. Zhang Qishan doesn’t think that Er-ye will talk Yatou’s ear off about their latest mission, but even if he does, Yatou loves him enough that she won’t mind.

“He’s right, though,” Ba-ye says suddenly. “You should have waited for backup.”

Zhang Qishan sighs, grabbing his leather jacket off the back of his desk chair. “Like I said, I knew you were coming.” He smiles at Ba-ye, who doesn’t return it. “If the ghosts warned you about the future, that means that there was a chance it could be changed, right?”

“Not a sure one,” Ba-ye mutters. “You know how they are.”

Zhang Qishan does and doesn’t. Ba-ye has explained it as ghosts being out of time; since they no longer have corporeal forms to exist in space anymore, they’re able to slip between the barriers of the world a little easier and can exist anywhere in time, within reason. They can’t quite time travel, because that would require a firm grasp of space-time manipulation, but sometimes their consciousnesses jump ahead a little or get stuck in a loop in the past.

That’s how Ba-ye knows that things are going to happen before they do. Spirits are often confused by time, and can’t exactly put into words what they’ve seen in the future, but they can give glimpses and feelings, apparently. It’s not an exact science, as Ba-ye is keen to remind all of them, but whatever it is, it’s saved their asses more than once.

Zhang Qishan, however, does not believe any of this. He can’t deny that Ba-ye has premonitions, or that things tend to go a little paranormal when Qi Tiezui is around, but he is of the firm stance that there is no such thing as ghosts or spirits or anything of that nature, especially not ones that help a police force solve crime. He’s been hanging around Lao-Ba for eight years, and if ghosts exist, surely he would have seen one by now.

He doesn’t tell Ba-ye this, because Ba-ye already knows. Instead, he slings an arm around his shoulder. “I’ll buy you dinner if you forgive me.”

Ba-ye squints at him. “Where?”

Zhang Qishan shrugs. “Wherever you want.”

“Even if it’s sushi?”

Zhang Qishan hates sushi. “Even if it’s sushi.”

“Hmm,” Ba-ye says, considering. “That is an apology.” He sighs. “Alright. Let me get my bag.”

Zhang Qishan follows him towards his lab, knowing that he had been forgiven long before any mentions of dinner. Still. He’ll buy Ba-ye sushi anyway.

Ba-ye is late to the bullpen the next morning, which is not at all shocking. Er-ye doesn’t even miss a beat, just launches into the day’s assignments. Xinyue and Zhang Rishan are bodyguarding a visiting politician. Chen Pi is with Jiu-ye on a case of string robberies. Wu Laogou is doing training with the new K9 academy graduates. Yatou and Er-ye are representing the ninth precinct at a conference in the afternoon. Zhang Qishan has desk duty.

“What?” Zhang Qishan asks. “Why?”

“Because I need you somewhere where you won’t stress me out for at least twelve hours,” Er-ye says unsympathetically.

“To be fair,” Xinyue says, “He’ll stress you out here too.”

“Yes,” Er-ye sighs. “But at least he’ll be in the building.”

Zhang Qishan frowns and leans back in his seat. Zhang Rishan, who is sitting at the next table over, gives him a sympathetic look, then raises his hand.

“No,” Zhang Qishan mutters to him.

“I didn’t even say anything,” Zhang Rishan says.

“You were going to volunteer to switch with me,” Zhang Qishan says.

Zhang Rishan slowly puts his hand down. “I… no.”

Xinyue pats his arm. “You’re too obvious.”

Zhang Rishan frowns, though it looks more like a pout than anything else.

“Coffee!” Ba-ye exclaims, coming in through the door, laden with drink carriers in paper bags.

“Ooh!” Xinyue squeals, launching over Zhang Rishan’s lap to make a grab for the drinks.

“I had a feeling it would be needed,” Ba-ye says triumphantly. “Call it a—”

“Hunch,” the entire precinct finishes for him, but they don’t sound mad, because it’s coffee, and because it’s Ba-ye, who no one is allowed to be mad at.

Ba-ye passes out the coffee, happily, chattering with all of their coworkers, as Zhang Qishan makes eyes at the top of Er-ye’s head.

“No,” Er-ye says, not even bothering to glance up from the podium.

“I’ll cause trouble,” Zhang Qishan threatens. “I’ll go and spend the whole day down with Lao Ba. I’ll dig up cold cases. I’ll mislabel evidence.”

“You won’t,” Er-ye says. “All of that is too much work for you to do just because you’re petty. You’re not Lao Ba.”

“I heard that!” Ba-ye calls. “No coffee for you.”

Er-ye holds out his hand, and Yatou deposits a to-go cup into it, smiling apologetically at Ba-ye, who gasps in betrayal. Er-ye gives his wife a fond nod.

Zhang Qishan can’t stand them sometimes. They met in the precinct, back when Er-ye had been Zhang Qishan’s partner, and Yatou had been a new hire. It hadn’t taken much time at all for the two of them to fall in love, and then get married, and then be promoted to Captain and Sergeant, respectively. It’s been long enough that Zhang Qishan no longer gets jealous when Yatou knows Er-ye better than he does, lately.

Well. He doesn’t get very jealous, anyway.

The rest of his coworkers are filing out of the office, preparing to take on their respective tasks, and Zhang Qishan resigns himself to manning the phones and filing paperwork. In all honestly, he probably deserves to take over the desks for the day, considering he’d worried their entire crew and forced them into mobilizing at a moment’s notice the day before. He’ll take his punishment.

It’s a fitting one, too, because by lunchtime, Zhang Qishan has done all his paperwork and has checked Zhang Rishan’s, which doesn’t need checking, and then Chen Pi’s, which isn’t even done, and he’s bored. The gas station was more exciting than this; at least that was a new job. He’s been doing police paperwork for years now.

He glares at the phone, which is lying quietly on its receiver. Was it too much to ask for a robbery or a murder or a carjacking? Zhang Qishan would even take a cat in a tree at this point, just to get out of the office. He’s never liked sitting still for too long, and he hates it especially when he knows that all his people are out doing important things.

“I’ll never rush into a dangerous situation headfirst again,” he mutters, staring at the ceiling and swiveling himself in his chair with his heels. “I promise. I’ll never even look at a dangerous situation without backup. Zhang Rishan can shadow me for eternity.”

“He would, you know,” Ba-ye’s voice says, and Zhang Qishan sits up, delighted.

“Ba-ye!” he exclaims. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s lunchtime,” Ba-ye says. “Thought I’d take my break up here, since you’ve been by yourself for almost…” He checks the clock above the precinct’s door. “Three hours now. We both know that’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

“I’ve been on my best behavior,” Zhang Qishan promises him. “Very well-behaved. You can tell Er-ye. Tell him to let me back out.”

“To do what?” Ba-ye asks, sitting on Zhang Qishan’s desk and pulling a thermos out of his lab coat pocket, along with a pair of chopsticks. He unscrews the top and begins slurping up the cold noodles inside.

“Fight crime,” Zhang Qishan says. “Defeat evil. Help old ladies cross the street. I don’t know.”

Ba-ye shakes his head. “They warned us in academy. They said it would be a lot of nothing.”

Zhang Qishan groans, slumping back in his chair, which shoots backward a little. “I didn’t know they meant this much nothing.”

“You can come help me with autopsies,” Ba-ye offers.

“No,” Zhang Qishan says quickly. “That’s okay.” He may be able to handle gory crime scenes and gruesome murders, but the idea of cutting someone open on purpose to see their insides makes him queasy.

“My job’s so exciting, though,” Ba-ye croons. “Look at these noodles. They look just like intestines.”

“I hate you,” Zhang Qishan announces and goes down the hall to buy something from the vending machine. If Er-ye were here, he would harp him about proper nutrition, but Er-ye left him by himself, so Zhang Qishan is going to eat whatever he wants for lunch.

When he returns, Ba-ye is staring curiously at the phone, his chopsticks held frozen in midair.  Zhang Qishan comes over cautiously, not wanting to startle him.

“What is it?”

“Mmn,” Ba-ye says, and then, “There.”

As soon as the word leaves his mouth, the phone begins to ring, signaling that there’s a report on the other line. Zhang Qishan zooms around the desk, drops into his chair, and picks up the call. “Hello?”

“Precinct Nine?” a voice on the other end says. “There’s been a death reported within your jurisdiction. If you could send a detective and your forensics officer out right away, we’d appreciate it.”

“On it,” Zhang Qishan says, and after getting the address from the operator, turns gleefully to Ba-ye, who sighs and screws the cap back onto his thermos.

“Alright,” he says. “I suppose I’ll babysit you, then.”

Zhang Qishan doesn’t even bother being offended by that.

The crime scene is about what Zhang Qishan expected. When he pulls up, Ba-ye gripping the dashboard for dear life—“Are you ever going to learn how to follow the speed limit?”—there’s a crowd gathered around the entryway of an alley, a few officers posted in front of the yellow tape to keep them away from the scene. Zhang Qishan flashes his badge, and Ba-ye holds up his forensics bag, and the officers wave them underneath the tape, directing them towards several other police workers who are trying to preserve the crime scene.

“DSI Zhang Qishan,” Zhang Qishan introduces himself, coming to a stop at the edge of the chalk-marked area, letting out a low whistle when he sees what’s happened.

At first, it just looks like a body, spread-eagle on the pavement, blood underneath the corpse, but upon closer examination, it seems that all four limbs have been removed from the torso and then settled next to it, as though the murderer was trying to put them back on. The head has remained attached, but there is a character on the forehead in what appears to be red paint... or blood. It’s 木, which Zhang Qishan thinks is a strange choice for a murderer to write on a person.

Ba-ye frowns. “Wood?”

Zhang Qishan sends him a glance, but Ba-ye doesn’t notice, too intent on the corpse in front of them. He drops down next to it, already taking out his forensics equipment, and Zhang Qishan goes to talk to the supervising officer.

“Victim is male, in his forties, and with no living relatives,” the officer reports before Zhang Qishan even has a chance to ask. “We’ve already run his ID and gotten his address. Given the location, it appears that he was walking home at the time of the murder.”

“CCTV?” Zhang Qishan asks.

The officer shakes his head. “The nearest camera is about a block away, so unless there was a civilian dash cam in the area, that’s probably not going to give us any leads.”

Zhang Qishan sighs, though he’s not really surprised. The neighborhood they’re in isn’t well-off, but it’s also typically peaceful, so there’s really no reason that CCTV would be necessary, except in cases like this, which doesn’t really help them right now.

He thanks the officer, directs him as to where to send the evidence, and goes back over to the corpse. Ba-ye appears to have finished his cursory examination but is still crouched by the body, glancing up every few seconds, though his face is creased in confusion and concern.

Zhang Qishan sighs again and goes down to his level, since he knows what Ba-ye is looking for. “Is he not here?”

Ba-ye frowns deeper, shaking his head. “I don’t get it. Ghosts killed by malicious intent typically stay where they died, or with their body, until it’s no longer viable for them to do so. He should have been waiting here for me.” He does a quick calculation on his fingers that Zhang Qishan doesn’t understand, and shudders. “The energy here… is not good.”

Zhang Qishan looks at the severed limbs. “Yeah, no shit,” he says, which turns Ba-ye’s ire onto him instead of himself, but that was Zhang Qishan’s goal all along.

They wrap up at the crime scene. The rest of their forensics team shows up and takes the body back to the station for the autopsy, which takes all hands, including Ba-ye’s. This is because this particular corpse is a bit harder to keep together than they normally are, but Zhang Qishan keeps busy by pretending to report everything back to the precinct from his car.

Finally, Ba-ye’s finished with his job, and comes over to the car, peeling his bloody gloves off as he does and depositing them in the rubbish bag in his case. His forehead is still furrowed, a little, which means that his ghost probably still hasn’t shown up.

Zhang Qishan leans over the passenger seat to open the door for him. “Nothing.”

Ba-ye shakes his head. “I don’t know what it could be.”

“Maybe he’s already passed on,” Zhang Qishan suggests, starting the police vehicle and pulling away from the crime scene.

Ba-ye shakes his head. “A killing like this? There’s no way.” He exhales deeply, slumping down in his seat. “No way.”

Zhang Qishan glances over at him, then pulls into a coffee-shop parking lot. That should help. “I’m not complaining. If we don’t have to worry about the dearly departed giving us advice, we can do real police work.”

Ba-ye breathes in sharply through his teeth. “Don’t discredit the dead, Fo-ye.”

“I’m not discrediting anything,” Zhang Qishan says. “I’m just saying. If you just get told the answers to all of the mysteries, I won’t have a job pretty soon.” He opens his door. “What do you want?”

“You know,” Ba-ye mutters, clearly falling back into thought, but he’s right, so Zhang Qishan goes to order their usual drinks.

When he looks back at the car, as he’s waiting in line, Ba-ye’s still staring at the dashboard, and he doesn’t look reassured by the fact that apparently nothing supernatural is going on right now. Not at all.

Zhang Qishan doesn’t believe in ghosts.

Well. Okay. There might be something to it. Maybe spirits linger. What he doesn’t believe is that they tell Ba-ye who murdered them, or that they can tell the future, or whatever. He barely believes in the energy of the universe, and Ba-ye’s always going off about that.

No one understands why, because Zhang Qishan has known Ba-ye the longest and the best, but that’s exactly the reason. Zhang Qishan has seen Qi Tiezui do incredible things without the help of the spirits or fate or whatever the fuck, and he doesn’t believe that someone as genuine as Qi Tiezui could be faking half of his talent. Maybe he thinks he’s being given answers by the universe, but Zhang Qishan just thinks that he’s smart. He’s very observant, Ba-ye is, and he always knows what Zhang Qishan is thinking without him having to say it, and there’s definitely not a ghost giving him hints about that.

And if he’s being entirely honest, maybe it’s a good thing that Ba-ye isn’t seeing ghosts with this case. Maybe whatever mental block he has about dealing with his own skills is starting to break down, and he’ll be able to have some belief in himself. The psychic thing was cute, and it was funny, but there’s no reason for it. Zhang Qishan believes in things that he can see, that he can feel, and he can’t feel or see ghosts. He can, however, watch Ba-ye piece things together with his eyes bright and wondrous, and he can feel the way that they gravitate towards each other, and that’s entirely honest. There’s nothing supernatural that could alter how Zhang Qishan feels about Qi Tiezui.

So, that’s what he’s sticking with. Ghosts aren’t real, and they don’t talk to Qi Tiezui. If they did, Zhang Qishan would definitely know. He definitely would, would for sure.

The latest murder keeps them at the precinct late that night, putting together a case file and mapping out the area and briefing Zhang Rishan so that he can go out and try to get witness statements in the morning. Ba-ye is down in the forensics lab for most of it, because he’s in charge of the autopsy (Zhang Qishan had joked, perhaps insensitively, that the autopsy was already half-done, and Ba-ye had smacked him), but eventually he wanders up and collapses at Xinyue’s empty desk, limbs spread out and head tipped back.

“Long day?” Zhang Qishan asks.

“Long day,” Ba-ye confirms. “How’s the case coming together?”

Zhang Qishan nudges the file towards him. “Slowly,” he says. “This guy didn’t have any social media, and we can’t seem to figure out where he worked. There’s regular bank statements, so he has to have worked somewhere, but they all seem to come from direct deposits from a common payment app.”

Ba-ye nods slowly. “Have you tracked the IP address?”

Zhang Qishan shakes his head. “The tech department was out by the time we got this far. I’ll check with them in the morning.” He flips the file closed and places it on his desk. “What was the autopsy conclusion?”

“It’s strange,” Ba-ye says, leaning forward and folding his hands together, staring at his knuckles intently. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say that he had a heart attack. Cause of death appeared to be cardiovascular stress—the limbs were removed after the victim was deceased.”

“What about the mark on his forehead?”

“Surprisingly not blood,” Ba-ye reports. “In fact, it’s natural dye. Non-toxic.”

Zhang Qishan snorts. “So the killer was violent enough to cut of his limbs, but he didn’t want to risk getting toxic chemicals in the victim’s bloodstream?”

Ba-ye shrugs a little. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s just what he had on hand.”

Zhang Qishan hums, but he doesn’t agree. With a killing that’s as effortful as this one, there aren’t such things as coincidences.

Ba-ye stretches, cracking his spine, and stands up. “Are you going home?”

Zhang Qishan nods, and they gather their things, turning off the lights in the precinct and saying goodnight to the officer on duty at the front desk. The door opens, spilling light out onto the street, and Ba-ye says goodnight at the bottom of the stairs.

“See you tomorrow?” Zhang Qishan asks.

Ba-ye nods, and goes off down the street, whistling across the lamplit pavement. Zhang Qishan watches him until he disappears, and then he turns around and goes home.

Er-ye is on him the moment Zhang Qishan steps through the door the next morning. “You didn’t report it?”

“I did,” Zhang Qishan says, ignoring how Er-ye is trying to block his path and going over to his desk to put his coffee cup down. “I filled out all the paperwork and everything.”

“You didn’t report it to me,” Er-ye said. “Do you know how much of a fool I made of myself when I called the precinct in the middle of the banquet and found out that you weren’t there?”

“Why were you calling the precinct in the middle of the banquet?” Zhang Qishan asks, sitting down and unwrapping his scarf from around his neck.

Er-ye’s cheeks flush. “That’s not important.”

“He thought that you would have run off,” Yatou says, coming up behind Er-ye, who sputters. “In his defense, he was right.”

“I was just doing my job,” Zhang Qishan says. “You know. The thing that you hired me to do.”

“I didn’t hire you to do anything,” Er-ye mutters. “Did you at least prepare the case so you can debrief?”

“Of course,” Zhang Qishan says. “I’ve got everything ready.”

Er-ye sighs, but he doesn’t really have any more room to argue, and even though Zhang Qishan knows that he’s just worried, that doesn’t make Er-ye’s concern any less annoying.

“Shall we?” he asks Yatou, standing up and gesturing her towards the bullpen. Yatou smiles graciously at him, as though they’re walking into a ballroom, and Er-ye stomps behind them, grumbling under his breath.

Everyone is in the room when they arrive, even Ba-ye, which is a little surprising; Ba-ye’s almost always late to the morning debrief. He doesn’t really have to be there, but since he’s so highly involved in this case already, it makes sense.

Zhang Qishan gives him a questioning look as he goes to the front of the room, and Ba-ye gives him a smile and a wink in return, which makes Zhang Qishan feel better.

He gives the run-down of the case as quickly as possible, making sure to include all of the necessary information so that they can get to work as soon as possible. They eventually get to the corpse, and everyone except Chen Pi cringes a little at the sight of the crime scene.

“It’s… not pretty,” Zhang Qishan acquiesces. “But that’s a good thing, for us. It’s unusual. If there are any signs that the killer left, we’ll find them easily.”

“Do you think it’s a serial murder?” Xinyue asks, frowning.

“There’s no record of anything like this,” Zhang Qishan answers. “So unless someone else is killed, it’s just a one-off.”

“One-off killers don’t fully dismember their victims, though,” Zhang Rishan murmurs, which Zhang Qishan agrees with.

“Regardless,” he says, “Until there’s an established pattern, we can’t treat it as a serial case.”

“What about Lao Ba’s psychic thing?” Chen Pi asks grumpily, trying to seem as though he doesn’t care. “Shouldn’t that have already given us a lead?”

The room turns to Ba-ye, who laughs nervously. “I… um… it’s not working.”

“You couldn’t talk to his ghost?” Xinyue asks, sounding concerned. “Is everything okay?”

Ba-ye shrugs. “I tried some other calculations, and everything else worked. It’s just that… the ghost isn’t showing himself to me.”

Or he isn’t there at all, Zhang Qishan thinks.

He claps his hands together to bring everyone back to the point. “It doesn’t matter! If Lao Ba can’t… whatever, then we’ll just have to solve this the old fashioned way. Like we’re trained to do.”

That seems to stop the conversation, and Zhang Qishan is able to give out assignments before sending everyone off to their respective stations. For his part, he goes to Ba-ye, who is flipping through his notes, forehead furrowed.

“Anything new?” Zhang Qishan asks him.

Ba-ye shakes his head. “We’ve sent blood in for testing, to see if there were any foreign chemicals in his bloodstream, but they won’t be back for a while.” He shrugs. “I’m free for the day.”

Zhang Qishan nods. “Do you want to come with me, then?”

“Where are you going?” Ba-ye asks suspiciously.

“To the victim’s house,” Zhang Qishan says. “We have to see if there are any clues in his living space. Maybe a note or a planner, or a brick with a threatening message written on it that’s been thrown through the window.”

Ba-ye’s lips twitch. “Do you think there will be?”

Zhang Qishan shrugs. “We can only hope.”

“Alright,” Ba-ye says, standing up, “I’ll come.”

“Never mind,” Ba-ye whines, keeping behind Zhang Qishan. His fingers are digging into Zhang Qishan’s arm, and Zhang Qishan can almost feel how cold he is through his jacket. “I don’t want to be here.”

Zhang Qishan just takes out his phone, turning on the flashlight as they step into the tiny apartment. The lights are out, and even though Zhang Qishan flicks the light switch on and off a couple of times, nothing happens. He and Ba-ye have plastic coverings over their shoes, and they rustle as they walk across the carpet.

The apartment is empty, but strangely, there’s a fine layer of dust coating everything, and when Ba-ye accidentally bumps into a side table, it sends a cloud up into the air, sprinkling through the sunlight that comes through the curtains.

“How long has it been since someone was in here?” Zhang Qishan wonders aloud, swiping a gloved finger across a windowsill and coming away with a print full of dirt.

Ba-ye considers it. When the sun shines on him, he looks almost radiant, heavenly, not-quite-with-the-earth. “This much? One week, maybe two, and that’s only if there was absolutely no one to disturb it.”

“So he hasn’t been home in over a week, then?” Zhang Qishan looks around and frowns. “But it looked like he was on his way back to this place when he was killed. The crime scene was only a few blocks away.”

“Or he could have been going somewhere else,” Ba-ye suggests, though he doesn’t sound very sure.

Zhang Qishan doesn’t respond, because they both know that that’s not the truth. He walks through the rest of the apartment, though there’s not much of it. He peeks into the bathroom, but there’s nothing suspicious in there either. The bedroom is a little more interesting, but only because it’s slightly messier than the rest of the house, clothing tossed on the floor and the closet half-open, shoes spilling out.

“Fo-ye!” Ba-ye calls. “I found something!”

Zhang Qishan rushes back into the living room, but Ba-ye isn’t there. He’s about to call for him when movement in the kitchen catches his eye, and he turns to see Ba-ye holding a circular stone canister, his eyes fixed on it, unblinking. He opens the lid, revealing what looks to be a bunch of straws, and draws one out. It’s a dark wooden stick, with a glossy sheen on it, and when Zhang Qishan shines his flashlight onto the stick, Ba-ye shrieks and drops it.

Zhang Qishan jumps back, his hand flying to his hip for his gun, even though there’s not even a threat. “What?”

“Four,” Ba-ye whispers, staring in horror at the stick on the kitchen tile. “That’s four.”

Zhang Qishan doesn’t exactly know what that has to do with anything.

Ba-ye shakes the container a little bit, the sticks rattling inside. “They’re fortune telling sticks,” he says urgently. “He had fortune telling sticks.”

“Does that mean anything?” Zhang Qishan asks. “Don’t a lot of people have those nowadays? They’re pretty easy to find.”

“Not like this,” Ba-ye says. He swiftly scoops the dropped stick off the floor and returns it to its container. “This are nice ones. They’re… they were made professionally, for serious fortune telling. If I had to guess, I’d say that they were at least a generation old. Probably passed down through the family, and he’s kept them in really good shape.”

“So he liked fortune telling?” Zhang Qishan asks.

Ba-ye shakes his head, setting the container back on the counter, next to a bowl of slowly rotting fruit. “I don’t know. Either someone in his family was a fortune teller… or he was one himself.”

“Oh,” Zhang Qishan says. “And the four…”

Ba-ye laughs nervously. “It’s probably nothing. It will probably be fine. I didn’t take it out with intent, but… well, the universe doesn’t just give signs like that, so, maybe…”

“Just say it,” Zhang Qishan blurts. He would normally brush off Ba-ye’s psychic misgivings, but for some reason, it feels like an ice cube is being rubbed down his spine.

Ba-ye looks at him, and his eyes aren’t visible behind his glasses. “Death,” he says softly. “It means death.”

They drive back to the precinct, mostly in silence, because Ba-ye seems to be doing some sort of thinking exercise that requires tapping all of his fingers together, and Zhang Qishan knows that if he says anything, Ba-ye will find some way to bring it back to the fact that he can’t see their victim’s ghost.

“If he was a fortune teller,” he had said before they had left the apartment, “Then maybe he had protective talismans or something that prepared his spirit before he died. He could have already performed rights so that he wouldn’t be disturbed.”

“Wouldn’t that mean that he knew he would be dying?” Zhang Qishan had asked.

“Yes,” Ba-ye had said, which was not reassuring at all.

Zhang Qishan grips the wheel a little tighter and concentrates on the road. He hopes that Zhang Rishan has found something.

Luckily, it appears that he has, because the young detective runs up to them as soon as they walk through the door, a disgruntled Chen Pi at his heels. “Fo-ye!”

“Zhang Rishan,” Zhang Qishan greets him. “What did you find out?”

Zhang Rishan holds up a notepad. “We canvased the neighborhood this morning, and no one seems to have witnessed the murder, or even heard anything weird.”

“They didn’t see anyone suspicious either,” Chen Pi says, deliberately looking away from the conversation. “Not that that says much. Everyone there was suspicious.”

Zhang Rishan flattens his mouth at him, then continues with his report. “Anyway, we didn’t hear anything about a murder, but we found out where the victim might have been before he was killed.”

“Where?” Zhang Qishan asks.

“His work,” Zhang Rishan says, handing over the notepad and tapping on a series of characters that he has circled, which read Master Fu’s Fortunes. “He had a fortune telling business.”

Zhang Qishan and Ba-ye exchange a look.

Zhang Rishan looks between them. “Is that… did you find something?”

“We found fortune telling sticks in his apartment,” Ba-ye says. “Nice ones.”

“Ba-ye said it could mean that he was into that,” Zhang Qishan muses. “Looks like he was right.”

Zhang Rishan seems to think that there’s something more to it, because he quickly says, “Yes, well, apparently he was well-known in the neighborhood for doing minor feng shui consultations and providing input on naming? He always did it for free because the people who live around there don’t have a lot of money. They said that he was good at it.”

Zhang Qishan glances at Ba-ye, and suddenly feels more sympathy for the dead man than he did before. If he was anything like Ba-ye is, then he probably was good. He didn’t deserve to be murdered, at the very least.

“So he didn’t have any enemies,” Zhang Qishan says. “At least, he didn’t have any in his neighborhood. Work rivals?”

Zhang Rishan looks over his notes. “I don’t think so. If he did have one, no one in the neighborhood knew about it.”

Zhang Qishan nods. “Well, I suppose we’d better go check out his business. Do you have an address?”

Zhang Rishan tears the page out of the notebook and hands it over.  

Zhang Qishan nods, folding the paper up and sticking it in his pocket, then turns to Ba-ye. “Are you coming?”

“I suppose I should, huh?” Ba-ye mutters, though he doesn’t exactly sound thrilled. Probably because another fortune-teller-psychic-person has died, which Zhang Qishan can sympathize with, but they can’t let themselves be distracted by that.

He claps Ba-ye on the shoulder, turning him towards the door, but before they can leave again, Er-ye’s voice calls from behind them, “Qishan!”

Zhang Qishan groans. “I promise I’m not doing anything bad! I had a warrant!”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Er-ye says, his tone grave, and Zhang Qishan and Ba-ye look over their shoulders to see the captain of the precinct standing in the door of his office.

“His workplace will have to wait,” he says. “There’s been another murder.”

“Oh,” Ba-ye says, freezing in place.

Zhang Qishan says, “Shit.” 

Chapter Text

The second crime scene is similar to the first, except for the fact that the body has drawn less of a crowd, the dead person is hanging by their neck, and Ba-ye goes pale as soon as he sees them, taking a step away from the police tape as though he’s going to run.

Zhang Qishan nearly grabs for him, but some self-preserving part of him refuses to do so. “What?”

“Luo Dian,” Ba-ye whispers.

“What?”

“I know her,” Ba-ye says. “She used to do palm readings on Saturdays downtown. We all called her auntie.” He swallows. “She…”

Zhang Qishan steps in front of the body so that he is all Ba-ye sees. “Are you going to be okay? Do you need to leave?”

“No,” Ba-ye says quietly, firmly, visibly stealing himself before he ducks underneath the crime tape and walks toward where Luo Dian’s body is hanging. He stands underneath it a moment, the sunlight bouncing off the brick wall next to the scene and setting his hair aglow.

Zhang Qishan watches him for a moment, mostly to check and make sure that Ba-ye really is okay, and then goes to do his job.

The supervising officer is young; he seems out of his depth and nervous, glancing towards the body as though he’s afraid it will have moved.

“We didn’t take her down,” he says, apologetic, though Zhang Qishan is fairly sure he isn’t apologizing to him. “We had to preserve the… evidence.”

Zhang Qishan tells him that he did the right thing and that he’ll take care of it now, sending the young officer off with a pat on the shoulder. He looks even younger than Rishan, and Rishan already activates Zhang Qishan’s protective instincts whenever he looks at him.

The other members of the forensic team have suited up, and Ba-ye is giving them orders, watching the corpse carefully as they take pictures of the scene, cataloging all possible evidence, and then, as carefully as they can, cutting the woman down. Ba-ye’s spread a tarp underneath her, and the other officers lay her onto it, the white spreading out from her body like a river of grief.

Ba-ye doesn’t do anything at first, just gazes down at Luo Dian and sighs. Zhang Qishan doesn’t know what to do. He’s never had to work a crime scene that is also the spot of a friend’s death, and he fervently hopes that he never has to.

Ba-ye’s lips move, probably a prayer or some sort of incantation to set Luo Dian at rest, or maybe he’s talking to her—except Zhang Qishan is fairly sure that she’s not here.

His suspicion is confirmed when Ba-ye finished his examination and walks slowly over to where Zhang Qishan is standing, looking troubled.

“She’s not around,” he says before Zhang Qishan can ask. “Just like Master Fu. Her spirit… I can’t find it.”

Zhang Qishan nods slowly, because even if he doesn’t believe in Ba-ye’s ghost-seeing abilities, it’s clear that his disbelief isn’t what Ba-ye needs right now. Especially not now.

“I suppose we know that it’s a serial killing now, though,” Ba-ye says bitterly, glancing over his shoulder to where the forensics team is preparing Luo Dian’s body for transport.

“What?” Zhang Qishan asks. “How do you know?”

“It’s a pattern now,” Ba-ye mutters. “Three deaths. Three psychics. Three symbols.”

Zhang Qishan frowns. “There’s only been two.”

Ba-ye looks at him blankly for a moment, a strange sort of distance in his eyes, and then he blinks, and the look is gone. “Right,” he says, “Two.”

“Did you… see something about a third?” Zhang Qishan asks cautiously, not wanting Ba-ye to pull back. His hunches are never wrong; Zhang Qishan will admit that, at least.

Ba-ye shakes his head, sticking his fingers underneath his glasses frames to rub between his eyes. “No. I didn’t. I just… it seems like more has happened.”

Zhang Qishan can understand that.

“It’s not out of the question, though,” Ba-ye mutters. “There was a word on her forehead, too, and if I’m right, then there will be a third murder. And a fourth.” This is news to Zhang Qishan, and he glances around before gesturing Ba-ye towards the car, away from the other officers so that they can have a little privacy. He digs a bottle of water out of the backseat, cracks it open, and tries to hand it to Ba-ye.

Ba-ye shakes his head. “I don’t think I can stomach anything right now. Not even water.”

Zhang Qishan drinks it himself, because he was taught never to waste supplies, and waits for Ba-ye to explain.

“She had metal written on her forehead,” Ba-ye says after a moment. “The first one was wood, the second was metal. Two of the five elements.”

Oh. Psychic stuff. Zhang Qishan puts the water down. “Does that matter?”

“It does if the killer is targeting psychics,” Ba-ye says. “If he’s trying to gather power by invoking the five elements with people who are already imbued with energy, then he’s probably trying some sort of ritual.” He frowns, frustrated. “Taking a life… it’s serious. It’s bad qi. There’s got to be something that he wants desperately to mess with that much potential destruction.”

“Unless that’s his goal,” Zhang Qishan points out. “He could be aiming for destruction.”

“I don’t know what he would be trying to destroy, though,” Ba-ye admits. “The star alignments aren’t right for a cheng cycle.”

“A cheng cycle?” Zhang Qishan asks. “What’s that?”

Ba-ye looks at him suspiciously, as though he’s not entirely sure whether Zhang Qishan really wants to know. Which is fair. Zhang Qishan has never been very receptive to Ba-ye’s theories about fate and energy and cycles, but if it helps Ba-ye feel better, if it distracts him for a bit, then Zhang Qishan will humor him for now.

“It’s the cycle of destruction,” Ba-ye says finally. “It can cause natural disasters, stock crashes, wars. It’s an overload of one of the elements, which unbalances the systems and causes chaos.”

“What use is that?” Zhang Qishan asks. “They’re just elements.”

Ba-ye glares a little, disapproving. “They’re not ‘just elements.’ This is what makes up the fabric of reality, and if someone is trying to overload part of it on purpose…” He sighs. “Nevermind.”

“No, no,” Zhang Qishan protests. “I’m listening. What will happen?”

Ba-ye shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says, “But it won’t be anything good.”

Zhang Qishan drops Ba-ye back off at the precinct, because like it or not, they work in two separate divisions, which means that Ba-ye has to go down to the lab and test flecks of paint or whatever he does down there, and Zhang Qishan has to go conduct interviews of the witnesses, or as close as they can get to witnesses.

“I’m telling you, he was a good-for-nothing!” the woman Zhang Qishan is currently sitting in front of says shrilly. “All that mysticism and fortune telling. He really believed it, too.”

Zhang Rishan is eyeing the cup of tea that he’s been given suspiciously, but he takes a tiny sip of it and seems to determine that it’s okay, because he continues drinking. Zhang Qishan hasn’t touched his own cup, but that’s because he’s trying to write down everything that Master Fu’s wife is saying, and she is saying a lot.

Their first victim was named Fu Wangshi. His ex-wife is a woman called Li Dai, and she had been alerted to her late husband’s death the day before, which is why, when Zhang Qishan and Zhang Rishan had knocked on her door, she had answered with an, “Oh, the cops,” and yelled at her daughter to put on tea.

“Do you know if he had any enemies?” Zhang Qishan asks carefully. “Anyone who would want him dead?”

“Besides me?” Li Dai snorts, as though that’s not an incredibly suspect thing to say. “Probably. I’m sure there’s someone out there that he gave a bogus fortune to that lost them a lot of money or something. I wouldn’t be surprised, anyway.”

“You don’t believe that there was any truth to it?” Zhang Rishan asks.

Li Dai snorts. “Of course not. Who believes in that kind of thing now? Anyone who does is trying to avoid something.”

Zhang Qishan shifts uncomfortably. In his experience, it’s the opposite.

Li Dai continues. “Regardless, I hadn’t heard from him in over a week. He was supposed to pick his daughter up from school one of those days, because I was working late, but he never showed up, and I had to go and fetch her myself. Got me a scolding from my manager, too. He couldn’t even do that much right.”

“So he could have been missing for a while before he died?” Zhang Rishan asks, more to Zhang Qishan than to Li Dai.

Li Dai answers anyway. “Maybe. Probably. Who knows? Honestly, if they hadn’t told me the state that he was in, I would have assumed that he drank himself to death.”

“Did your late husband have a drinking problem?” Zhang Qishan asks her.

“Ex-husband,” Li Dai corrects him. “And he would say no, but I knew better. He said that fate or whatever wouldn’t let him die, so he could drink as much as he wanted to. That’s part of the reason I kicked him out. The universe might have allowed him to drown himself in liquor, but I wasn’t about to.”

Zhang Qishan thinks that that is about all they’re going to get out of the conversation, so he thanks Li Dai and then drags Zhang Rishan out the door.

“He hadn’t been home, and he hadn’t been to see his daughter, either,” Zhang Rishan muses as they walk down the street. “Does that mean that he was kidnapped before he died?”

“That’s what it looks like,” Zhang Qishan admits. “But why would the murderer keep him alive if he was only going to kill him later? There would be more time for people to realize that he was missing before then.”

“Unless the killer knew that no one would,” Zhang Rishan suggests softly, kicking a rock in front of them. “It doesn’t seem like he had very many friends.”

Zhang Qishan pats him on the shoulder. “Maybe we’ll find something at his workplace.”

They don’t, except for a pile of mail that’s been shoved in the bottom of the door, accumulating for a little more than a week, if the amount is anything to go by. Zhang Qishan leafs through it while Zhang Rishan attempts to find a way into the fortune-telling shop without breaking the door down, but eventually admits defeat.

“No leads, he says mournfully as they reenter the precinct; they’re supposed to meet up with Xinyue and Chen Pi, who have been investigating Luo Dian’s death. “What are we going to do?”

“Something will turn up,” Zhang Qishan says. “Something always does.” He catches sight of a familiar figure, standing in the middle of the lobby and looking up at the large glass window that spread sunlight onto the floor. “Ba-ye!”

Ba-ye doesn’t seem to hear him at first, just continues staring up at the window as though it’s confusing him, but when Zhang Qishan gets close enough, he snaps out of whatever thought he’s having.

“Oh,” he says, smiling. “Sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

“Everything okay?” Zhang Qishan asks, glancing up at the window himself. It just looks like a window.

Ba-ye nods. “Yeah, I just felt… sort of like déjà vu, for a second there.”

“You see that window every day,” Zhang Qishan says. “Of course you recognize it.”

Ba-ye laughs, shakes his head a little. “No, it was different. A different feeling.” He sighs. “Never mind. Did you find anything?”

Zhang Qishan shakes his head. “Nothing groundbreaking. We’re meeting up with Yin Xinyue and Chen Pi, once they’re back, to combine notes and see if there are any connections.”

Ba-ye nods. “I’ll come too.”

“Did forensics reveal anything interesting?” Zhang Qishan asks as they rejoin Zhang Rishan and head up to the ninth floor.

“No,” Ba-ye says, chewing on the end of his pen as he flips through his notes. “Well, actually, yes, but nothing that really helps us catch anyone. The cause of death was the same.”

“Cardiovascular stress?” Zhang Qishan remembers.

Ba-ye points his pen at him. “That’s the one.”

Zhang Qishan sighs. “Are we sure someone is killing them and not just desecrating bodies or something?”

Ba-ye looks affronted. “That’s worse!”

“Worse than murder?”

“Yes!” Ba-ye pauses. “I mean, no, but—”

Zhang Qishan laughs and pushes open the doors. Immediately, he’s ambushed by a flurry that can only be Xinyue, given the curly hair and Chen Pi’s familiar scowl behind her.

“Did you get any leads?” Xinyue is asking, looking as though she’s going to start prying into them in order to get information, and Zhang Qishan very valiantly sacrifices Zhang Rishan to her since he’s got the case file.

“No!” Zhang Rishan yelps as Xinyue snatches the file away to see for herself. “Fu Wangshi’s wife wasn’t very fond of him, so she hadn’t had much contact. She didn’t think that he had any enemies, though she did say that he could have been a controversial figure because of his fortune telling.”

Xinyue nods, flipping through the file as Zhang Rishan explains. “That’s about what we heard, too.”

“Really?” Zhang Qishan asks.

Xinyue nods. “Most people that we talked to really liked Luo Dian, but none of them knew her very well. She didn’t have any family, or any close friends, really, and no one saw her the week before her death. She missed her usual Saturday appointments.”

“And no one called her in as missing?” Zhang Rishan asks.

“She didn’t have anyone to call her in,” Chen Pi grumbles, speaking for the first time since they arrived. “Weren’t you listening? No family.”

“Oh,” Zhang Rishan says, exchanging a glance with Zhang Qishan, who is thinking the same thing. “Just like Fu Wangshi.”

“Is that a profile, then?” Xinyue asks. “For the victims? Adults, known to be fortune tellers or psychics, without any family to report them as…”

She trails off, and Zhang Qishan immediately knows why. If that really is the type of person that the killer is going for, then… he doesn’t like that.

Adult. Psychic. No family. Zhang Qishan, as separated from the divination world as he is, knows exactly who fits that profile. Of course he does.

He’s standing right behind him.

When he gets to the police academy for the first time, Zhang Qishan’s roommate already knows him.

Or, well, it may be more accurate to say that he knows about him. Zhang Qishan isn’t interested in coincidences, and when he raises his hand to knock on his shared dorm room’s door, he doesn’t even make contact with the wood before said door is flying open, revealing another young man. Zhang Qishan scans him quickly, unwilling to be caught too off-guard by this sudden stranger with his dark hair and friendly eyes and wide smile that makes his eyes disappear.

“Hello!” he says. “You must be Zhang Qishan. I’m Qi Tiezui.”

Zhang Qishan grips the strap of his duffel bag more tightly. It’s the only thing he’s brought with him. “Nice to meet you.”

“We’re roommates!” Qi Tiezui exclaims. “Although I guess you probably already knew that. You’re studying…?”

“Undecided,” Zhang Qishan says.

“I’m studying forensics,” Qi Tiezui continues, apparently undeterred by Zhang Qishan’s one-word answer. “It seemed like a good job for me. I’ve got a particular skill set that goes very well with investigating violent crimes.”

“That… seems ominous, and Zhang Qishan’s face must say so because Qi Tiezui laughs at him. “Nothing bad, I promise. I’m just… psychically attune to the universe, so to speak.”

Oh. Great. Zhang Qishan’s roommate is a headcase.

He just nods, unsure of how to respond to anything that Qi Tiezui has said thus far.

Qi Tiezui just smiles. “I think we’re going to get along.” 

“How did your test go?” Qi Tiezui asks him.

Zhang Qishan gives him a side-eyed glance and doesn’t answer. He never told Qi Tiezui that he had a test today because he hardly ever speaks to Qi Tiezui if he can help it. The other man unnerves him, and besides, Zhang Qishan didn’t come to the police academy to make friends. He came to be a detective, and he’s not going to let himself get distracted from his goal. Not again.

“I think it must have gone well,” Qi Tiezui continues, and Zhang Qishan isn’t even sure if he’s talking to him anymore or just talking to himself.

“Is that a psychic thing?” Zhang Qishan snaps before he can think better of it.

“No,” Qi Tiezui said, “You’ve just been in a good mood since you came back.”

Zhang Qishan isn’t sure how Qi Tiezui can tell what kind of mood he’s in, since most of the people in Zhang Qishan’s life have told him that he is cold and hard to read. “No, I haven’t.”

“You were humming,” Qi Tiezui points out, and Zhang Qishan hadn’t even realized. “I’d say that’s a good mood.”

Qi Tiezui is stressed.

Zhang Qishan doesn’t know how he knows, but he can tell. Qi Tiezui has been sitting on his bed for the past hour, looking at textbooks and notes and muttering under his breath, and Zhang Qishan doesn’t care. He really doesn’t. But he’s trying to watch YouTube videos during one of his few and far between free hours and keeps getting distracted by Qi Tiezui talking to himself.

“What are you doing?” he finally asks, leaning over the side of the bunkbed ad glaring down into Qi Tiezui’s space.

Qi Tiezui looks up, the movement sending the papers on his bed fluttering. “Trying to figure out this forensics brief. A-Mei is helping me.”

“Who?”

The girl whose case it was,” Qi Tiezui says. “It was solved a while ago, of course, but she likes being helpful.”

Zhang Qishan doesn’t even know what to say to that. “You’re talking to a ghost?”

Qi Tiezui hums in agreement, and one of the papers falls off the bed. “I told you.” He taps the side of his head. “Psychic connection.”

“Ghosts aren’t real,” Zhang Qishan says, pulling himself back over the railing and onto his mattress, where he lies on his back and doesn’t move, trying to catch snippets of whatever conversation Qi Tiezui is having down below him. It just sounds as though he’s on the phone, and Zhang Qishan can only hear one side of whatever is happening.

None of it makes sense, but fifteen minutes later, Qi Tiezui must have some sort of breakthrough, because he exclaims in satisfaction, and then thanks no one.

“Isn’t it cheating?” Zhang Qishan asks him once. He’s not admitting to anything. Ghosts still aren’t real, no matter how many times Qi Tiezui appears to be talking to someone that Zhang Qishan can’t see in their dorm room.

“No,” Qi Tiezui says. “They don’t ever give me the answer. They just help me out sometimes. It’s like doing research with the person who the historical event happened to.” He shakes his head. “Besides, it’s not like all of these cases are accurate, anyway. Did you know that nearly a third of police records have misinformation in them?”

It’s not exactly a surprising statistic. “But you have an advantage over everyone else,” Zhang Qishan says. “Isn’t that unfair?”

Qi Tiezui looks at him and laughs. “You’ve been shooting a gun since you were ten. Doesn’t that give you an advantage over me in marksmanship?”

Zhang Qishan does not know how Qi Tiezui found out that he’s been training in weaponry since he was a child. “I have not,” he says, which is the truth. He’s been training since he was nine. 

Qi Tiezui just gives him a funny look. “You understand my point, though.”

“No,” Zhang Qishan says, just to be ornery, and leaves the room to go for a seven-mile run that does not clear his thoughts at all.

Qi Tiezui saves his life, once.

Zhang Qishan is shadowing a violent crimes case, a kidnapping that they are suspecting will end in a body, but are going through the motions anyway. Zhang Qishan doesn’t know how he feels about the officer that he’s working with; he’s older, and from America, and stares at Zhang Qishan as though he’s trying to figure out which parts of him are worth keeping around.

So Zhang Qishan thinks he can’t be blamed for ditching the man whenever he can, which is against protocol, but Zhang Qishan has never been very good at following the rules. And maybe he shouldn’t have left his superior officer when they were staking out the suspect's house, but he did, and so when he gets caught trying to peer through one of the windows, really he has nobody to blame but himself.

The suspect is prepared, though surprised to see a fledgling police officer standing outside his house. He’s not quite as off guard as Zhang Qishan would prefer an enemy to be. He’s good at hand-to-hand combat, keeping Zhang Qishan from getting to his taser—he’s not allowed a gun yet because he’s still in school—and getting a few strikes in.

 Zhang Qishan, though, has been training since he was a child, and he’s gone up against far tougher opponents than this man. He manages to defend himself well, keeping the suspect focused on him, circling him around and around and looking for an opening where he’ll be able to strike, but he can’t find one.

The suspect, however, does, and that’s how Zhang Qishan finds himself on his back, pinned to the ground by the man on top of him, and he has a knife in his hand, is raising it up—

And then a gun goes off, and the suspect drops the knife as a bullet hold appears through his palm, and he falls over, clutching his wrist and howling in pain.

Zhang Qishan, embarrassingly, just lays there until his superior officer runs over and grabs him by the hand, pulling him upright and asking him if he’s okay, wondering how he got the man to come out, praising him for his quick thinking, which Zhang Qishan doesn’t deserve.

He puzzles over it while he is checked out by paramedics, while he gives a statement, while he walks home, numb and a little shaky. He was about to die. He had made sure that no one would find him as he poked around the suspect's yard. He had been ordered not to get that close. He had disobeyed orders. How had he made it out alive?

He finds out the answer when he gets back to his dorm and finds Qi Tiezui standing in the middle of the room, wringing his hands. His eyes go wide as soon as he sees Zhang Qishan, and he runs to him, flinging his arms around him and Zhang Qishan is so surprised he lets him do it.

“You’re okay!” Qi Tiezui exclaims. “Thank goodness, I thought I was going to be too late.”

Zhang Qishan frowns, stiffening enough that Qi Tiezui gets the message and pulls away. “What are you talking about?”

Qi Tiezui laughs nervously. “Oh. Uh. I called the station. Left a tip. Told them that the suspect would kill someone else soon if they didn’t get to his location immediately.”

Zhang Qishan stares at him. He hadn’t told Qi Tiezui anything about the case… but he must have. “What?”

“The girl he kidnapped,” Qi Tiezui says. “He… he ended up killing her, right?”

Zhang Qishan has a hazy memory of his superior officer coming and telling him that the victim had been found, or at least her body had been. “Yes.”

Qi Tiezui nods. “She came and found me. Said that she didn’t want you to die, and told me where she was.”

Zhang Qishan blinks at him. “Why didn’t she tell you earlier?”

Qi Tiezui looks down to the ground. “She hasn’t been gone for very long,” he murmurs, and Zhang Qishan shivers.

He glances to Qi Tiezui’s side, as though he’ll see the spectral form of a girl standing there, but there’s nothing. Of course there’s nothing.

“So we could have saved her?” he asks, so quietly, nearly against his will.

Qi Tiezui looks up sharply. “No,” he says firmly. “You couldn’t have. Not with things the way they were. Believe me, it’s taken me a long time to figure that out, but we’re only human. There isn’t a way to change fate like that.”

“Fuck fate,” Zhang Qishan mutters. “We could have saved her.” He shudders, tears his ID badge away from his neck, and throws it at the wall. “Fuck!”

Qi Tiezui stares at him. “Qishan—”

“What’s the point of it then?” Zhang Qishan demands. “We’re supposed to save them, not the other way around! If it doesn’t help, then what’s the fucking point of it?!”

Qi Tiezui’s eyes are soft, far softer than Zhang Qishan thinks he deserves. “It’s not meant to save people,” he says quietly. “It’s meant to make what comes afterwards easier.”

Zhang Qishan shakes his head, then keeps shaking it. “She didn’t deserve that,” he chokes out. “She didn’t deserve it.”

Qi Tiezui steps forward, cautiously, and then Zhang Qishan is being hugged again, and this time, he lets it happen, lets himself hide in Qi Tiezui’s shoulder.

“No,” Qi Tiezui says gently, his hand brushing long strokes up and down Zhang Qishan’s back. “No, she didn’t.”

“Zhang Qishan!” Qi Tiezui’s voice exclaims from across the yard. “I have someone for you to meet!”

Zhang Qishan looks up from his brick of a phone. He’s been waiting for Qi Tiezui so they can go get dinner and also maybe go drinking, since it’s Friday and the middle of their last semester and Zhang Qishan wants to be drunk.

Qi Tiezui is striding briskly up to him, dragging another man along with him, who is wearing a uniform with a lieutenant’s stars on the shoulders, looking very serious and devastatingly handsome.

“This is Er Yuehong,” Qi Tiezui introduces once they’re close enough. “He’s a smart son of a bitch, and graduated last semester, and is fast-tracking to become a captain.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Er Yuehong says, his voice smooth and melodious, and Zhang Qishan immediately falls ever-so-slightly in love.

“This is who I was telling you about,” Qi Tiezui says. “Zhang Qishan. He’s going to be a detective, and one of the best. He’s amazing.” He gives Zhang Qishan a wink, lets his smile say everything else.

Zhang Qishan falls ever-so-slightly in love with him too.

And so, despite everything Zhang Qishan never leaves Qi Tiezui. Maybe it’s because he’s fascinating in his own right, or maybe because Zhang Qishan has very few other friends, but their two-year academy training goes by quickly, and by the end of it, they could be considered close. Qi Tiezui knows more about Zhang Qishan than any living human has a right to, and Zhang Qishan, somehow, likes Qi Tiezui, likes his infectious enthusiasm and his rough-edged optimism and the way that he continually pushes forward. The psychic thing still throws him off, sometimes, but Zhang Qishan has flaws too, and he can learn to look past Qi Tiezui’s.

They both join the Changsha police department after graduation, where Er Yuehong works, and Qi Tiezui keeps a photograph of them in their ceremony robes on the desk in his office. Their arms are thrown around each other and Qi Tiezui is beaming, and Zhang Qishan isn’t looking at the camera because he’s looking at Qi Tiezui.

Zhang Qishan has the same photo in a nook by his front door, so that it’s the first thing he sees when he comes home and the last thing when he leaves again, and it’s almost like Qi Tiezui still lives with him.

He still sees him every day, so it’s not as though they aren’t close still. It’s just different, and if Zhang Qishan wasn’t a coward, maybe he’d be able to tell why that hurts so much.

He’s dragged back to their horrible, awkward present by Ba-ye’s voice.

“Aiyah,” the forensics officer says, “Will you all stop looking at me like that? I’m not going to be murdered just because I have psychic qualities. I’m surrounded by police officers every day. There’s no way someone is going to steal me out from under your noses. They wouldn’t even dare.”

He’s saying it to all of them, but he’s looking at Zhang Qishan.

“Still,” Xinyue argues, “You should at least have some form of protection with you. Someone can walk you home and pick you up before work.”

Ba-ye shakes his head rapidly. “That’s unnecessary. I’ll be fine! We should be focusing on finding the murderer, not on protecting me from nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Zhang Rishan argues. “They’re targeting people with your profile.”

“Then I can act as bait,” Qi Tiezui says, like an idiot.

“No,” Zhang Qishan says instantly, and Qi Tiezui rolls his eyes.

“It was a joke, Fo-ye,” he says. “Stop worrying so hard, I can see your brain filling with stress.” He pokes the side of Zhang Qishan’s temple, and Zhang Qishan lets him, his head moving to the side with the force of it, and Qi Tiezui presses his lips together, displeased.

“Nothing is going to happen!” he exclaims, and before any of them can say anything else, he stomps off, probably back to his office, and Zhang Qishan will chase after him later.

“Maybe he’s right?” Xinyue offers. “Maybe nothing will happen.”

“Of course it won’t,” Zhang Qishan says. “I won’t let it.”

He turns on his heel and leaves the precinct. He meant it. He won’t let anything happen. Ba-ye can stay in the station, and Zhang Qishan will solve the case before anyone else can die.

He has to.

Chapter Text

Zhang Qishan can't pinpoint what takes him back to Master Fu’s workplace, or if there is anything to it other than sheer desperation. He had spent the night unable to sleep, checking his phone every five minutes to make sure no one was calling him about another murder, or worse, the kidnapping of a specific forensic scientist. This meant that he was especially flighty for most of the morning, getting in Xinyue's way as she was filing the reports for the case with the convenience store. Eventually, Er-ye told him to go do something useful, so Zhang Qishan obeyed.

He made sure to clock out before he left the precinct so that when he kicks down the door, it isn’t a dereliction of duty. Er-ye still won’t be pleased if he finds out that Zhang Qishan is visiting a crime scene with no authorization and no warrant, but right now, he doesn’t care.

Surprisingly, given that the front door doesn’t look as though it’s been opened in nearly a week, the inside of Master Fu’s shop seems far from abandoned. The curtains are drawn, but there isn’t any stale sort of scent or dust floating through the air. The waiting area is neat and tidy, with books on divination on a side table for customers to flip through, and when Zhang Qishan goes to the back, the string lights, which are probably for creating ambiance, are turned on, casting mysterious shadows across the table and onto the red curtains that are draped artfully around the room.

Zhang Qishan doesn’t even know what he’s looking for, but he goes to the desk anyway. He recognizes a compass and some markings on talismans that he’s seen Ba-ye use, but most of the things are unfamiliar to him. He opens a few drawers, finding beads and incense and different trigram drawings with a box of chalk next to them. Any of it might be important, but Zhang Qishan kind of doubts it.

He pushes to the back, which is a tiny room, more like a closet than anything else. There’s an armchair in there, a safe, and, surprisingly, a laptop computer. When Zhang Qishan nudges it with his knuckle, it lights up, a password entry field popping up.

Zhang Qishan frowns at it. “Wu?”

The username for the account appears to be the Romanized spelling of the number five, which doesn’t make sense, because that isn’t homophonous with any part of Fu Wangshi’s name. It could be a nickname, he supposes, but that doesn’t seem likely, given the lack of friends or acquaintances Fu Wangshi had.

Zhang Qishan wants to take the laptop back, have it dusted for fingerprints, but then he’d have to explain how he got it in the first place, so he can’t. But then again, the only person he’d have to explain it to would be Ba-ye, and Ba-ye wouldn’t tell on him.

Wouldn’t he? a small voice in Zhang Qishan’s head asks. He was mad at you when you left.

He wasn’t really mad, Zhang Qishan tells the voice, which remains silent after that, though it echoes dubiously in his head.

He leaves the laptop for now, poking around the cramped office space a little more, and finally collapses into the armchair, slumping down into the seat and leveling his eyes at the wall across from him. It’s boring, mostly, next to the safe, which seems undisturbed. Zhang Qishan’s eyes roll past it, traveling towards the trim and then—wait.

He catches on a smear of red next to the baseboard and pushes himself forward, out of the chair and onto his knees, brushing his fingers against the stain. It’s sparse, a trail from the wall behind the back of the safe, which… the foot is centered in a scratch in the wood of the floor, and Zhang Qishan pushes it out, just a little, and peers behind it.

There, behind the back of the safe, shaky and almost illegible, are several strokes. Zhang Qishan tilts his head just enough, squinting into the shadows and making out the character that’s written there.

Wu.

He starts back. The name on the laptop isn’t a number. It’s not five, it’s 侮, wu. It’s not a number, and Zhang Qishan has no idea why the character for “insult” is written on the wall in what appears to be blood. 

He doesn’t know what significance it has, though, so he snaps a picture and sends it to Ba-ye, along with What’s this mean? Ignore the color.

He stands up as he waits for a reply, poking around the office a little more, but there doesn’t seem to be anything else of interest. If someone, this Wu, had been in here with Fu Wangshi, they’d done a good job covering their tracks. If not, then Zhang Qishan is just as lost as he was when he first walked in.

He waits for five minutes, then ten. He takes out his phone, staring at the screen as though that will summon Ba-ye’s attention. Ba-ye is a notoriously bad texter, but even he wouldn’t ignore something like this. It’s important to the case.

Zhang Qishan thinks back, trying to remember Ba-ye’s schedule for the day, but he’s pretty sure that there’s nothing significant going on in the forensics lab. The precinct hasn’t been called out for another case, so really, Ba-ye should be waiting for Zhang Qishan to text him, and it’s weird that he isn’t texting back. Or maybe not, but Zhang Qishan is impatient, so he just hits the call button.

The phone rings, and rings, and rings, and then goes to voicemail, and Zhang Qishan’s stomach sinks.

He dials again, pressing the phone so closely to his ear that he can feel the vibrations resonating through his skull, but that doesn’t help. He calls a third time, then a fourth, and the fifth time he’s listening to a ringing, empty line, he’s already halfway to his squad car, throwing the door wide and practically tossing himself in, tearing away from Master Fu’s and back towards the station.

Ba-ye still hasn’t picked up by the time Zhang Qishan pulls into the side lot, not even bothering to park correctly, because his heart is racing too fast, and he needs to be able to go again, quickly, if he can’t find Ba-ye at the station. He sprints up the steps, bursting into the precinct and startling Jiu-ye, who is heading out the door.

“Ba-ye,” Zhang Qishan demands. “Have you seen him?”

Jiu-ye pulls back a little. “Uh, not since this morning. He was in the forensics lab last I checked—”

Zhang Qishan doesn’t wait for him to finish, nor does he thank him before he sprints away, tearing through the hallways, skidding around the corners, hoping that he’s wrong, hoping that he’s paranoid, because that would be so significantly better than—

He slams the forensics lab door open so hard that it bangs into the wall, glancing around wildly. The lab is empty, tables free of corpses and samples, and at the desk in the corner—

At the desk in the corner is Ba-ye, who has sat up abruptly, looking slightly shell-shocked and more than a little confused.

“Fo-ye?” he asks. “What’s going on?”

Zhang Qishan freezes in his tracks, breathless, and takes a moment to make sure that his eyes aren’t playing tricks on him. But no, Ba-ye is there, moving, even though Zhang Qishan wishes that he would stay in place for once.

“Are you okay?” Ba-ye asks. “You look like you’ve seen a—”

“Don’t finish that,” Zhang Qishan snaps. “You weren’t answering your phone.”

“What?”

“Your phone!” Zhang Qishan exclaims, holding his own up to display the sheer amount of calls in his recents. “I’ve been calling you. Why didn’t you answer?”

“Oh.” Ba-ye laughs sheepishly. “I, uh, misplaced my phone earlier. Still haven’t found it.”

Zhang Qishan lets his hand drop, swinging at his side as he tries to keep his heart from pumping out of his chest. He inhales through his teeth, then marches over to Ba-ye’s desk, grabbing his wrist and pulling him away from the windows. Ba-ye likes to look outside. Zhang Qishan thinks that’s a hazard.

“Hey!” Ba-ye says. “What are you--?”

Zhang Qishan positions himself so that he’s between Ba-ye and the window, keeping his eyes on the door as he holds his phone up. “What does this mean?”

“What?” Ba-ye repeats, squinting and adjusting his glasses as he peers at the phone. He seems to recognize the symbol, because his eyes widen.

“You know it?” Zhang Qishan says.

Ba-ye hasn’t made him let go of his wrist. “Yes,” he says. “Wu. In wuxing, it’s… it’s a weakening cycle.”

“Weakening?” Zhang Qishan asks. “What does that do?”

Ba-ye shrugs. “It could do a couple things,” he says. “Mostly, it refers to a conflict between the ke cycle and the wu cycle. It weakens the natural order of things. Which means our culprit is probably trying to weaken something specific. Something…” He trails off, eyes drifting somewhere over Zhang Qishan’s shoulder, and when he looks, there’s nothing there.

“Ba-ye.”

Ba-ye snaps back. “Sorry,” he says. “What were we talking about?”

“Whatever it was, it will have to wait,” Chen Pi’s grumpy voice says from the door, and Zhang Qishan had been too busy paying attention to Ba-ye to notice the footsteps, which he’ll need to think about later. He can’t be getting slow.

Zhang Rishan is right behind Chen Pi, though he looks more apologetic. “Sorry. Er-ye told us to come find you.”

“Of course you’re both here,” Chen Pi mutters.

“What does Er-ye need us for?” Ba-ye asks, and Zhang Qishan puts his phone away.

“What do you think?” Chen Pi says. “There’s been another one.”

Zhang Qishan isn’t talking to Ba-ye, because Ba-ye let him believe that he was dead for almost ten minutes. Or maybe longer. Zhang Qishan wasn’t keeping close track of the time that had been ticking by because he had been too busy trying to get back to the station.

“Are you sulking?” Ba-ye asks as they follow the GPS to the next murder scene, and normally Zhang Qishan wouldn’t bother to answer, but he’s on edge, very on edge.

“No.”

Ba-ye sighs. “If I had my phone, I would have texted you. You know that.”

“How’d you lose your phone in the first place?” Zhang Qishan mutters darkly. “You should be more careful.”

“I’m plenty careful,” Ba-ye scoffs, which is absolutely not true. “And I don’t know. I must have put it down somewhere and forgotten. I’m sure it’ll turn up.”

Zhang Qishan digs his phone out of his front pocket, which makes the car swerve a little, and Ba-ye swears. He tosses it onto the dashboard. “Take mine, then.”

Ba-ye stares for a moment, then snorts. “I’m not taking your phone.”

‘Yes, you are,” Zhang Qishan snaps. “So take it.”

“I don’t need you to keep tabs on me all the time,” Ba-ye argues. “I’m not helpless.”

“Stop arguing with me, and take the damn phone!” Zhang Qishan exclaims, and then has to brake sharply because he wasn’t paying attention to the light that was changing in front of them. He breathes heavily through his nose, fingers gripping the steering wheel.

“Fo-ye,” Ba-ye says after a moment.

“Please,” Zhang Qishan mutters. “Please just take it.”

Ba-ye sighs deeply, and for a moment Zhang Qishan thinks that they’re going to continue arguing, but Ba-ye takes the phone and tucks it away at his side.

“You don’t have to be so anxious about me, you know,” he murmurs. “I’m not going to get kidnapped in broad daylight.”

You might, Zhang Qishan thinks, but the light turns green then, so he doesn’t say it out loud.

This murder scene is far from any civilian gatherings, which is good because they don’t have to push through crowds of curious passersby, and bad because that means the killer has broken their previous pattern. As they pull up, it becomes even more confusing because there are several firetrucks that are also present; normally, by the time detectives and forensics get to a crime scene, the firefighters will have already surveyed the scene and left.

Zhang Qishan and Ba-ye get out of the car, going up to one of the officers, who is watching the firemen as they stand around in a loose circle.

“What’s going on?” Zhang Qishan asks, and the officer turns. She’s someone he recognizes; he thinks that she was in one of his academy courses.

“You’ve been working on this case?” she replies, looking Zhang Qishan over. “I got the basic run-down earlier. This one’s strange.”

Zhang Qishan frowns. “Strange how?”

The officer doesn’t have a chance to answer, because one of the firemen is wandering over. “This forensics?”

Ba-ye flashes his badge. “Forensics Officer Qi Tiezui. What’s…?”

“It’s your scene now,” the fireman says. “You’ll be able to tell more from it than we will.” He steps to the side, and Zhang Qishan can now see the body through the wall of dispersing firefighters.

Or what’s left of the body. Really, it doesn’t look like a body at all, which is half-relieving and half-horrifying, because while the fact that the corpse no longer resembles that of a human makes it slightly easier to look at, the fact that it’s burned to a crisp does not.

Ba-ye inhales sharply through his teeth. “What—?” He immediately goes over to the body, crouching down next to it and beginning his examination.

Zhang Qishan turns back to the officer. “Who called it in?”

“A sanitation worker,” she answers. “He only comes this way about once a week since the district is basically abandoned, so we’re not sure how long the body has been here. Judging by the lack of smoke and the fallen soot pattern, it’s probably been a while.”

Zhang Qishan sighs. It fits the profile. Of course. 

He glances over at Ba-ye, who appears to have already finished with the initial exam and is now directing the rest of the forensics team to prepare the body to be moved to the labs. He catches Zhang Qishan staring and shrugs, walking over to him while pulling off his plastic gloves. 

“Not much we can do here,” he says. “Whoever they are, we can’t identify yet, and I don’t think the scene is going to give us any more information. We’ll take them back to the lab and start the autopsy process.” He glances at the building. “Do you want to look at anything?” 

Zhang Qishan almost says no, but then remembers the symbol drawn on the wall at Fu Wangshi’s place. “That… might be a good idea.” 

Ba-ye nods. “Do you want company?” 

Again, the answer would usually be no, but his head is still spinning with the anxiety of a ringing, unanswered phone line, so Zhang Qishan says, “Sure. Might as well.” The look Ba-ye gives him lets him know that he isn’t fooled for a second, but Zhang Qishan is willing to deal with a slight blow to his pride if it means Ba-ye is going to remain within his sightline. 

They make sure that the forensics team and the other officers on duty have what they need to transport the body back to the station and then head for the building. It's an abandoned construction site, so there's a lot of open concrete and stairs, scaffolding ricketed around the walls, no glass in the windows. Zhang Qishan texts Zhang Rishan to look into the company that owns the lot as Ba-ye looks carefully at the dirt on the floor, which doesn't seem to tell him anything.

They climb up to the second of the three floors in the building, which is just as barren as the first. There's a wide section of wall cut away at the front of the building. Zhang Qishan goes to the edge, holding his arm out to stop Ba-ye from getting too close to the edge when he follows.

They peer downward at the remaining officers clearing up the scene and roping off the area. It's not too high up, and Zhang Qishan takes the time to look over the surrounding area, but it's mostly just back alleys and other empty lots. Security camera footage is unlikely, and given that it doesn't look like there's been a lot of work done on the construction site in a while, it makes sense that no one would have noticed anything suspicious.

"Where do you think they burned it?" Ba-ye asks. "The body, I mean. It didn't look as though the fire had been set down there."

"Is is easy to transport cremated remains?" Zhang Qishan asks in response.

Ba-ye shakes his head. "Well. Not fully cremated, anyway. Ash would flake away, they'd lose genetic material. The body was still fairly intact, so it's really only the skin that's been damaged."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, it means that an autopsy will probably be easier to do," Ba-ye says, scratching at his neck as he thinks. "And we'll probably be able to tell if the cause of death was smoke inhalation or—"

"Or cardiovascular stress," Zhang Qishan cuts in.

"Right," Ba-ye says. "We'll see if it fits the pattern."

Zhang Qishan nods, glancing around the room to see if he can spot anything unusual, anything that sticks out. "Where would someone be able to do something like that?"

"Crematorium, probably," Ba-ye says. "Or at least that would be the easiest. I mean, you could technically do it anywhere I suppose, but the body wasn't contorted or anything like that, so they were lying flat and transported smoothly. Somewhere with professional facilities seems the most likely."

"Okay," Zhang Qishan says slowly, feeling something rise in his chest, like there's a line for him to grab that will yank him somewhere where things make sense. "So we should be questioning people who work in funery services, maybe?"

Ba-ye shrugs. "It's a start."

Zhang Qishan texts that bit of information to Zhang Rishan as well as Ba-ye pokes around in the fine dirt at the edge of the room. He doesn't appear to find anything and trots back to Zhang Qishan's side; Zhang Qishan ignores the little tick of relief that courses through him once Ba-ye is within his arm's reach.

The relief dissipates quickly. Ba-ye's eyes go wide and he points over Zhang Qishan's shoulder. Zhang Qishan whirls around, hand going to his sidearm, half-ready to shoot whatever has startled Ba-ye, until he sees what he's pointing at.

A small, tacky camera, haphazardly drilled into the corner of the ceiling. It's not marked or high-tech, so most likely a surveillance system for the construction manager to keep an eye on the workers to ensure they aren't wasting company resources.

"A lead," Ba-ye says, his expression gone from shocked to smiling.

Zhang Qishan calls Zhang Rishan.

Zhang Qishan walks Ba-ye all the way to his lab when they return to the precinct. Ba-ye protests heavily, but Zhang Qishan will not be moved. He leaves Ba-ye where he's supposed to be with some thinly-veiled threats as to what might happen if Ba-ye tries to leave the precinct without someone else with him, and then goes to debrief with Er-ye.

Er-ye takes one look at him and sighs. "That bad?"

"What?" Zhang Qishan asks, collapsing in the chair on the other side of Er-ye's desk and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

"You look like you haven't slept," Er-ye says, "Or eaten. Are you running solely on coffee right now?"

"No," Zhang Qishan says, which is true; he hasn't had time to get coffee yet today.

"Right," Er-ye says, "Worse than I thought, then."

Zhang Qishan glares at him with as much vitrol as he can muster, which is very little. Unfortunately, Er-ye knows all of his bad habits that tend to crop up during tough cases; he had to deal with all of them when they were partners.

"Why are you so worked up?" Er-ye asks, thumping a stack of papers against his desk to even them out. "It's a difficult case, but you're typically less… agitated when it comes to these sorts of things."

Zhang Qishan groans. "I don't know."

"Yes, you do," Er-ye says uncaringly, standing to place his files in the proper drawer. "You just don't want to admit it to yourself."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Zhang Qishan asks him.

Er-ye fixes him with the stare that means Zhang Qishan is doing something exceptionally stupid. "It's because of Ba-ye, right?"

"No," Zhang Qishan says. "Yes. I don't know."

Er-ye folds his hands together as he sits back down at his desk. "Have you talked to him about it."

"What's there to talk about?" Zhang Qishan asks, slumping down in the chair and stretching his legs out under Er-ye's desk. "I'm being paranoid and he's part of the target pool, so he's getting the front end of it."

"And why are you being paranoid?" Er-ye asks.

Zhang Qishan glares at him. As much as he appreciates Er-ye helping him parse his own emotions, he thinks that their captain should probably just say what he's thinking. "Why?"

"Are you going to continue being purposefully obtuse?" Er-ye demands.

"I'm not being purposefully obtuse!" Zhang Qishan protests.

Er-ye sighs with characteristic dramatics, and then, very uncharacteristically, gets up from his chair to come around the desk and put Zhang Qishan in a headlock.

"Er-ye!" Zhang Qishan squirms, batting at his arms.

"I need you to use your detective brain," Er-ye says. "Not your stupid jock brain. Come on, Zhang Qishan. Use your smart brain."

"What—ack—stop!" Zhang Qishan tries to twist out of Er-ye's hold, but Er-ye is stronger than he looks, and also knows all of Zhang Qishan's defense moves. "What are you talking about?"

"Why in the world do you think you're so stressed out about this case?" Er-ye demands. "Why is it so different from any other murder case that your paranoia is off the charts?"

"Because—"Zhang Qishan tries to think of something, anything, because while he trusts Er Yuehong completely, he really doesn't like being in a wrestling hold in his office, and it's making it difficult to think. "It's—"

The door opens, and Er-ye drags Zhang Qishan around in the chair by his neck, which isn't the most comfortable feeling in the world. What's even more uncomfortable is Jiu-ye in the doorway, mouth open as he takes in what the precinct captain and head detective are doing.

"Right," Jiu-ye says slowly as he closes the door again, "I guess I'll come back later."

Zhang Qishan takes the opportunity to break out of the headlock and stand up, putting some distance between him and Er-ye so he can straighten his clothes out and smooth his hair back down. "What the fuck?"

Er-ye, for his part, simply brushes off his uniform as though he wasn't seconds away from choking Zhang Qishan out. "Did that help?"

"How could that have possibly helped?" Zhang Qishan demands.

Er-ye sits back down at his desk. "I was hoping adrenaline would kick in and you'd have some sort of epiphany, but I see that we're going to have to walk through this one." He rolls his eyes. "I don't know how you're such a good detective, but you really should be paying more attention to what's going on with yourself internally."

Zhang Qishan sits back down as well, just on the edge of the chair, in case Er-ye decides to try something else. "Sorry."

Er-ye sighs. "Do you remember the Hanying case?"

Zhang Qishan frowns. "Yes. Why?"

"What happened with that?" Er-ye says, spreading his hands out with the palms up, as though he wants Zhang Qishan to physically place something there. "What do you remember?"

Zhang Qishan stops to think about it for a second, becuase the real answer is not much. "You took point on it."

"Yes," Er-ye says, "And what did you do?"

"Nothing," Zhang Qishan says. "I was on medical leave."

"Wrong!" Er-ye exclaims, pointing a finger at him. "You were told to do nothing because you were on medical leave. What you did was show up in an active firefight, concussed, and nearly blew the entire mission."

Zhang Qishan sputters for a moment. "That's—it—I—it was for a good reason!"

"What reason?" Er-ye demands.

"You were there," Zhang Qishan says. "I didn't want you to have to deal with it on your own."

"Correction," Er-ye says, "I was there with a handful of other highly trained officers and assigned to the case because I hadn't gotten beaned in the head with a lead pipe three days before. All of the men I was with had fully-functioning brains and had not been placed on medical leave. And yet you still showed up, because you can't ever leave things alone."

"That's not fair," Zhang Qishan says. "I caught the guy sneaking up on you, didn't I? You could've gotten hurt."

"Sure," Er-ye says, "And thank you for that. But you shouldn't have been there at all. I would've figured things out, or someone who was there to be my backup would have, and I wouldn't have had to deal with you jumping the guy, getting slammed into a concrete wall, and passing out because you shouldn't have been working at all, much less getting into fistfights."

"It worked out, though," Zhang Qishan mutters. "In the end."

"Only because I vouched for you," Er-ye tells him, which Zhang Qishan had not known. "And if I hadn't been next in line for captaincy, I probably wouldn't have been able to do it."

"Oh," Zhang Qishan says, "Sorry."

Er-ye waves his hand flippantly. "I've gotten you out of worse. Besides, that's not why we're talking about this. We're talking about this because I want you to remember what you said after I yelled at you for ten minutes about taking care of yourself and not disobeying medical orders."

"'… I'll do better next time?'" Zhang Qishan says.

"Before that," Er-ye says. "Before 'I'll do better next time,' you said, 'Why wouldn't I have come? It's you."

Ah, Zhang Qishan thinks, That.

"I stand by that," is what he responds.

"Great," Er-ye says, "That's fine. My point is that you tend to get in over your head when your people are involved, and while that shows a great deal of care, you do need to learn when your instincts are something to be listened to and when you need to take a step back and let people do their jobs. You're not the only good officer on this team, Zhang Qishan, and as much as you want to keep everyone safe, you can't take all of that on. Both for your sake and for the sake of others."

Zhang Qishan could probably argue that point, but he's tired and Er-ye is already much smarter than he is on good day, which this isn't. "… yeah."

"Good," Er-ye says. "So you'll talk to Ba-ye?"

"Yes," Zhang Qishan sighs.

Er-ye's eyebrows quirk, a fond little expression crossing his face. "Alright. That was easier than I expected." He clicks his tongue at Zhang Qishan's wounded expression. "Don't look at me like that. Here." He reaches behind his desk and produces two cups of Zhang Qishan's favorite flavor of ramen. "Go eat. That'll help, I promise."

Zhang Qishan doesn't quite believe him, but free ramen is free ramen.

Despite Er-ye's prompting, Zhang Qishan doesn't end up talking to Ba-ye that day; he gets stuck on a conference call between several precincts on a case about serial parking violations, which does not help improve his mood or his thoughts on their current murder case. By the time he gets out of it, he's forty-five minutes overtime and has fully missed Ba-ye leaving. Zhang Rishan said he drove him home, which does help Zhang Qishan's nerves settle a little.

Still, the tight, buzzing feeling in his chest doesn't let up throughout the evening, which is how he finds himself parked outside of Ba-ye's aparment at 10pm. There aren't any lights on upstairs, which is normal; Ba-ye's probably asleep. He'd be unhappy if he knew that Zhang Qishan was staking out his apartment without permission, but hopefully he won't ever know. Zhang Qishan will just stay here for the night and then leave in the morning before anyone notices him. He'll need an extra shot of espresso in his coffee, but he's still about two all-nighters away from becoming an actual detriment to the force, and hopefully they'll have this all tied up by then.

While he's sitting there, he goes over the list of crematoriums and funery services that Zhang Rishan had emailed to him earlier. It's comprehensive, because Zhang Rishan is good at his job; he's even marked the places within a ten-mile radius of their crime scenes with little astricks. He had also gotten ahold of the site manager to request footage from the cameras Ba-ye had found in the building, but that was proving to be a little more difficult since the site manager was insistent that there weren't cameras up, probably to avoid any lawsuits from his employees.

Nothing really stands out to Zhang Qishan as he goes through the list. He pays attention to the select funeries that are closest to the newest crime scene, but none of them are close enough that transporting a body to an abandoned construction site would be convenient. They also don't account for the other bodies, which are both several neighborhoods away.

He sighs and tosses his extra phone, the one he hadn't given Ba-ye, into the passenger seat, thumping the back of his head against the seat rest. He turns on the radio and then immediately turns it off again. He makes certain that his headlights are off for the fourth time so it won't be obvious that he's sitting in his car for no reason. Alone.

He tries to remember who's on-call for the night shift, but he doesn't think that it's anyone he knows. Everyone had gone home before him except for Chen Pi, who wasn't really a conversationalist at the best of times, so there's no one at the precinct to distract him. A voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Er-ye's says, "Go home then, idiot."

"Shut up," Zhang Qishan mutters, then feels stupid talking to himself.

He shuffles back in his seat, folding his arms over his chest and curling his shoulders up, even though he isn't cold yet, though he will be at the end of the night. He wants to tap into his stakeout skills, but it's been so long since he's been on one by himself that he can't find the familiar half-conscious state that his father had drilled into him. Sitting in the car feels like that, almost, alone in a tree, too cold to fall asleep but not nearly awake.

He only remembers bits and pieces of those nights, but there were enough of them that the feelings remain. He used to be good at this, at sitting still and watching the same spot and not moving unless he was called to be. But now, all he can think about is Ba-ye, who he has to protect, who is hopefully safe and warm in his apartment. It distracts him, pulls at his conscious just enough that he can't float through the remaining hours until dawn.

It's a long night, but Zhang Qishan stays awake. When the sun hits the tops of the buildings and sends light into his eyes, he unstiffens, turns the car on, cranks the heat, and then goes to find the largest cup of coffee he can hope to consume before the bullpen meeting.

Ba-ye's already at the office when Zhang Qishan arrives, having made a detour to his apartment to shower and change clothes; he can't have any of them thinking that he' s slipping, which the voice in his head reminds him is a sure sign that he actually is. He ignores it and then ignores Ba-ye, who is talking to Yatou anyway and doesn't seem angry with Zhang Qishan, which means that he didn't notice his car sitting outside all night, which is at least one thing that has gone right.

Er-ye gets the meeting started quickly; they're under pressure from the district commissioner to produce some results, anyresults as to who the culprit might be. While the victim population isn't exactly politically significant, the fact that there has been three murders in the span of three days with absolutely no evidence pointing towards a suspect definitely is.

"Just… keep doing what you're doing," Er-ye says, lines at the edges of his mouth displaying his displeasure. "I'll do my best keep the brass off of our backs for a while longer."

"Worst part of the job for sure," Xinyue says, and Zhang Rishan nods encouragingly.

"Thanks for the validation," Er-ye says, smile becoming a little more genuine. "Alright, let's get to work."

The precinct divvies up, the movement snapping Zhang Qishan from the semi-daze he had gone into for the duration of the meeting. He looks over to see Ba-ye standing next to his chair and jumps.

"Whoa," Ba-ye says, "Don't look so happy to see me."

"Sorry," Zhang Qishan says, squinting to try and figure out where he put his coffee before realizing that he had finished it before the bullpen started and definitely needs another. "What's happening?"

"I was going to let you know the autopsy results," Ba-ye says, stradling the chair in front of Zhang Qishan so his arms dangle over the back, "But I don't know if you're awake enough for that."

"I'm awake," Zhang Qishan says, sitting up straighter to make it seem more believable.

"Well, you don't necessarily need to be, I suppose," Ba-ye muses. "It's the same thing as far as we can tell. Cardiovascular stress with traces of an organic substance on the forehead."

Zhang Qishan isn't entirely surprised. "I don't suppose you know what it said?"

"No, but I can guess," Ba-ye says glumly. "The body was burned. Fire seems the most likely."

"Does that… mean something?" Zhang Qishan asks.

Ba-ye shrugs. "Not entirely, but that does give us three out of the five elements. Wood, metal, fire. Only water and earth are left."

"Does the order matter?" Zhang Qishan asks.

"It does if someone is trying to invoke a cycle, which seems likely given the victim demographics." Ba-ye sighs. "Based on what you found at Master Fu's, I would bet money that they want a weakening cycle, but I can't think of a reason why anyone would purposefully invoke that. It's not as powerful as a destruction cycle, and wouldn't bring about good fortune like creation."

"They are committing serial murders," Zhang Qishan points out. "Good fortune probably isn't what they're going for, exactly."

"Fair," Ba-ye says. "It's just strange. I don't know any fortune tellers who would purposefully invoke that cycle, or what the purpose of doing so would be."

"What if they're not a fortune teller?" Zhang Rishan's voice asks suddenly, and Zhang Qishan and Ba-ye both jump, turning to see the younger detective still in his seat. He holds up his hands. "Sorry."

"No, it's alright," Ba-ye says. "What do you mean?"

Zhang Rishan looks between the two of them hesitantly before he answers. "Well, I mean, you're not a fortune teller really. But you still know all of this stuff."

"Well, yes," Ba-ye says. "But that's because I was expected to become a fortune teller. Family business."

"That's what I'm saying," Zhang Rishan continues. "They might not be psychic themselves; they might just know a lot about it." He pauses, looking at Zhang Qishan hesitantly. "There's a chance, right?"

"Right," Zhang Qishan says, "But that means it could be just about anyone."

"Really throws a wrench into the suspect pool," Ba-ye mutters.

Zhang Rishan squints at him. "I don't think that's a metaphor."

"It's just a saying," Ba-ye says.

"I don't think it's one of those either."

The phone rings; every head in the room turns towards the sound. Yatou steps out, and they can hear her calm, charming voice float in from outside.

"Understood," she says, "I'll send them over right away." The receiver clicks as Yatou sets it down, matching the tap of her footsteps as she re-enters the bullpen, her expression both concerned and sympathetic.

"Fo-ye," she says, "You should go to the recreation center." She nods at Ba-ye. "You too."

Er-ye sighs from across the room, clearly deducing what they're all thinking. "Take Zhang Rishan with you."

Zhang Rishan shoots out of his chair, then seems to realize that he shouldn't be quite so excited about the fact that there has been another murder, even if it does mean he gets to work with Zhang Qishan and Ba-ye.

Ba-ye, for his part, stands as well, pushing his glasses up his nose. "I take it something has been found at the pool?"

Yatou winces. "It did seem like it."

"How'd you know?" Xinyue asks eagerly. "Did someone tell you?"

"No," Ba-ye says, though he doesn't seem quite as glum about it has he had earlier. "Just a guess. Water's one of the two elements that haven't been invoked yet. And if it's a wu cycle, it falls in the order."

"Then we only have one more chance to catch whoever is doing this," Wu Laogou points out. "If we don't…"

Er-ye pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Luckily or unluckily, the victim demographics means that the case hasn't quite hit the press yet. We need to come up with something before it happens."

"The commissioner won't be pleased if we don't," Yatou finishes softly.

"I'm working on that," Er-ye says. "The rest of you, focus in on this case. Canvas the neighborhoods around where the bodies were found, talk to the families. I know you've been doing that, but we're running out of time. Jiu-ye, can you go through the list of locals reported as missing the last week? See if there are any psychics or anyone connected to fortune telling there. Ba-ye?"

Ba-ye perks up. "Yes?"

"Stay with Qishan," Er-ye says, "And don't look at me like that."

"I'm not looking at you like anything," Ba-ye grumbles.

"You would think he'd be thrilled," Chen Pi whispers to Zhang Rishan. Ba-ye pretends not to hear him and Zhang Qishan pretends to not be stupified as to what that's supposed to mean.

"Come on," he says instead to Ba-ye. "We should go."

"Right behind you," Ba-ye says, grabbing his jacket.

The local community center is fairly small; it's mostly utilized by people in the neighborhood. People tended to go to the larger pool downtown, but there are a few clusters of people outside, making guesses as to why there's a large police presence at the pool. Zhang Rishan goes to get the debriefing information while Zhang Qishan and Ba-ye pass under the yellow tape. An officer leads them through the hallways, the smell of chlorine getting stronger as they go.

The pool deck is covered with forensic scientists examining the scene, taking photos and picking up water from the tile with small syringes. They've removed the body from the water, covering it in a sheet near the edge. Ba-ye crouches down and lifts the sheet briefly, nodding before he lays it back down again.

"We'll need a full autopsy to confirm," he says, "But it doesn't look like they died of asphixiation. The body was transported here and deposited after the murder."

"Number four," Zhang Qishan says. He glances around the room, but aside from their team, nothing appears outwardly amiss. "Who found them?"

An officer steps forward, flipping through their notes. "The pool manager," they say. "He unlocked the building this morning and was doing routine checks when he found the body. He called local law enforcement immediately."

"No sign of forced entry?" Zhang Qishan asks.

The officer shakes their head. "None. The manager said he checked for damage on the entrances, but couldn't find anything."

"Does anyone else have keys to the building?"

The officer consults his notes again. "It looks like the keys are kept in a lockbox on the outside of the building. Anyone who has the code can access that. There was no damage to the box, either."

"So it would have to be someone who knew the code," Ba-ye cuts in. "Were any of the employees acting suspicious?"

"Everyone was told to stay home after the police were called," the officer says. "I'm not sure if we've started questioning the employees yet."

Zhang Qishan nods. "I'll probably need to speak to the manager."

The officer tilts his head back towards the entrance. "He should be in the front office. Said he would stay in case we needed anything."

"That's nice of him," Ba-ye says, just slightly sarcastic. Zhang Qishan drags him out of the pool before he can find anythin else to snark about.

The manager is a short, balding man who hops out of his chair as soon as Zhang Qishan raps on the doorframe.

"Officers!" he exclaims. "Do you have other questions?"

"Yes," Zhang Qishan says, allowing the manager to find them chairs to sit in. He catches sight of the nametag on the man's chest. "Mr. Ji?"

"Yes," Mr. Ji says, "That's me. How can I be of assistance? I already spoke with the other officers earlier, but I'm happy to clarify anything you would like."

Zhang Qishan exchanges a glance with Ba-ye, who makes a face as if to say, go on.

"Have you noticed any suspicious behavior from any of your employees recently?" Zhang Qishan asks. "Especially those who know how to access the keys in the building?"

Mr. Ji considers this for a moment. "Not that I can think of… well, actually, the pool cleaner, Zhao Yubo? He hasn't shown up for half of his shifts this week. We tried calling him, but there was no answer, which is strange. He's never missed work in the three years he's been employed here."

"Did you call for a wellness check?" Zhang Qishan asks.

Mr. Ji shakes his head. "No, no. Another worker went by his place yesterday and said that it didn't appear that anyone was home, but that's not unusual. Xiao Zhao has a few different part-time jobs; he might have picked something up over the weekend. He's a good kid. A little odd, but good."

"Odd how?" Ba-ye asks.

Mr. Ji laughs. "He's into fortune telling, or something? I'm not sure. He was great at parties, he'd read everyone's palms and things like that." He holds up a finger, then rummages around in his desk. "Here, he invited me to an event. I think it was for one of his part-time jobs. I didn't end up going, but he was handing out the flyers to everyone at work that week."

Zhang Qishan takes the piece of paper Mr. Ji hands to him, Ba-ye looking over his shoulder. It appears to be some kind of fair, advertising different local vendors and encouraging people to come have their tarot read and fortunes told.

"Look," Ba-ye says, pointing to a list of participants near the bottom of the page. Zhang Qishan follows his finger.

"Master Fu Wangshi," he murmurs.

"Coincedence?" Ba-ye asks, but they both know it isn't.

They thank Mr. Ji for his time, and Mr. Ji insists that he'll be happy to help with the investigation any way he can, sending them both of with his business card. Ba-ye sticks his in his pocket, and Zhang Rishan hands his to Zhang Rishan as soon as he gets outside.

"Nothing suspicious inside," he says. "Did you find anything?"

Zhang Rishan shakes his head. "I asked a few of the bystanders if they'd noticed any disturbances last night or more recently, but they said they hadn't seen anything." He notices the flyer. "What's that?"

"It's a flyer for a fortune telling event," Zhang Qishan says, handing it over. "One of the employees here was interested in it."

"Fu Wangshi," Zhang Rishan says, spotting the familiar name immediately. "So he had a definite connection to at least one of the other victims."

"And he hasn't been at work for a while," Zhang Qishan says. "Plus he has access to the keys to the building."

"So Zhao Yubo is our top suspect, then?" Ba-ye asks.

Zhang Qishan nods. "It seems like it." He turns back to Zhang Rishan. "See if you can find anything on him. Where he might be, what other connections he had."

Zhang Rishan salutes. "What are you going to do?"

Zhang Qishan holds up the flyer. "At least two people associated with this case were at this event. We should probably check it out."

"It was weeks ago, though," Ba-ye points out. "Will there be any evidence left?"

"Only one way to find out," Zhang Qishan says.

The event had been held in the courtyard of a small cluster of shops; several restaurants, a tea shop, some sort of antique store, and what appears to be a handful of fortune telling stalls, if Ba-ye's judgement is anything to go by, which it typically is. Only the tea shop is open, run by a tiny old woman who gives them each a free cup as she answers their questions.

"Oh, yes," she says when Zhang Qishan shows her the flyer. "They often do small events here. It's good for our businesses and for theirs. A partnership, if you will."

"Do you know any of them personally?" Zhang Qishan asks.

The woman considers. "Not well, but they all often stop by for tea, both during the events and outside of them. There are a few I'm acquainted with."

"Any names?"

The old woman sighs. "Now, that's trickier. I don't have the memory for names anymore… I often spoke with a Mr. Wang, and Cai Zihan… oh, and Luo Dian! She was very kind, always bringing around herbs or talismans for me and my husband."

Zhang Qishan's eyes flick over to Ba-ye, who looks a little shellshocked. "You said Luo Dian?"

"Yes." The old woman looks between them. "Why, has something happened?"

"We're not able to disclose that information right now," Zhang Qishan says, which he's pretty sure just gives away the fact that something has happened. "Do you recall any other details from the latest event?"

The woman thinks for a moment, then shakes her head. "Nothing out of the ordinary," she says. "They're good for the community. I know that people don't think much of psychics these days, but these people do know what they're doing. It's their work, and they're good at it."

"Of course," Ba-ye says gently, giving the woman a genuine smile. "Thank you for your help."

They leave the tea shop after insisting that they don't need a second cup and thanking the woman for the information, finally getting back outside. The wind whips through the courtyard, sending the coverings on the stalls flapping.

"She knew Luo Dian," Zhang Qishan says once their out of earshot of the shop. "So two of the three victims were here."

Ba-ye nods, but before he can say anything, Zhang Qishan's phone rings. He digs it out of his pocket and answers. "Zhang Rishan?"

"Fo-ye," Zhang Rishan says. "I have… good news and bad news."

"Just tell me," Zhang Qishan says, putting the phone on speaker so that Ba-ye can listen in.

"Well, the good news is that we found Zhao Yubo."

"That is good!" Ba-ye exclaims.

"Yeah, well," Zhang Rishan says in a voice that sounds like a wince, "That's the bad news. He's the third victim. The dental records came back."

"Oh," Ba-ye says, visibly deflating.

Zhang Qishan's mind turns, though it seems slower than usual. "Then all three of the victims were at this event."

"They were?"

"We spoke with a woman who knew Luo Dian," Ba-ye explains. "It sounds like she was a regular around here."

"So the event is probably our best lead," Zhang Rishan says. "Fo-ye, send me a picture of the flyer. I'll start looking into the others listed there. If we can't pinpoint who the killer is, maybe we can at least save the next victim."

Zhang Qishan agrees and hangs up. He holds out the flyer and snaps a picture as they walk towards the car. He's just about to send it to Zhang Rishan when he bumps into someone, sending the phone tumbling out of his hands and onto the ground.

"Ah, sorry!" the person says, bending down and picking up the device, brushing the dirt off before handing it back to Zhang Qishan. "I should have been watching where I was going."

"Don't worry," Zhang Qishan says, right as Ba-ye says, "Be more careful next time."

The man smiles at Zhang Qishan as he nudges Ba-ye with his foot to tell him to be polite. "We don't get many new visitors around here. You came from the tea shop. Do you know the Jiangs?"

Zhang Qishan blinks and shakes his head. "No. We were just stopping by."

"Ah, right," the man says. "I thought you might be their son. I know he comes by sometimes, but I've never seen him." He bows slightly at the waist. "I'm sorry for running into you."

Zhang Qishan watches as he turns and goes into the antique store, unlocking it quickly and slipping inside. The large glass window at the front lights up, still curtained, and Zhang Qishan can see the outlines of a variety of pottery objects lined up on the windowsill.

"Some people," Ba-ye mutters under his breath. "Sure you don't want to go talk to him?"

Zhang Qishan turns to him. "What?"

"He was clearly flirting with you," Ba-ye says. "Probably ran into you on purpose."

"What?"

"He didn't even look at me!" Ba-ye complains. "What else could that be?"

"He wasn't flirting with me," Zhang Qishan protests.

Ba-ye stares at him with the sort of disbelieving look that makes Zhang Qishan want to change the topic immediately; it reminds him of Er-ye.

"He wasn't!" he says.

"Uh huh," Ba-ye says, already turning on his heel and stalking towards the car. Zhang Qishan has to run to catch up.

The entire precinct must be on high alert, because even without Ba-ye there, the autopsy and body identification were completed by the time the two of them get back. They run into Zhang Rishan on the way out, who just yells, "I'll text you!" and then disappears out the doors with Yatou, which is a shock; Yatou normally stays with Er-ye. If she's going out in the field, it means that things are very serious.

"I'll go check in with my team," Ba-ye says, his expression serious. "You go see what else has turned up."

Zhang Qishan nods and watches until Ba-ye rounds the corner, his ID badge rippling behind him. Then he turns and jogs through the hallway to their office, nearly tripping over his own feet as he attempts to stop at the door.

Er-ye's sitting at Zhang Qishan's desk, which is strange sort of deja vu. He's wearing his glasses, and he looks up when Zhang Qishan enters. It strikes him through the heart, just a bit.

"You're back," Er-ye says, a slight sigh of relief following the end of his sentence. "What did you find?"

"The third victim," Zhang Qishan says. "He was also interested in fortune telling and he had a connection to the other two victims. He also worked at the location where the fourth body was found." He pauses. "Did you ID them?"

Er-ye nods, his frown deepening. "It was… someone recognized them. Apparently they were popular online for doing tarot readings and hadn't gone live in a few days, so their followers were keeping an eye out for any news since they lived alone."

"That means… the case hit the media?" Zhang Qishan asks.

Er-ye nods bitterly. "We're being flooded with calls from the press and the top brass. The commissioner is getting pressure from the mayor. Plus… well. We all know there's going to be another homicide, and it's going to be tonight."

"Ba-ye told you?" Zhang Qishan guesses.

Er-ye nods. "I know he hasn't been able to communicate with the victims, but having all four of them be psychics and marked with four of the five elements can't be a coincedence. If he says that it's following a pattern, I believe it."

Zhang Qishan nods. "Whoever the killer is, we can't let them complete the cycle."

Er-ye's mouth crooks. "You believe in it now?"

"No," Zhang Qishan says, "I just don't want anyone else to die."

The smile slides off of Er-ye's face, and Zhang Qishan feels something prick at his insides.

"What do you need me to do?" he asks, trying to lead the conversation a different way.

"Honestly?" Er-ye says.

"Yes," Zhang Qishan says.

"You have to really listen to me," Er-ye says. "I mean it."

"Yes," Zhang Qishan repeats.

"I want you to stay here," Er-ye says.

"No," Zhang Qishan says immediately.

"You promised you'd hear me out," Er-ye reminds him. He takes his glasses off. "First of all, I'm worried about you, and second of all, I'm worried about Ba-ye. He's not going to get kidnapped out of the station, I know that, but the crime scenes have gotten closer to the precinct as they've gone."

Zhang Qishan hadn't noticed. "Oh."

"So I want you to stick with him," Er-ye continues. "Make sure nothing happens. Even if he's not in physical danger, it can't be easy emotionally either, knowing someone is attacking people you know."

Zhang Qishan nods. He can feel the tendrils of guilt trickling in, whispering that he should be moving, be doing something, not just sitting still, even though the treacherous parts of him trill at the idea of just guarding Ba-ye. "One condition."

Er-ye mouths one-condition as he rolls his eyes, but he listens. "What?"

"If something happens and you need backup, you call me first."

Er-ye's brow smooths, like he's surprised. "Reasonable. Deal."

"Okay," Zhang Qishan says. "I'll stay with Ba-ye. Do we…"

"Take him home after he's done here," Er-ye says. "It won't do either of you any good to stay late. I know that you haven't been sleeping, and no one seems to see Ba-ye around the precinct, besides when he's in the lab or with you. The last thing we need is our source of psychic knowledge out of the equation."

Zhang Qishan's head immediately goes to that, thinks about the convenience store across the street, how he could get them both food, make sure Ba-ye eats. "I understand."

"I know," Er-ye says. He looks at his phone and groans. "I have to go. There's a press conference in fifteen minutes."

"Good luck," Zhang Qishan says.

"Good luck yourself," Er-ye retorts. "You're the one who has to convince Ba-ye that it's a good idea to go home. He's more stubborn than you, sometimes."

 Ba-ye’s apartment is quiet. A little too quiet, in Zhang Qishan’s opinion, which he makes known as he canvases the place to make sure that there aren’t any weak spots he hasn’t already thought of (windows, doors, houseplants). 

“That’s why I like it,” Ba-ye says. He’s leaning against his kitchen island, arms folded, watching as Zhang Qishan combs through his belongings like he’s never seen any of them before. “It’s nice. Not like a downtown apartment. There’s only retirees and grad students and me here.” 

Zhang Qishan bites down on his tongue so that he doesn’t say what he’s thinking, which is that this setting would be perfect for an abduction. He double-checks the ficus pot for hidden cameras. 

“It’s better than your apartment,” Ba-ye continues, which, okay. Zhang Qishan can admit that he’s not exactly living in the lap of luxury. When Ba-ye had suggested they find separate places after they joined the force and started earning real salaries, Zhang Qishan had tried to hunt for a decent place for all of three days before giving up and signing a lease for the employee housing development a few blocks away. 

“My apartment isn’t bad,” Zhang Qishan mutters. 

“You live like three blocks from work,” Ba-ye says. “It’s like you’ve hardly left! How are you supposed to keep a work-life balance when you practically live at the station?” He makes a wide-eyed face of surprise, thumping the heel of his palm to his forehead. “Oh, right, sorry, I forgot you’re a workaholic who enjoys getting worried over nothing.” 

Zhang Qishan stops his searching and stares at Ba-ye. Whatever expression is on his face must be pitiful enough, because it only takes a few moments for Ba-ye to sigh and roll his eyes. 

“Sorry,” he says. “You’re worried. I get it.” 

Zhang Qishan doesn’t know if he does, really, but he’ll let that slide. “Am I being…?” 

“No,” Ba-ye sighs. He pushes himself away from the counter and walks into the living room with Zhang Qishan, closing the curtains, which effectively puts an end to Zhang Qishan’s plan to study the surrounding buildings for potential snipers. “You’re being careful. I just…” He shrugs. “I don’t know. It feels suffocating, a bit. Like you don’t trust me to take care of myself.” 

“I don’t,” Zhang Qishan says bluntly. 

“You’re not supposed to say that!” Ba-ye squawks, slapping at him with both hands, and Zhang Qishan finds himself smiling a little in spite of himself. The expression feels slightly strange on his face, as though he’s forgotten how to do it.

“There we go,” Ba-ye says quietly. “Now you look like yourself again.” 

Zhang Qishan isn’t sure what to do with that, so he steps away and peers around the curtain, spotting the squad car sitting on the street. He had asked Zhang Rishan to keep watch outside, just in case, and feels slightly better knowing that he has backup, and that the backup has a firearm.

“You’re going to weird out my neighbors,” Ba-ye says, flopping down on the couch. “You can’t just be looking out the window the whole evening, what’s the fun in that?” 

“Fun?” Zhang Qishan asks absently. He’s trying to gauge the time it would take Zhang Rishan to get up the stairs in an emergency. His fingers fiddle with the leaves of a spider monkey plant.  

“Of course,” Ba-ye says. “Do you think I invited you over just so you could fuck around with my plants?” 

Zhang Qishan stops fucking around with the plants. “Didn’t you?” 

“I may have had ulterior motives,” Ba-ye admits. He pulls his knees up to his chest, rocking a little. “It’s been a while since we’ve spent time together.” 

“We spend time together every day,” Zhang Qishan points out. 

“Not at work!” Ba-ye exclaims. “Work doesn’t count.” 

Zhang Qishan tries to think of the last time he and Ba-ye have done anything outside of work, aside from the occasional dinner together at the end of their shifts. “Work doesn’t count?” 

Ba-ye huffs. “See, this is what I said was going to happen. I said that we were going to live apart and then I’d never see you again because you forget about people when they aren’t right there!” 

Zhang Qishan is torn between feeling insulted and strangely confused. “I haven’t forgotten about you.” 

Ba-ye gazes at him, his eyes flitting back and forth, mouth set in a strange sort of line. Zhang Qishan is about to say something else, break the silence, but Ba-ye finally shrugs and says, “Well. I suppose not.” 

Zhang Qishan sort of wants to continue the conversation, because he feels as though he was about to learn something important. “No, no, keep going. What do you think?” 

“I think that we should order food and watch a movie,” Ba-ye says. 

“Not about… we aren’t ordering food,” Zhang Qishan says. “That’s a hazard.” 

“You’re actually awful, did you know that?” Ba-ye asks. “I’ve been eating out all week! No one’s going to suddenly poison me!” 

“Someone could intercept the delivery,” Zhang Qishan says, checking the window again. 

“Zhang Qishan, you’ll be the death of me,” Ba-ye groans. He gets up and drags Zhang Qishan away from the window, back to the sofa. “Stop lurking at my window and come hang out.” 

“I’m on the clock,” Zhang Qishan protests. 

“No, you’re not,” Ba-ye informs him. “I clocked you out before we left. Zhang Rishan is the only one technically on duty, so you can relax, okay?” 

Zhang Qishan doesn’t know how to tell him that he actually can’t relax, even a little, so he doesn’t. “Oh.” 

“I’m tolerating you being all… this,” Ba-ye says, waving his hand over the entirety of Zhang Qishan, “So you have to tolerate me being all of whatever I am.” 

“I don’t tolerate you,” Zhang Qishan says, before realizing how that sounds. “I mean, like, I don’t tolerate you. I don’t justtolerate you.” 

“I know what you mean,” Ba-ye says, his tone fond, which means he probably does. “Come over here and sit down, and I’ll let you pick the movie.” 

Zhang Qishan does, perching himself at one end of the couch. He half-expects Ba-ye to remark on it, to tell him to move closer, but he doesn’t. He just pulls up some streaming service and starts flipping through the available titles. Getting Zhang Qishan to choose one is difficult, because the only movies he really knows are the ones he’s already seen with Ba-ye, but they finally settle on a recent movie about a police force taking on a drug heist case, which should be entertaining enough. 

“That’s against protocol,” Zhang Qishan says for the third time, fifteen minutes into the film. 

“It’s fiction,” Ba-ye says. “They aren’t going to be following actual police procedure.” 

“Sure, fine, but this is ridiculous,” Zhang Qishan counters. “What do you mean they’re leaving the suspect uncuffed in the car with the keys in the ignition?” 

“They need him to get away so that they can pursue,” Ba-ye explains. “There wouldn’t be a plot otherwise.” 

“There’s hardly a plot in the first place,” Zhang Qishan complains, slumping back into the couch cushions and folding his arms. 

“Are you pouting?” Ba-ye asks, a gleefully wicked look in his eyes. “Are you really being a baby about fictional cops?” 

“No,” Zhang Qishan says, which is fully a lie. 

"You're not even someone who should be able to comment on following protocol," Ba-ye continues. "How many times has Er-ye put you on desk duty for breaking rules?"

"We're not talking about me."

"Oh, right, sorry," Ba-ye says, trying not to smile. "Movie time."

They turn back to the screen for all of twenty seconds before Ba-ye says, "This movie isn't very good, is it?"

"No," Zhang Qishan agrees.

"Well, so much for that," Ba-ye sighs, picking up the remote and clicking out of the film. He tosses the remote onto the coffee table. "What now?"

Zhang Qishan doesn't particularly have a suggestion, but his stomach apparently does, because it growls loudly. Ba-ye laughs when Zhang Qishan glares down at it for the betrayal.

"You're hungry?" he asks. "You could have just said so."

"You would've started ordering food," Zhang Qishan retorts. "I wasn't going to risk it."

"Jokes on you," Ba-ye shoots back, "Now you have to deal with my cooking."

"Your cooking isn't bad," Zhang Qishan says, which is a little generous; he's been subject to enough of Ba-ye's cooking in the years that they lived together.

"You're just saying that to be nice," Ba-ye says, but he's already getting off of the couch and padding into the kitchen.

Zhang Qishan follows him. "Do you have anything to cook?"

Ba-ye gives him a look. "That's rich coming from you, Mr. Lives-Off-Instant-Noodles."

Ah. A familiar argument. "I don't have time to make elaborate meals."

"Yes, you do," Ba-ye says, peering into his fridge. "You just pretend like you don't."

"I do not," Zhang Qishan says, folding his arms and leaning back against the kitchen island.

"Do too," Ba-ye says. He exclaims and produces two bottles of beer from the fridge. "What have we here?"

"I can't drink," Zhang Qishan tells him.

"Yes, you can," Ba-ye says, already cracking the lids open. "You're not on the clock, remember?"

"Still," Zhang Qishan protests.

"Well, you can't let me drink all by myself," Ba-ye says, holding out one of the open bottles insistently. "Come on, Qishan-ah. You need to loosen up a little. You're wound too tight, even for you."

Zhang Qishan is about to refuse, again, but then the beer bottle is pressed into his fingers and he has to hold onto it because Ba-ye has let go and turned back to the fridge, careless as to whether or not the beer bottle stays in Zhang Qishan's hand or goes crashing to the floor. He doesn't drink it, but the feeling of a drink in his hand is comforting, somehow, or at least keeps his hands from itching for something else to do.

Ba-ye cracks his own open, gesturing for Zhang Qishan to drink by making some very elaborate eyebrow movements. Zhang Qishan obeys, if only so Ba-ye will stop asking. The beer is cool and a little tart; it's one of Zhang Qishan's favorites. There's no reason for it to be in Ba-ye's fridge.

Zhang Qishan takes his lips away from the bottle and frowns. "Did you get this for me?"

"No," Ba-ye says, but the way he isn't touching the beer himself betrays him. Zhang Qishan drinks more, because it is an admittedly nice gesture, even though he's a little baffled by it.

"Thank god it's almost the weekend," Ba-ye says in the tone of voice he uses when he feels that he has to make conversation. "This week has taken it out of me."

"We don't get a weekend," Zhang Qishan points out, "Not with a serial killer on the loose."

Ba-ye pulls a face. "You, maybe not. I'm just a forensic scientist. I get to take the weekend off no matter what. Ha."

This is only somewhat true, considering that Ba-ye often comes in on the weekends, especially when Zhang Qishan is working a case and can't leave. "Are you going to take the weekend off?"

Ba-ye sighs. "Probably not. I'm sure that something else will turn up tomorrow and they'll need someone to run those tests." He shrugs, stretches. "That's fine. The lab will be quiet. Not as many people working. I'll be first in line for all of the testing equipment." He grins ruefully at Zhang Qishan. "No rest for the wicked, is there?"

Zhang Qishan isn't really sure what that saying is supposed to mean in this context. "I suppose."

"We should, though," Ba-ye muses, setting his beer down on the counter. "We could go on a trip."

"A trip?"

"To Japan or something," Ba-ye suggests, but backtracks when Zhang Qishan's eyebrow twitches at the suggestion. "Or not. We could just go to Hong Kong. Somewhere that isn't Changsha."

"What's wrong with Changsha?" Zhang Qishan asks.

"Nothing's wrong with Changsha," Ba-ye says, "But I haven't taken a vacation in years, and you definitely haven't. It could be nice to get away. Relax somewhere. In the countryside, maybe? Are you more of a beach guy or a country guy?"

"Beach," Zhang Qishan says, only because he grew up in the country and at least knows what that's like. "I've never been."

"You've never been to the beach?" Ba-ye squawks, like that's the craziest thing he's ever heard Zhang Qishan say.

Zhang Qishan shrugs and looks away and drinks. "We never went out there when I was younger."

"Mm." Ba-ye nods slowly, and Zhang Qishan can tell he's coming to his own conclusions based on the little information he has about Zhang Qishan's upbringing. "That makes sense, I suppose. Your dad never took you on a mission there?"

Zhang Qishan blinks. The words settle into his body, and his blood runs cold. "What?"

"What?" Ba-ye repeats, his gaze innocent and questioning.

"How do you know that's what he called them?" Zhang Qishan asks, images of tactical strategy and early mornings and clay pigeons flashing through his head.

"Who called what?"

"Ba-ye."

"Did I say something weird?" Ba-ye asks. "I'm serious, what are you—"

"You said 'missions,'" Zhang Qishan tells him. "I never told you about my father and… and that."

Ba-ye laughs nervously, running a hand through his hair. Condensation drips from the neck of his beer bottle. "Oh. I must have… I don't know, I must have heard it from Er-ye. Or someone else. I don't remember."

"I've never told Er-ye that either," Zhang Qishan murmurs.

Ba-ye gapes, mouth opening and closing as though there should be words coming out, but they aren't. "I don't… I'm not…" He groans and slides down the counter until he's sitting on the floor and Zhang Qishan is staring at the top of his head. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not mad," Zhang Qishan says instinctively. He examines his emotions for a moment and finds that it's the truth; he's not angry, not really. He's confused, and a little frightened that Ba-ye knows this, knows one of the things he's never told anyone, but he isn't mad about it. "If anyone knows, I guess I'm glad it's you."

Ba-ye looks up at him incredulously. "You're glad?"

Zhang Qishan considers it for a moment, draining the rest of the beer, both to give him time to think of what to say and the courage to actually say it. He sits on the floor, next to Ba-ye, who mutters something about not having vacuumed in a while. He wraps his arms around his knees, pulling them in, staring at a spot on the linoleum.

"Did you see him?" he asks quietly.

"Who?" Ba-ye asks, and then says, "Oh. Your father?"

Zhang Qishan nods.

"No," Ba-ye says after a moment, "I didn't. Not him anyway, I don't think. I don't know who it was, actually." He frowns. "You don't typically have any spirits around you… so I don't know…" He groans and thumps the heel of his palm against his forehead. "Why don't I remember?"

"It's fine," Zhang Qishan says quickly. "That… makes me feel better, maybe. I don't know if I want anyone around me."

"Except for me," Ba-ye says, half-joking.

"Except for you," Zhang Qishan agrees, entirely serious.

Ba-ye stares at him for a moment and then laughs. "You're too lenient with me."

"Not true," Zhang Qishan says.

"It absolutely is," Ba-ye says, poking him gently in the side with his elbow. "You're soft in the middle there."

"Stop," Zhang Qishan says, batting his arm away without any venom.

They sit side-by-side on the kitchen floor. It's warm, comfortable. Zhang Qishan feels some of the tension leaking out of his shoulders. He turns his head and is shocked to see how close they are, how he can see the little puckers in Ba-ye's skin, the wisps of hair at his temples, the patterning on his glasses. It's familiar, and the familiarity is comforting.

 "Ba-ye," Zhang Qishan says, very aware of the fact that Ba-ye's face is inches from his.

"Mm?" Ba-ye asks, his head resting back against the cabinet, eyes closed, the picture of contentment.

Zhang Qishan breathes. All he would have to do would be to move forward, just a little. Just a bit forward, and then—

There's a knock on the door, and Zhang Qishan jumps, turning towards the door so quickly his neck twinges.

"Who's that?" Ba-ye asks. "I promise I didn't actually order food."

Zhang Qishan frowns, but the someone knocks again, and a familiar voice says, "Fo-ye?"

"Oh, good," Ba-ye says, "It's just Zhang Rishan. Go, go answer the door."

Zhang Qishan gets up and goes to the door, feeling a little foolish for sitting on the floor for so long. He looks through the peephole first, just in case. Sure enough, it's Zhang Rishan, right next to the door, glancing down the hall and tapping his foot, a laptop in his hands. Zhang Qishan opens the door.

"Thank god," Zhang Rishan says, bursting in with so little preamble that Zhang Qishan almost thinks he's Xinyue in disguise, "You need to see this."

Ba-ye stands up. "Zhang Rishan? What is it?"

Zhang Rishan freezes in his tracks, his eyes wide as he stares at Ba-ye, who just tilts his head in curiosity. Zhang Rishan shakes himself and sets the laptop down on the countertop, waving the both of them over.

"I was looking at footage from the construction site," Zhang Rishan says. "The company had several cameras in the physical building. The owner was kind of shifty when I asked about it, so it's probably to make sure the workers aren't slacking off. But I asked to see if I could get any footage of the murderer, either placing the body or just in the area."

"Did you find something?" Zhang Qishan demands, sticking his head over Zhang Rishan's shoulder, as though that will help him see the screen better.

"Well," Zhang Rishan says, "Sort of. There wasn't any suspicious movement or activity, but… Ba-ye, you always said that spirits don't show up on camera, right?"

"Right," Ba-ye says. "It would be like trying to take pictures of radiation. Invisible to regular cameras, and most humans."

"That's what I was afraid of," Zhang Rishan says, hitting play on the footage and stepping back.

Zhang Qishan and Ba-ye both lean in. The building is empty for a few moments, but then, Zhang Qishan sees himself step into frame, walking slowly around the open space, looking for any sort of sign of someone else having been there.

"This is the footage from yesterday," Zhang Rishan explains. "When you were searching the crime scene."

"Why are you showing us that?" Ba-ye asks.

Zhang Qishan watches the footage, feeling his stomach starting to sink down, towards the floor. The tiny figure of himself onscreen has stopped, standing square in the center of the camera's eyeline. His head turns, following something around the space.

"Ba-ye," Zhang Qishan says slowly, "You should be there too."

Ba-ye frowns, squinting at the screen. "You're right, I was… I was there. Wasn't I?"

"I knew it," Zhang Rishan whispers.

"Knew what?" Zhang Qishan asks.

"I don't…" Ba-ye murmurs

 "Ghosts don't show up on camera,” Zhang Rishan explains. “That’s what I’m saying. Ghosts don’t show up on camera… and Ba-ye… you don’t either.”

Ba-ye blinks at the laptop screen for another moment. Very slowly, he turns to Zhang Qishan.

“Oh,” he says.

And then, like a streetlight, his form flickers and goes out.