DSMIS CH76

Chapter 76: Extra 6—Captain Jiang’s Car Crash

It was deep winter once again, and fierce gales had howled across Tianjin for two days straight. That morning, with the hospital’s underground parking jammed, Shen Xing had seized a fleeting gap to snag the very last surface parking space outside the outpatient clinic. Stepping out of the hospital that evening, the freezing wind sent a violent shudder through him; bundling his coat tight, he bolted straight for his car.

After battling through gridlocked evening rush-hour traffic, he finally made it home, only to be greeted by two furballs bounding toward the door. His Captain Jiang had already been away on a business trip for a whole week handling a major cross-provincial case. Perching on the shoe cabinet, Shen Xing stroked the heads of Qianjin and Black Panther before pulling out his phone. Opening his chat with Jiang Lin, the last message dated back two hours: Jiang Lin had mentioned he had an upcoming meeting, urging Shen Xing not to skimp on dinner and to eat properly on time. Shen Xing’s subsequent replies had received no response.

He walked into the kitchen and slid open the bottom freezer drawer. Before leaving, Jiang Lin had wrapped dumplings and wontons and braised a generous batch of beef—supplies calculated to last roughly a week. Now, the week had passed, the drawer sat completely bare, and Captain Jiang was still not back. Crouching in front of the open fridge, Shen Xing felt a wave of gloom. He missed Jiang Lin.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t cook—after all, he had once spent an entire afternoon whipping up a full New Year’s Eve feast for Jiang Lin. But most of the time when he was on his own, his meals consisted of deluxe instant noodles, takeout, or the occasional visit from his mother to cook a couple of meals. Ever since he got together with Jiang Lin, as long as the captain wasn’t working overtime, there was always hot food waiting the moment Shen Xing walked through the door. Over time, he had gone so long without cooking that he couldn’t even remember the last time he made a meal from scratch.

Opening the upper fresh-food compartment and eyeing the lone few remaining eggs, Shen Xing decisively abandoned any notion of cooking at home. He prepared fresh kibble and water for the two furbabies, decided against ordering delivery inside an empty apartment, and promptly headed back downstairs. Normally at this hour, Captain Jiang would ferry him around on the little pink electric scooter to scout for food, stopping at whatever caught their eye.

Tonight, however, his chauffeur was out of town. Shen Xing had never found the time over the past few years to get an electric moped license, and driving a car at this hour would trap him in standstill traffic. Resigned, he scanned a shared bicycle. The second he swung his leg over, a furious gust nearly ripped his skullcap clean off. He pulled his down coat’s hood tight, cinched the drawstrings, hunched his back against the wind, and hugged the curb as he pedaled, eventually coming to a halt before two neighboring storefronts.

One was his beloved malatang joint; the other was his favorite Luosifen shop. Standing side-by-side, Emperor Shen faced these two favored concubines awaiting his royal selection with immense indecision. In the end, tucking his freezing hands into his coat, he moved to pull out his phone to snap a photo and let Jiang Lin choose for him—only to pat empty air.

Holy crap? I left my phone at home.

Faced with the choice between pedaling all the way back against the bitter gale on an empty stomach or tracking someone down to treat him to dinner, Shen Xing decisively chose the latter. Aside from his mother’s and Jiang Lin’s numbers, the only phone number he could recall by heart was Patrick Star’s. He flagged down a passing elderly gentleman, borrowed his phone, and dialed Patrick Star:

“I’m outside the Liuzhou Luosifen shop at the intersection of Xinyuan North Road and Huayuan Street. Penniless. Come rescue me immediately. This is a stranger’s phone, don’t call back, just hurry over.”

“What the hell?! What’s your situation? Did Captain Jiang kick you out on the street without a penny? What is he, a bandit?!”

“Piss off. I left my phone at home. Move your ass, I’m freezing to death.”

The enduring bond of childhood friendship ensured that Patrick Star arrived just before Shen Xing actually froze solid. Spotting the car pulling over with its hazard lights blinking, Shen Xing dashed over, yanked the door open, slid inside, and shut it behind him—the car already accelerating in under thirty seconds, successfully sparing Patrick Star a traffic camera ticket.

Steering the wheel, Patrick Star glanced sideways at the shivering man beside him, who was vigorously sniffing back his runny nose:

“Tissues in the armrest console. Don’t go dripping snot all over my car.”

Shen Xing rolled his eyes and reached for the tissues.

“Usual spot. Treat me to barbecue.”

Patrick Star laughed:

“You truly are a high-maintenance prince, aren’t you? Where’s your Captain Jiang? You looked like a pitiful abandoned cabbage squatting outside that noodle shop—I really should have snapped a photo to show him.”

“On a business trip. Gone for a week already.”

Startled by the thick resentment in his tone, Patrick Star raised an eyebrow:

“Hey, can you stop acting like a wronged little housewife? It’s literally just one week.”

“A week is seven days—that’s 168 hours! Whatever, a solitary bachelor like you could never comprehend.”

Patrick Star: “…I shouldn’t have bothered picking you up. I should have let you freeze to death.”

The “usual spot” was a barbecue joint across from their old high school. Back when they were students, it had been a tiny hole-in-the-wall; now it had expanded into a proper storefront with a prominent sign. Since it was peak dinner hour, the place was bustling, though fortunately with no line for a table.

Without even glancing at the menu, Shen Xing rattled off a barrage of skewer orders, then held out his hand across the table:

“Give me your phone.”

“What for?”

“What do you think?”

“You can’t even go this long without checking in with your man?”

“I left my phone at home! What if he can’t reach me and gets worried?”

Too tired to roast him further, Patrick Star tossed the phone into his hand, muttering inwardly: You’re a surgeon. Isn’t being unreachable your standard operating procedure? Now you’re acting like a 24-hour live customer service hotline.

The spicy tripe pot arrived, its savory, peppercorn-infused aroma rushing straight to their nostrils. Shen Xing narrowed his eyes in bliss, snapping a close-up photo of the bubbling red-oil pot. As the skewers arrived one after another, Shen Xing took a whole gallery of photos, opened Patrick Star’s WeChat, located Jiang Lin, and fired off a rapid barrage of messages:

Guess who this is?

I left my phone at home, and I had to freeze in the bitter wind for twenty minutes before Patrick Star came to rescue me. Barbecue tonight! What did you have for dinner? Working overtime tonight?

He anticipated that Jiang Lin might be too busy to check his phone, but even by the time they wrapped up dinner, no reply had arrived. Patrick Star could clearly tell that the person opposite him was distracted, his eyes darting to the phone screen every few minutes. Unable to hold back, Patrick Star remarked:

“Seriously, bro, you two have been an old married couple for what, over five years now? Are you still this disgustingly clingy?”

Counting it up, they had indeed been together for more than five years. Yet sending a text message left him acting like a newly smitten teenager who had started dating yesterday.

Shen Xing pulled a piece of tripe off a skewer and ignored him. He simply felt uneasy. Jiang Lin was always busy at work, but he rarely went four or five hours without replying to a message. After all, even if he was in meetings, it wasn’t like performing surgery where phones were strictly off-limits; he could almost always find a brief window between briefings to text back.

Shen Xing picked up the phone again to check the weather forecast for the city Jiang Lin was in. Sure enough: heavy rain and a sharp temperature drop. Jiang Lin’s old leg injury had flared up last month, and that city had no central heating. Weather like that was the absolute worst for him.

At that moment, inside the duty lounge of the Jiangzhou Municipal Bureau, the curtains were drawn tight. Jiang Lin lay fully clothed across a narrow cot, sleeping beneath a draped police jacket. His complexion was terribly pale, his brow knitted even in sleep, his lips drained of color, with one hand pressed firmly against his upper abdomen.

Outside the door, two officers hesitated over whether to knock. Liu Muye pointed toward the door:

“Captain Jiang looked really unwell this afternoon. Should we wake him up to eat something?”

“He pulled an all-nighter yesterday and sat through back-to-back briefings today. Let him sleep a bit longer. I’ve already boxed up a meal from the cafeteria and set it aside.”

Just as the two turned to leave, an officer in a police uniform beneath an unbuttoned white lab coat approached:

“Section Chief Zou.”

Zou Zhen waved the folder in his hand:

“Captain Jiang is inside, right? I need his signature on a report.”

With that, he moved to push the door open. Before Liu Muye could stop him, the door had already been rapped. Sure enough, after a two-second pause, a low, raspy voice sounded from within:

“Come in.”

When the door opened, Jiang Lin had already sat up on the edge of the bed, his jacket draped over his broad shoulders. His complexion had not improved in the slightest despite the afternoon nap; the dull, gnawing ache in his stomach and leg persisted relentlessly. He took the documents and pen handed to him, flipped through from front to back, and signed his name at the bottom.

“Captain Jiang, do you want to head to the hospital to get checked out? You look really unwell.”

Jiang Lin rubbed his face vigorously:

“I’m fine. What time is it?”

“Past seven. I brought you food from the cafeteria.”

Jiang Lin blinked in surprise. Past seven already? He hurriedly picked up his phone. Sure enough, Shen Xing had messaged him right when he clocked off, followed by a photo of their completely empty refrigerator—a vivid cry of running out of rations. Jiang Lin checked his own reflection in the darkened phone screen; his face looked far too sickly. Giving up on a video call, he dialed Shen Xing directly, but two calls went unanswered.

Exiting the chat, he finally spotted the red notification badge beneath Pei Daxing’s avatar. Tapping into it revealed a whole screen of messages. The moment he read the opening line—Guess who this is?—a faint smile touched his lips. Scrolling through the messages, he could vividly picture Director Shen squatting outside the noodle shop looking utterly pitiful, followed by the table packed with skewers. Recognizing the tableware, he knew it was the high school barbecue joint Shen Xing loved. Good, at least he didn’t starve.

Resting his thumbs on the keyboard, he lied smoothly without blinking:

Meeting just wrapped up. My phone battery died earlier. My dinner can’t hold a candle to yours—no barbecue here, just a boxed cafeteria meal.

Finally, just as the barbecue meal was drawing to a close, Shen Xing received Jiang Lin’s reply. Seeing the text, the boulder in Shen Xing’s chest finally settled:

I thought you’d vanished off the face of the earth! Still working overtime tonight? Are you still at the bureau?

Jiang Lin knew asking if he was at the bureau meant Shen Xing wanted to video call. Afraid the man would spot something amiss, he typed back:

Probably have to work a bit longer. I’ll call you once I’m back at the hotel.

The other side replied with a Little bear nodding.jpg.

Seeing that emoji, Jiang Lin finally breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He leaned back against the cot, pressing his hand hard into his stomach, closing his eyes to endure the pain. The sharp, burning spasms in his stomach flared up; he knew his chronic gastritis had relapsed. It was an old ailment accumulated over years on the force—hardly anyone in his line of work was free of stomach issues. Over the past two years, living with Shen Xing and eating regular meals, his stomach had been well cared for and rarely acted up. But when it did flare, it was excruciating.

This business trip had been non-stop, compounded by days of endless rain. The nerve pain in his leg had become so unbearable that he had doubled up on painkillers, which, combined with irregular meals, had barely suppressed the leg pain only to violently trigger his gastritis. He forced himself to choke down some food; taking painkillers on an empty stomach would only make it worse. Just a few more days, and he should be able to head home.

Back at the hotel that night, he deliberately took a scalding-hot shower, checking his complexion in the mirror. Deeming it passable, he finally initiated a video call to Shen Xing. The call connected almost instantly. On screen sat Director Shen, dressed in pajamas, sitting cross-legged on the sofa and petting Qianjin:

“Captain Jiang, burdened with state affairs as always! Getting a glimpse of your face is truly a trial.”

Jiang Lin studied him through the screen:

“Still amateur compared to Director Shen. It was freezing outside today—did you catch a chill? Any fever?”

Shen Xing laughed:

“Am I made of porcelain? A bit of wind gives me a fever? I didn’t wait long; I huddled right by their door and stole some of their warm air conditioning. I saw it’s been raining non-stop where you are—how’s your leg?”

“Manageable. A bit sore from walking too much, but sitting in meetings indoors during the day was fine.”

Knowing Shen Xing would never believe him if he claimed it didn’t hurt at all, Jiang Lin’s skill at telling selective half-truths was on par with seasoned criminals playing hide-and-seek with the police—practically an art form by now.

“Did you apply the medicated plasters I packed for you? Let me see. Is it swollen?”

Anticipating that he would inspect his leg, Jiang Lin had plastered his leg thoroughly beforehand. Lifting his pajama pant leg, Shen Xing was met with an entire calf covered in plasters; framed like that, it was impossible to tell whether it was swollen underneath. Seeing Jiang Lin let out two consecutive yawns, Shen Xing finally relented:

“You pulled an all-nighter yesterday, didn’t you? Go to sleep quickly. I’ll play fetch with Qianjin and Black Panther for a bit.”

Jiang Lin blinked away the moisture brought on by his yawning, nodding softly:

“Alright. Don’t stay up too late. I should be able to head back next week.”

Only then did they end the call.

Over the next two days, Shen Xing had been researching showtimes for a hit comedy movie his colleagues had raved about, planning to take Jiang Lin the moment he returned—even scoping out couple’s seats for the occasion.

All his plans were shattered by an unexpected phone call from one of Jiang Lin’s colleagues:

“Is this Director Shen? I’m Liu Muye from the Municipal Bureau. Captain Jiang was in a car crash on the way back; he’s currently at the Armed Police Hospital…”

The moment the words “car crash” hit his ears, Shen Xing’s brain went dead silent, blanking out for two whole seconds. By the time his senses crashed back into reality, his hands and feet had turned completely numb and weak, and he didn’t even know how he stumbled out of the hospital.