Chapter Sixty-Three: Guilt

After Qin Ruonan finished speaking, An Changpu stood silently by her desk, rubbing his chin. She looked at him in confusion. It was a long moment before he came back to himself, realizing his silence might have been misunderstood. He hurriedly said, “I don’t doubt your powers of observation. I was just thinking—when Xie Lemin mentioned the girl who stopped him from hitting Lu Min, that was clearly Lu Anmei, and Ding Mulan was also present. But why hadn’t either of them brought this up in our previous interactions? It’s strange!”

“What are you saying? Are you suspicious of Lu Anmei?” Qin Ruonan frowned at his words.

An Changpu gestured for her to calm down. “I know you sympathize with Lu Anmei, but you can’t let your feelings cloud your judgment. Her situation is worthy of compassion, but solving a case can’t rely on sympathy. Rationality and objectivity may seem callous, but it’s what the job requires.”

Qin Ruonan’s face flushed a little. She didn’t want to admit it, but An Changpu had hit the mark: she felt a kindred sympathy for Lu Anmei, and because of it, she was unwilling to let her mind entertain any negative associations about the girl.

He was right—such behavior wasn’t appropriate when investigating a case.

“I’ll pay attention from now on,” she sighed, speaking to An Changpu.

He didn’t want to press the issue and make her more uncomfortable. She’d recognized her own bias, and with her experience and usual professionalism, he trusted this wouldn’t happen again and again.

“I think we should pay another visit to Ding Mulan’s home, or you could call Lu Anmei directly to ask about it,” he suggested.

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll let my feelings get in the way with Lu Anmei?” Qin Ruonan asked.

An Changpu laughed at her question. “If you hadn’t brought it up, I might have reminded you. But since you’re asking, it means you’re already thinking about it. What’s there not to trust?”

A faint smile appeared on Qin Ruonan’s face. She didn’t dwell on the topic. Glancing at her watch, she realized time had slipped away. “It’s so late already! I wanted to check on the soil samples I sent for analysis before we went to T County, but it looks like I won’t make it.”

An Changpu wasn’t as anxious as she was. When he saw Xie Lemin off, he’d already noticed the time. It wasn’t surprising—they’d spent the whole day shuttling between T County and C City. It was impossible to get back early. By the end of their conversation with Xie Lemin, even the usually unpredictable members of the major crimes unit had left for home. The other departments, except for those on duty, were probably already enjoying dinner with their families.

“Sharpening the knife won’t delay the chopping. Look at yourself in the mirror—your face is pale as death!” An Changpu quickly stopped her from chasing after the lab results. “Come on! We haven’t had a proper meal all day—let’s fill our stomachs first, then go home and rest. Tomorrow, with a clear head, we continue the investigation. Solving a case isn’t done in a day.”

Unable to resist him, Qin Ruonan gave up her plan and let An Changpu usher her out of the major crimes unit, suggesting they eat dinner together. At first, she wanted to refuse, but eventually agreed—not out of any selfish motive, but simply because two nights of near sleeplessness, coupled with hectic days of running around, had left her exhausted and dizzy. Thinking of her cold, empty kitchen and the almost bare refrigerator at home, she changed her mind, deciding she owed herself a little kindness.

Thinking she should treat herself better, she rejected several of An Changpu’s restaurant suggestions and insisted on eating at a small noodle shop near the police station. The dinner, unsurprisingly, was split evenly.

When their food arrived, An Changpu looked at the bowl of plain broth noodles in front of Qin Ruonan and couldn’t help but chuckle. “No wonder you’re so skinny. You can’t just muddle through your meals like this!”

He knew Qin Ruonan likely disliked others prying into her private life, but he couldn’t help but comment.

“I won’t pay nearly double for a couple of pieces of beef that are more fat than lean,” she replied, glancing at his beef noodles. “There’s no need to waste money on that.”

An Changpu hadn’t expected her answer, and burst out laughing. “The boss paired us up, but it was a mistake! If he’d known, he should’ve partnered you with Mo Dou—that way you two could be the ‘Abacus Duo’!”

Qin Ruonan didn’t laugh, eating her noodles in silence. An Changpu worried his careless joke might have stung her, but was too embarrassed to ask, so he focused quietly on his own meal.

Halfway through, Qin Ruonan’s phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID, immediately got up, and went to the doorway to answer.

“Sis, what are you up to?” It was her younger sister, Qin Ruofei.

“I’m having dinner, just got off work. How about you? Are you done for the day? Is factory work tiring? If it’s too much, don’t force yourself. At worst, find another job—even if you earn less, it doesn’t matter. You’ve got your big sister to rely on!” Qin Ruonan pressed the phone to her cheek, her tone especially gentle.

Qin Ruofei laughed, her voice soft and mellow, so different from her elder sister. “Got it! If the sky falls, big sis will hold it up. Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. Just take care of yourself—being a detective is tough. Oh, almost forgot, I’ve already sent the money our little brother asked for, so you don’t need to worry about it.”

“He called you for money too?” Qin Ruonan gripped the phone tighter. “Doesn’t he know how hard you work? I was out investigating today and didn’t have enough cash on me to send him, but couldn’t he wait just one more day? What’s he need the money for anyway? Now that you’ve given it to him, what about your own expenses?”

“Sis, don’t worry about me. The new factory pays a thousand more than the old one—you know that. Plus, I went on a blind date as Mom and Dad wanted, and things are going pretty well with him.”

Qin Ruonan was taken aback. “You’re seeing someone? The guy Dad wanted you to meet? Didn’t you say you didn’t like him, that all he talked about was money and it felt so tacky?”

“Tacky or not, we all need to eat, dress, and have a place to live. Who’s really more refined than anyone else? There’s no point fussing over such things,” Qin Ruofei sighed. “Look at Mom and Dad’s whole life—Sis, do you still believe in love?”

Her sister’s question caught Qin Ruonan off guard. Her gaze drifted to An Changpu, who was sitting with his back to her, eating his dinner. For a moment, she didn’t know how to reply.

Her silence prompted a sigh from the other end. After a while, Qin Ruofei said, “Sis, I was just rambling. You’re the smartest and bravest of the three of us. Forget about love or reality—just do whatever makes you happy.”

Qin Ruonan’s eyes grew hot; she rubbed them with the back of her hand, gently told her sister to take care, then hung up and returned to her seat.

“What’s wrong? Did something bother you? You look like a storm cloud after that call,” An Changpu said, seeing her sit across from him, staring at her half-finished noodles, not moving her chopsticks. He realized it was the phone call that had shifted her mood.

Qin Ruonan’s fingers traced the rim of her bowl. “I really should’ve listened to your advice and sent my brother money while we were in T County today. Then he wouldn’t have gone to my younger sister.”

“Though I still think your brother’s old enough not to demand money from his sisters, since he did, and your sister’s the second one, there’s nothing wrong with her helping out. Why blame yourself? You’re letting it ruin your meal,” An Changpu said, puzzled by her low spirits.

“My sister’s three years younger than me—she started school three years later. Before I graduated high school, I stubbornly insisted on going to college even though the family was against it. She was only in her last year of middle school then, but she went to Mom and Dad, saying her grades weren’t great and she’d quit school after junior high so I could go to college. She ended up working with just her junior high diploma, struggling everywhere, then saved up for night school herself. If I hadn’t been so headstrong, she wouldn’t have had to suffer so much at such a young age.”

Her voice was filled with guilt and tenderness as she talked about her sister, her eyes reddening, a veil of tears forming.

An Changpu hadn’t known about the story between the Qin sisters, nor realized that Qin Ruonan’s college education owed not just to her own efforts but to her sister’s sacrifice. Compared to her, he, as the only child in his family, had always had things go smoothly—school, work, everything. Her experience was beyond his understanding, even his imagination.

For the first time, he felt his words were inadequate, his vocabulary lacking. He wanted to comfort her, but searched his mind and found nothing to say.

While he was lost for words, Qin Ruonan recovered, glanced at his speechless expression, and sighed lightly, mocking herself, “I must have lost my mind, talking about these things with someone raised in a honey jar like you.”

With that, she pushed her bowl away, got up, and walked out of the noodle shop alone.

[Regarding the situation in Qin Ruonan’s family, there was a typographical error in earlier chapters, which has now been corrected. Apart from Qin Ruonan, the Qin family has one daughter and one son. Apologies for the confusion.]