Chapter Forty-Five: An Feng Grows Suspicious

An Feng drove the car with Mo Lan in the passenger seat and the man in the back. The man’s mouth hadn’t stopped moving the whole way.

“Pretty lady!”

“Pretty lady.”

He kept calling out, but Mo Lan was in no mood to pay him any attention, still holding a grudge over his earlier peeping.

The man glanced around, as if surveying the route, but his mouth kept going: “Pretty lady, do you know who those two actually are?”

This question reminded An Feng—he’d never really paid attention, nor had he ever asked who Qian Yin and Leng Xue truly were.

“What business is it of yours? Shut your mouth, you’re unbearable,” Mo Lan snapped, finding the man more and more detestable with every glance—a total rogue, a scoundrel. She wished she could slap some tape over his mouth right this instant.

“I really do know! Want me to tell you? They’re not good people at all, you shouldn’t get too close to them.”

“As if you’re some saint,” Mo Lan sneered, glancing at An Feng. She thought to herself, if An Feng knew their identities, he probably wouldn’t work with them anymore.

“I’m just a petty thief, peeping at pretty girls now and then, but I’ve never done anything truly wicked,” the man insisted, still stubborn and insufferable.

“I don’t want to talk to you. Shut up. If you say another word, I’ll cut out your tongue,” Mo Lan said coldly, genuinely angry now, her eyes deadly serious as she glared back at him.

The man immediately clamped his hand over his mouth and fell silent, as if genuinely scared. Only he knew he’d already achieved his aim.

It was late at night by now; by the time they returned to the station, there probably wouldn’t be anyone left around.

“There shouldn’t be anyone at the station,” An Feng muttered as he drove, the thought flashing through his mind and slipping out before he could stop it. Realizing what he’d said, he quickly added, “I’ve been to your place—let’s go to mine tonight instead.”

Mo Lan didn’t give it much thought and nodded. Early tomorrow morning would be soon enough; going back to the Mo residence now would be a hassle, especially since her grandfather and the others would already be asleep.

The man eyed the two of them curiously—were they a couple? Their conversation seemed so stiff. Or maybe their chemistry was just that low. Perhaps they needed some help?

“Are you two going home to do… something else? Should I give you some privacy?” he asked.

“Shut up!” the two of them shouted in unison, thoroughly fed up with him.

So late at night, and someone was still selling apples?

Spotting the lights, a glint flashed in Mo Lan’s eyes as an interesting idea sparked in her mind.

On an otherwise quiet street that was usually bustling, only one store remained open—a fruit shop, of all things. It was silent, save for the sound of footsteps and the car rolling over the pavement.

Mo Lan tugged at An Feng’s sleeve and pointed to the fruit shop. An Feng immediately pulled over. With brisk steps, Mo Lan got out, took out some money, and bought two kilos of apples.

The shopkeeper, a woman dressed quite elegantly, handed over apples that were spotless—neither too big nor too small, just right. She smiled as she counted the change, but said nothing.

Returning to the car, Mo Lan’s lips curled into a mischievous smile as she glanced at the man. Reaching out, she pinched his neck, startling him into opening his mouth wide in alarm. With her other hand, she stuffed an apple into his mouth. His mouth was too small for the whole fruit; he could only clamp down on it, unable to spit it out, left in a thoroughly awkward position.

“Mmmph…” The man tried to speak, but not a sound could get past the apple.

An Feng didn’t say a word about Mo Lan’s actions. In truth, he quite approved—if Mo Lan hadn’t handled it, he might have knocked the man out with a punch himself.

At last, the world was peaceful. The car continued toward the suburbs, soon arriving in front of a sprawling villa.

The place’s décor was no less grand than the Mo residence—perhaps even more luxurious. Everything was high-tech, as evidenced by the guard dog at the gate.

Such hunting dogs were rarely available for sale, and not easy to acquire. Most places wouldn’t even allow them to be kept privately. For An Feng’s family to keep one as a guard dog meant that money was no object.

The man was taken aback by the sight of the dog, and it was no wonder someone would want to target An Feng.

Parking the car in the garage, An Feng dragged the man out and hauled him inside. Mo Lan followed quietly, observing everything closely.

It was a three-story villa with a swimming pool, potted plants everywhere, and high walls—a true mansion.

“These were my parents’ favorites. Ever since they passed, my uncle’s been looking after me. He keeps the house in order and takes care of all my daily needs,” An Feng said, rare emotion coloring his voice as he walked. Talking about it brought a pang of sorrow he could never quite shake off.

“Oh,” Mo Lan replied quietly, not daring to say more for fear of reopening old wounds.

Inside, the place was even more lavish, with famous paintings on the walls. Even the sofas were genuine leather, and the plush carpet underfoot—clearly made from animal fur—had been so well treated it was perfectly comfortable with no unpleasant scent at all.

Mo Lan sat down while An Feng shoved their captive into a room and locked the door. No ordinary person would escape from there; he could be handed over in the morning.

Boiling a kettle, An Feng poured Mo Lan a glass of water and sat down.

“Your house is enormous. Don’t you feel lonely living here alone? Why not just have Leng Xue move in?” Mo Lan asked, glancing around at all the empty space. There was more than enough room for Leng Xue.

“You and Leng Xue are close?” An Feng’s mind returned to what had been said in the car, as well as their odd behavior. He began to grow suspicious. It seemed those three had been keeping secrets from him from the start.

“I’m close with Qian Yin. And Leng Xue likes her—you can tell, can’t you?” Mo Lan answered naturally, taking a sip of water—only to realize it was made with mountain spring water. How extravagant.

“What do Qian Yin and Leng Xue do for a living? They’re not SWAT, nor are they in the vanguard unit. They’re certainly not like us. Don’t you think it’s time you told me what they actually do?” An Feng fixed Mo Lan with a calm, searching gaze.

“I…” Mo Lan hesitated. She wasn’t sure how to tell him—not that she couldn’t, but she didn’t know how to begin.

An Feng wasn’t in any rush. He sipped his water, absently turning a ring on his finger, and waited silently.

“Where am I sleeping? I’m really tired—I’ll go to bed first. We can talk about everything else later, all right?” Mo Lan said hurriedly, springing to her feet. She didn’t know if Qian Yin would allow her to say anything, nor if they would end up as enemies in the future. So, she decided to remain silent for now.

An Feng realized he wouldn’t get any answers tonight and nodded, pointing to a room on the right.

Seeing he wasn’t going to press her, Mo Lan darted off toward the room, slipped inside, and quickly shut the door. Only after flicking on the light did she realize there was a man lying on the bed. Mo Lan screamed in shock.

“Ah!”