Eating Melons in the Police Station-Chapter 114
Zhong Jin returned home from work past midnight. As he pulled open the front door, a solid little cannonball came hurtling through the darkness, crashing straight into his shins.
The impact was strong—unprepared, he staggered back two steps, nearly stepping out of the doorway.
"Dad."
The motion-sensor light in the hallway flickered on. Zhong Jin sighed, looking down at the chubby child clinging to his leg. He pressed a slender hand atop her head. "Why aren’t you wearing your headlamp?"
Little Tong rubbed her round head against his palm. "It broke."
Zhong Jin peeled her off his leg and led her inside, turning on a dim nightlight in the living room. "Bring it here. Let me take a look."
Little Tong scurried to the trash can, dug out the headlamp, and trotted back to the couch before tossing it onto Zhong Jin’s lap.
He picked it up and pressed the power button. Nothing happened.
Standing, he walked to the TV cabinet, crouched down, and pulled open a drawer. Fishing out a compatible charger, he plugged it in. The charging indicator lit up.
He pressed the button again—the headlamp flickered back to life.
Little Tong squatted beside him, covering her mouth in awe. "You fixed it, Dad! Are you, like, a genius or something?"
"It just ran out of battery. Leave it charging here. You can use it tomorrow."
"Okay, okay." She smacked her own forehead. "I thought it was broken. I’m such an idiot."
Zhong Jin pinched the soft flesh of her cheek. "You’re not an idiot. You’re just young and lack life experience. At your age, I didn’t know these things either."
Little Tong hugged his hand and planted a kiss in his palm.
Zhong Jin: "Kissing me won’t get you a midnight snack. Go to bed."
Her eyes went blank as she heaved an exaggerated sigh. Having a genius dad was way too unfair.
When she was younger, she could occasionally sneak some late-night treats. But now that she’d grown bigger—and rounder—snacks were strictly rationed.
This household was getting harder to survive in.
Zhong Jin shooed Little Tong back to her room and grabbed his pajamas for a shower.
When he stepped out, he found her sitting in the hallway, back against the wall, clutching Sang Biao as she waited for him.
"Why are you out here again?"
Her big, dark eyes gleamed in the dim light. "Dad, I can’t sleep."
"Then nap less during the day. What kind of kid wanders around in the middle of the night?"
As soon as he said it, he remembered something—most kids didn’t, but most dogs did. Back then, Pao Pao would often sneak out after they fell asleep to drink water, nibble kibble, and patrol the house.
Little Tong followed him into the master bedroom, carefully placing Sang Biao on the bed.
Without turning around, Zhong Jin called out, "Sang Biao stays off the bed."
She quickly scooped the plush toy back up and set it on the floor instead. Kicking off her crocs, she scrambled under the covers, wriggling like a caterpillar from the foot of the bed to the head, her round face popping out beside Zhong Jin.
"Dad, tell me a story." She tucked her tiny hands under her belly and rested her chin on his arm.
Exhausted, Zhong Jin had no energy for storytelling. He simply wrapped an arm around her small, plump shoulders and closed his eyes.
Little Tong pinched his nose.
He pulled her hand away, eyes still shut. "What did Du Xin teach you today?"
"Jiejie said this isn’t this, and yourself isn’t yourself, and also no saying ‘one.’"
Zhong Jin hummed. "Seems like your uncle wasted another 600 bucks." He paused. "After I left tonight, did Du Xin talk to Mom?"
Little Tong pulled a hand free and held up a finger, tattling. "They drank and watched a movie."
"Did they mention Dad?"
Her chin still on his arm, her eyes rolled thoughtfully. "Yeah. They said not to tell you."
Zhong Jin stroked her silky hair, his palm resting on the back of her head as he prodded further.
"What aren’t they supposed to tell me?"
Little Tong wasn’t fooled. She pinched her lips shut with her fingers, muffling her words. "Mom said no."
"Is it about Mom being sick?"
His voice remained calm, detached—he’d already guessed the answer. Whether she replied or not didn’t matter.
The chubby child climbed onto his neck, peering at him. "If you give Mom a little of your blood, she’ll get better."
"Did I ever use my blood to heal her before?" Zhong Jin asked.
She thought hard, then shook her head solemnly. "No. I don’t remember."
"You said Mom smells different now. Is it because she’s sick?"
Again, she pondered before shaking her head. "I dunno."
After all that thinking, the child quickly wore herself out. Her eyelids drooped, and she dozed off against Zhong Jin.
Ironically, though he’d been exhausted earlier, their conversation left him wide awake.
Ever since Little Tong mentioned Qiu Sheng’s changed scent, Zhong Jin had scoured the internet for explanations. Eventually, he stumbled upon a foreign study titled Dogs Can Sniff Out Cancer.
The paper detailed how three trained beagles successfully identified 10 non-small cell lung cancer patients hidden among 50 samples—with a 100% detection rate.
Following that lead, he searched further and found countless anecdotes of dogs alerting owners to illnesses by scent.
That was when Zhong Jin began suspecting Qiu Sheng was sick—seriously sick. It would explain why she hadn’t fought him when he asked for a divorce.
Given his own fragile state back then, learning about her condition might have destroyed him completely.
Later, he’d asked contacts in Jing City to check Qiu Sheng’s medical records. Nothing turned up. He theorized she’d gone abroad for treatment, but her travel history showed no matching departures.
Only after Du Xin arrived in Haishan did the final piece click into place.
The private hospital where Du Xin had worked was an international facility catering to wealthy elites and celebrities—patients who prioritized extreme privacy. Their records weren’t logged in the national healthcare system.
If Qiu Sheng was receiving treatment over there, it’s no wonder her colleagues in Jing City couldn’t find her medical records. Including the sudden improvement in her relationship with Du Xin—everything made sense now.
In the small bedroom with blackout curtains drawn, Qiu Sheng lay sprawled on the bed, fast asleep. The blanket had been kicked aside, her limbs splayed in a starfish position, one foot even propped against the wall.
Her sleeping habits had always been unrestrained. She used to hate having her hair pressed under her while sleeping, so she’d always sweep it all behind the pillow.
Zhong Jin sat on a chair by the bed, leaning forward with a flashlight, carefully examining her hair.
Earlier, Qiu Sheng had mentioned that her long hair was extensions. Zhong Jin hadn’t looked closely before, but now, upon inspection, he could see tiny seams where the strands were attached.
It was hard to imagine how these extensions were so seamlessly grafted—almost indistinguishable from real hair, save for the faintest traces of connection. It was nothing short of craftsmanship.
Qiu Sheng sensed someone by the bed and opened her eyes, immediately spotting the shadowy figure hovering over her with a flashlight. Her reflexes outpaced her thoughts—she swung her fist and punched Zhong Jin square in the face.
Everything happened too fast. With the arm strength she’d built from carrying her child daily, the impact was no joke. Zhong Jin didn’t even have time to speak, only letting out a muffled groan as he toppled backward off the chair.
He crashed into a cabinet, hitting a push-to-open mechanism. The cabinet door swung out, swaying back and forth above his head.
Zhong Jin sat on the floor, completely dazed.
By then, Qiu Sheng had realized it was him. She jumped out of bed barefoot, smoothly dropping to her knees in front of him. Her hands fluttered helplessly in the air, unsure whether to touch him.
She didn’t dare check if he was hurt, so she just reached past him to push the swaying cabinet door shut.
"Are you okay? Did you hit anything?" Qiu Sheng leaned in to ask.
Zhong Jin blinked. "What’s wrong with you?"
Qiu Sheng scratched her head, exasperated. "Seriously? You’re the one sneaking into my room in the middle of the night, shining a flashlight at me. Between the two of us, who seems more unhinged?"
"I mean, what illness did you have? Two and a half years ago, at Du Xin’s hospital—what was it?"
Qiu Sheng fell silent for a moment before burying her face in her arms with a sigh. "Little Tong blabbed, huh? That kid—I even bribed her with crispy roast duck to keep quiet. How could she not hold it in for one night?"
Technically, it wasn’t Little Tong who spilled. Zhong Jin had pieced it together himself. But how he found out didn’t matter. What mattered now was what illness Qiu Sheng had had and whether she’d fully recovered.
Qiu Sheng let her hair fall loose as she crawled closer to Zhong Jin, sitting beside him and resting her head on his shoulder with a nuzzle.
"It’s nothing now. Just a small growth on my ovary—got it removed, and that was that."
She said it lightly, but Zhong Jin turned to her, cupping the back of her head and forcing her to meet his piercing gaze. His voice was icy.
"Look me in the eyes and say it again. What illness, and how’s your condition now."
Qiu Sheng was terrible at lying—she could never hold eye contact when she did. Now, with Zhong Jin demanding it, she faltered, swallowing hard and repeatedly trying to look away, only for him to tilt her face back each time.
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Finally, she met his eyes and sighed. "Ovarian cancer. Luckily, it was caught early. They removed a quarter of my left ovary. The prognosis was good, and there’s been no recurrence since."
"After you came to Haishan, you went back to Jing City four times. Were those for check-ups?"
"Sort of. Sometimes it was for work, so I just scheduled the exams while I was there."
Zhong Jin: "Did your family know?"
"I didn’t tell anyone. I hired a caregiver for the surgery. Later, I ran into Du Xin at the hospital. She saw I was alone and started looking after me, so we got closer over time."
Zhong Jin couldn’t bear to imagine how she’d endured all that alone. And it wasn’t just the illness—she’d also carried the grief of her divorce, and a year later, the pain of losing a friend to suicide.
He’d let her face those darkest moments completely by herself.
Seeing Zhong Jin stay silent, Qiu Sheng reached out and touched his face—only to find his eyes damp. This was exactly why she hadn’t told him.
He’d only just started recovering. Now, here they were again.
Just as Qiu Sheng was about to say something comforting, Zhong Jin leaned in and kissed her. The taste of blood flooded her mouth the moment their lips met. Realizing what this madman was doing, she pressed her hands against his chest to push him away—but Zhong Jin held her firmly in place, refusing to let go.
