The Remaining Third, Chapter Sixty-Three: Vigilance (First Update of the Day)

The water rushed, and so did the tears.

Han Mei stood before the sink in the hospital restroom, her face washed with grievances and tears. She was a police officer herself and had long imagined scenes like this—when she needed someone most, she could only face it alone. Giving birth was one such moment.

Being a police officer was a hazardous and demanding profession. Once a case began, there was no room for personal concerns. Only by setting aside one’s own family could one protect the families of many others.

She recalled a line from a movie she had once watched, a line that had stayed with her: “There is a kind of bird in the world without feet. From birth, it can only keep flying, sleeping in the wind when tired. It can only land once in its life—when it dies.” Suddenly, Han Mei realized that police officers were just such birds. Always rushing, rarely seeing their families; when at last they could stop, their names would be found on the martyrs’ wall.

It was precisely because she understood that she felt so aggrieved. Because she understood, she could not complain like other women, nor act spoiled without restraint. Yet she was still a woman—how could she not yearn for a shoulder to lean on? Especially now, when her sensitivity was magnified a thousandfold, all the grievances suppressed in the name of “strength” surged out like a mountain torrent, streaming down with her tears.

After venting for precisely two minutes and thirteen seconds, Han Mei sniffed, gently wiped away the tear stains from her face, scooped up a handful of water, and splashed it on herself. Taking a deep breath, she gazed into the mirror and encouraged herself: “Han Mei, you can do this!”

She turned off the faucet, took a tissue from her pocket to dry her face, and restored her usual spirited appearance. As she stepped out of the restroom, she suddenly noticed a man standing by the door, startling her. She scolded, “Why did you get here so fast? Standing there silently, you gave me a fright…”

“There wasn’t much traffic, and the driver was quick… I’ve been here for a few minutes, saw you go into the restroom…” Blonde immediately reached out to support Han Mei, his gaze filled with endless tenderness. “Why did you run out instead of resting properly? If you needed the restroom, you could have asked the nurses for help. Didn’t the doctor say you shouldn’t go alone? It’s dangerous. What if the baby…”

“The doctor did tell me… but I wasn’t here for the restroom, just to wash my face…” Han Mei lowered her head, gently stroking her round belly as she explained. “I want to greet this new life in the best possible spirit.”

Blonde handed her a cup of hot water. “I just filled this. I looked it up on my phone—drinking more hot water is good for you. And… you really need to stay calm now, don’t get too emotional…”

Han Mei took the hot water, listening to Blonde’s relentless reminders. She pressed her lips together, feeling the warmth of the cup in her hands, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly. She really should drink more water, she thought—perhaps she could replenish the tears she’d just shed. She took a delicate sip and, smiling brightly, said, “Thank you.”

“Oh, don’t be so polite, we’re family…” Blonde waved his hand with a broad grin, his face feigning nonchalance, but inside he was jubilant. That sensation of being needed was new and overwhelming, filling him with strength. He helped Han Mei back to the ward with even greater care.

Once the two were inside, Wang Chao emerged from the men’s restroom, his gaze cold. He clenched his fists, exhaled a breath, and muttered, “One last time.” He pulled his collar higher, found a nondescript bench in the corridor, and sat, gathering his composure. Narrowing his eyes, he gazed toward the ward, watching the oblivious Blonde and Han Mei.

There’s a saying: ignorance is fearless. The unaware don’t imagine dangers. On the other hand, when someone senses a lurking threat, fear creeps in from the marrow—just like Blonde at that moment.

Blonde sat beside Han Mei’s bed, chatting and laughing with her, while flipping through a photo Zhang Xiaoman had sent earlier. He tapped on his phone, enlarging the image. Suddenly, a chill ran down his spine. There was nothing remarkable about the man in the photo; he looked like any ordinary passerby. Yet Blonde recognized him.

Keen observation was a thief’s basic skill. Blonde’s eyes were sharp—otherwise, he wouldn’t have spotted Zhu Dachang and Hou Sanzang’s hidden motorcycle in the dark those years ago.

A 125 is exactly half of a 250. At this moment, Blonde felt he was one half of a “250,” and Han Mei was the other.

The build, the profile, the size 42 shoes—the figure in his mind overlapped perfectly with the man in the photo.

Once is chance, twice is coincidence, but three times is deliberate. Blonde counted—he had run into the man in the photo three times, at least as far as he knew. There might have been times he hadn’t noticed.

What disturbed him even more was that every time, Han Mei had been present. He himself didn’t know the man, so clearly the target wasn’t him. There was only one explanation… the madman Zhang Xiaoman mentioned was after Han Mei and intended her harm. In prison, Blonde had often heard tragic stories of police officers—usually victims of revenge by criminals or their families.

Swallowing with difficulty, Blonde walked to the ward door and glanced down the corridor. Sure enough, he spotted the madman’s silhouette. His knees trembled involuntarily. He turned back to look at Han Mei in bed, forcing himself to stay calm, mind racing for a plan.

Suddenly, he remembered Zhang Xiaoman’s words. Quietly, he closed the door and dug out Zhang Xiaoman’s number, dialing it.

Han Mei looked at him in surprise, weakly asking, “Who are you calling? Don’t rush He Wei—if he didn’t answer before, it must be urgent…”

“Not He Wei,” Blonde forced a smile. “Just a friend of mine… I just remembered something I need to discuss with him…”

Han Mei gave a soft “oh,” and pointed to the balcony. “The signal’s not great in here. Go out there to make your call.”

“It’s fine… it’ll work right here. My phone’s made by the best in the business—has signal even on the moon…” Blonde joked deliberately, trying to ease his nerves. From behind the glass door, he stole a glance at the figure on the bench. At that moment, the man looked back with a cold, piercing gaze. Blonde froze—his anxiety and tension surged anew, and in his heart he begged Zhang Xiaoman to pick up.

Wang Chao slowly stood, fixing his eyes on the flickering blond hair behind the glass. He sneered, stretched his neck, and strolled toward Han Mei’s ward, muttering, “Seems the prey is getting cautious… So be it, opportunities are made, not waited for. I won't wait any longer!”