On the way back to the apartment, Yin Wuwang drove while Xie Qingyan sat in the passenger seat reviewing the files they'd compiled that day.
The car wasn't exactly quiet—the rustle of turning pages, the soft friction of the seatbelt when turning, the occasional navigation announcement.
Yin Wuwang's hands rested on the steering wheel, speed steady.
He didn't tell Xie Qingyan that while driving alone today, he'd glanced at the passenger seat four times. Didn't tell him that after leaving the driver company, he'd sat in the car longer than necessary before starting the engine.
None of that mattered.
What mattered was now. Someone in the passenger seat, the dark gray travel mug in the cup holder, the air inside the car complete.
The evening traffic had thinned. Streetlights flickered on one by one along the road, casting pools of amber that slid across the windshield in a steady rhythm. The city at dusk had a different quality than the city at night—softer edges, warmer colors, people heading home instead of heading out.
Yin Wuwang took a familiar turn toward the apartment complex. He'd driven this route enough times now that his hands moved automatically, leaving his mind free to wander.
Three thousand years he'd known Xie Qingyan. Three thousand years of watching him from across battlefields, tracking his movements through intelligence reports, analyzing his sword techniques from the marks they left on the landscape. He knew Fuguang's habits, his patterns, his tells. But he'd never known what it felt like to sit beside him in silence. To share a space without hostility. To notice, in the quiet moments, how the passing lights traced the line of his profile.
Today had been different. Today he'd driven alone, and the difference had been immediate, obvious, impossible to ignore. The car had felt wrong without someone in the passenger seat. Not just someone—Fuguang specifically. His absence had weight, had presence, had shape. Like a missing tooth you couldn't stop probing with your tongue.
"Yin Wuwang."
From the corner of his eye, he saw Xie Qingyan close the folder and lean back against the seat, his gaze falling on the streetlights flowing past the window.
"Mm."
Xie Qingyan was silent for a moment.
"Today in the evidence room," his voice was very soft, "after I finished measuring the pressure mark widths, I wanted to turn and tell you the results."
He paused.
"Then I realized no one was beside me."
Yin Wuwang's fingers tightened slightly on the steering wheel.
The words were light. Light as the wind outside the window—blown over and scattered. But Yin Wuwang heard every syllable clearly.
Xie Qingyan hadn't said "the evidence room was too quiet." Hadn't said "efficiency is lower working alone." What he'd said was "no one was beside me."
"No one beside me" and "Yin Wuwang wasn't beside me"—were those two different things?
Or the same thing.
The car passed through the entrance of the apartment complex, the security gate lifting automatically as they approached. Underground parking was nearly empty at this hour—just a few cars scattered across the concrete expanse, their shapes vague in the fluorescent lighting.
Yin Wuwang pulled the car smoothly into their usual spot and turned off the engine. The headlights went dark; the underground garage's white fluorescent lights illuminated the cabin brightly.
He didn't open the door immediately.
"Next time," he said, "take a photo and send it to me first. Don't wait until you're back to explain."
Xie Qingyan turned to look at him.
"I thought you preferred seeing originals."
"Originals still need to be seen." Yin Wuwang pulled out the car key, spinning it once around his finger on the keyring. "But this sovereign can't wait an entire day."
The words came out before he could think them through. A little too honest. A little too close to an admission. The Demon Sovereign of three thousand years didn't say things like "I can't wait." Didn't admit to wanting anything. Didn't let anyone see the shape of his impatience.
But the words were already out, hanging in the air between them.
He finished speaking and pushed open the door, stepping out, his pace half a beat faster than usual.
Behind him came the sound of the passenger door opening, then Xie Qingyan's footsteps getting out—steady, light, unhurried. The same unhurried pace Fuguang had always had, whether walking through immortal sect halls or mortal parking garages. Some things didn't change, no matter what world they were in.
The underground garage was nearly empty, their footsteps echoing off concrete walls. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in that flat, colorless illumination that made the hour feel later than it was.
The two met at the rear of the car, walking toward the elevator one after the other.
Neither mentioned that conversation again.
But Yin Wuwang knew something had changed today.
Not an earth-shattering change. Not a declaration or a confession or any of those dramatic moments that happened in the romance novels Little Deer Assistant kept referencing. Just a quiet shift, like tectonic plates settling into new positions.
He'd finally confirmed something—he was used to having someone in the passenger seat, and it wasn't because of muscle memory developed from a few days of driving.
It was because that person was Fuguang.
And somewhere in the evidence room today, Fuguang had turned to share something with him and found the space beside him empty. Had noticed that emptiness. Had, for some reason, chosen to mention it.
The elevator arrived with a soft chime. They stepped inside, standing side by side as the doors closed. The numbers above the door lit up one by one as they ascended—basement, lobby, second floor, third.
Yin Wuwang didn't say anything else.
But when their shoulders brushed in the small space, neither of them moved away.
The elevator stopped. The doors opened.
They walked out together, toward the apartment at the end of the hall.
[End of V2_Chapter 41]
Next: Xu Ruolin's alibi comes in, and the case takes an unexpected turn.