With a long beep, the phone is hung up.
John holds the receiver and remains silent for some ten seconds before letting out a sigh and assigning the tasks. He asks Vincent, the technician, to continue to collect and analyse the CCTV footage from the shops and entrances of the residential buildings in the vicinity of the scene, to see if there are any images of Joan Wong or any suspicious persons entering or leaving the building. He also sends Draco to make phone calls to ask for understanding from the Identification Bureau (IB) to speed up the progress of the laboratory tests.
"We have all worked very hard. If you are still in good spirits, please continue with the investigation. If you feel tired, please take a short break. I am going to a press conference, and then we will meet again on time in 4 hours. Dino doesn't have to come - you have to make door-to-door inquiries."
Everyone sighs and dismisses the meeting.
Francis has been without sleep for a long time. He has been suffering from fever on the scene and then there comes the autopsy. Before the meeting, he found the first aid kit in the office and took a pill and only then he dared to give the report, but now he is so hungry that his stomach is twitching with pain, and every single cell of his body is complaining about it.
Remembering that he has nowhere to stay after arriving in Hecticity, he borrows Todd's mobile phone and calls his foster father, the retired A&E doctor Kingswell Fung.
"Hello, dear old man? Yeah, I'm in Hecticity, but my luggage and documents have been stolen... *Cough* Would you do me a favour and get me my birth certificate in the next couple of days? I have to go to the British Consulate in Hecticity to get a new passport - No, no, of course I'm not sick! Ah, one more thing, although I don't feel like living with you and listening to your nagging every day, I can't afford to stay in a hotel under such special circumstances..."
On the other side of the phone, Kingswell Fung chuckles and says a few words.
Francis feels a sense of dread - when his wicked dad makes a move, nothing good will come out of it!
"What? What the hell are you and the old Commander Chow thinking about? I'm not allowed to live in your house and bother you? That's my home too! This is rigged! Objection!"
Francis's expression is so sour that it seems as if 100,000 Scottish Highland cattle are stampeding through his heart. He hangs up and returns the borrowed mobile phone to Todd, and then rushes out to look for John in a stumbling manner.
He must be absolutely clear about this!
He, Francis, will never live with this Commander John Shaw in his life!
Even if the guy is handsome, the answer is still a NO!
He has got a grudge against this guy, and living in the same dormitory unit would be like a clash of ice and fire!
Absolutely never, ever, ever! He swears by his power to remain a single gay in his thirty-two years of life!
He manages to catch up with John, who is walking into the lift, but before he can say anything, he faints and collapses in front of John.
"Oh my! Are you alright?
Francis loses consciousness just for an instant. He is steadily held by a pair of arms and has not fallen to the ground. He feels that he has been shaken a couple of times, and when he hears the anxious voice shouting in his ears, he drowsily half-opens his eyes.
"Keep quiet, I need rest...!"
He vaguely sees John's mouth opening and closing, seemingly saying something like calling an ambulance to take him to the hospital.
Oh, no. This is not okay at all. What an embarrassment...
So Francis pressed his palm on John's face randomly to show his refusal, "If you stinky officer dare to send me to the hospital, I will send you to the mortuary!"
After that, he passes out.
Until he wakes up, he is still in a daze.
He touches his forehead and feels that the fever is gone, so he tears off the cooling pad. He inhales deeply and feels that his nose is still a bit stuffy and his throat is still sore, but much better than before. His whole body is perfectly dry at the moment - not covered in sweat, so someone must have cleaned him up.
The quilt contains an indescribable homely smell, light and warm, which is very relaxing to the mind.
On the small cupboard beside the bed is a mug, with warm water inside and white smoke slowly rising in the cold winter air.
Francis sits up with the quilt in his arms, somewhat sluggishly taking the cup of water with both hands, turning his eyes, and looking around.
This does not seem like a ward, nor does it look like a lounge. Neither does it look like his foster father's villa. Where is he?
The next moment, he smells the scent of food and his stomach protests loudly.
"Guh-"
"Ah, awake?"
The one who comes in is neither a nurse nor his foster father, but John.
"How come... it's you?"
Francis has just recovered from his fever. His ears are still tinged with red. With a confused look on his face and a messy hairstyle like a bird's nest, he looks somewhat silly which does not fit in with an expert's style.
John cannot help but laugh out, "Yes, it's me. I've been busy and forgot to tell you that the old Captain arranged for you and me to live together in the police quarters, saying that due to the lack of vacant dormitories and hotels in the area, it's okay to have an extra roommate here, and it's perhaps a way to increase friendships. I was also surprised at first."
Francis wants to punch him in the face and tells him that nobody wants to befriend him, but he feels that it would be inelegant to do so, so he reluctantly gives a nod of his head.
It's just a temporary solution for now! He thought to himself. He is not going to live here for long!
"You've been empty for many hours. Come and eat something, be slow, and don't choke on it. I don't know what you eat when you live abroad, but when I came back in the morning, I went to the market and bought some fresh lean meat and boiled some congee. Is it okay for you?"
Francis looks at the bowl in John's hand and demonstrates what is meant by "swallowing what he has said".
It literally means "swallowing". John has brought him a bowl of lean pork congee simmered over low heat to make the rice grains soft and fragrant. The surface of the congee has been carefully sprinkled with finely chopped spring onions and ginger grains.
In the UK, if he doesn't go to a high-class restaurant, he will just make pasta with bacon and vegetables. Since when has he ever eaten such authentic homemade congee?
Francis, without saying a word, took the bowl at once. He no longer cares about the image or listens to John's caution about the hotness, and after several spoonfuls, the whole bowl of congee is emptied. He smacks his lips and savours the remaining warmth and fragrance of the congee.
John said, "I've already had mine, and there are two servings left in the pot. Do you want some more?
"Oh definitely."
As if they have reached some kind of mysterious consensus, one of them eats with glee and the other one watches him eating with glee as well. The discord that existed twelve hours ago seems to be completely gone.
After finishing his meal, John puts away the bowl and brings another plate, neatly lined with rows of kiwi fruit pieces inserted with toothpicks.
Francis is in a good mood, and thanks John for his hospitality. While eating, he thinks to himself, "Hey, this guy knows very well how to take care of a patient. He has prepared fruits to supplement vitamin C.
However, all of a sudden, he remembers: Shouldn't John be in the press conference? Why is he in the dormitory?
"Well, that press conference..."
"I'm more concerned about you," John smiles. "Anyway, my presence at the press conference is no more than just being present without speaking 'nonsense' as ordered by the Chief Inspector, so I called Max for my absence and also called the reporters in charge of news coverage from various major media to reiterate that the Serious Crimes Unit is working hard to investigate the case, and I really can't spare time, hoping that they will understand."
As the Hectican saying goes, "One's look is made by his heart", John's face is full of masculinity, with two sharp eyebrows, a well-rounded forehead, deep-set eyes, and a fine nose. He has a very serious and manly look when he investigates, but he also has a pair of friendly puppy eyes with rounded inner corners and slightly drooping tips. He looks gentle when relaxing and chatting, smiling and revealing a shallow dimple which adds softness to his overall temperament.
Francis cannot help but drool in his heart.
This man's face is simply perfect! Look at that smile!
He is always fond of this kind of handsome guy - whether it's his face or his body, they all match his aesthetic!
And listen to what he says - "I am more concerned about you"?
Francis feels like he is suddenly being flirted with, but he knows that he should not keep staring at John with the expression of indulging in the beauty of men.
"Isn't the Chief Inspector threatening to cut the budget?"
"It's no big deal. Since Max took office, he has been against the old Captain Burton. The budget is cut every year so it is nearly impossible to be cut any further. Now the media knows that there is a murder and SCIU is working to solve it, so I don't think Max would dare to mess up at this stage," he said.
"I can't believe you will play such a trick without fighting with him to the end."
"Of course, I have to avoid the confrontation, or else it will just make me unhappy. You are underestimating me, aren't you, Dr. To? But well, I had also doubted your ability for a while, but after seeing you go out to the scene and do the autopsy with a cold, and then listening to you analysing the case, I've already changed my mind. So, we're sort of even?"
"All right, we're even."
"Nice working with you, Dr. To." John takes the initiative to extend his hand.
"Same here, my pleasure to be in the team, Commander Shaw." Francis also graciously extends his hand and shakes hands with John.
While both are adults and it was just a ridiculous misunderstanding in the first place, when one side made a gesture of goodwill first, what can't be reconciled?
"Strictly speaking, a consultant is not one of my subordinates, so you don't have to call me Commander. Calling me 'Sir' is also a bit awkward so you may just call me by my name John."
"Oh, great. John, you can call me whatever you want. 'Dr. To', or call me 'Francis' just like everyone does in the UK."
"Fren..."
"No, no, Fran-cis."
"Fran-sis?"
"No, no, no..."
John, like many Hecticans, has no difficulty at all in listening to English, but when it comes to his own words, he gets tongue-tied, especially when he has to roll up his tongue to pronounce a foreign name.
After several attempts, he still cannot pronounce it accurately and gives up: "I'd rather call you Dr. To."
The way this man struggles with the level of his spoken English is somehow adorable. Francis laughs in his heart.
Now he has a roommate - a good-looking young police inspector who can cook well... It seems like it would be okay to live here for a little while longer...
This thought lasts until John turns out, brings back a thermometer, and lifts up Francis's blanket.
"What on earth are you doing?"
Although Francis knows that he was almost naked when they first met and that John had probably cleaned him all over when he fell asleep, he still feels a bit uncomfortable with only his underwear on, so he tugs on the quilt and tussles with John.
"Hey, why is there a need to lift up the blanket to take the temperature?"
John looks innocent.
"In the dormitory, there is only an old thermometer that I got from home a few years ago - for checking rectal temperature. I've already checked once when you were feverish, and if the temperature gets any higher, you'll have to be sent to the hospital..."
"Bloody hell!"
Francis stares at him in horror, but John doesn't realise that something is wrong and continues in a straight talk full of fatherly love.
"Don't worry, it's clean and won't hurt. When I was still a school kid, I tried checking the temperature of my baby little sister. The probe was sterilised with alcohol and smeared with Vaseline. Then the patient would lie on the side while I lift up the patient's legs, and put the thermometer..."
Francis suddenly feels uncomfortable everywhere in his arse. No matter how he sits on the bed, it's as if the thermometer is still pinching inside.
He wants to use the universal swearing F-words, grab the thermometer, do the same to John's buttocks, which were very firm to the touch, and leave a slap mark on each of the sides.
At the age of eight, he refused to take medication and was picked up by his foster dad Kingswell to probe the rectal temperature and put in a suppository. He cried so much that even the old doctor got goosebumps, and since then, no one has ever touched his noble and distinguished buttocks...
A pure top like him was poked again after more than twenty years, in the hands of this bastard in front of him!
Francis keeps the smile frozen on his face, his hands trembling and secretly reaching for that place under the quilt that he himself has not even touched.
He slowly probes in half a fingertip, and in the next second, his face turns sour, lifting up the quilt and rushing into the bathroom, pulling the shower curtain closed and turning the tap to the maximum - in the splashing sound, he cleans himself frantically.
Who was it that felt so clean and dry all over just now?
There is Vaseline all over his fingertip!
As soon as he went in, and as soon as he got up, the vaseline for lubrication was all over the place!
"Dr. To, what's wrong? Are you feeling sick? Are you okay?"
"'Are you okay'? Do I look 'okay' to you? Oh THANKS a bunch, Sir Shaw...!"
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