Chapter 795: Take Down

Holding his merit medal and certificate, he received a flood of congratulations, with people clamoring for Wang Yan to treat everyone to a meal. Wang Yan naturally didn't refuse, saying he'd have the head chef from a restaurant come to the station's cafeteria to cook that evening. In fact, he'd done the same thing after his two previous Third-Class Merit awards—each time, he'd treated everyone.

This was just a formality; people said it out of habit. The station had over twenty people—no ordinary person could afford to treat them all. Even a regular restaurant would cost at least two thousand yuan just to feed them, not even counting good food and drinks. Even Wang Shouyi, the highest-paid officer in the station, couldn't afford it.

Wang Yan was more generous—he directly invited a top restaurant's head chef and his whole team, along with ingredients. The Third-Class Merit bonus was two thousand yuan, the Second-Class Merit bonus five thousand—he'd spend tens of thousands treating the whole station. Everyone in the station said Wang Yan was a good man, a man of principle.

Of course, beyond spending money, Wang Yan was also excellent within the station. Song Ju and Wang Suo had been right: even without Wang Shouyi, the station chief, giving orders, Wang Yan could make the staff do their work. If he wanted to make Wang Shouyi's life difficult, Wang Shouyi would only be useful at bureau meetings.

This was real authority earned through actual ability. Although the older officers criticized him for ignoring social niceties and interpersonal etiquette, they had to admit: with Wang Yan around, the station had far fewer empty formalities, and the work environment improved dramatically—simply because if Wang Yan saw something wrong, he'd curse you outright, with zero regard for face. Then the next day, he'd still smile at you. What could they do? How could they dare?

On the other hand, the staff genuinely liked Wang Yan's way of working. Sure, being too blunt wasn't good—but when the blunt one was one of your own, it was perfect. Whenever they went out on cases and someone tried to pull strings, they didn't want to offend anyone, so they'd just call Wang Yan directly. If Wang Yan said arrest, they'd arrest without hesitation.

It wasn't that they didn't want to arrest—they just knew that if things blew up and Wang Yan found out, they had no doubt he'd be the first to punish them. The Balihe Police Station was no longer what it used to be—two words: powerful. Yet they had to admit, this iron-fisted law enforcement made their jobs incredibly easy—though they worried about when they'd accidentally offend someone.

As for Wang Suo, still smoking a cigarette in his backyard to celebrate the end of this major upheaval, he was indifferent to the authority Wang Yan had amassed in just over three months—authority that could shake his leadership. He was leaving anyway; in less than a year, everything Wang Yan did would count as his own achievement, and he was happy to have the peace.

After all, aside from being ruthless toward powerful, wealthy groups—hard-charging them and inviting big trouble—Wang Yan handled everything else perfectly. His capability was formidable; he solved problems far better than Wang Suo ever had. He had no reason to worry.

Thus, he'd already begun mourning the next chief of Balihe Police Station. If some clueless newcomer came in, eager to seize control, and mishandled things by clashing with Wang Yan, whether he could even remain chief of Balihe was very much in question.

Everyone knew Wang Yan stirred up trouble, but few knew he'd brazenly threatened city bureau leaders and openly mocked Liang Ju. Not everyone has brains or wisdom; many rose to power by accident or inevitability. What if the next chief turns out to be an idiot? He might end up guarding the archives.

Wang Shou's idea of watching the spectacle had some merit, but Song Ju wouldn't appoint an idiot. More likely, he'd pick a deputy team leader from one of the branch divisions, send him down for a year or two, then promote him once a slot opened.

After chatting merrily with the station staff, Wang Yan looked at Zhao Jiwēi, sitting dumbly, staring at his merit medal and certificate with a vacant grin, and shook his head with amusement: "Jiwēi, that's enough. Haven't you called your parents yet?"

Zhao Jiwēi snapped back to reality: "Right, right! I'll call my parents right away—let them share in the joy too."

He hadn't been spaced out the whole time—he'd been in a daze since someone first urged him to treat everyone.

Watching Zhao Jiwēi rush out with his phone, Li Dawei returned the Second-Class Merit medal and certificate: "Can't blame him for acting like an idiot—if I'd gotten a Third-Class Merit, I wouldn't be any better. Ah, my Third-Class Merit…"

Li Dawei groaned, then turned and followed Chen Xincheng out on duty.

At this point, Xia Jie picked up Wang Yan's Second-Class Merit medal, studying it, then gave him a thumbs-up: "Impressive."

"You've got good taste. That's why we ended up together." Wang Yan grinned, raising an eyebrow, and patted her head.

Xia Jie resisted such affectionate gestures in public—she was shy, easily embarrassed. So she rolled her eyes, bared her tiger teeth, slapped his hand away, and pushed the already-brewed thermos toward him: drink more water, stop fiddling.

Wang Yan sipped his tea with a smile, then asked with concern: "You've seemed off these past two days. Something wrong?"

Before Xia Jie could feign "nothing's wrong," he continued: "The Zhao family and those Young Masters' affairs are over. So far, it's still safe—you don't need to stay at the station every night on duty. Your mom's off on a twilight romance in Lijiang too, so no one's bothering you. So what's going on?"

"Oh, I get it. Even though the National Day holiday's over, Lijiang's still popular—rent's still high. A good place costs seven or eight thousand a month, right? Are you short on cash? Come on, is this really worth worrying about? I know you're too proud to ask, wanting our relationship to be pure—but don't you know who I am? Don't you know who you are?"

Xia Jie was stunned by her boyfriend's sharp insight—he'd deduced her predicament in just a few sentences—but still shook her head: "I can't take your money."

Her stance was firm. Wang Yan already had money; she didn't want him—or anyone else—to think she was after his wealth.

So the eternal question returned: talk about love with the rich, talk about money with the poor. Of course, it depends on the person—Xia Jie wasn't like that—but Wang Yan's wealth did put immense pressure on her.

Wang Yan shook his head: "Are you stupid? The issue isn't money—it's whether your mom can actually make this twilight romance with that Liang guy work. I've figured it out: with your mom, you're still not enough. You're too soft to handle her. If I yelled at her like I did with that Wu Physician, she'd resent me—and you'd be unhappy too."

So what should you do now? Encourage your mom to be bold. From what I know of her, she's holding back, waiting for him to come to her. But honestly, young people don't want that—let alone people their age. If you don't push her, if you don't make her realize this, it'll never happen. Then she'll come home in a bad mood, pout, hassle you, cause trouble."

I won't help find a place to stay—I'm too busy. I'll transfer the money to your account. You find it yourself. Don't be stingy. Your mom already knows about us. Just say I arranged it for her—and for that Liang guy too. Let them enjoy themselves. If your mom's calm, you're calm, and then I'm calm. That's the logic. I'm sending you fifty thousand. Spend it all. If they stay longer, I'll pay more."

Don't argue. Eat someone's food, you're in their debt; take someone's money, you're bound to them. This time, if your mom spends my money and still causes trouble later, I'll have grounds to scold her. When she comes back, I'll go pick her up with you. We'll talk to her properly. I'm giving you a heads-up—I'm doing this for you, for us."

Without giving Xia Jie time to respond, Wang Yan quickly transferred the money on his phone and walked out. Fifty thousand could buy a lot—but it wasn't about quantity. Relatively speaking, fifty thousand to make everyone happy was a bargain. For him, fifty thousand was no different from fifty yuan.

Watching the group of onlookers still inside, Xia Jie quickly stood up to get water. Her face was flushed, her heart sweet, her mood delightful. Money can't cure all ills—but it can probably fix ninety-nine of them.

"Money's great," Yang Shu echoed Li Dawei and Zhao Jiwēi's usual saying.

The neighborhood visits resumed—this time Yang Shu accompanied him. He followed on visits, followed on patrols. He'd overheard everything Wang Yan and Xia Jie had just said.

"My master heard what you just said. His expression was… complicated," Yang Shu said, equally complicated.

"Of course. Didn't I already tell you about Cao Army Supervisor's family? He watched me get one commendation, two Third-Class Merits, one Second-Class Merit—and I've got money too. He wants everything I have. Of course he's conflicted."

Wang Yan said: "But I'm just lucky. Yang Shu, your thinking's starting to lean toward Li Dawei and Zhao Jiwēi. That's not good."

Yang Shu sighed: "I envy that you can handle cases without hesitation, iron-fisted and impartial—like the Zhao family and those Young Masters. If we tried, we'd never get anywhere."

"Then if you want to realize your ideals, you've got to climb higher. Keep pushing—I believe in you."

Yang Shu smiled bitterly. After three months as a cop, he'd come to understand many things. Though he didn't approve of many of Wang Yan's methods, he had to admit: the results were always exactly as expected—perfect.

He couldn't help recalling his first day, when they arrested a murderer that night—he'd foolishly lectured the suspect on the law, and the man had raised a club to hit him…

Another day of neighborhood visits. They'd finished visiting merchants in the new residential area and were now visiting homeowners. The process was nearly identical, except now they had a new task: electing building representatives.

As previously mentioned, after the property management incident, Balihe's entire property service had leapt several levels—everyone was waiting for Wang Yan to reorganize the homeowners' committee.

As always: changing property management is hard. Otherwise, why would the public harbor such resentment? They can't change it. No one in the neighborhood dares lead; no one outside helps. Plus, there are always people pulling back. Very few neighborhoods ever succeed.

But Wang Yan had the clout—he could drag out the street and community offices, both government grassroots bodies and residents' self-governance organizations, and even summon district government officials. Changing property management became effortless—no challenge at all.

Cutting off someone's livelihood is like killing their parents—he smashed their meal ticket. What could they do?

Visiting home by home, he casually resolved various disputes. Wang Yan's visits now went smoothly—many welcomed him warmly. Those who'd once been stubborn, because of past incidents, were now obedient—they'd all been broken. No household dared block Wang Yan at their door.

After being warmly invited into another home, Wang Yan grinned and silently turned on his body camera. Yang Shu, watching Wang Yan's every move, immediately turned on his own. Wang Yan had told him about this—Zhao Jiwēi, Li Dawei, and Xia Jie had all told him too. But he still didn't understand why.

"Officer Wang, here's my ID. His got lost—he's planning to replace it these days." The woman handed over the ID, smiling warmly.

The woman's "he" was a slightly overweight middle-aged man sitting on the sofa, wearing glasses. Even at home, he was neatly dressed, his hair slicked back, very refined.

Wang Yan shook his head, looking at the man who smiled warmly at him: "You're Cui Liang, aren't you? The fugitive with a 20,000-yuan bounty from the provincial police."

At once, Cui Liang's smile froze. Wang Yan continued: "You're disrespecting me. Didn't you hear about me catching a fugitive at Xincheng Aofu?"

"How could I not know? I thought you wouldn't recognize me. I heard about that case—those people wouldn't let you in, so you checked the surveillance footage."

Cui Liang sighed, smiling bitterly: "I admit I gambled. I knew this day would come. Wherever I ran, it was the same. I've been hiding so long—I'm tired…"

As he spoke, he willingly extended his hands.

It was kind of funny. Wang Yan chuckled, nodded to Yang Shu, who promptly pulled out handcuffs and cuffed the man's hands behind his back.

Wang Yan looked at the woman: "You're coming too. You knew he was a fugitive and still sheltered him. And you're not his wife, are you? Hand over both your phones. Let's go."

The woman didn't struggle or scream. She nodded resignedly. She'd known Cui Liang's history—and the fate of his previous woman.

Actually, Cui Liang was right: police don't always recognize fugitives—it's just a matter of familiarity. Yang Shu himself checked fugitive lists regularly, yet he hadn't recognized him. He was a law master's graduate, a top exam-taker, with excellent memory.

So Cui Liang wasn't an anomaly. Who knows? Someone else might still try to get lucky. These people can't be stopped—they're the "smart ones" who think they're the lucky ones. Honestly, they're no different from gamblers—each one bets that next time, they'll win.

Another day of fighting crime was over; at the station, Wang Yan dealt with the newly emerged fingerprints and images, and for once, he drove home early with Xia Jie and Yang Shu.

At home, Yang Shu promptly washed up and stayed locked in his room. In fact, not just Yang Shu—counting Zhao Jiw ei and Li Dawei, whenever the other two were on duty and someone had to stay home with Wang Yan and Xia Jie, they all chose to stay in their rooms, firmly refusing to eat dog food or act as light bulbs.

After washing up and lingering a while, Wang Yan came downstairs in a sleeveless shirt, shorts, and slippers, entering Xia Jie's room; she had just bathed, her hair still damp.

Wang Yan asked: "How's it going? Did you take care of your mom today?"

"Mm. As you said, I got her a better apartment. Liang Shu had a place there, but he refused. I talked with my mom for half an hour, urging her to boldly accept new love…"

Xia Jie chattered through it all, ending with a "thank you."

Wang Yan pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her neck: "How many times have I said it? We don't need to say 'thank you.' If you're happy, I'm happy. You'd never ask me for money outright, but when it comes to this kind of thing, it's no issue for me. Many women before you only wanted my money—I hated that. But you're different. To be precise, I chased you, and you were drawn to me. I'd spend any amount on you without hesitation."

"Don't think I'm good at this—I'm terrible at romantic talk, can't spit out all those sappy lines. But I want you to understand: I'm willing to spend money on you. I want to live this life well with you."

Xia Jie was practical, and due to her father's early death and her mother's oppression, she lacked security. Wang Yan naturally catered to her needs, striking precisely—when to lick, when to be shameless.

Here, we must reiterate the definition of a "licking dog": someone in a romantic relationship who, despite knowing the other person doesn't like them, repeatedly clings without dignity or boundaries, pressing their warm face against the other's cold rear.

Clearly, this would never happen to Wang Yan…

Xia Jie turned her head, blinking her glistening eyes, and leaned in to kiss him.

The story began with this kiss: the warm spring grass, an old ox nibbling tender shoots, a winding stream flowing slowly, striking stones with crisp, clear sounds…

The next day, Wang Yan woke early as usual, but today he skipped morning exercise; instead, he drove to the morning market, buying a hen, seasonings, herbs, and other ingredients.

Back home, he bustled about, preparing the food alone, washing up midway; by the time he finished cooking, it was already past seven.

Yang Shu stared, bewildered at Wang Yan's unusual behavior, and asked dumbly: "Why'd you suddenly decide to cook breakfast?"

"Of course for Xia Jie—but you're lucky too, I won't leave you out. Hurry up and wash up. I'll go call Xia Jie." Wang Yan set the dishes on the table, ignored the stunned Yang Shu, washed his hands, and headed to Xia Jie's room.

Xia Jie was fast asleep, hair messy, clearly exhausted.

Wang Yan walked over and gently shook her awake. Seeing her still dazed, yet instinctively pulling the blanket up and blushing, he chuckled: "I ran to the morning market early and bought a hen. I've been stewing it for over an hour, plus other dishes. Get up and eat a bit. Don't go to work today—rest properly. I'll take care of your leave at the station."

"No." Xia Jie was now fully awake. "If I don't go, they'll know."

"If you go, they'll know too." Wang Yan stroked her warm, flushed cheek. "It's normal human behavior. What's there to be embarrassed about? I'm on duty today, or I'd stay home with you."

"No way! How could I ever face anyone again?"

Xia Jie's logic was strange—after all, they'd rested together before. But Wang Yan understood: embarrassment.

"Can't face anyone…" Wang Yan shook his head, amused. "You're adults. Why can't you face anyone? Get up. Eat breakfast first. Then sleep all day if you want. I'll come home early tonight to keep you company. That's settled—no more arguing. Are you unwell? Here, let me help you dress…"

"Ah!" Seeing Wang Yan reach for her undergarments, Xia Jie instantly curled into the blanket, muffled: "Go out! I can dress myself…"

"Alright, I'm leaving." Wang Yan answered cleanly, opened and closed the door, then stood with arms crossed, smiling at the bundled-up blanket on the bed.

Xia Jie pulled back the blanket with a sigh—only to see Wang Yan still smiling at her.

After this playful, affectionate exchange, Wang Yan finally left, sat at the dining table, and began eating breakfast. He'd prepared a lavish meal: besides the hen, four other dishes, two pickles, millet porridge, and several thin pancakes.

Yang Shu washed up quickly and came first to eat, saying nothing to Wang Yan, both silently scrolling on their phones. After a while, Xia Jie emerged slowly from her room, frowning and blushing.

Yang Shu stared blankly at Xia Jie, then, after a few seconds, realized what had happened. Though predictable, he couldn't help gaping, eyes wide. He turned to Wang Yan, who merely smiled and nodded: "Just as you thought…"

Wang Yan, the perfect man, hurried over to help Xia Jie to the table, serving her rice and soup.

His cooking skills weren't surprising—the others had eaten his food before. But this hen stew was his first time making it. This was Wang Mou's signature dish, the one he was most proud of in his martial world—was he joking? This was master-level craftsmanship.

Xia Jie stared at Wang Yan in astonishment, then glanced at Yang Shu, who kept watching them, and quickly lowered her head, blushing as she ate.