Conan: What alias? That's my struggle!

The next morning, Lin Ye was startled awake by the light that leaked through the gap in the curtains.

Sunlight streamed in through the gaps in the door, drawing a thin golden line on the carpet. He opened his eyes. The ceiling was still the same ceiling, the gray lampshade turning a soft beige in the morning light. Someone was still resting on his arm, long golden hair cascading over his chest.

The other person's breathing was very light and even.

"Ugh! How come my cerebellum is controlling my brain!" He tried to move his arm, and Vermouth's eyes opened. Those green eyes weren't drowsy from just waking up; they were as clear-headed as if she hadn't slept at all. She glanced at him, the corners of her mouth slightly upturned, and then rolled over and pressed down on him.

Lin Ye wanted to say that they should get up, but before she could say it, she was stopped.

He remembered what he was supposed to do today, but his body wouldn't listen to his brain, or rather, his body and brain reached some kind of tacit understanding at this moment—to ignore those things for now.

After an unknown amount of time, Lin Ye leaned against the headboard and watched as Absinthe sat up in bed, her long golden hair cascading over her shoulders, obscuring most of her face.

The woman walked barefoot on the carpet to the dressing table at the other end of the room, sat down, and slowly combed her hair. Light streaming through the gap in the curtains shone directly on her back.

The spine of this wicked woman was outlined in a soft curve.

Lin Ye looked away.

"Come here." Vermouth's voice returned to the nonchalant tone it had been before last night, languid but distant, as if separated by a layer of glass.

She turned around, her expression completely different from last night. Last night's smile was soft, warm, and full of body heat; this smile was cold, flat, and devoid of any emotion.

Lin Ye got out of bed, put on his pants, walked over, and sat on the chair in front of the dressing table. Absinthe's hand moved across his face for about twenty minutes, the fingers light and cool, as if sculpting a piece of work that wasn't very important but still needed to be treated carefully.

Implants, glue, foundation, eyebrow pencil, lip liner, layer upon layer, each layer so thin that you can barely feel the weight.

"alright."

Vermouth put down the brush in her hand, took a step back, and looked at his face.

Lin Ye turned around and looked at the mirror in front of her.

The person in the mirror is not him.

Short, silver-white hair; a cold, handsome face; slightly downturned eyes; thin, tightly pursed lips. He had seen that face many times before.

On missions, and in hospital beds, under operating lights, in the dim light of the ICU. Gin. Gin is sitting in the mirror. Lin Ye raises his hand to touch his face; the touch is unfamiliar. The prosthesis is colder than skin, feeling like a thin shell against his face. The person in the mirror also raises their hand to touch their face.

The movements are exactly the same.

"That face is disgusting," Vermouth's voice came from behind, colder than before. She had already turned around, her back to him, and began tidying up the tools on the vanity. Brushes were put back in their holders, the powder compact was closed, and the glue bottle was screwed shut.

Every movement was swift and decisive, as if tidying up a used tool rather than ending a morning.

Lin Ye stood up and glanced at her in the mirror. Her back was straight, her shoulders were slightly tense, and her long golden hair hung down to her waist.

Her expression was obscured.

Thanks.

Lin Ye said.

Absinthe did not answer.

Lin Ye didn't linger. He put on his shirt, draped his white coat over his arm, and headed for the door. His calves felt a little weak, his knees trembled as he walked, and he could feel the muscles in his thighs quivering slightly.

His body was still too weak, he thought to himself.

"It seems I need to strengthen my training in this area in the future."

Lin Ye opened the door and went out. As the door closed behind him, he heard the sound of a makeup brush being thrown into a pen holder, which was particularly clear in the quiet room.

Lin Ye walked out of the hotel, and the sunlight shone directly down from above, making him squint.

He pulled a key from his pocket; the black key handle bore a Porsche logo. He'd found it in Gin's trench coat pocket, taking it while cleaning up the scene after he'd run Gin over that night. Not stolen, but taken.

His thought at the time was that if Gin died, the car would become ownerless, and rather than being taken back by the organization, he would keep it safe for himself.

Gin is still alive, but he's still driving the car.

He found the car near the crash site.

A black Porsche 356A was parked in an open-air parking lot by the roadside. A thin layer of dust covered the car, and a parking ticket that had expired three days ago was stuck to the windshield.

Lin Ye opened the driver's side door and got in. The smell inside the car was the same as Gin's—cold, with a hint of tobacco and metal. He inserted the key and started the car. The engine sounded deep and steady, like a sleeping beast being gently nudged.

The Porsche drove onto the main road and headed toward the address given by the Boss.

The meeting place was located under an abandoned building in Beikacho, surrounded by old warehouses slated for demolition, with potholes and no pedestrians on the road.

You can't even see a single stray cat.

Lin Ye parked the car in front of the building, turned off the engine, rolled down the window, and waited.

Not long after, a black sedan drove up from the opposite direction and stopped behind him.

The car door opened, and a burly man in a black trench coat stepped out, wearing sunglasses and a black top hat.

He is vodka.

"what?"

Vodka walked over to the Porsche, bent down, and looked inside through the rolled-down window. His expression shifted from wariness to shock, and then from shock to a complex mix of relief and confusion.

"Boss?"

Vodka's voice was a little strained.

"I heard you were shot in the head, but you were completely healed after just one night's sleep?"

He was greatly shocked and didn't quite understand.

Lin Ye looked at him. His short, silvery-white hair gleamed coldly in the sunlight, and the sharp angles of his cold, handsome face were sculpted by the light and shadow. He didn't speak, but looked at Vodka with the same gaze Gin had—his eyelids slightly drooping, his pupils devoid of any warmth.

Vodka shrank back under his gaze.

Lin Ye spoke. His voice was very low, so low that it sounded like a stone being thrown into deep water, making a dull thud.

"Fool, that's just a rumor."

Since the other party had misunderstood, Lin Ye decided to play along.

Vodka paused for a second, then a憨厚 smile appeared on his rugged face, like a big dog that had been scolded by its owner but hadn't been kicked away.

"I knew it! How could the boss be taken down so easily?" He straightened up, patted his chest, and let out a long breath. "That scared me to death. I heard I was going to be partnered with Madeira today, and I didn't sleep well all night, worried that the guy might shoot me on the spot."

Lin Ye did not speak.

He looked at Vodka's relieved face.

I silently lit a candle for this honest man in my heart.