First, then, love.

In the rehearsal hall.

Dozens of musicians held their breath and concentrated.

At the conductor's podium, Conductor Lin raised his slender baton, his cold gaze sweeping across the cello section.

Shu Yao sat in the head seat, her back ramrod straight.

Fingers pressed on the strings, old calluses layered on top of new ones, their tips hardening slightly.

The baton fell.

Shu Yao's wrist sank, and the bow gripped the string.

There was no flashy display of skill, nor any sharp expression of emotion.

The music poured out like a frozen volcano, with magma churning beneath the surface, yet maintaining a suffocating restraint and profundity.

The powerful and weighty sound steadily supported the harmony of the entire orchestra.

The song ended.

Commander Lin's hand froze in mid-air for a full three seconds.

He put down his baton, looked at Shu Yao, his usually tense face devoid of any extra expression.

"The vocal parts blend very well," he said calmly. "Keep it this way from now on."

There was no praise, and no apology.

But for a demanding commander, this is already the highest level of recognition.

Beside him, Vice Principal Chen secretly breathed a sigh of relief and gave Shu Yao a thumbs up from under the music stand.

Shu Yao put down the bow, a faint smile curving her lips.

He didn't speak, but the light in his eyes was brighter than a blade.

That man was right. Strength is the best weapon to shatter other people's prejudices.

*

Splendid Garden.

In the spacious living room, He Zheng gripped the pull-up bar above the door frame with one hand.

His strong arm muscles bulged, and blue veins coiled like tree roots on his bronze skin.

The body is airborne, rising and falling.

The purplish-black bump that used to swell up on my left shoulder has long since disappeared, leaving only a dark red old scar.

The rehabilitation therapy was very thorough, and the left arm, which was almost ruined, regained its terrifying explosive power.

"Smack."

He Zheng released his grip and landed steadily.

He grabbed the towel draped over the sofa and hastily wiped the sweat from his face.

"God of War, time to eat."

He shouted towards the balcony.

Normally, as soon as he hears the word "eat," that huge retired police dog will rush over like a black whirlwind and circle around his legs.

But today, there was only a slight scraping sound from the balcony.

He Zheng stopped wiping his sweat and turned to look.

The God of War lay prone on the anti-corrosion wooden floor, and upon hearing its master's command, it struggled to stand up.

Its two front legs were on the ground, but its hind legs seemed to be out of control.

As soon as it exerted force, its claws slipped on the smooth wooden floor. With a "rip," it fell heavily back.

The God of War paused for a moment, then let out a desperate sob.

It refused to believe it and strained to lift its hindquarters again.

This time I managed to stand up, but my two hind legs were shaking violently, and my knees were as stiff as rusted gears.

He took a step forward, but his legs gave way, and his massive body crashed to the ground again.

"Waaah..." The God of War panicked, turning to look at his hind legs, then looking up at He Zheng, his eyes filled with panic and helplessness.

The towel in He Zheng's hand fell onto the carpet.

He strode over and knelt on one knee beside the God of War.

The large hand traveled down its spine and pinched its hind leg at the knee joint.

Just a gentle press.

The God of War shuddered in pain and instinctively tried to pull his leg back, sticking out his tongue to lick the back of He Zheng's hand, as if begging for mercy.

He Zheng's jawline tightened instantly.

His eyes were terrifyingly deep.

*

Downtown, Pet Love Animal Hospital.

It was still that chubby doctor with the gold-rimmed glasses.

On the lightbox in the clinic hung an X-ray of the hind limbs of the God of War.

The chubby doctor pushed up his glasses and pointed to the blurry white edges of the bones on the film.

"Severe joint degeneration, bone spurs, and compression of the lumbar spine."

The chubby doctor turned his head and looked at He Zheng, whose face was ashen, and Shu Yao, whose eyes were full of heartache.

"This dog must be almost ten years old, right? Large dogs naturally have shorter lifespans, and considering it used to be a police dog, the high-intensity running, jumping, and biting caused its joints to wear down much more severely than those of ordinary pet dogs."

"It can't stand up now because the bone spurs are pressing on the nerves, and the cartilage is worn away, causing bone to rub against bone, which is unbearably painful."

Shu Yao felt a pang in her heart upon hearing this.

She crouched down and touched the God of War lying on the examination table.

The God of War rested his large head in her palm and obediently closed his eyes.

"Doctor, can it be cured? Can surgery remove the bone spurs?" Shu Yao asked anxiously.

The fat doctor shook his head.

"He's too old, and general anesthesia surgery is too risky. Moreover, this kind of degenerative disease is irreversible; it will grow back even after it's removed. Besides, his organ indicators don't allow for major surgery."

The consultation room fell into dead silence.

He Zheng stood to the side, his hands in the pockets of his work pants.

"Use the best medicine."

He spoke, his voice low and resolute.

"Whether it's imported or domestic, as long as it can relieve the pain, we'll provide the whole package: hydrotherapy, physical therapy, and custom-made protective gear."

The He family is well-off, and He Zheng himself has a huge amount of savings.

For him, pain that can be solved with money is never a problem.

The portly doctor nodded. "Okay. I'll prescribe top-grade chondroitin and painkillers. The hospital has a special pet spa; we'll take it swimming twice a week to use buoyancy to reduce the burden on its joints. Also, I'll contact the manufacturer to have a hind-leg assistive wheelchair custom-made for it, just in case."

He Zheng took the form, walked to the front desk, swiped his card, and got the medicine.

He didn't even blink.

Shu Yao watched from the side, feeling both bittersweet and warm inside.

The sourness comes from feeling sorry for the God of War.

Warmth is this man.

He's a bit rough around the edges, but if he can be so good to dogs, how bad can he be to people?

*

night.

The sliding door to the balcony was half open, and the night breeze blew in, lifting the sheer curtains.

He Zheng sat cross-legged on the anti-corrosion wooden floor.

The God of War lay beside his legs, his hind legs wrapped with newly purchased medical-grade heated knee braces.

He Zheng held a special dog hair comb in his hand and combed the God of War's back down, stroke by stroke.

The combed-off fur contained a large amount of grayish-white stray hairs.

The hair around the God of War's mouth, which was originally black and shiny, had turned a large white circle at some point.

Shu Yao walked over, carrying two glasses of red wine.

He handed He Zheng a cup.

I sat down next to him on the wooden floor.

He Zheng took the wine glass, but didn't drink it; he put it aside.

The comb in his hand continued to comb at a steady pace.

"When it was in the team, it could jump over a three-meter-high obstacle wall without even sprinting."

He Zheng suddenly spoke.

His voice sounded a little hoarse in the night.

"During a drug bust, a drug dealer was shooting from a two-meter-deep ditch. The dog bit the man's wrist and dragged the adult man, who weighed over 100 pounds, out of the ditch. Its teeth were almost broken, but it didn't utter a sound."

He looked down at the huge dog head resting on his lap.

Rough fingertips brushed against the edge of the God of War's eyeball.

"Now, it can't even jump onto a sofa that's 30 centimeters high."

A tough, hardened man, accustomed to life and death.

He didn't even flinch in the face of a hail of bullets.

Only when facing aging did he reveal a sense of helpless sorrow.