#and luo is SO specific in my head i literally never even DREAMED anyone could play him to my tolerance let alone

[mejomonster]

Well. Silent Reading chapter 12, where they talk about Fei Du's moms death and how he doesn't accept the conclusion, how Luo Wenzhou advises he at least try to move on emotionally. The way Fei Du is tapping a song on his cup (perhaps his moms), that he stops tapping when Luo Wenzhou hits a nerve and becomes like a statue--revealing his true emotions in a way he doesn't/can't in therapy. The grief talk he probably has needed to hear for a while, but first a very painful talk where there is no seeing eye to eye and no agreeing because they both have their reasons. And Luo Wenzhou turns off the petty conflict for it because Fei Du deserves to genuinely discuss it with Luo Wenzhou as level headed adults with their analysis if Fei Du wants to. And Fei Du is so emotional, and in the end as he puts his mask back up. (A note on the show version: some portions of this changed, the main dialogue stayed fairly true and the function of the scene. In both cases, this scene absolutely cuts up my heart ;-; ):

"Someone once said to me that ‘everything that happens in this world leaves traces,’ but whether you can find them depends on each side’s luck. Is your luck good this time?”

Luo Wenzhou suddenly froze. The blow-for-blow probing, bantering, and hinting vanished utterly from his face. For an instant the corners of his mouth were even pulled a little tight.

Luo Wenzhou subconsciously got his cigarettes out of his pocket, thought of something, and put them back.

Instantly there was deep silence between the two of them. Neither looked at the other. They only sat side by side with a distance of about one meter between them, like complete strangers.

“The windows and doors were locked. None of the rooms showed signs of forced entry. The most advanced security system of the time was entirely untouched.” Luo Wenzhou abruptly opened his mouth to speak, his voice very low and his speech very fast, as if he had already recited these words many times and could smoothly say them without missing a single punctuation mark.

“She had done her makeup and changed her clothes, even put on music. The scene had a certain feeling of ritual. There was a suicide note arranged on the writing desk next to her. It was analyzed, the handwriting confirmed to belong to the deceased. The person who had written the letter showed clear depressive tendencies, which tallied with her daily use of antidepressant medication. The deceased was an adult, with no illness or injury that may have led her to be unable to act for herself. No drugs sufficient to cause unconsciousness were found in her system. There were also no defensive wounds on her body.—That’s all the evidence we collected at the time. You were the one who reported the case. You reached the scene before we did. Unless you want to tell me that you hid some evidence back then, it was without a doubt a suicide.”

Fei Du didn’t speak. His sitting posture seemed very relaxed—legs crossed, upper body leaning forward slightly, one hand casually lying on his knee and the other holding a paper cup that was no longer steaming. His long and slender fingers were tapping out a beat on the rim of the cup, as if there was a melody no one else could hear filling the air.

“I said to you then, ‘Everything that happens in this world leaves traces, as long as it’s real. Without traces to support your opinion, however much you believe in it, it’s still only a dead end of the imagination.’ Fei Du, you may have had a certain intuition, but we can’t do our job based on intuition. My intuition tells me every day that I can make five million.” Luo Wenzhou’s gaze stopped on Fei Du’s fingers. Then, in an almost callously objective tone, he said, “And you know, there’s a theory abroad that says that if a person wants to kill herself, she may suddenly use some means to confess it to the people close to her—you heard her confession back then.”

Fei Du’s fingers suddenly stiffened.

Luo Wenzhou reached out his arm, pulled the paper cup out of his hand and put it aside. “If you really want to talk over this case with me, I maintain my judgment to this day—but it doesn’t matter whose judgment it is. That isn’t important anymore. She’s been dead for seven years. When the coffin is closed, you can judge a person’s life. The relevant evidence has all disappeared. This isn’t going to sound good, but if she’s reincarnated she’ll already be attending primary school. The living can cling on without letting go; it’s a form of emotional sustenance. But there’s no sense in blindly clinging to the wrong course.”

Maintaining his original posture, Fei Du sat without moving a muscle, as if he had turned into a statue.

Just then, Zhang Ting and the lawyer came out side by side, and Fei Du’s gaze moved slightly, giving off a trace of living energy.

“I don’t accept your conclusion, Officer Luo,” said Fei Du.

Hearing this, Luo Wenzhou wasn’t at all taken aback. He only shrugged.

Fei Du adjusted his jacket and stood to meet Zhang Ting and the lawyer. He looked down at Luo Wenzhou. There was no smile on his face; his expression was even somewhat somber. “But perhaps there’s some merit in your heartfelt advice.”

Luo Wenzhou was surprised, but after saying this, Fei Du once again put on his graceful mask and left with Zhang Ting. They didn’t have any further interaction.