Shi Ting presented his military police credentials, and the owner immediately offered his full cooperation.

The military police department’s reputation had been growing steadily, and among the people of Shun Cheng it had earned remarkable goodwill. Yan Qing had witnessed several of their investigations firsthand and noticed that the general public’s level of cooperation was consistently high.

Yan Qing looked around the shop. Amid the wide assortment of foreign goods, she found no sign of any lockbox on display.

“These are all of our sales records.” The owner brought out a ledger, speaking in his awkward Mandarin. “What is it you’re looking for?”

Shi Ting said, “Thank you. We’re looking for a fingerprint lockbox.”

“We carry those.” The owner led the two of them into a back room. He used a key to unlock an iron door, and beyond it was an entirely different world.

Yan Qing immediately spotted lockboxes arranged behind a glass display case — each roughly half a meter on each side, neither particularly small nor particularly large.

“These are what you’re describing, I believe.” The owner gestured toward the case. “These boxes are very expensive. I only bring customers in to view them on request — I don’t put them out front normally.”

“Could we look at the sales records for this lockbox?”

“Of course.” The owner took the ledger and flipped through it, then quickly passed it back. “Found it.”

Shi Ting and Yan Qing looked — this page contained only four entries, and within those four lines, they saw a familiar name: Song Zixian.

“Do you remember this person?” Shi Ting pointed to Song Zixian’s name.

The owner studied it for a moment, then shook his head. “This is a sales record from three years ago. I only remember that the customer was a man — he said he wanted an extremely secure box, so I recommended this model.”

“Was he alone?”

“I think so, but honestly, I can’t remember clearly.” The owner wasn’t naturally attuned to faces of his own countrymen, and unless something had made a particularly strong impression, three years was long enough to erase the details.

“May I see one of these lockboxes?”

The owner hesitated briefly, then nodded. “All right — but please wear gloves.”

He produced a pair of white gloves and handed them to Shi Ting, then turned to open the display case.

The box was exquisitely designed and built from the finest grade of steel. Without the correct fingerprint, even a cutting tool would be unable to open it.

“This fingerprint is registered to me.” The owner extended his finger and lightly pressed it to the fingerprint sensor — the box clicked open. But what surprised both Shi Ting and Yan Qing was that inside the box was another door, fitted with a second fingerprint lock.

“This is our dual-security fingerprint lock design,” the owner explained with evident pride. “Customers can register two separate fingerprints. The inner lock — that one is registered to my wife’s fingerprint, because she keeps her most treasured jewelry inside.”

“So both you and your wife would need to be present at the same time to open it?”

“Exactly.”

Shi Ting and Yan Qing exchanged a glance. A shared understanding settled between them.

They thanked the owner and left the trading house.

The sky had grown darker. Shi Ting brought Yan Qing to a small wonton shop along the street, ordered two bowls, and while they waited, the owner first brought over a few small side dishes.

Pickled kelp in thin strips, celery with peanuts, a cold wood ear mushroom salad — small portions, but each one carefully made.

Shi Ting poured Yan Qing a cup of hot water. “We can now be reasonably certain — the killer’s objective was to open that lockbox. My theory is this: when Song Zixian came to purchase the lockbox, the killer was with him, waiting outside. The two of them agreed on the purchase together, placed whatever they needed to store inside, and each registered one fingerprint lock. To open the box, both of them would need to be present at the same time. The killer didn’t know which finger Song Zixian had used to register his print, so he pressed ink-stamped impressions of all ten of Song Zixian’s fingers onto paper.”

“Would fingerprints taken from paper actually work?”

“Paper impressions on their own wouldn’t. But they could be transferred to create a realistic replica of a fingertip — a kind of finger sleeve — which could then be worn over one’s own finger to activate the lock.”

“Song Zixian purchased this lockbox three years ago. Why has the killer only now decided to open it?”

Shi Ting arranged the chopsticks and bowl in front of her, then turned the question back. “If you had a lockbox as valuable as this one, where would you put it?”

Yan Qing thought about it. “Keeping it at home isn’t safe — what if there were a break-in? But leaving it at the office wouldn’t work either — too many people coming and going.”

Her mind made a turn. “A bank safety deposit box?”

Shi Ting gave a nod. “Bank safety deposit boxes typically come with a time limit — anywhere from one year to ten or even twenty. Imagine this: Song Zixian and the killer place the lockbox inside a safety deposit box and set a retrieval date of three years. In that case, the killer would have no choice but to wait until those three years were up and the deposit box term expired before being able to retrieve it.”

“That makes sense.” Yan Qing felt a surge of excitement. “So the killer is practically right in front of us.”

“It’s not that simple.” Shi Ting looked less optimistic. “Banks maintain complete confidentiality for their customers. Even if we from the military police went to inquire, they wouldn’t provide any information. And on top of that, we have no idea which bank he used to store the box.”

“Could it be Zhongqi Bank? That was his home territory, wasn’t it?”

“He didn’t use Zhongqi Bank.” Shi Ting said it with complete certainty.

“How do you know?”

He didn’t answer — his expression was enigmatically composed.

Yan Qing sighed. “Is there really no other way?”

“Unless we can find the deposit agreement that Song Zixian signed with the bank. If we present that agreement along with proof of Song Zixian’s death, the bank might be willing to help.”

“But the lockbox that Song Meimei stole didn’t have any such agreement inside.”

“Song Zixian was so cautious, he would certainly have hidden it somewhere far more secure.”

At that moment, two steaming bowls of wontons arrived, accompanied by the owner’s cheerful call: “Enjoy your meal, you two.”

Shi Ting said, “No more talk of the case — let’s eat first.”

Yan Qing transferred several wontons from her bowl into his. “I can’t finish this many.”

“You’re so thin. You really should eat more.”

“Can you manage with only one hand?”

“In that case — will you feed me?”

Yan Qing shot him a sidelong look and decided to ignore him.

After the meal, by the time they returned to the military police department, the sky had gone fully dark.

“Where do we go from here?” The lockbox lead had been confirmed, but the investigation seemed to have hit a wall. For all they knew, before they uncovered the truth, the killer might have already retrieved the lockbox from the bank.

Shi Ting said, “Song Zixian purchased that lockbox three years ago. At that time, he was only the director of Zhongqi Bank’s Tongtai Street branch. Something must have happened in that year — something that let him amass a large fortune very quickly.”

“If something significant happened three years ago, the newspapers would certainly have covered it. We just need to look through the papers from back then.”

Shi Ting lightly tapped the top of her head. “You could spend all that time searching through old papers, or you could just go directly to the Tongtai Street branch and ask.”

Yan Qing glared at him. “When I’m rushed, I forget the obvious.”

“Let me walk you home first. The Tongtai Street branch is closed for the day — we’ll have to wait until tomorrow to ask questions there.”

“Fair enough.”

“You haven’t been going to school much lately.”

“I’m planning to take the final examinations and graduate directly.”

“Aren’t you only in your first year?”

“I held back two years.”

Shi Ting raised an eyebrow. “With your level of ability, you’d sail through the graduation exams without any trouble.”

“Now I don’t know what to do with a compliment like that.”

“Your face hasn’t even turned red. You don’t look the least bit embarrassed.”

“You know about subcutaneous hemorrhage, don’t you? That’s what’s happening — I’m blushing under the skin.”

Shi Ting laughed, reaching up to pinch her cheek. “Let me take a look at this subcutaneous blushing.”

“Stop it, Shi Ting.” Yan Qing pushed his hand away. “You’ve only got one good hand left and you’re still this brazen.”

“Having only one good hand is certainly inconvenient… for holding you.”

Yan Qing gave him a withering look, then suddenly started laughing — her eyes curving into crescents like new moons.

“What’s so funny?”

Shi Ting found himself drawn entirely into her smile, without quite realizing he had been.

“I have some good news to tell you.” Her brows and eyes were all lit up with laughter. “I stood up today.”

Shi Ting startled — then understood quickly what she meant. “Really?”

“Yes.” Yan Qing said, “When Bai Jin told me you’d been shot, I was so frightened I just stood straight up.”

“And now?”

“I haven’t tried again yet.”

Shi Ting was visibly moved. “Shall we try again?”

“I was in a state of panic at the time. I don’t know if I can do it again now.”

He extended one hand toward her — his steady gaze offering quiet encouragement.

With him beside her, Yan Qing — who was never particularly confident in herself — felt as though she had found her courage. She placed her hand on his arm and, drawing on the support he offered, slowly lifted herself from the wheelchair.

What for most people was the simplest thing in the world was, for her, an ordeal. The act of placing her two feet flat on the ground alone took her a long, long time.

Throughout it all, Shi Ting kept offering quiet encouragement, without the slightest trace of impatience.

“Shi Ting, I don’t think I can stand.” Yan Qing’s forehead was beaded with fine perspiration, and she was beginning to lose faith.

“Yan Qing, you can do this.” Shi Ting held her hand steady. “One more try.”

Yan Qing pressed her lips together, steadied herself, focused her mind, and drove every ounce of strength she had into her legs.

And in that persistence, a miracle happened — holding on to Shi Ting’s arm, Yan Qing rose slowly to her feet.

In that moment, joy and tears overcame her at the same time. “Shi Ting, look — I’m standing. I really am standing.”

“Yes. You are.” Shi Ting appeared calm on the surface, but inside, a tide was surging. “I told you that you could.”

Yan Qing had been standing for less than a minute when her legs gave out beneath her. Shi Ting’s arm moved in an instant — wrapping around her waist, taking her full weight into the crook of his arm.

Yan Qing had never stood before him before. She had always thought of him as simply very tall. Now, standing beside him for the first time, she truly understood the gap between their heights — the top of her head reached only to his shoulder.

Shi Ting held her close, bowed his head, and rested his chin on her shoulder. In the place she couldn’t see, he closed his eyes — concealing the sudden warmth that had gathered at the edges of them.

“Yan Qing,” he said, his voice very quiet, carrying in it a tide of deep feeling. “This is everything.”

Yan Qing raised both arms and gently held him back. Her smile shimmered through the glimmer of tears. “Shi Ting, I’m going to get better. I know it.”

“Yes. I believe it.” Shi Ting drew her closer still, tucking his face into the curve of her neck. “You will.”

The two of them stood wrapped in each other, hearts surging, their vision of what lay ahead more luminous than it had ever been before.

—