It had indeed been a long time.

Jiang Cheng’s last memory of Jiang Hansheng was fixed in childhood — back in Gardenia Lane.

For a stretch of time, the area around Gardenia Lane had been plagued by poor public order, with petty thieves springing up everywhere. Zhou Jin’s family, uneasy about leaving a young girl to manage on her own, had asked Jiang Cheng — who lived in the same lane — to accompany her.

Jiang Cheng had no choice but to give up his after-school sports training and walk Zhou Jin to and from school every day.

It wasn’t long before he noticed a small shadow trailing behind her — following her consistently, and entirely without her knowledge.

One day, Jiang Cheng deliberately came at him from behind, seized him by the back of the shoulder, and slammed his face against the wall.

Jiang Cheng demanded: “I’ve seen you more than once or twice. You little stray — what do you think you’re doing, following her around every single day?!”

He recognised him as Jiang Hansheng, the boy who had moved into No. 23 Gardenia Lane not long ago, the Zhou family’s new neighbour. But the children already living in Gardenia Lane had little welcome to spare for this new family — his arrival meant the loss of a former companion. To them, Jiang Hansheng was an outsider. Jiang Cheng was still young then, and when he got physical, he held nothing back.

He looked for any trace of panic or shame on Jiang Hansheng’s face. He found none. Jiang Hansheng simply kept his emotions in check and answered: “I’m… protecting her.”

Jiang Cheng heard that and laughed. “You? How exactly are you going to protect her — go on, show me.” The last syllable came out through gritted teeth. His grip on Jiang Hansheng’s shoulder tightened, pressing down with more force.

Jiang Hansheng didn’t have the strength to match him. Struggling was useless.

Jiang Cheng warned him: “Remember this — stay away from Xiao Wu. Watch yourself, or I’ll beat you to a pulp.”

Catching a glimpse of someone approaching out of the corner of his eye, Jiang Cheng quickly let go. Jiang Hansheng turned around, hand pressed over his shoulder, and the two faced each other. In Jiang Hansheng’s eyes, Jiang Cheng saw the fury of a young animal not yet tamed.

“Da-ge!” Zhou Jin’s clear voice came from behind — calling for Jiang Cheng. After a moment, she asked in puzzlement, “Oh, Jiang Hansheng? Why haven’t you gone home yet?”

Jiang Hansheng glanced at Zhou Jin, then dropped his gaze, pressing his lips together without a word.

The sight of Jiang Hansheng like that irritated Jiang Cheng, as though he were the one who’d done something wrong. He reached out, turned Zhou Jin’s head so her attention came back to him, and said, “Why are you worrying about someone else? Don’t you have homework today?”

The two of them walked side by side toward home. Zhou Jin clasped her hands together in a pleading gesture as she walked, like a child wheedling for a favour: “The math test was handed back. Can you quietly sign it for me?”

Jiang Cheng raised his brow. “You didn’t pass again? Teaching you has been completely wasted on me.”

Zhou Jin broke into a smile — her eyes curving like new crescent moons, bright and narrow. “I’ll get it if you teach me more.”

Jiang Cheng couldn’t help but laugh at that. In the brief moment before they turned the corner, he glanced back over his shoulder.

Jiang Hansheng was still standing where he’d been left, one hand pressed over his shoulder, watching Jiang Cheng with a cool, distant gaze that seemed far too composed for a child his age.

Jiang Cheng had never thought much of Jiang Hansheng. If it hadn’t been for that chance encounter at the bar, he might have forgotten such a person even existed.

Now, Jiang Hansheng stood before him again, and in a low, cold voice, turned the questioning around: “Was it you who did it?”

Jiang Cheng: “Oh? Did what?”

Jiang Hansheng: “Had Lai Zhengtian sent to prison.”

Jiang Cheng looked at him with a contemplative expression.

Huang Song had shown no signs of lying during the interrogation — but he had concealed a portion of the truth. And that concealed portion was the crux of the entire case.

There was a person who appeared, on the surface, to have no connection to the case whatsoever, yet who shared intricate, interwoven ties with every person involved. That person was Jiang Cheng.

Huang Song had let something slip — perhaps unintentionally — yet it had entirely ignited a new line of thinking in Jiang Hansheng.

He had said that Jiang Cheng used to be a police officer. That he could kill without drawing blood.

Everyone knew that Jiang Cheng and Lai Zhengtian had a long-standing grudge between them.

The reason wasn’t difficult to surmise. Although Jiang Cheng had always been valued by He Wu, when it came down to it, He Wu trusted his own blood — his cousin Lai Zhengtian — more than he ever trusted Jiang Cheng.

He Wu didn’t have full confidence in Jiang Cheng, and so two years ago, when the internal power struggle between Jiang Cheng and Lai Zhengtian kept escalating, He Wu chose to transfer Jiang Cheng away.

Two years — not short, not long, but returning would not have come easily.

After everything that happened, Jiang Cheng understood: as long as Lai Zhengtian remained, there was no path forward for him. Lai Zhengtian was a stumbling block in his way, and something had to be done to remove it.

Yet to Jiang Hansheng’s words, Jiang Cheng was unmoved. He smiled and shot back: “You think I’m capable of that?”

“It isn’t difficult.” Jiang Hansheng’s eyes were ice-cold. “You used a child. Huang Song.”

Huang Song was someone who had been starved of affection and recognition for his entire life. Reputation, interest, loyalty — satisfy any one of them, and a boy like that would walk through fire.

Guan Ling’s death had been an accident. But the entire process of disposing of the body had been handled with careful precision. The investigators and forensic examiners had never been able to pinpoint the exact location of the primary crime scene — a clear indication that whoever had taken charge of the disposal possessed a degree of counter-investigative competence.

Even if that person had been Lai Zhengtian, it should never have been Huang Song — and yet the facts said otherwise.

Jiang Hansheng said: “Jiang Cheng. He is still just a student — a young person whose judgment hasn’t fully developed.”

Faced with Jiang Hansheng’s accusation, Jiang Cheng showed not a flicker of guilt. Instead he burst out laughing, entirely unbothered: “Your imagination is something else. But police need to operate on evidence.”

Jiang Cheng gave his umbrella handle a slow turn. His smile gradually fell away. He raised his eyes and pressed on: “Do you have any?”

Jiang Hansheng was silent, then said: “No.”

“Ha!” Jiang Cheng let out a sharp, scoffing laugh. “Called you a stray and you really do just bite at anything, don’t you. What — you want me dead that badly?”

Jiang Hansheng’s expression was sombre. He held Jiang Cheng’s gaze for a moment, then answered with candour: “I used to.”

“What a shame.” Jiang Cheng gave a shrug. “I may not have much going for me, but the one thing I’ve always had is a stubborn life.”

Wind and rain hung dark and heavy.

Jiang Cheng lit a cigarette and exhaled a slow stream of smoke, which the wind dissolved almost instantly.

“Enough talk.” His voice dropped lower. “Jiang Hansheng — I warned you before, and I’m saying it again. Stay away from Zhou Jin.”

Jiang Hansheng was quiet for a moment, then said: “You have no standing to say that to me anymore.”

The cigarette in Jiang Cheng’s hand scattered sparks as he flicked it toward Jiang Hansheng. It landed just in front of his shoe and was snuffed out immediately in the rain.

Jiang Hansheng lowered his umbrella and held it closed in his hand. The fine, dense rain immediately soaked through his shoulders and back.

His expression was composed. His gaze, sharp as a surgeon’s blade, cut clean and deliberate through the air between them — each word landed with the weight of certainty.

“She is my wife.”