Yao Weihai invited Tan Shiming to sit and personally walked him through the work he had been doing over the years on the “8·17” special task force.

“Five years ago, Professor Jiang Hansheng acted as an informant, helping us in the police locate where Qi Yan was hiding. After the ‘8·17’ atrocity, the city bureau immediately issued an order to set up checkpoints at road junctions. Qi Yan and his accomplices could not leave Haizhou, so they holed up for over a month in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city.”

“Later, I personally led the team to carry out the arrest operation. We had intended to take them alive, but these desperate criminals fought back until the very end. During the exchange of fire, we killed four criminals on the spot, including Qi Yan.”

He deliberately glossed over a detail that was not entirely pertinent — namely, that Qi Yan had not been killed by his team.

When Yao Weihai led his people inside at the time, a suffocating stench of blood and decay hit them full in the face. The weather was muggy and oppressive; the smell was so thick it seemed otherworldly.

Jiang Hansheng had his back to the entrance, with no apparent external injuries. Only one half of his body sagged downward, his hands and feet trembling faintly — whether from fear or from pain, it was impossible to say.

In his right hand he held a gun, but could not keep it steady. His left hand gripped his right wrist, locking it in place, aiming squarely at one man.

Qi Yan was not far away, both hands raised high, assuming a pose of surrender.

When he saw people rushing in, he smiled with unhurried ease.

Seeing this, Yao Weihai shouted: “Jiang Hansheng, don’t shoot!”

Jiang Hansheng’s reaction seemed oddly slow. He turned his head around with great deliberateness.

Dark, ink-black pupils. A deathly pale face.

A chill ran through Yao Weihai, and he sensed dimly that something was wrong with Jiang Hansheng’s condition. But under those circumstances, he had no time to think carefully about it.

He exhaled a great breath of relief and thought privately: Thank heaven, Jiang Hansheng is still alive.

Given that Qi Yan had already surrendered and appeared to have no weapons on his person, Yao Weihai ordered two armed officers to go and apprehend Qi Yan, while he himself moved toward Jiang Hansheng.

Just as he extended his arm, intending to take the gun from Jiang Hansheng’s hand, Qi Yan — not far away — let out a cold, sinister laugh.

His lips moved, as though he said something to Jiang Hansheng.

Though Jiang Hansheng’s expression remained utterly calm and composed, Yao Weihai watched as his eyes instantly flooded red at the rims.

His arm shook more violently. He spun around, steadied the recoil firmly, and fired at Qi Yan — bang, bang, bang, bang! — four shots in rapid succession.

Three in the chest. One clean through the center of the forehead.

Blood sprayed outward. Qi Yan died on the spot.

The change happened so fast that no one present had time to react.

Yao Weihai was thunderstruck: “What are you doing?!”

No answer came. The next second, Jiang Hansheng collapsed straight to the ground.

During the psychological evaluation and mental assessment that followed later, Jiang Hansheng explained the reason he had fired: he had been injected with an overdose of narcotics and had not been in full possession of his faculties.

Yao Weihai signed the report. On the matter itself, no one pressed any further.

He was silent for a moment.

Meeting Tan Shiming’s searching gaze, Yao Weihai continued: “After that arrest operation concluded, we continued investigating the identities of those four individuals, and quickly established that one of them’s real name was Feng He — a man with a prior record who had once served time for illegal arms trafficking. By cross-referencing Feng He’s network of connections, we further discovered that he had been in frequent contact with a broker named He Wen.”

“According to people who knew Feng He, this He Wen could source goods that were impossible to find on the open market — narcotics, firearms, protected wildlife, even children. Both large-scale and small-scale.”

Tan Shiming’s eyebrows twitched.

After Yao Weihai had been promoted, Tan Shiming was transferred to Haizhou from another city to serve as head of the Major Crimes Unit. His knowledge of this case was limited to what he had heard in passing.

Now, hearing He Wen’s name, Tan Shiming immediately thought of Lai Zhengtian — the perpetrator in the Guan Ling shooting — whose older cousin was named He Wu.

He Wen. He Wu.

A question took root in his mind, but he did not open his mouth to ask it rashly. He simply listened carefully.

Yao Weihai said: “We suspected there was a highly complete trafficking chain lurking behind He Wen, and in order to dismantle this criminal organization from the roots, a deep-cover operation was initiated five years ago under the code name ‘Concealed Edge.'”

“At the time, He Wen was serving a prison sentence in Guhua for attempted murder, and I took advantage of that opportunity to assign ‘Concealed Edge’ to get close to He Wen. We expected to uncover leads quickly, but it turned out there were depths to Haizhou we had not imagined. One step in and you still couldn’t see the bottom.”

Yao Weihai’s tone was grave. The air around him seemed weighed down by something heavy and unspoken.

Tan Shiming’s brow furrowed hard. He glanced down at the slip of paper on the desk.

He asked: “So this is intelligence passed from ‘Concealed Edge’?”

Yao Weihai nodded. “After many years of undercover investigation by ‘Concealed Edge,’ we now have a general picture: the group behind the ‘8·17’ firearms heist belongs to a criminal organization headed by a figure known as ‘Old Scorpion.'”

Out of habit, Tan Shiming picked up his pen and jotted down the key points Yao Weihai mentioned.

“‘Old Scorpion’ — real name, age, and appearance all unknown. After the firearms heist, he went essentially silent. He has many branches operating under him across various locations, primarily engaged in narcotics trafficking. The individual controlling the Haizhou market is He Wu, chairman of Hengyun Logistics.”

After hearing this, Tan Shiming exhaled sharply — it had not taken long at all for his suspicion to be confirmed.

He confirmed with Yao Weihai: “He Wen and He Wu — two brothers?”

“That’s right,” Yao Weihai said. “Old Scorpion, Qi Yan, Feng He, He Wen, He Wu — all of these people belong to the same criminal organization.”

He tapped the slip of paper on the desk with a finger. “With this deal at Jingang Wharf, we have the opportunity to sweep them all up in one net.”

Tan Shiming began to grasp just how momentous this was.

He straightened his back and asked with great gravity: “Then what do you need me to do?”

Yao Weihai paused for a moment.

He removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, as though releasing some emotion that had no name.

When he raised his head again, his gaze had turned sharp — even, one might say, carrying a kind of extreme, unsettling grimness.

Tan Shiming met his eyes and could not help but be startled for a beat.

Yao Weihai said, word by deliberate word: “On the day, I will personally lead a team to the wharf to carry out the arrest.”

Tan Shiming’s eyebrows shot up. He challenged: “How can that be right? You are the overall person in charge — you are the head of the task force. You want to go to the front line yourself?!”

Yao Weihai’s position was clear and unyielding: “Which is precisely why I need you to be on the outside, serving as the overall field commander for the operation.”

Tan Shiming: “…”

Zhao Ping from the Major Crimes Unit, dressed in a dark green rain jacket, holding an umbrella in one hand, came out of Club ONE against the driving wind and rain.

On the roadside, he spotted Jiang Hansheng coming out from under his umbrella, walking around to the passenger side, opening the car door, and placing a hand above the frame to shelter Zhou Jin as she stepped out.

Zhou Jin quickly ducked under Jiang Hansheng’s umbrella and complained casually: “Why is the rain so heavy?”

She noticed a few drops of rain on Jiang Hansheng’s immaculate, neatly pressed clothes and reached over to smooth them away, saying: “You didn’t have to come. You’re so busy at the university.”

“It’s fine, there’s still time,” Jiang Hansheng said. “And this case, I —”

“Senior Sister.”

Zhao Ping was still some distance away, but he could already catch a whiff of the cloying, saccharine odor of romance in the air. He drew nearer, crossed his arms, and teased: “What is this, what is this? The ‘Iron Lady’ who could chase down a petty thief across eight whole city blocks, and still make sure to deliver a kick to the gut once she had him in hand — now she’s gone so frail she needs Professor Jiang to personally pick her up and drop her off every day?”

Zhou Jin: “…”

She raised her hand, placed it over Jiang Hansheng’s hand that held the umbrella, and gave the handle a sharp twist. Droplets instantly flew across and splattered all over Zhao Ping, speckling his rain jacket.

“After all those witness interviews, your mouth still hasn’t been worn down enough? You’ve got that much to say?”

Zhao Ping leaped back, crying out repeatedly: “Professor Jiang, rein in your wife! Look at her, picking on the vulnerable!”

Jiang Hansheng smiled. “I’m afraid I may also be counted among the vulnerable.”

Zhou Jin’s face flushed when she realized he was actually playing along with Zhao Ping’s teasing and implying she bullied him too. She jabbed him sharply with her elbow.

It wasn’t all that painful, but Jiang Hansheng made a show of clutching his abdomen anyway, then turned on her a look of feigned, pitiable suffering — as if silently protesting: Now tell me this isn’t bullying.

“…”

Zhou Jin had no words.

Zhao Ping had not expected Jiang Hansheng to joke around in front of others and burst into laughter. He handed his umbrella to Zhou Jin and walked ahead to lead the way.

Zhou Jin opened her own umbrella and walked side by side with Jiang Hansheng, picking up the thread of what had been cut off: “What were you saying about this case just now?”

Jiang Hansheng’s expression quickly resumed its serious composure. “The Chen Xiaoyu case — I’d like to hear your thoughts.”