Jiang Hansheng’s hands clenched tight. He forced his emotions down and said, “Professor.”

The hatred blazing inside him like a wildfire made Wang Pengzhe uneasy. He moved his fingers slightly, wanting very much to reach up and pat Jiang Hansheng on the head — but he couldn’t manage it now.

Wang Pengzhe’s breath was still faint. He kept his words as brief as he could. “Don’t do anything foolish. Think of Zhou Jin.”

Jiang Hansheng said nothing, his face cold and still.

Wang Pengzhe continued, “The man who attacked me said it was a gift someone else had him deliver. There’s someone pulling the strings behind this…”

Jiang Hansheng answered immediately, without a moment’s hesitation. “It’s Qi Yan.”

This was clearly a premeditated revenge killing — and it had happened right after the Kuang Mountain operation, carried out this brazenly in the very office building of the Criminal Research Center. Jiang Hansheng couldn’t think of anyone else it could be.

Wang Pengzhe blinked, signaling his agreement with the guess. “He wants… to get back at you. Be careful.”

“…”

Qi Yan had deliberately chosen Wang Pengzhe as his target — not because he bore any particular hatred toward the man, but because the one he truly wanted to destroy was Jiang Hansheng. If Wang Pengzhe had not been his mentor, perhaps none of this undeserved disaster would have fallen upon him.

Jiang Hansheng lowered his eyes. “Professor, all this time it has been your student who has been at fault. I’ve dragged you into this.”

Wang Pengzhe’s eyes narrowed — he was smiling. The corners of his mouth turned upward, and he said, “You do have a great many faults. So you must take responsibility — and take care of me in my old age.”

Even now, Wang Pengzhe was making light of it, gently coaxing Jiang Hansheng, trying to ease the guilt and anguish tearing at him.

Yet the more he did, the deeper Jiang Hansheng’s hatred burned.

Five years ago, in the moment he had chosen to pull the trigger, something like a dark seed had taken root in a hidden corner of his heart. Now, with Qi Yan slowly and deliberately drawing it upward, it was on the verge of breaking through the surface — and once it did, it would grow without restraint, consuming everything in its path.

It would devour others. And it would devour him.

“Since Mr. Jiang has such profound insight into the field of psychology — surely you understand by now why I simply had to kill them?”

“There was no other way. Without killing them, I could never find peace.”

He had seemed to understand, back then, why Qi Yan had felt compelled to kill — just as he now wanted to kill Qi Yan. The reason was the same in both cases: hatred with nowhere to go.

Jiang Hansheng gripped his trembling right hand with brutal force.

Wang Pengzhe was terrified he would lose his way and destroy everything he had fought so hard to have.

“Hansheng.”

“Professor.”

Wang Pengzhe, utterly spent, spoke in broken fragments. “My finest student… my dearest friend… don’t let hatred… blind your eyes.”

It was the first time Wang Pengzhe had ever spoken to him this way — calling him both student and friend.

Jiang Hansheng’s eyes turned red at once.

A nurse came over to remind them that visiting time was up.

Wang Pengzhe blinked once more, gesturing to him: “Go on. I’m tired.”

Jiang Hansheng didn’t linger. He leaned down and touched Wang Pengzhe’s hand, then turned and walked out quickly.

He pulled off his mask as he went.

In one instant his eyes had been raw with grief and pain — and in the next, a towering, surging hatred rose up in their place.

The bleached white light of the hospital fell across his disheveled hair, casting his expression into something sharper, harder, colder than before.

Jiang Hansheng walked out of the ICU. Zhou Jin came to meet him. “How is Professor Wang?”

“He’s going to recover.”

Jiang Hansheng put one arm around Zhou Jin and pressed his lips to her forehead. His lips were ice cold — it was a kiss, but Zhou Jin could feel no warmth in it at all.

A vague unease stirred in her, though she couldn’t quite identify what was wrong.

He said quietly, “I’m going to the police station to speak with the attacker. Just a few questions.”

He needed to confirm whether the hand behind this truly was Qi Yan’s.

Zhou Jin said, “Should I have my mentor call ahead to the station?”

“No need.” Jiang Hansheng gave a slight smile. “Huaisha is my territory.”

During his time at the Provincial Bureau, he had frequently assisted local units with investigations in his spare time, which meant the various sub-bureaus and police stations were all willing to extend him that courtesy.

Zhou Jin accompanied Jiang Hansheng to the station. On the way, Jiang Hansheng received a case file — the basic profile of the attacker.

Zhou Jin didn’t get a close look, but caught that the man’s name was Shi Qiang.

After scanning through Shi Qiang’s profile, Jiang Hansheng flipped his phone face-down and tapped his finger against the back of it, one beat at a time, as though turning something over in his mind.

He was silent the whole way. Zhou Jin tried to start a conversation a few times; Jiang Hansheng answered each time with a smile, but his smile carried a persistent cold edge that made it impossible for her to keep going.

When they arrived at the station, the chief was already waiting at the entrance. He walked over to shake hands with Jiang Hansheng as he stepped out of the taxi.

“It’s been a long time.” Jiang Hansheng quickly made the introduction. “This is my wife, Zhou Jin — a detective with the Haizhou Major Crimes Unit.”

Zhou Jin extended her hand and shook the chief’s. “Two of my colleagues were just here earlier today. Thank you for accommodating us.”

The chief hadn’t known Jiang Hansheng had gotten married, and was visibly surprised for a moment. Learning that his wife was with Haizhou’s Major Crimes Unit made him even more effusive. “We’re all on the same side — no need for formalities.”

He exchanged a few words of pleasantries with Jiang Hansheng, then said, “I knew the moment Director Wang was attacked, you’d be on your way. How is he doing now?”

“Much better.” Jiang Hansheng cut straight to the point. “Where is Shi Qiang?”

“We’ve asked everything there is to ask. The only thing still unaccounted for is where that hundred thousand yuan came from.”

“Let me see him.”

Ten minutes later, Jiang Hansheng sat in the interrogation room with one of the officers. Across the table sat Shi Qiang.

From the moment Jiang Hansheng walked through the door, Shi Qiang’s eyes hadn’t left him.

The accompanying officer asked Shi Qiang to account for the hundred thousand yuan. Shi Qiang claimed he knew nothing about it — maybe he’d just found it on the street one day — and struck the posture of a man who would deny everything until the end.

Once that exchange was over and Shi Qiang refused to cooperate, the officer fell silent, as Jiang Hansheng had instructed him beforehand.

Jiang Hansheng’s attention stayed fixed on his notebook. He hadn’t looked at Shi Qiang once.

Time passed in silence.

Shi Qiang grew impatient. He lobbed a needling remark here, demanded a cigarette there, then asked for food — and was ignored each time.

Feeling his dignity being challenged, his patience ground down by degrees.

He glared across the table, his hostile nature fully surfacing, and snapped at Jiang Hansheng, “Hey, you — I know who you are. Your surname is Jiang, right?”

Jiang Hansheng looked up. “How would you know that?”

Shi Qiang, pleased to find himself so easily back in command — with the other man now the one asking questions — tugged at his shirt with self-satisfied flair.

“I just do,” Shi Qiang said. “I also know that old relic is your mentor. That’s what happens when you get old — you can’t take a hit. I swung once and the blood just came spraying out.”

Jiang Hansheng’s eyes were slightly elongated at the corners. When they narrowed, the angle became unusually sharp.

He turned the question back on him. “Is that what the person who hired you told you to say?”

Shi Qiang’s gaze locked onto him.

“Let me guess what else he told you.”

Jiang Hansheng spoke at an unhurried pace. “He would have told you — when you’re being interrogated, you’ll probably run into someone named Jiang Hansheng. He’s Wang Pengzhe’s student. But don’t worry — just use his mentor to provoke him, and he’ll follow wherever you lead.”

“Oh, and knowing that person’s character, he most likely also threw in a couple of cutting remarks about me — something along the lines of ‘pretentious’ and ‘fancying himself righteous’…”

With each thing Jiang Hansheng said, Shi Qiang’s frown deepened by a degree.

Jiang Hansheng’s eyes caught every shift in his expression with sharp precision. A smile that wasn’t quite a smile crossed his face. “It seems I guessed correctly. What a pity — five years, and he hasn’t grown at all. Shi Qiang, do you know why he only dares to hire someone else to do his killing?”

“…What?”

“Because he doesn’t dare face me himself.”

“…”

“If he won’t do what it takes, how do you have the nerve to do it for him?”

His voice was quiet. His gaze was ice.

“To be honest, the origins of your hundred thousand yuan don’t interest me much. But laying a hand on my mentor — that debt needs to be settled.”

“I’ve heard that where you come from, you have quite the reputation for filial devotion. This time you made a move against my mentor, earned a hundred thousand yuan, and left every last cent for your parents.”

A layer of hot sweat broke out across Shi Qiang’s back. He kept his composure with effort. “Thorough investigation. Looks like you came prepared.”

“Filial piety is admirable,” Jiang Hansheng said, “but it’s rather foolish. Still, you dropped out of middle school — it’s understandable that you don’t know the law. Shi Qiang, let me promise you this: that hundred thousand yuan — your parents won’t see a single cent of it.”

His enunciation was smooth and precise. Without any emotion behind it, there was no gentleness to be found — only an arrogance that looked through people as though they weren’t there.

Shi Qiang, exactly as anticipated, reacted fiercely. His brows shot up. “What the hell do you mean by that?!”

“No need to get so worked up over your parents’ bleak future,” Jiang Hansheng said. “The real reason you took this job wasn’t for them anyway. What you actually wanted was to go back to prison. Wasn’t it? Because that’s where you belong. You went in for killing someone — in there, you rule by how ruthless you are, and no one dares touch you. Out here it’s different. This is a civilized society. It has no place for scum.”

“…”

Jiang Hansheng’s smile was faint. He rose from his seat and looked down at him.

“The man who hired you has no further use for you — that’s fine. I’ll make sure the right people inside look after you properly from here on.”

Shi Qiang hadn’t expected Jiang Hansheng to say something like that in front of a police officer. He erupted, turning to the officer and shouting, “Did you hear that? He’s threatening me!”

The officer shrugged and spread his hands. “So?”

“…You people! I — I’ll sue him!”

Jiang Hansheng gave a small nod, indicating he was welcome to try, then turned and walked out of the interrogation room.

Zhou Jin was sitting in the reception hall, head bowed over her phone.

On the screen was an electronic invitation — a one-month celebration banquet for Zhan Wei’s child, scheduled for the day after tomorrow.

She thought of Zhao Ping, and the words he had spoken before he died.

Zhao Ping’s academic record at Jingzhou Police University had been forged. Without someone else’s help, how could he have managed it? And who would that person have been?

Could it be Zhan Wei?

Because in that video, Zhao Ping and Zhan Wei had clearly known each other.

She was still turning this over in her mind when, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Jiang Hansheng emerge from the interrogation room.

Seeing that she was dressed a little thin for the weather, Jiang Hansheng took off his overcoat and draped it over her shoulders.

“Tired?” he asked.

Zhou Jin shook her head, cooperating as she slipped her arms through the sleeves. She pulled the warmth of the coat around her and asked, “How did it go? Did he say anything?”

A shadow lay over Jiang Hansheng’s eyes. He nodded. “It was him.”