High-end apartment complex, Unit 1105.

An old stereo played the same piano piece over and over — now sweeping and lyrical, now bright and nimble — the sound reverberating through the room.

Bai Yang sat cross-legged on the floor by the doorway, staring at the coordinates on his laptop screen. It was only now that he fully understood: Jiang Hansheng was far less composed than he appeared on the surface.

At the very least, they had both made a fatal error — over-relying on the tracking system fitted to Zhou Jin, surrendering all independent judgment in the process, and handing their opponent exactly the opening he needed.

Jiang Hansheng needed space to think alone.

He was sitting beside the table now, Zhou Jin’s ring threaded over the tip of one finger. He held it to his lips and breathed in the faint metallic smell of blood. His hand would not stop trembling.

At the very least, Zhou Jin was safe for now.

If Qi Yan had wanted her dead, there would have been no reason to leave behind only a ring.

The drug manufacturing operation had been raided and dismantled. He Wu, Guo Zhengying, and the others had been arrested one after another. With the situation collapsing so visibly around him, Qi Yan had made no move to flee — had not even begun to plan any counter-strike against the police.

Instead, he had taken a tremendous risk and gone after Wang Pengzhe and Zhou Jin.

No — Wang Pengzhe had only been a feint, the first shot fired into open air. Qi Yan had hired Shi Qiang to carry out the killing, then done so openly in the criminal research office — an act of provocation against the police, yes, but also a way to tie up police resources, redirecting their attention toward Wang Pengzhe.

The real target had always been Zhou Jin.

Even if Zhou Jin had not made the first move this time, Qi Yan would have found another opportunity to take her.

Did Qi Yan want to play one final game with him? To avenge his brother?

If so, then perhaps this explained everything —

Qi Yan did not care about his empire. Did not care about Heng Yun Logistics. Did not care about any of his subordinates. What he cared about most was his brother.

What he had never been able to accept was that even after his brother surrendered, Jiang Hansheng had still pulled the trigger — and had then spent five years living without consequence, sheltered beneath the protection of the police.

The piano music stopped abruptly.

A beam of clean white light came down and illuminated the space ahead. Following the light, Zhou Jin saw that it was a small stage — and that she was seated in what appeared to be a miniature concert hall.

But the décor didn’t suggest a public venue. It felt more like a private game room inside a luxury estate.

The man seated at the piano wore a well-fitted suit with no tie, his shirt collar left casually open.

He pressed his right hand to his chest and gave Zhou Jin a slight bow — the way a performer might acknowledge a sole audience member at the end of a recital.

Zhou Jin could not forget this face. He had killed nine young women in total. Then, out of revenge against the police, he had killed Zhou Chuan and Li Jingbo from the special police unit, and Yao Weihai and Meng Junfeng from the task force…

A genuine monster.

And yet he looked so ordinary. He had inherited Qi Zhen’s striking features — a face that carried a subtly androgynous, shadowed beauty. The habitual warmth in his eyes made him appear refined and gentle. Standing on that little stage, he was indistinguishable from any concert pianist.

He smiled pleasantly at Zhou Jin and said: “Officer Zhou, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m so glad you came to hear me play. How did you enjoy it?”

Zhou Jin’s mouth was parched, and her voice came out rough and dry. She said, and meant it: “It was quite good.”

“Thank you.”

Qi Yan was visibly pleased. He stepped down from the stage, drew up a chair, and sat down beside her.

He studied Zhou Jin — her pale skin, her vivid red dress. She was at that age caught between girlhood and womanhood, and she was strikingly beautiful for it.

He reached out and lifted a strand of her hair. Zhou Jin turned her head away. Qi Yan persisted, catching her earlobe between his fingers and rolling it gently.

“I had originally planned to kill you outright,” Qi Yan said, “and then gouge out your eyes to send to Professor Jiang. But you look beautiful in a red dress. That changed my mind. A beautiful woman deserves a beautiful death.”

Zhou Jin gave a pale, humorless smile.

Qi Yan toyed with her hair, unhurried, and continued: “Besides, I have a personal distaste for anything that lacks artistry. If it weren’t for Jiang Hansheng, you perhaps wouldn’t have to be subjected to such rough treatment. I might have invited you to dinner, then brought you here to listen to me play.”

Zhou Jin said nothing.

Qi Yan seemed vaguely unsatisfied. “Officer Zhou — Miss Zhou — I need some response from you. A little initiative from a woman is never a bad thing.”

Zhou Jin asked in a cold, flat voice: “Is this how you did it? Is this how you killed those women?”

Qi Yan sighed. “How you dampen the mood. They didn’t deserve the privilege of hearing me play. You are only my second audience. Do you know who my first was? He also had this music room built for me.”

“Who?”

Qi Yan’s lips curved into a smile — but his eye sockets were deep-set, and half his face was lost in shadow, so the smile came out cold and lightless.

“My brother. Wen Lang.” He said it plainly. “The one your husband shot dead after he had already surrendered, five years ago.”

He leaned in and closed his teeth around the cartilage of Zhou Jin’s ear. Zhou Jin flinched with pain but didn’t make a sound.

Qi Yan murmured close to her ear: “Now do you understand what I brought you here for?”

Bai Yang had already reached the Haizhou Major Crimes Unit. Tan Shiming had proposed merging the current case with the assault on Wang Pengzhe under the “8·17” task force, which would allow for direct involvement in the investigation.

Bai Yang had also managed to get in touch with the officers investigating the traffic accident, and they had given him a preliminary report.

He was just about to get up, go inside, and tell Jiang Hansheng, when a pair of long legs appeared directly in front of him.

He looked up — and found himself staring at Jiang Cheng’s strikingly handsome face.

“Officer Jiang?” Bai Yang blurted in surprise.

Although Jiang Cheng had not yet formally been reinstated, Bai Yang had always respected him. But right now, Jiang Cheng’s expression was as dark and forbidding as a god of wrath, and Bai Yang swallowed hard.

Jiang Cheng asked: “Is Jiang Hansheng inside?”

Bai Yang nodded — then immediately remembered the enmity between the two men and quickly shook his head.

Jiang Cheng pushed the door open without ceremony. It swung back with a bang, and Jiang Hansheng looked up, closing his fingers tightly around the ring in his palm.

Jiang Cheng heard the piano music coming from inside the room. His eyes darkened further. He reached out and turned off the stereo.

The room fell suddenly silent.

He stared at Jiang Hansheng, his voice icy. “You get one sentence.”

The bones in his own hand cracked under the pressure of his grip.

Jiang Hansheng met Jiang Cheng’s furious gaze without flinching. “You can hit me.”

Jiang Cheng grabbed him by the collar and drew back his fist.

“Officer Jiang — don’t!” Bai Yang cried out in alarm.

Jiang Hansheng made no move to resist. His dark eyes were as still as stagnant water.

Then he thought of the way Zhou Jin’s eyes curved gently whenever she spoke of Jiang Hansheng — that particular expression she only ever had when she spoke of the person she loved.

Jiang Cheng’s fist hung in the air. His back molars ground together. Then he shoved Jiang Hansheng away and stepped back.

“If anything happens to Xiao Wu,” he said, “I will kill you.”

Jiang Hansheng thought to himself: perhaps Jiang Cheng wouldn’t even need to bother.

Afraid the two of them might actually come to blows, Bai Yang quickly redirected: “The accident investigation results are in.”

Both Jiang Hansheng and Jiang Cheng turned toward him at the same moment and said in unison: “Tell us.”

Bai Yang felt a jolt go through him — inexplicably flustered, he stumbled slightly over his words: “Well… the person who was with Zhou Jin is a Section Chief Zhan from the provincial department’s information division. He’s at the hospital now — already conscious. He said he used to work in the special police unit and knew Zhou Jin through Zhou Chuan’s connection.

His child recently had its one-month celebration. Zhou Jin told him she was in Huaisha on work business and wanted to stop by and see the baby. He drove out this morning to pick her up. On the road, the brakes suddenly failed. After losing control of the steering, the vehicle crashed directly into the highway barrier. He jumped from the car before impact and narrowly survived, though his fall left him badly bruised — he was unconscious from that point on. But he stated clearly that before he lost consciousness, he saw a group of people in a black van take Zhou Jin away.”

Bai Yang finished his report and added, his expression turning grave: “I cross-referenced his statement and there are no major inconsistencies. This Section Chief Zhan was indeed posted to the special police unit previously, and his child did just have their one-month celebration… The traffic accident team confirmed that the brake fluid line had been tampered with, though Section Chief Zhan has no idea who did it.”

Jiang Hansheng’s brow drew together faintly. “The special police unit? Zhou Chuan’s colleague?”

Bai Yang nodded. “That’s right.”

Jiang Hansheng rose from his seat, put the ring in his breast pocket, and headed for the door.

Jiang Cheng asked: “Where are you going?”

Jiang Hansheng answered curtly: “The hospital.”