Tan Shiming deliberated for a moment, weighing it carefully, then said to Jiang Cheng, “I understand your desire to make the arrest yourself. However, Jiang Cheng, your status as a police officer hasn’t been formally reinstated yet — you can only participate in this operation as a witness.”

Jiang Cheng’s hand tightened into a fist. His gaze went cold and flat, and he said nothing.

Tan Shiming continued, “As for the second request — I can have Zhou Jin assigned to ensure your safety. Once the exact location of the facility has been confirmed, your role will be complete.”

Jiang Cheng remained silent for a long moment, then finally demanded, “Are you still suspicious of me?”

Tan Shiming’s brow drew together. His reply was firm and unequivocal: “Jiang Cheng, this is police protocol. You have no choice but to comply.”

Jiang Cheng stared at Tan Shiming without blinking, as though trying to read an answer from his expression.

He was someone who had spent years submerged in darkness. When his gaze turned bleak like this, a bone-deep coldness radiated from his entire being — the faint light that fell over him couldn’t dispel the shadows pooled around his eyes, as though that darkness were something he could never tear away or break free from, no matter how long he lived.

Tan Shiming’s position remained unmovable. He turned to Zhou Jin. “I’m entrusting you with the task of protecting him, and with overseeing the preliminary reconnaissance operation. Beyond that, don’t stir up any complications. Zhou Jin — don’t let your mentor down.”

Within the entire police unit, the only person Jiang Cheng trusted was Zhou Jin. She was the most fitting choice.

Zhou Jin didn’t hesitate. She nodded. “Understood.”

Tan Shiming turned his gaze back to Jiang Cheng, awaiting his final answer.

Jiang Cheng and Zhou Jin looked at each other for a moment. Zhou Jin gave him a small wink, signaling him to concede.

After a standoff, Jiang Cheng gradually reined in the sharp, fierce edge he’d been radiating, and his expression returned to normal.

He removed his police cap and held it against his chest, then gave a completely irreverent bow. “Understood, understood,” he said with a grin.

Tan Shiming still had an operations briefing to give to the Municipal Public Security Bureau and the deputy mayor, so he waved them both out.

Leaving the team leader’s office, Jiang Cheng complained casually to Zhou Jin, “You’ve been working under this old stick-in-the-mud since you joined the Major Crimes Unit? Has he ever given you a hard time?”

Zhou Jin said, “My mentor’s manner is a bit firm, but he doesn’t make things difficult for people without reason. Don’t speak ill of my mentor.”

Jiang Cheng gave a lazy smile. “That protective of him? Sounds like he treats you well.”

Jiang Cheng pulled out his pack of cigarettes, glanced sideways at Zhou Jin still standing beside him, and tucked it back into his pocket.

Zhou Jin had her head down, looking at her phone. Shortly after, a call came back — she didn’t answer immediately, but glanced at Jiang Cheng.

“Jiang Hansheng?” Jiang Cheng guessed, and quickly let out a vague laugh. He pointed toward the restroom at the end of the corridor. “See you in a bit.”

Once Jiang Cheng had gone, Zhou Jin answered the call while making her way to the stairwell, leaning against a half-open window. The damp, rain-soaked air outside rushed in against her face.

Zhou Jin smiled and spoke first. “I heard sister-in-law gave birth?”

The person calling was Zhan Wei. “What’s your Major Crimes Unit been so busy with? I’ve sent you messages and heard nothing back.”

“Same as always.” Zhou Jin paused, then quickly added, “Almost done though. We took down a logistics company — big case. Now it’s just a matter of sitting back and waiting for the promotion and raise.”

Zhan Wei laughed heartily. “That capable? Congratulations, congratulations. So, little Zhou, do you have any free time coming up? There’s a full-month celebration to drink to.”

“I’ll definitely be there,” Zhou Jin said. “I owe you a thank-you — you’ve gone to so much trouble over my brother’s case all these years.”

Zhan Wei said, “Why the formality. Honestly, I really wish Zhou Chuan could be here for this. Since he can’t come, you come in his place.”

Zhan Wei sent her a digital invitation — the full-month banquet was to be held at the Nanshan Estate in Huaisha. He had married the Party Secretary’s daughter; her family was in politics, with considerable means and a well-established name in the provincial capital of Huaisha.

Since the grandfather-in-law was especially fond of the child, the affair was naturally to be held with a certain grandeur.

Zhou Jin didn’t particularly mind any of that. She looked at the address, thought for a moment, and asked, “Will your old colleagues from the special operations unit be there?”

After the August 17th firearms robbery, the special operations unit had undergone sweeping internal changes — restructured here, transferred there — and everyone had scattered in different directions.

Zhan Wei explained, “They’re all busy people. Not sure they’ll make the effort.”

Zhou Jin smiled. “I was just thinking — they knew my brother, and it’d be nice to chat if we ran into each other. My brother was on the verge of becoming deputy unit leader back then — was he especially well-liked?”

Zhan Wei let out a sigh. “He really was — and he was completely unreasonable about it. He’d get into it with his superiors every day, banging on tables and arguing. I’d try to talk him out of being so blunt about things, but the unit leader ended up liking that stubborn streak of his of all things.”

“My brother argued with people?”

“Of course he never got that way with you.” Zhan Wei said. “Inside the unit he was fierce — we’d been close brothers for years, and he still didn’t give anyone an easy pass.”

“What do you mean, didn’t give anyone an easy pass?”

“During special operations training, he was an instructor. I’d sneak a snack in the evening and he’d shut it down immediately — disciplining me like I was some child.”

Remembering old times, Zhan Wei’s laughter was bright and warm.

Zhou Jin managed a few laughs of her own, then asked, “Sounds exactly like something my brother would do. He must have made his share of enemies too, then — did my brother… ever have anyone who held a grudge against him?”

Zhan Wei went quiet for a moment, then quickly said, “What kind of enemies could your brother have had?”

“…”

Zhan Wei heard the prolonged silence on her end and called out, “Zhou Jin?”

Zhou Jin quickly said, “Let’s talk more when we meet.”

Zhan Wei said, “Alright.”

Jiang Cheng went into the restroom and turned on the tap, splashing water over his face. He stood with both hands braced against the sink, cool beads of water sliding down the clean, sharp lines of his face.

Something restless and difficult to contain was churning inside him. He exhaled slowly, several long breaths, then wiped the water away carelessly and pulled the pack of cigarettes from his pocket, biting one between his lips.

He lit it.

The lighter clicked — such a small sound, yet in the silence it rang out sharply.

Jiang Cheng stared at the faint, flickering flame with a distant, contemplative look. After a moment he extinguished it, then pressed it down again.

The flame seemed to jump.

Jiang Cheng closed his hand around the lighter, tilted it at a slight downward angle in front of him, and softly mimed the sound: “Bang.”

He smiled. It was a strange smile — carrying the faint tremor of something barely held in check.

Footsteps approached from outside. Zhou Jin’s voice came through the door: “Jiang Cheng, are you still in there?”

Jiang Cheng took a few more deep drags of the cigarette, stubbed it out, and walked out.

Zhou Jin was waiting for him.

Seeing that her call had ended, Jiang Cheng remarked, “Jiang Hansheng calling to check up on you because he knows you’re with me? He really doesn’t seem very sure of himself.”

Zhou Jin’s tone gained a note of warning. “Be civil toward him, please.”

Jiang Cheng saw her face go stern and immediately raised his hands in surrender. “I didn’t do anything — why are you glaring at me like that?”

“Let’s go,” Zhou Jin said. “I’ll have someone take you back. Wait for my mentor’s next instructions.”

Jiang Cheng complied without argument. “Fine.”

Rain had come to Huaisha as well.

Jiang Hansheng stood before the window, watching the curtain of rain falling and swirling in every direction.

Word had reached the people at the research institute through Wang Pengzhe that Jiang Hansheng was there — without a second thought, they all finished work that day and showed up at the door carrying two crates of live crabs, gathered together and ready to make a proper lively meal of it.

They were busy in the kitchen — most of them recent graduates, at the age when energy and spirits run high, chattering nonstop with one another, bursts of laughter coming one after another.

Wang Pengzhe picked up a manila folder and walked over to where Jiang Hansheng stood, tapping him on the back with it. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing in particular.” Jiang Hansheng smiled faintly and took the folder from Wang Pengzhe’s hand. “Is this a new lead?”

Wang Pengzhe said, “Not exactly a new lead — this is the initial investigation report from the Huaiguang case.”

Jiang Hansheng understood immediately. “You mean Chen Li?”

The man who had turned himself in to the authorities and confessed to committing the serial murders — a fall-guy.

He had given a detailed account of the killings, including the process and his supposed motive, without a single inconsistency. The only thing that didn’t match was that his DNA was different from the DNA extracted from the semen found on the victims.

Then, after August 17th, the police had retrieved traces of blood from beneath the fingernails of the fallen special operations officer Li Jingbo. When tested and compared, they matched the DNA from that same semen sample exactly.

It was on the strength of that evidence that Jiang Hansheng had once staked his entire career on demanding a reinvestigation of the Huaiguang serial murder case — ultimately overturning Chen Li’s confession.

After that, the police had also made attempts to find a breakthrough through Chen Li himself, conducting a series of investigations around him in an effort to uncover why he had taken the blame for the real perpetrator.

But Chen Li had died of liver cancer while in detention. In life his social circle had been minimal — very few friends, and he had long since severed contact with his ex-wife and son. The police had never managed to find any leads of value, and that particular thread had been left to go cold.

Now, however, there had been a new development.

Wang Pengzhe said, “His ex-wife recently returned from abroad.”