He stepped past Zhou Jin, walked to the wardrobe, took off his shirt, and pulled out a grey bathrobe to change into.

Zhou Jin leaned against the side of the wardrobe at her leisure, watching him, her gaze a little too scorching.

Jiang Hansheng pressed his lips together and asked with resigned helplessness: “Zhou Jin, would you please stop being so shameless?”

“Sure.”

Seeing that his ears had gone red again, Zhou Jin decided to stop teasing him and asked: “Are you going to take a shower? Do you need my help?”

Jiang Hansheng refused again. “I don’t.”

She nodded agreeably. “All right, all right.”

Zhou Jin walked over to the wardrobe on her own and began taking off her clothes one by one, changing into her loungewear as well.

A black bra framed her snow-white chest, full and shapely. Below that, a slender waist and long legs — the muscle lines honed from years of regular exercise were lean and elegant.

Zhou Jin herself hadn’t sustained any particularly serious injuries, just a constant stream of minor ones, and because her skin was naturally fair, even those small wounds looked rather alarming.

In particular, the bite mark and kiss bruise Jiang Hansheng had left on her had not fully faded, and standing before him in nothing but her undergarments like this quietly pricked at Jiang Hansheng’s guilt.

He very much wanted to hold her.

Zhou Jin put her clothes on and swept her hair out from her collar. “I’m going to make dinner. Be careful not to get your leg wet.”

“Mm.”

Jiang Hansheng’s fastidiousness about cleanliness flared up, leaving him deeply uncomfortable, so he went to the bathroom and wiped himself down. By the time he came out, Zhou Jin had already finished making the meal.

Zhou Jin was normally too busy with work to spend much time in the kitchen — on a good day she would wash the dishes — so her cooking skills weren’t particularly refined, only reaching the level of edible.

But Jiang Hansheng didn’t mind in the least.

Throughout the meal, Zhou Jin kept her phone in hand, replying to messages, and in the middle of it all she took a call from the Major Crimes Unit and learned the latest developments.

He Wu had died while resisting arrest, which was a severe blow to the core personnel of Hengyun Logistics. People who had previously kept their mouths shut out of fear of He Wu began to voluntarily come forward and reveal things.

The trafficking network — built on the foundation of Hengyun Logistics, dealing in drugs, human trafficking, arms, and other illicit trades — which had entrenched itself in Haizhou City’s shadowy underworld known as the “Jinhai Line,” was gradually being brought to light.

From the upstream suppliers to the downstream buyers, true identities were being revealed one by one.

But Tan Shiming knew clearly that Hengyun Logistics alone could never have had such reach. There had to be a larger backer behind them.

In particular, the one known as “Old Scorpion,” Qi Yan — after the Kuang Mountain operation, he had vanished as though swallowed by the earth, leaving no trace to be found. And the only person with inside knowledge, Seventh Uncle, had been arrested but flatly refused to say a single word.

Qi Yan had disappeared.

Faced with those four words, Zhou Jin couldn’t help but frown.

Zhou Jin relayed the development to Jiang Hansheng and said: “He’s not going to go into hiding for another five or six years and wait for a chance to make a comeback, is he?”

Jiang Hansheng finished his congee down to the last drop before answering: “We still have one final trump card — we’re not afraid he won’t surface.”

“What?”

Zhou Jin paused, and then it clicked immediately: “Qi Zhen!”

But would Qi Zhen be willing to come forward as a witness?

Zhou Jin thought back to how Qi Zhen had looked that day, gripping a knife, terrified.

“I just want to live a quiet life. My husband and I are very happy. Please let me go, let me be — I really don’t know anything…”

“If I die, will you stop coming?”

Zhou Jin quickly shook her head. “She would never be willing to come out and cooperate with the police. And Qi Yan is a madman — if he’s provoked, even more people could be put in danger.”

Jiang Hansheng agreed with Zhou Jin’s assessment. Using Qi Zhen as the trump card to break Qi Yan’s psychological defenses would be the most effective approach — but also the highest-risk.

Much like five years ago, when Jiang Hansheng had used himself as bait to lure Qi Yan in. But he could disregard his own life; he could not gamble with the lives of others.

A trace of disappointment showed on Zhou Jin’s face. She hoped the Major Crimes Unit would bring more good news soon, and then there was the matter of Zhou Chuan…

The words Zhao Ping had spoken before his death weighed heavily on her mind. But right now, the entire police force was focused on the sweeping operation targeting Hengyun Logistics’ network, and there was simply no manpower to spare for reopening the investigation into Zhou Chuan’s case.

Jiang Hansheng saw her worried expression and, after a pause, stood up and cleared away the bowls and chopsticks. Zhou Jin wouldn’t let him touch water, so she took care of the washing while he handled the drying.

The two of them stood side by side at the sink, water rushing and flowing.

Zhou Jin moved with practiced efficiency. Knowing Jiang Hansheng’s high standards, she scrubbed every piece of crockery three times over before handing it to him.

Jiang Hansheng bent his head and wiped each piece carefully. After a long moment he finally spoke: “My mentor recently found a new witness in the Huaiguang serial murder case — Chen Li’s ex-wife.”

Zhou Jin looked puzzled. “Chen Li? His ex-wife?”

Back then, Chen Li had turned himself in to the police, claiming to be the perpetrator of the Huaiguang serial murders. The case was ultimately overturned by Jiang Hansheng — Chen Li had simply been made Qi Yan’s scapegoat.

Chen Li’s ex-wife and son had gone abroad after that, and nothing more had been heard from them — until recently, when Chen Li’s ex-wife returned to the country.

After learning of this from Wang Pengzhe, Jiang Hansheng, fearing that delay would invite complications, had promptly gone with Wang Pengzhe to pay the woman a visit.

Jiang Hansheng was skilled at dismantling a person’s psychological defenses. When he saw, inside Mrs. Chen’s home, photographs of her and her son, graduation pictures, and charity certificates documenting donations made to impoverished children, he knew exactly how to negotiate with a woman like her.

Jiang Hansheng issued what amounted to a near-threat:

“If you are unwilling to cooperate, the police will have no choice but to compel your son to return to the country and submit to investigation. He has just graduated and found a respectable position abroad. Affecting his future — would that really be of no concern to you?”

Chen Li’s ex-wife had already been tormented by her conscience for years. The moment she heard Jiang Hansheng’s words, her composure cracked. She grabbed his arm and said: “This has nothing to do with the child — he knows nothing. I was the one who took the money.”

According to Chen Li’s ex-wife, Chen Li had come to see her once before turning himself in. He told her that he was an unremarkable, useless man who had never managed to be a good husband or a good father. Over the years he had quietly saved up a sum of money, and in a few days someone would come to deliver it — once she received it, she was to take their son and leave the country.

Chen Li had arranged all the necessary paperwork for going abroad, and had even bought the plane tickets in advance.

Chen Li’s ex-wife had a feeling something had happened to him, but they were already divorced by then, and she could get nothing more out of him.

A few days later, true to his word, a group of people arrived at her home. They claimed to have been entrusted by Mr. Chen, and delivered an overseas bank account number and a sum of cash.

The one leading the group was a very young man — tall, but still looking every bit the student. From the moment he walked in, he hadn’t said a single word.

Just before leaving, he picked up a framed photograph on the table — a photo of her and her son — and said to her: “You are a good mother. For your son’s sake, don’t say anything unnecessary. And once you leave, don’t come back.”

The young man gave a faint smile, his expression mild and gentle, as if he were discussing the matter with her in good faith.

And yet Chen Li’s ex-wife still heard, beneath those words, a threat that chilled her to the bone.

Not long after that, she saw in the newspaper the news of Chen Li’s surrender, and understood in an instant what it all meant. When the police later came to ask her about Chen Li, she didn’t dare say a single word more, afraid of stirring up trouble that would drag in her young son.

She had kept this secret for twenty years. Over those years, she had condemned herself almost every single day. To ease her conscience, she had taken the money Chen Li had bought with his life and gradually donated portions of it to charity.

Wang Pengzhe asked her: having already kept the secret for twenty years, why had she chosen to return now?

She answered: carrying a secret for too long doesn’t cause it to fade — it only grows heavier.

She had come back hoping to do something to atone, and hadn’t expected the police to find her so quickly.

After Jiang Hansheng finished telling Zhou Jin all of this, Zhou Jin asked immediately: “Could the person who gave her the money have been Qi Yan?”

Jiang Hansheng shook his head. “Qi Zhen made her living through prostitution, and Qi Yan was living with her — there’s no way he could have had that kind of money. And even if finding Chen Li to take the blame was truly his doing, he couldn’t have managed all the loose ends in such a short amount of time.”

Tying up loose ends naturally meant arranging for Chen Li’s ex-wife and son to leave the country and eliminating any future risks.

This wasn’t just a question of money — it also required a certain degree of power and influence.

“That’s true.” Zhou Jin furrowed her brow. “So that means it was…”

Jiang Hansheng said: “His twin brother.”

From the intelligence Jiang Cheng had brought back, it was known that the previous “Old Scorpion” had been Qi Yan’s father.

And based on Yu Liang’s recollections, Qi Zhen, during her time in Huaiguang, had frequently suffered delusions that someone was going to take her son away from her.

Perhaps Qi Zhen’s delusions weren’t baseless at all — perhaps they reflected something that had actually happened.

Qi Zhen had given birth to twins for Old Scorpion. For reasons unknown, Qi Zhen had taken both children and left Old Scorpion. Afterward, one child was taken back by Old Scorpion, while the other remained with Qi Zhen.

At the time of the Huaiguang serial murders, Qi Yan had committed heinous crimes, and the child who had grown up by Old Scorpion’s side appeared — concealing all of Qi Yan’s crimes, pushing Chen Li forward as the scapegoat, handling every detail, and then bringing Qi Yan back to Old Scorpion’s side.

Having worked through the connections, Zhou Jin asked: “Did Chen Li’s ex-wife mention who Qi Yan’s brother actually was?”

“Too much time has passed — her memory is hazy. She couldn’t provide any more valuable leads.”

Jiang Hansheng placed the last dish neatly in its spot.

“Besides, that person…”

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang —!

Four gunshots.

The sound of them, like rolling thunder, still echoed in his ears.

The person he had shot and killed back then was not Qi Yan.

Before that, Qi Yan had spoken to Jiang Hansheng on the phone, and he had said —

“Professor Jiang, you shouldn’t be asking that. What you should be asking is: who was it that you shot and killed back then?”

Not Qi Yan — then it was his twin brother.

Which meant he had killed the wrong person.

“Hansheng? Professor Jiang?”

Zhou Jin’s face appeared right in front of his. Jiang Hansheng startled inwardly and stepped back, instinctively gripping his own right wrist.

Zhou Jin saw him drift away and asked: “Are you tired? Why don’t we get some sleep?”

Jiang Hansheng steadied himself. “All right.”

Zhou Jin tidied up the rest quickly, and when she came back to the bedroom, she found Jiang Hansheng sitting there quietly, lost in thought.

She knelt on one knee before him and looked up at his expression. “What are you thinking about?”

“…Nothing.”

Seeing that he looked listless and seemed out of sorts, Zhou Jin blinked and said, deliberately teasing: “Professor Jiang, if we’re getting divorced — would you still be willing to share a bed with me?”

“…”

Zhou Jin said awkwardly: “All right then, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

She stood up and had just pulled a full armload of bedding from the cabinet when Jiang Hansheng reached out and caught the hem of her clothes.

He spoke with some difficulty. “Zhou Jin, I didn’t mean it that way.”

Zhou Jin blinked rapidly several times and asked: “So you will let me sleep in the bed?”

“…”

Jiang Hansheng promptly let go of her clothes, and said with a darkened expression: “Do whatever you like.”