The Major Crimes Unit, Criminal Investigation, Economic Investigation, and all other police teams involved in the case had been worn to exhaustion by days of continuous work.

Bai Yang and Yu Dan hadn’t set foot inside their homes for half a month.

Zhou Jin arrived at the Major Crimes Unit that afternoon. Passing by the surveillance room, she spotted Bai Yang with his cap pulled over his face, leaning back in his chair, snoring away. Four computer monitors blazed on around him — he had still been screening the security cameras near Kuang Mountain, searching for any trace of Qi Yan.

When she reached the office, everyone else was out on fieldwork.

Yu Dan had just caught up on some sleep. She was eating instant noodles with one hand and video-calling her husband and children at home with the other. It seemed the child had been crying and fussing for a while, and it took her quite some time to finally calm the little one down.

After ending the call, Yu Dan glanced up and noticed Zhou Jin had arrived. “Why are you out of the hospital already?” she asked. “Shouldn’t you have stayed a few more days for observation?”

“It’s nothing serious,” Zhou Jin said. “What’s the situation now?”

Yu Dan let out a weary sigh. “We’ve been going through Hengyun Logistics’ accounts — a lot of the funds have untraceable origins. He Wu also has a charitable foundation under his name. Anonymous donations of over a million per year, in two batches — they all end up in his personal account, with no traceable source.”

“My mentor told me there’s a bigger fish behind Hengyun Logistics,” Zhou Jin said.

“Jiang Cheng said the same thing.” Yu Dan continued, “We’ve also looked into the man with the nickname ‘Seventh Uncle.’ His real name is Guo Zhengying. He and the old scorpion Qi Yan are the core figures of the entire criminal organization — He Wu was working for them. Qi Yan’s whereabouts are currently unknown, and this Seventh Uncle keeps his mouth sealed tight. He’s just sitting there waiting to be sentenced.”

Zhou Jin asked, “Can’t we get anything out of Seventh Uncle? Hometown? Occupation?”

Yu Dan said, “His hometown is in Jiashui’s Xia Gai Village. Two of our colleagues went there to investigate. They found out that Guo Zhengying’s mother died when he was young, and later his father was beaten by loan sharks over an unpayable debt and died despite emergency treatment. Out of revenge, Guo Zhengying stabbed two debt collectors to death. Because he was still a minor at the time, he served five years in prison. After his release, he left his hometown alone and came to Huaisha to make a living. What happened after that isn’t known yet — still being investigated.”

“Oh, and there’s more — two employees at Hengyun Logistics confessed to a child trafficking case. Staff from the Anti-Trafficking Bureau came this morning and confirmed the photos. The child was only three years old, and the parents have been searching ever since…”

Yu Dan was a police officer, but she was also a woman — a mother. She had more empathy for cases like this than her male counterparts.

“In all my years on the job, I’ve seen all kinds of cases, but this is truly the first time I’ve seen one so thoroughly rotten to the core. If we don’t drag the ringleader out, I won’t be able to die in peace!”

She slammed the desk with righteous fury, then kneaded her stiff fingers, rolled her aching neck, and got back to work.

Zhou Jin asked, “Where’s my mentor?”

Yu Dan replied, “Sleeping in his office. He didn’t go home last night either.”

“Understood.”

Zhou Jin went to Tan Shiming’s office. Through the venetian blinds, she could see Tan Shiming had already woken up. She knocked on the door and, after being permitted to enter, saw that Jiang Cheng was also inside.

The weather had turned a little cold recently, but Jiang Cheng still had on just a windbreaker over a short-sleeved shirt. Because his ankle was still wrapped in bandages, he could only wear slippers. He sat in the chair smoking, looking utterly defeated and bedraggled.

He tilted his head back when he saw Zhou Jin come in, crushed the cigarette out in the ashtray, and asked her, “Feeling better?”

Zhou Jin nodded to indicate she was fine, then turned her gaze to Tan Shiming. “Mentor, I’d like to take over the Qi Yan case. The other colleagues can continue investigating Hengyun Logistics while I start from the Huaiguang serial murder case. Professor Wang has recently made contact with a new witness — I’m planning to go to Huaisha to find out more about the situation there.”

Tan Shiming had long since figured out Zhou Jin’s stubborn habit of chasing a case to its conclusion. This time, he didn’t send her back home to rest, and instead agreed directly: “We have two people in Huaisha right now — they just finished investigating the neighbors from Seventh Uncle Guo Zhengying’s hometown and haven’t come back yet. When you get there, link up with them directly. And remember to pass along my regards to Director Wang.”

“No problem,” Zhou Jin said.

Tan Shiming then turned to Jiang Cheng. “I’ll write you a certificate of merit. The benefits and entitlements you’re owed — I’ll fight for every one of them. As for the final disposition, that’ll be up to the higher-ups to decide.”

Jiang Cheng pressed down on the chair’s armrest and pushed himself to his feet. “Old Yao already told me — there’s no way I’m getting my old position back. What else could the higher-ups arrange? Find some police station, stick me in an office job, and let me live out my days there without a care in the world.”

Tan Shiming caught the resentment in his tone and asked, “So what is it you want? Go ahead and say it.”

After a brief silence, Jiang Cheng suddenly broke into a laugh. “Thought about it — seems like there’s nothing I really want anymore. I’ll follow whatever arrangements are made.”

“Go home and rest properly,” Tan Shiming said. “I’ll notify you if anything comes up. And if you have any thoughts, you need to let me know.”

“Thank you,” Jiang Cheng said.

Zhou Jin and Jiang Cheng left the office one after the other.

Jiang Cheng steadied himself against the wall, walking with a pronounced limp. Watching him struggle, Zhou Jin reached over and hooked a hand under his arm. “Is it serious?” she asked.

“No fracture. A few days’ rest and it’ll be fine.” Jiang Cheng pushed her hand away. “Keep your distance — I reek of cigarettes.”

“As if you didn’t know?” Zhou Jin made no move to release him and kept talking. “Quit going forward, okay? I remember you barely smoked at all before.”

Jiang Cheng’s face carried a trace of amusement, and he gave a light, dismissive hum. “What’s it to you?”

“None of my business,” Zhou Jin said evenly. “I’ll call Lao San in a bit and have him come keep you company for a couple of days. The money you had saved on the card — I never touched it. I changed the password to your birthday.”

“That was for you.”

“I don’t need it.”

The atmosphere between them stiffened at once.

“…If you don’t need it, find somewhere to donate it.” Jiang Cheng’s expression turned heavy as he moved past Zhou Jin and walked on.

Zhou Jin fell into step beside him, but said nothing more about the bank card.

Jiang Cheng had always been proud and unyielding. Once he refused something, it was nearly impossible to get him to accept it again. Zhou Jin figured she would have Lao San quietly return it to him later — going the roundabout way.

The moment Zhou Jin went quiet, Jiang Cheng knew she was choosing not to argue about it. After a long pause, he asked, “Jiang Hansheng’s family — they’re pretty well-off, aren’t they? His father must dote on him. He’s an only son, after all.”

“His salary is decent. He’s never touched his family’s money,” Zhou Jin said. “I didn’t marry him for that either. Just like how I liked you back then… Jiang Cheng, it was because you were a genuinely good person. That’s why I liked you.”

She spoke with complete openness, each word pressing gently against the deep-buried insecurity coiled inside Jiang Cheng’s heart.

He stood motionless for a moment after hearing it, then suddenly broke into a full, easy laugh.

“You’d have done better to just say it was because of the money — I’d have felt less bothered hearing that.” He let out a quiet sigh. “Alright. Something is better than nothing. I’m completely alone now — relief aid is exactly what I need. Have Lao San bring me the card. No point giving Jiang Hansheng any room to misunderstand.”

Zhou Jin laughed too. “Alright.”

Jiang Cheng asked again, “How’s he doing now? I heard that to stop your car, he nearly went over a cliff. That guy — looks pretty average at a glance, but at the moment that counts, he really can throw his life on the line.”

Jiang Cheng had never liked Jiang Hansheng, and that hadn’t changed — but in this matter, he was grateful to him.

“He still needs a few more days to recover,” Zhou Jin said earnestly. “And he’s not average at all — Jiang Hansheng used to work at the Provincial Bureau.”

Jiang Cheng: “…Oh get lost, get lost — who wants to sit here and listen to you sing his praises?”

Zhou Jin burst out laughing.

Huaisha City. Two-thirty in the afternoon. Beneath the Criminal Research Center building.

A person in a courier uniform and a blue helmet climbed off a motorcycle.

Clutching a parcel to his chest, he strode quickly into the lobby and, at the front desk, asked which floor the Criminal Research Center was on.

Normally a package could simply be left at the front desk, but the courier explained that the sender had stressed it was something very important, requiring the recipient to sign for it in person.

The front desk put a call through to Wang Pengzhe. Wang Pengzhe assumed it was the usual archival documents the research center dealt with and had the courier sent upstairs.

About three minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Wang Pengzhe put on his glasses, picked up his ballpoint pen, and went to open it.

The eyes beneath the stranger’s helmet were crinkled with a smile. He dipped his head politely and asked, “Are you Director Wang?”

“That’s me,” Wang Pengzhe said.

“There’s a delivery here for you, sir. If you could please sign for it.”

Wang Pengzhe glanced at the text on the shipping label — and found it completely blank. Only in the recipient’s field were five characters written: “Professor Wang, greetings.”

He was puzzling over whether something had gone wrong when he looked up to ask — and in that instant, a baton came swinging down hard toward his head.