Zhou Jin spent one more day lying in the hospital. Once her spirits had recovered sufficiently, she finally made a call home to let her family know she was safe.

Jiang Hansheng had not yet told Zhou Jin’s parents about the events in Huaisha — he had been waiting for her to wake up so she could tell them herself.

Zhou Jin absolutely adored this considerate thoughtfulness of his.

Whether she was suffering out in the field or facing mortal danger, none of that mattered so much — but causing her parents to worry was always what pained her most.

When she called home, she naturally shared only the good news and kept the bad to herself, simply telling them that her brother’s case had been solved, and walking them through the whole story from beginning to end.

Zhou Songyue let out a long sigh and said nothing for a moment. Lin Qiuyun, however, broke down weeping. Not wanting to show too much vulnerability in front of her daughter, she hung up and pressed herself against the wardrobe, silently crying for a very long time.

The truth is always cruel.

They had poured half their lives into raising Zhou Chuan to be an outstanding person — teaching him integrity, teaching him tolerance, teaching him kindness, and teaching him how to live a happy life. And now they learned that those very qualities had become the reasons he was killed.

Even knowing that Zhan Wei was the true perpetrator, how could any parent not torment themselves with guilt and regret?

Zhou Songyue murmured, “I should have taught Zhou Chuan to be more flexible. I always knew in my heart that his character was too sharp-edged — that it would cost him dearly someday.”

“Then he wouldn’t have been himself,” Zhou Jin said. “Dad, you were always strict with him growing up. Right now, he would certainly want you to be proud of him.”

Because Zhou Chuan had not died through dishonor, but through honor.

“He always has been. Zhou Chuan has always been my pride.” Zhou Songyue’s eyes reddened. He lowered his head. “And you too, Zhou Jin.”

“Dad…” Tears streamed down Zhou Jin’s face.

Zhou Songyue’s character was unyielding and he was not one for sentimental words. He let out a low sigh. “Alright, alright.”

After hanging up, Zhou Jin wiped her wet eyes and breathed out deeply two times, letting all the ache at the tip of her nose dissipate.

Jiang Hansheng handed her a peeled apple. Zhou Jin lay back down, nibbling at it as she said, “My dad just complimented me, you know.”

Jiang Hansheng saw the way she kicked up her legs on the bed, clearly very pleased with herself, and smiled. “That happy about it?”

“Of course — getting a word of praise out of him is harder than scoring first place on any exam.” Zhou Jin asked, “Have you called home yet?”

Jiang Hansheng’s expression didn’t shift much. “They’re abroad. I’ll tell them when they get back. In a bit — I want to go visit my teacher.”

Zhou Jin raised her hand. “I’ll come with you.”

Jiang Hansheng took her hand, just about to say it wasn’t necessary, when a nurse knocked at the door from outside, reminding Jiang Hansheng to go downstairs to pick up his medical checkup report.

Jiang Hansheng thanked her and stood up, instructing Zhou Jin: “Don’t move around. Wait for me.”

After Jiang Hansheng left, Zhou Jin continued nibbling her apple, casually scrolling through her phone messages.

In the serious crimes unit’s group chat — dubbed “The Sherlock Holmes Detective Guild” — Bai Yang had sent a string of complaints: “The canteen food here is absolutely terrible,” “I just bailed Senior Jiang Cheng out of the police station,” “He’s insanely good at fighting, insanely good,” “Can he be hired as a substitute for the gaming league?” “Zhou Jin, are you feeling better?” …

At the very end came a single voice message from Yu Dan: “Little Bai Yang, you’re so loud!”

Zhou Jin smiled, but was puzzled by what Bai Yang meant about “bailing Senior Jiang Cheng out of the police station.” She was just about to ask when a knock sounded at the ward door, and Jiang Cheng walked in.

She immediately noticed the bruising on his face. “What happened to you?”

Jiang Cheng pulled up a stool and sat down, the cold edge around him not yet gone. “Zhan Wei tried to run. I brought him back.”

Zhou Jin stared at the bruised corner of his mouth, and thought to herself that it was definitely not as simple as merely “bringing him back.”

Jiang Cheng looked around. “Where’s Jiang Hansheng?”

“He went down to pick up my checkup report for me.”

“A good partner indeed.” Jiang Cheng gave a small, dry laugh, then turned and noticed that Zhou Jin’s hair had grown past her shoulders. “Your hair’s gotten longer.”

Zhou Jin reached up to touch the hair at the back of her neck — she wasn’t quite used to this length either. “I’ll cut it once I’m back in Haizhou.”

“Weren’t you planning a wedding?” Jiang Cheng said. “Long hair suits that nicely.”

He hadn’t said it out of nowhere — he and Zhou Jin had once gone to try on wedding attire together.

Zhou Jin remembered that too, and stiffened slightly. A somewhat awkward silence fell between them. Then Zhou Jin carefully asked, “The wedding — will you come?”

Jiang Cheng could see her discomfort. He deflected with a joke: “Forget it. I don’t have Jiang Hansheng’s magnanimity. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from punching that smug face of his.”

Zhou Jin said, “…You wouldn’t dare.”

Jiang Cheng raised his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. I wouldn’t dare.”

He watched Zhou Jin’s smile for a moment, then spoke again. “I’m heading back to Haizhou this afternoon. Director Tan helped submit the documentation for my identity verification. The higher-ups want to question me further about the undercover operation — they’re calling me back for an inquiry.”

“Alright,” Zhou Jin said.

He shifted his gaze away from her and said quietly, “…About what happened back then — I never had the chance to explain. Xiao Wu, I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know,” Zhou Jin said. “Now you have the chance. And I’d like to hear it.”

Jiang Cheng was taken aback — he hadn’t expected Zhou Jin to still want to know.

He was quiet for a moment before he spoke. “Before me, Director Yao had already sent in one undercover operative. In less than a month, the operative’s cover was blown…”

After that mission’s failure, Yao Weihai had set his sights on Jiang Cheng as the next undercover agent. Jiang Cheng accepted the assignment quickly, but Yao Weihai could not find the right opportunity to safely infiltrate Jiang Cheng into the criminal network.

Building a false identity for Jiang Cheng required time — and to make it airtight required patient, meticulous planning.

At the time, Yao Weihai also suspected that someone inside the public security system had leaked the previous undercover’s information. He was cautious on every front, and so Operation Hidden Edge was delayed again and again.

At the time, Jiang Cheng was still working in the Criminal Investigation Division’s second team in Fengzhou District. He was loyal and principled, but his manner was often too forceful, and a certain pride ran deep in his nature — he often gave people a sense of being looked down upon from a great height. Many people admired him; many others despised him.

Two men in the police force had long had it in for him.

One day, they invited Jiang Cheng out drinking, and privately arranged for a woman to set a honey trap. Afterward, they planned to report him to the public security brigade as ordinary citizens — to ruin his reputation and drive him out of the force.

At that time, the fissures between Jiang Cheng and Zhou Jin had already begun to show. Coming home, for him, had always been so difficult.

When they invited him for drinks, Jiang Cheng agreed.

He did drink a fair amount that night — but at some point, he sobered up. He found himself lying in a hotel room with a woman beside him who had no clothes on. In an instant he understood exactly what those men were up to.

Jiang Cheng had initially planned to walk straight out of the hotel room. But as he stepped through the doorway, a thought crossed his mind — perhaps this was an opportunity.

He immediately contacted Yao Weihai and explained the situation. Yao Weihai grasped in an instant exactly what Jiang Cheng meant by “opportunity.”

The criminal network had always been deeply suspicious of new members. Rather than waiting for them to eventually uncover the truth about Jiang Cheng’s identity as an undercover officer, it was better to do the opposite — to let them know from the very start that Jiang Cheng was a police officer.

Not just any officer, but one with a promising future who had been framed by his own colleagues right when he was about to be promoted.

Yao Weihai had Jiang Cheng stay in the hotel room. Later, he would plant a bag of white powder in the evidence, use the charge of illegal drug possession to put Jiang Cheng behind bars in Guhua Prison, and give him a legitimate way to get close to He Wen.

From start to finish — there had been no betrayal.

Jiang Cheng smiled bitterly and said, “Everything was going smoothly — except for you.”

Zhou Jin listened to the end, and was silent for a long while. Then she asked, “Do you regret it?”

Jiang Cheng pressed his lips together, as if looking back over five years of experience. Finally, he turned to Zhou Jin and said seriously, “No. Xiao Wu, back then all I wanted was for you to be well — whatever it took.”

If he could do it over again, he would still accept the undercover assignment.

Zhou Jin nodded quickly, her eyes growing a little red. She wanted to apologize, then thought that perhaps an apology was not what Jiang Cheng wanted to hear. So instead she smiled and said, “I can see why I fell for you.”

Jiang Cheng laughed openly at that, reaching out to ruffle Zhou Jin’s hair. “Obviously.”

He looked visibly relieved. He stood up and straightened his clothes. “Alright, I’m leaving. Jiang Hansheng has been drifting past that door three times already, pretending he has business there. If I don’t leave, we might end up coming to blows right here.”

Zhou Jin made a puzzled sound, craning her neck to peer through the glass window on the door — but she couldn’t spot Jiang Hansheng anywhere.

Jiang Cheng walked out first. He turned, and there was Jiang Hansheng, standing in the corridor with an expressionless face.

Jiang Cheng laughed coldly to himself. He thought — Jiang Hansheng’s patience and self-restraint were truly extraordinary. A man like that was frightening, far more frightening than he had imagined.

Losing to him — Jiang Cheng accepted it wholeheartedly.

Jiang Cheng reached into his breast pocket, pulled something out, and tossed it to Jiang Hansheng.

Jiang Hansheng caught it and looked down. It was a black SD memory card.

“The memory card from the camera in the villa,” Jiang Cheng said.

Jiang Hansheng closed his hand tightly around it and looked up at Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng said, with studied nonchalance, “Don’t know what happened — it got burned out. I showed it to Bai Yang; he said once it’s gone, it’s gone. The data can’t be recovered.”

Jiang Hansheng was silent for a moment, then quickly understood what they meant. He said, “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Jiang Cheng said. “Take good care of Zhou Jin.”

Jiang Hansheng showed not the slightest humility on this point. “I always have.”

Jiang Cheng looked at his cold, composed expression — displeased, no doubt, about what had just happened in the ward — and let out a dry laugh. “You’ve got some nerve.”

By the time he returned to Haizhou, it was deep in the night. Jiang Cheng unlocked his front door, and an empty, hollow chill filled the room.

He was used to the dark. He did not turn on any lights. He went to his bedroom and bolted both locks behind him.

Jiang Cheng sat on the edge of the bed, quiet for a moment, then quickly lay down.

For the past five years, there had not been a single moment when he had not craved exactly this kind of stillness. But now that the moment had arrived, he found himself slowly discovering how terrifyingly quiet it was.

He sat up, wanting to find something to do. He went to the bathroom first and showered, then cleaned the apartment from top to bottom.

In truth, there was nothing to clean beyond the dust. Zhou Jin did nothing halfway — when she left, she took everything of hers with her, cleanly and completely, leaving nothing behind.

Without her things, there was very little that belonged to him.

Under the bed in the bedroom, Jiang Cheng found a small box. He thought it was something Zhou Jin had accidentally left behind.

He opened it — it was not.

There wasn’t much inside: two men’s t-shirts, a grey scarf, and beneath the scarf, a thick bundle of letters.

The t-shirts had once been his.

The scarf was one Zhou Jin had knitted during her university years, learning from her dormitory roommates. She had knitted two — one for Zhou Chuan, and one for him.

Jiang Cheng had complained about the pattern being too ugly. But every time the cold came, he still wore it. Back when he was working at the Jingzhou police station, he would even show it off to his colleagues, telling anyone who would listen that this was his girlfriend’s handiwork.

As for the bundle of letters — they were love letters Zhou Jin had written to him.

She had started writing them in high school, sending them one by one to Jingzhou Police Academy.

At the time, the two of them had not yet confirmed their relationship, and most of the letters ended by demanding to know whether he had a girlfriend, whether the girls in Jingzhou were prettier than she was.

Jiang Cheng hadn’t known whether to laugh or cry. Sometimes he would call her back and tell her to focus on her studies and stop writing all this nonsense.

Zhou Jin refused to back down, and on the phone she would press him — why couldn’t she write letters? Was it because he already had someone he liked? If so, she said, she would be heartbroken for two or three days and then be fine, and she would absolutely never write again.

Jiang Cheng couldn’t bring himself to lie. He told her honestly: no.

How could he bring himself to refuse Zhou Jin?

Other girls might have been drawn to his looks and his build, but none of them ever thought about marrying him — because he had nothing, not even a decent gift to give.

But when he said to Zhou Jin: “Xiao Wu, you know I’m just a poor kid with no parents. I have nothing.”

Zhou Jin answered: “I’m giving myself to you, and you won’t take me. What am I supposed to do? If you could love me, then you’d have me — and I’m fairly well-off, and I’ll have more money once I start working.”

Jiang Cheng had felt like laughing.

When she heard him laugh, Zhou Jin hung up the phone in high spirits and kept writing her letters just the same.

Jiang Cheng had kept every single one of them. All the way until now.

Looking at these letters now, he still felt like laughing. But as he laughed, his eyes began to sting and burn — and yet no tears fell.

He set the box on the nightstand, turned onto his side, and curled in on himself.

This place was full of memories for him. It was impossible for Jiang Cheng not to think of the past.

In the past, in this same spot, sunlight streaming in brilliantly, the windowsill clean and bright, Zhou Jin lying beside him, talking about her plans and ideas for how she would redecorate the room.

He had held her, kissed her, and sighed with quiet wonder: “Xiao Wu, I finally have a home of my own.”

Now the room was very dark. Zhou Jin was not here. Only a dim wash of light crept in from the window outside, and he lay silent in the grey dimness for a long, long time.

Jiang Cheng’s phone buzzed quietly.

The screen flickered — message after message appearing. They were from Tan Shiming.

“Jiang Cheng.”

“The matter regarding your identity documentation has received a response. They are offering you two options.”

The events in Huaisha still had to be investigated by the Huaisha police. The provincial bureau had also mobilized significant resources for this. The Haizhou serious crimes unit still needed Tan Shiming to return and take charge.

One week later, Tan Shiming returned to the serious crimes unit, and Jiang Cheng came to see him as promised.

Jiang Cheng stood straight-backed and upright before Tan Shiming in a perfectly correct stance.

Tan Shiming stared at him for a long time without blinking. “Have you made up your mind?”

“Yes,” said Jiang Cheng, without hesitation.

Tan Shiming: “No regrets?”

Jiang Cheng smiled. “Director Tan, Zhou Jin never told me you were such a worrier.”

Tan Shiming reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a new identity card, sliding it across the desk toward Jiang Cheng.

“This is the new identification document issued per your request.”

The photograph on the card was Jiang Cheng’s — but the name was no longer “Jiang Cheng.” It read “Meng Junfeng.”

Tan Shiming let out a helpless sigh and said, by way of comfort, “Jiang Cheng, the deaths of Director Yao and Meng Junfeng have nothing to do with you. Don’t place so much weight on yourself.”

Jiang Cheng picked up the identity card and ran his fingers over the name Meng Junfeng, smiling — easy and unrestrained.

“Don’t worry. I just want to remind myself — no matter what — to keep on living well.”

After all, this life of his had been bought by Meng Junfeng.

Tan Shiming, who had come to appreciate Jiang Cheng’s remarkable qualities during this time, nodded and said, “There is still a very long road ahead. Take care. And — have you said goodbye to Zhou Jin?”

Jiang Cheng thought for a moment. “No need. We’ll probably meet again someday.”

Jiang Cheng set a document envelope on Tan Shiming’s desk.

“This is my operational report from the past five years, along with an undercover dossier.”

The original undercover dossier had long since been personally destroyed by Yao Weihai. This copy was not an official document — Jiang Cheng had written it simply to leave a record of his own identity.

In the undercover dossier, it read:

Mission Code: K-200829

Supervisor: Lead of the “8·17” Special Task Force, Yao Weihai

Agent: Deputy head of the Criminal Investigation Division’s second team in Fengzhou District, Haizhou City; undercover operative of the “8·17” Special Task Force, Jiang Cheng

Operation Code Name: Hidden Edge

Notes: The mission has been carried out without dishonor and is now successfully completed. Going forward, the march continues. Hereby reported: will remain forever loyal to the nation, loyal to the people, loyal to the cause, and loyal to —

He had not written the last part. Two characters remained — he had written only the first stroke of the first one.

Loyal to the nation, loyal to the people, loyal to the cause — and loyal to:

Zhou Jin.