Jiang Cheng went rigid all at once. In the silence, his breathing became nearly inaudible.

His mind filled with countless thoughts, countless things he might say — and then went completely blank.

He stroked her cheek with his fingers, and finally said in a hoarse voice:

“Xiao Wu. Don’t play games with me.”

Zhou Jin tilted her head back and studied his face carefully. He felt like a stranger to her — if his features hadn’t remained the same, she was certain she wouldn’t have recognized him at all.

She hadn’t known she could still hate someone this much. Enough to have learned how to say something cruel to Jiang Cheng: “He’s a very, very good man. Better than you.”

Something indescribable — a flash of terror — surfaced in his eyes. Jiang Cheng exhaled sharply a few times, then suddenly seized her face and brought his lips down onto hers, carrying the taste of tobacco and alcohol, deep and overwhelming.

He had never been this forceful with her before. Something seemed to have slipped beyond his control — he kissed her like he was tearing at her.

Zhou Jin cried out against his mouth and fought back hard.

He caught both her wrists with unerring precision and pinned them to the wall. The kiss deepened, his grip tightened, his fingers pressing close to crushing her wrist bones.

Pain.

Zhou Jin hadn’t thought it would be like this with Jiang Cheng.

The absolute suppression of her strength made her feel a burning humiliation. In fury, she bit him. She heard Jiang Cheng hiss sharply — and only then managed to break free from the suffocating kiss.

She threw every ounce of strength into struggling, but couldn’t get loose. “Jiang Cheng — have you lost your mind?!”

He wasn’t listening. His rough, powerful hands forced her chin up. His lips dragged along her neck, biting a path downward. His hands were shaking — he couldn’t work open her collar, so he wrenched the button free instead.

A strip of pale, bare skin was exposed. His breath came ragged. He pressed his eyes shut and pressed his mouth to the cold sweat at her neck. He needed to confirm she was in his arms. He needed to reclaim her body, reclaim the feeling of her.

His knee drove between her legs, pressing in without restraint. For the first time, Zhou Jin felt afraid of Jiang Cheng. She trembled as she pushed back against him: “Jiang Cheng — don’t you dare!”

But resisting did nothing.

He knew her techniques. He knew her body. He knew how to subdue Zhou Jin, how to make her remember what they had once been.

Then — in an instant — Jiang Cheng’s spine went rigid.

Zhou Jin wrenched one hand free and struck him hard across the face. He took the blow, only tilting his head slightly, and didn’t move. His fingers pressed up under her chin, forcing her to expose the line of her pale, slender neck.

A roughened fingertip traced over a darkened mark on her skin — rubbing across it, again and again, confirming what it was. When he finally understood, a murderous impulse rose in him.

“Who did you marry? That man from yesterday?” He gripped her shoulders and slowly increased the pressure. “Was it him?!”

Zhou Jin thought of Jiang Hansheng.

His quiet reserve. His pale face. His dark, still eyes. His dry, steady hands. The way the corner of his mouth curved slightly when he held her hand. The way he looked at her — with deliberate, unhurried attention.

Something like a hot brand pressed against the center of her chest. Suddenly the entire confrontation with Jiang Cheng felt utterly without meaning.

From beginning to end, they had simply never made a clean break. Now, at last, Zhou Jin had the chance.

Her tone was composed. “Jiang Cheng — I value my life now. Please don’t disturb me or my family again.”

Jiang Cheng breathed hard several times, fighting down the pain. Then, gradually, the rigid line of his spine gave way, and he was left bracing himself against the wall with one arm.

When the fury burned out, what it left behind was a profound exhaustion.

“Zhou Jin, don’t do this to me…”

“I’ve said what I needed to say.”

Her eyes were cool and steady. She pulled herself free of him and walked toward the light.

She hadn’t gone far when she stopped and looked back.

“Tell me something — was it you yesterday who tipped people off that there was a cop tailing them inside the bar?”

She thought back to the previous night. Lai San’er had been sitting at the bar talking to the bartender. The glass in front of him was already empty — left behind by a previous customer, not yet cleared away.

The glass was a distinctive style. Even the color of the cocktail it had held was distinctive — the same as what Jiang Cheng had been drinking today.

And last night, the only person who had recognized her was Jiang Cheng.

He stood swallowed in the deep shadow, and said nothing.

Zhou Jin nodded. “I understand.”

Jiang Cheng had sent word through the bar that there was a police presence — likely just to get people to be careful. When the message reached Lai San’er, he had probably assumed it was ordinary patrol officers and thought he could lure one or two into the alley to rough up as a warning. He hadn’t anticipated walking into a trap of his own making.

She stepped out of Phoenix Fire. The sunlight was bright and clear, falling warm across her shoulders.

Tan Shiming was in the police vehicle, waving her over. “Zhou Jin — back to the unit. New lead.”

The police vehicles returned to the Major Crimes Unit one after another. The interrogation was still ongoing, without any significant breakthrough so far.

The Physical Evidence Examination Division had reached out, requesting someone come over. Tan Shiming needed to map out the next direction for the investigation, so he assigned Zhou Jin.

“Professor Jiang is over at the Physical Evidence Examination Division. Going forward, you’ll be the one coordinating with him.” Tan Shiming paused and tapped the desk with his fingers, his tone carrying a warning. “You stay on the Guan Ling case only. The 8·17 case has other people on it. That case carries significant implications — people up and down the chain are watching. You’re not the only one keeping tabs.”

Zhou Jin let it go in one ear and out the other. She waved a hand. “Understood.”

Understood was generous.

She clipped on her credentials and made her way to the Physical Evidence Examination Division.

Jiang Hansheng had arrived well ahead of her. He was dressed less formally than usual — white top, black trousers, his expression carrying an easy alertness that was rare to see. He sat quietly in a chair, working through case files and a portion of the physical evidence. Once he was absorbed in something, the focus that settled over him was total. Zhou Jin came through the door and he didn’t look up.

Zhou Jin pulled over a small plastic stool and sat down beside him. “Professor Jiang — find anything?”

Jiang Hansheng surfaced from his concentration. Seeing it was her, he let out a slightly resigned curve of his lips. “Have you eaten?”

“Not hungry.”

Jiang Hansheng glanced at the clock on the wall. “Come on, let’s get lunch. We can wait for the surveillance team’s results — the answer should come back soon.”

Zhou Jin registered that it was indeed mealtime, and that the afternoon was going to be demanding — she couldn’t go into it on an empty stomach. But she also felt self-conscious about making Jiang Hansheng eat takeout.

She thought it over. “Can you handle spicy food? There’s a Sichuan place nearby — it’s fairly clean. They also do boxed meals to go, and the team hasn’t eaten yet.”

Jiang Hansheng nodded. “Whatever works.”

They were immediately in agreement. Zhou Jin called Yu Dan at once and asked if she wanted food brought back.

Yu Dan was so exhausted she was yawning through the phone, clutching her coffee in a state of misery. “You’re a lifesaver. I’m about to collapse — I won’t bother being polite with Professor Jiang. Sorry for the trouble, could you bring—” she checked the headcount, “—nine portions?”

“Done,” Zhou Jin said.

She ended the call, stretched her arms overhead, and said, “Let’s go.”

“Zhou Jin.” Jiang Hansheng stopped her.

She looked back. “What?”

“A button — looks like one came off.” He reached out and gently tugged at her slightly open collar.

Zhou Jin’s mind went back to what had happened at Phoenix Fire. On instinct, she took a step back, pulling away from his hand.

Jiang Hansheng stilled. A few seconds of silence passed between them before he said, in a carefully ordinary tone, “Rough time out in the field?”

Zhou Jin decided to lie. “Yeah. Not sure how it happened. It’s nothing.”

He was the kind of person who could read the truth concealed beneath evidence. He was also the kind of person who shouldn’t have to read the fact that Zhou Jin was lying to him.

Jiang Hansheng’s gaze was briefly quiet and sharp — then it softened. He took her hand, and said quietly, “Be more careful from now on.”