The icy rain struck Jiang Cheng across the bridge of his nose. Icier still were his eyes.

The black umbrella spun once in his grip — and he drove a savage kick straight into Jiang Hansheng’s abdomen.

Jiang Hansheng had no time to react. He hit the ground with a crash, muddy rainwater erupting in all directions. The brutal, thudding pain stripped him of movement for a short while. He gritted his teeth and was just pushing himself up when —

Jiang Cheng threw off his jacket, tossed it aside, and launched himself forward with the speed and agility of a wolf!

He seized Jiang Hansheng by the collar, pulled back his fist, and slammed it into his face with everything he had. “You — do you hear me when I speak to you or not?!”

Jiang Hansheng took two direct blows from Jiang Cheng, then drove the umbrella sideways under Jiang Cheng’s armpit, bracing against the raw force bearing down on him. In that instant, Jiang Cheng registered that Jiang Hansheng had absolutely had combat training — and sure enough, his dark eyes sharpened, and the moment Jiang Cheng’s guard slipped, he threw his full strength into a reversal.

Jiang Cheng was instantly pinned to the ground. Jiang Hansheng closed his fist and drove two punches back into him without hesitation.

Between ragged, animal breaths, Jiang Hansheng said again: “You have no standing.”

The two of them fought savagely in the rain — each blow landing on flesh, the sounds dull and rapid, sharp enough to set the heart lurching.

As they grappled, both rolling up from the ground, Jiang Cheng knew Jiang Hansheng had been recently injured. He concentrated his attack on the right arm.

The pain was fierce enough that Jiang Hansheng couldn’t hold back a stifled grunt, and the strength in his right hand dropped sharply. The veins along Jiang Cheng’s bared forearm stood out in sharp relief as he seized the advantage — sweeping around behind Jiang Hansheng, throwing his arm across his throat in a brutal chokehold.

Jiang Hansheng’s instinct was to reach up and pry at his arm. But within a second or two, something caught Jiang Cheng’s eye, and his grip abruptly slackened. Jiang Hansheng reacted instantly — before the hold could tighten again, he grabbed Jiang Cheng’s arm and threw him over his shoulder in a powerful throw.

Neither had gained the upper hand. Jiang Cheng climbed back up from the ground. Both of them were soaked through and caked in mud, in a wretched state.

On Jiang Cheng’s left hand, his ring finger caught a faint gleam — he looked clearly. It was a wedding band, the style as plain and simple as could be.

A desperate, furious anger took hold of Jiang Cheng. He spat a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the ground, his handsome face set into something ferocious, eyes fixed on Jiang Hansheng: “Why did it have to be Zhou Jin?”

Jiang Hansheng wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve. He didn’t have Jiang Cheng’s raw aggression — he remained composed, his voice low: “It was always her.”

Jiang Cheng stared straight at him, and fragments of memory began flashing unbidden through his mind — a schoolbag with its straps slashed, a child locked out on the other side of a door, and Zhou Jin’s voice: “Remember my name. Nobody will dare bully you anymore.”

The memories weren’t sharp, but they were enough.

Jiang Cheng clenched his jaw, forcing out a guess: “All because she was kind to you once?”

The cold darkness in Jiang Hansheng’s eyes softened, almost imperceptibly. Then he gave a small nod.

“Damn.” Jiang Cheng bit the word out through his teeth — anger in it, and something almost absurd.

The anger was for the reality standing in front of him. The absurdity was for the reason itself, which seemed, in his view, utterly preposterous.

What did that small kindness even amount to?

Jiang Cheng would never be able to accept it. Because Zhou Jin’s kindness toward Jiang Hansheng — the kind he was now speaking of — was something Jiang Cheng had long since taken completely for granted. In his eyes, it had never been anything remarkable.

Zhou Jin was simply like that. It wasn’t only Jiang Hansheng — she was incapable of turning away from anyone who needed her. Jiang Cheng had never given it a second thought.

And now, staring at Jiang Hansheng’s expressionless, sharp-featured face, a question tore through him relentlessly — how had he never given it a second thought?

Jiang Hansheng held his trembling right arm steady and replied: “You were the one who let her go.”

Jiang Cheng: “What the hell do you know! That’s between me and her!”

Behind Jiang Cheng, headlights swept through the rain. Three or four men stepped out of a black car. One of them moved forward to hold an umbrella over Jiang Cheng while keeping his gaze fixed on Jiang Hansheng not far away.

“Cheng-ge, what happened?”

Jiang Cheng weathered it through gritted teeth, taking one more look at the ring on Jiang Hansheng’s hand, then said: “Nothing. Just ran into a lunatic.”

Jiang Cheng pushed the wet hair back from his face, exposing his forehead where the heat of exertion was still rising. The sharpness in his eyes, no longer obscured by anything, cut more keenly than before.

He said: “You’ve got nerve. Let’s see how this plays out.”

That same day, Zhou Jin went first to Huang Mao’s home, where she found Guan Ling’s suitcase on top of the wardrobe. Inside were only ordinary clothes — nothing unusual.

She went on to search Guan Ling’s residence and still couldn’t find any useful lead pointing to whatever leverage Guan Ling had supposedly held over Lai Zhengtian.

What she did find, however, was two small lines of writing on the wall beside Guan Ling’s bed — in a spot that could be read simply by rolling over while lying down: “As long as you have the will, it’s never too late. People can always start over.”

Zhou Jin ran her fingers over the words, and breathed out a sigh — barely there, almost nothing.

She thought: Guan Ling’s life had been right on the verge of starting over. And then a single bullet had cut it short.

Wasn’t it the same with her brother, Zhou Chuan? He had been so close to getting married — stepping into the next Steel Forest – Chapter of his life.

One bullet. That was all it took to sever a life, to steal away someone who mattered so profoundly with such devastating ease.

“……”

Zhou Jin absently wiped her eyes, and sat up from the bed. Zhao Ping drifted over and noticed her reddened eyes. “Shijie, are you alright?” he asked quietly.

Zhou Jin shook her head to signal she was fine.

Zhao Ping said: “Time to take Huang Song to identify the scene.”

Zhou Jin stood, composing herself quickly. “Let’s go.”

The serious crimes unit took Huang Mao to identify the primary crime scene. Huang Song also dug back up the bullet casing he had buried earlier. After forensic comparison, it was confirmed to be from the same service pistol.

When the complete and airtight chain of evidence was laid before Lai Zhengtian, he snapped. His face twisted with rage as he pounded the walls of the interrogation room, screaming: “Huang Mao, you actually betrayed me! You dare betray me!”

Two officers quickly restrained Lai Zhengtian.

His eyes were shot through with red. The long resistance he had sustained collapsed entirely in that single moment.

Tan Shiming rapped the table. “Lai Zhengtian. You still have the opportunity to demonstrate cooperation.”

Lai Zhengtian slowly raised his head and looked toward Tan Shiming.

“Answer me. Where did you hide the service pistol? Where did you acquire it, and how was the contact made? As long as you’re willing to cooperate and assist with the investigation going forward, your conduct will be taken into account at trial when sentencing is considered.”

On the other side of the one-way glass, Zhou Jin had her fingers wound tightly together, her breath held still.

Time passed, one second at a time. Lai Zhengtian asked for a cigarette. Tan Shiming granted the request without delay, and they waited in silence while he smoked it down to nothing.

At last, he spoke: “I didn’t know it was a service pistol.” Lai Zhengtian ground the stub out hard and leaned back, the energy gone from his voice. “I found that gun. Picked it up.”

A crack of sound — Tan Shiming drove his fist into the table. “Lai Zhengtian!” he shouted. “You don’t have unlimited chances. You’d better think very carefully!”

Lai Zhengtian chose silence.

Zhou Jin’s heart plummeted. She closed her eyes in despair.

All this effort, all this time — and now the thread leading to the “8·17” case had snapped again.