Although the case of Guan Ling’s murder could be considered settled, the larger “8·17” case that lay behind it remained shrouded in fog.
The Major Crimes Unit received an unexpected notice: the higher authorities had made new arrangements regarding the investigation of the “8·17” case.
The specific reasons and details of the change were not yet clear, but the city bureau had named names — the “8·17” case would continue to be handled exclusively by the former special task force leader, Yao Weihai, with the Major Crimes Unit providing full cooperation.
Worried that once Yao Weihai descended upon the Major Crimes Unit he might exclude her from the next phase of operations, Zhou Jin got ahead of things by sounding out Tan Shiming first.
Tan Shiming said, “The specific arrangements will depend on Deputy Director Yao’s wishes. Just remember — from here on, you follow orders without question. Your master could cover for you before, but things are different now.”
Zhou Jin pressed her lips together lightly. Thinking of Yao Weihai, she had no choice but to comply.
Just as she was about to leave, Tan Shiming suddenly called out to her and asked, “Xiao Jin, that Jiang Cheng — was he your former…?”
Tan Shiming had been transferred to the Haizhou City Major Crimes Unit only after Yao Weihai’s promotion, so he had never met Jiang Cheng in person — he had only heard rumors about the Zhou Family’s affairs.
Zhou Jin gave a small nod. “It was him.”
“Something this significant — why didn’t you tell me in advance?”
“He and I have nothing to do with each other anymore,” Zhou Jin said. “His appearance won’t affect my work, so I didn’t think there was any need to report it.”
Tan Shiming looked at her — that face full of wariness, as though she was terrified of having her competence questioned and dismissed again.
He couldn’t help but chuckle, his manner unusually warm and generous. “You’re a married woman now, yet you haven’t an ounce of composure. Professor Jiang ought to keep a tighter rein on you.”
Zhou Jin grumbled at him, “Why are you acting like a fussy old mother hen?”
Tan Shiming couldn’t help glaring at her. “And since when do you talk back?”
Seeing the look on his face, Zhou Jin greased her heels and slipped away on the spot.
Tan Shiming’s smile slowly faded. He watched Zhou Jin’s slender figure retreat into the distance and let out a long sigh.
He thought of that powerfully imposing man inside the Phoenix Flame Bar. Tan Shiming had a vague recollection that this former son-in-law of the Zhou Family had once been a truly outstanding figure within the police force.
No wonder Jiang Cheng had handled himself with such effortless ease during his interrogation that day.
What a waste — someone who, given a different past, should have become a comrade-in-arms, was now the most troublesome of enemies.
By the time Zhou Jin actually returned home, it was already noon of the following day. She hadn’t gone to Jiang Hansheng’s apartment; instead, she went back to the place where she had lived before her marriage.
Fighting off sleep with sheer willpower, she forced herself to shower first. The moment she stepped out of the bathroom, she made straight for the refrigerator, cracked open a can of ice-cold beer, and threw her head back, draining it in one go.
She let out a long, slow breath and half-reclined onto the sofa, rubbing her hair dry with a towel in a haphazard, careless way. She opened her phone — the lock screen wallpaper was a photo of her and her brother Zhou Chuan.
She had looked at it so many times over the years without paying it much mind, yet today, she couldn’t say why, but her gaze landed squarely on Zhou Chuan’s face — frozen still in that captured moment, unable to move, unable to smile.
Zhou Jin closed her eyes and draped her arm across them. Drowsiness slowly rose from the darkness, washing over her in waves.
It was something like a dream. When she was very small, a young Zhou Chuan stood at the side of the road — his features clear and open, his expression, as always, gentle and unhurried.
The moment she spotted him, she went tearing toward him at a sprint, launching herself through the air. Zhou Chuan spread his arms wide and caught her, swept her up into his embrace, then set her down steadily and securely beneath a streetlamp.
Zhou Jin was the first to leap — and the children behind her followed her lead, one after another flinging themselves at Zhou Chuan. He laughed loudly, patiently lining them up one by one along the roadside like a row of little radishes.
The streetlamps were bright in the night, bright enough to see the snowflakes drifting through the rings of light.
She reached up to take his hand, and asked him in a small voice, “Brother, are you about to leave?”
Zhou Chuan casually patted her on the head, his lips curving as he was just about to say something — when suddenly a gunshot rang out with a sharp crack, and scalding blood splattered across her face in a violent rush — !
Zhou Jin’s eyes flew open as she jolted awake from the nightmare!
Her chest heaved violently. She gasped in rapid, shallow breaths, trying to ease the fright that had not yet fully ebbed. It took quite a while before her scattered thoughts gradually came back together.
The back of her neck was ice-cold — drenched in cold sweat. She pressed her hand over her eyes, and only then, through the ringing in her ears, did she make out the shrill insistence of her phone ringing.
She pressed answer. Almost immediately, the other person’s voice came through — slightly low and unhurried — asking, “Where are you? Do you need me to come pick you up?”
It was Jiang Hansheng.
Zhou Jin had slept until the world felt upside down. She glanced at the window and only now realized it was already deep into the night. It took her a long moment to gather herself before she replied, “I needed to change clothes, so I came back to my place. Don’t worry about me — get some rest early.”
“…”
“Jiang Hansheng?”
“Alright.”
Before Zhou Jin could respond, the dial tone cut in. Zhou Jin sensed something was off, turned over on the sofa, and lay there trying to figure out what it was — but couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
Sleep was out of the question now. Zhou Jin didn’t dare try either, afraid of falling back into that nightmare.
She pulled another can of beer from the refrigerator, dug out her tablet, and began browsing for a film to watch. She scrolled back and forth without finding anything that caught her interest. She wasn’t sure how it happened, but her mind drifted to that novel Jiang Hansheng always read before falling asleep.
She tapped at the tablet screen and typed in “The Lord of the Rings,” thinking to herself: Let me get better acquainted with Professor Jiang’s leisure pursuits.
The film hadn’t even had a chance to draw her in when there was a sudden knock at the door. Zhou Jin rarely had visitors to begin with — let alone in the dead of night. She was cautious by instinct, and peered out through the peephole — her heart gave a startled leap, and she quickly pulled the door open.
She looked up, and there was Jiang Hansheng’s face. “How did you—?”
The light in the corridor was faint, flowing along the clean, lean lines of his tall, slender frame. Zhou Jin noticed the red-purple bruising along the side of his cheek and the corner of his mouth, striking against skin as white as tempered jade — the sight made her heart clench.
She didn’t even think to ask what had brought him here. She raised her hand toward his face. “What happened to you?”
The wrist she’d lifted was caught and held fast by Jiang Hansheng. In that instant, Zhou Jin very nearly lost herself in the depths of his dark eyes — dazed, she let herself be guided backward through the doorway.
The door swung shut. Jiang Hansheng still carried the cool dampness of the outside air on him, mingled with that distinctively clear, crisp scent that was his alone — the two rushed over Zhou Jin together.
Right there in the entryway, he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up onto the cabinet. He pressed into the space between her legs, drawing closer against her.
Jiang Hansheng braced one hand against the back of her neck, his fingers slowly threading into her hair, as he kissed her — heated and unrestrained.
Zhou Jin turned her head slightly to the side, pulling away from him. Jiang Hansheng’s spine went rigid, and he stopped short in an instant.
He thought she didn’t like it. Something sank in his chest, yet his arms tightened around her legs all the more, and he didn’t let go.
Zhou Jin’s face was flushed crimson. She pressed her knuckles lightly against her lips and said, “I’ve been drinking.”
Jiang Hansheng brushed the hair away from beside her ear, held her gaze — those bright, luminous eyes — for a moment, then lowered his head as though to bite her ear.
The room was so quiet. Nothing but the sound of two people breathing, two heartbeats. Lips, cool and barely-there, grazed her skin in whisper-light touches.
Zhou Jin shivered, her thoughts scattering. “Jiang Hansheng…”
His lips pressed against the spot just below her earlobe. He said, “Move in with me. Come live with me — alright?”
“I haven’t had the time lately.” Zhou Jin tried to pull back a little, wanting to look at Jiang Hansheng’s face and talk this through with him properly.
Jiang Hansheng held her waist firm, not allowing her to move. It was the first time he had spoken to her with such sharp directness: “I don’t like you living here.”
Here — the place she had once shared with Jiang Cheng.