Yu Dan came to give Zhou Jin a heads-up — apparently someone had filed a complaint, alleging that during the interrogation of Lai Zhengtian, Zhou Jin had engaged in leading questioning and coercing him into confessing to crimes.

Whether it was Lai Zhengtian himself who had filed the complaint, or whether it was an internal report, Yu Dan wasn’t entirely sure.

Tan Shiming was Zhou Jin’s mentor. He was strict with her in ordinary times — scolding and berating her was one thing — but the moment the suspension and investigation order came down, Tan Shiming was the first to rush to the bureau to explain on her behalf, saying that Zhou Jin’s participation in the interrogation had been his idea, and that if there was any responsibility to bear, it lay with him.

“Even though Old Tan wants to protect you, there’s only so much he can do,” Yu Dan said. “The good news is that it’s just a suspension pending review — whether you’ll actually face disciplinary action still depends on the outcome. It’ll definitely be fine.”

“Understood.”

After hanging up, Zhou Jin furrowed her brow deeply. She reflected for a long while but couldn’t figure out where things had gone wrong.

As far as she was concerned, this accusation was entirely baseless.

Tan Shiming had also been present during the interrogation. He was an experienced veteran detective, and if anything seriously improper had occurred during the process, he would have dragged her out and given her an earful long before it came to this.

In fact, even Tan Shiming found the whole thing baffling.

Jiang Hansheng noticed that she had gone completely silent, and asked, “What happened?”

Zhou Jin pressed her lips together. “I’ve been suspended. There’s going to be an investigation.”

Jiang Hansheng’s expression darkened slightly, as though something had occurred to him — but he quickly returned to his usual calm and said, “It’s fine. My salary is decent enough.”

“……”

Zhou Jin took a moment to process that, then suddenly burst out laughing. “Is that really the point right now?”

Seeing her laugh, Jiang Hansheng’s lips curved upward just slightly. Unlike Zhou Jin’s open laughter, Jiang Hansheng’s smile was restrained and understated — an expression rarely seen on his face.

Because of that one remark from Jiang Hansheng, the weight in Zhou Jin’s chest eased considerably.

She replied with a hint of playful mystery: “You’re lucky, running into me. I’m not much of a spender.”

“Mm.” Jiang Hansheng answered with complete sincerity. “I really am lucky.”

His seriousness, of all things, made Zhou Jin feel a little flustered. She lowered her head and went back to folding clothes.

Jiang Hansheng remained composed, diligently placing a thin, soft piece of black undergarment into the storage box.

Zhou Jin caught a glimpse of it. Her heart lurched, and her composure vanished in an instant. She snatched the entire storage box up into her arms at lightning speed. “I’ll put this away myself!”

Jiang Hansheng: “……”

By that afternoon, the movers had come upstairs and helped carry all the luggage down to the truck.

Zhou Jin stood at the doorway. The moment the entryway light went out, silence came rushing in. The evening sky had already turned the color of dusk; the living room was blanketed in the glow of the setting sun, faint motes of dust drifting and swaying in the rays of light.

The room was empty now. Only memories surged.

That, strangely enough, surprised her. So much time had passed, and she had not thought of him — yet now, on the verge of leaving, Jiang Cheng’s image rose up suddenly, vivid and sharp.

In the bathroom — open the door, and a billow of warm steam would roll out. She could almost see Jiang Cheng inside, water droplets tracing down along his handsome brows, the bathroom left in his usual state of complete chaos.

Jiang Cheng was hardly young, yet he still had a face like a boy’s — looking at her with sheepish embarrassment, laughing: “Xiao Wu, come here, wash my hair for me.”

His arm was still wrapped in bandages; he couldn’t raise it.

During the arrest operation, he had been the first to throw himself forward — not expecting that the suspect was carrying a weapon, and had turned and slashed him in one swift motion.

……

In the living room, Jiang Cheng was sprawled across the sofa, snoring loudly. She went over to drape a blanket over him. Without even opening his eyes, his mouth had already stretched into a grin — he grabbed her hand and yanked her down onto him.

Zhou Jin was annoyed by his antics. She drove her knee toward a vulnerable spot. Jiang Cheng was startled, but reacted with swift speed, blocking her and pinning her in a few smooth movements.

She was pressed into the sofa with Jiang Cheng behind her. He lowered his head and bit lightly at the back of her neck. “I taught you that, and you’re using it on me?”

Her face burned red. She cursed at him: “You scoundrel.”

Jiang Cheng laughed heartily. “Scoundrel I’ll admit to — but stinky? I’m not stinky. Officer Zhou is welcome to gather evidence.”

He gripped her shoulders and turned her to face him. When his chest pressed close, there was that particular scent of skin warmed long under the sun.

……

In the bedroom, she would open her eyes to find Jiang Cheng lying beside her. Half his face was buried in the pillow, one hand resting at her waist, his breathing slow and steady.

He had a handsome, bright face. Dark hair. Sleeping so soundly.

She remembered again — the first time Jiang Cheng had lain in this bed, holding her for a long, long time, before saying in a low voice: “Xiao Wu. I finally have a home of my own.”

His figure appeared in every corner her eyes fell upon, looking back at her.

“Xiao Wu, want to watch a horror movie?”

“Xiao Wu, come save a life — I think I’ve managed to kill the cactus on the balcony.”

“Xiao Wu, my head hurts.”

“Xiao Wu.”

……

……

“Zhou Jin.”

Jiang Hansheng’s cool, flat voice cut cleanly through her daze.

Zhou Jin’s breath caught. Her vision narrowed in an instant, contracting until it held only Jiang Hansheng’s face.

She came back to herself as though waking from a dream. She looked at him for a moment, then asked, “All done?”

Jiang Hansheng took her hand in his and said quietly, “Let’s go.”

Zhou Jin smiled, and did not look back again.

The door clicked shut behind them, sealing the apartment off from the outside world. A dead, heavy silence crept through the rooms like spreading vines.

……

The next day, Zhou Jin put on a pale blue shirt beneath her navy uniform and went to the Major Crimes Unit to see Tan Shiming.

Jiang Hansheng came with her. When Tan Shiming saw the two of them, he spoke to Jiang Hansheng first: “Deputy Director Yao has already arrived — he’s in the task force office.”

Jiang Hansheng gave a knowing nod. “Understood.”

Tan Shiming was inwardly a little puzzled.

Yao Weihai had arrived that very morning and immediately called a meeting to get a briefing on where the case currently stood. After the meeting, Tan Shiming had brought up the outside consultant that Major Crimes had brought on — and judging by Yao Weihai’s reaction, he seemed to have already heard of Jiang Hansheng beforehand.

Though that wasn’t particularly remarkable.

Jiang Hansheng had previously worked at the provincial department’s criminal research division, taking on numerous major and serious cases alongside his mentor. It was perfectly natural that Yao Weihai would have heard of him.

Tan Shiming didn’t think much more of it. He watched Jiang Hansheng head out, then leaned back in his chair and started in on Zhou Jin with mock contempt: “So they’ve finally got you this time.”

“……Mentor, can you please stop kicking me while I’m down.”

Tan Shiming said, “Cooperate with the investigation. You’ll be fine.”

Outside the door, Jiang Hansheng stood in silence, his expression still as still water.

From within the room, Zhou Jin’s voice drifted out, firm and clear. She was saying: “If I genuinely made errors in the course of my work — if I violated the discipline of the police force — I am willing to accept disciplinary action.”

“But if the investigation finds I was without fault, I would like to request immediate reinstatement so that I may participate in the investigation of the ‘8·17’ case.”

The darkness in his eyes deepened slightly. He turned and walked toward the task force office.

Two quiet knocks at the door. Yao Weihai called for him to enter.

He looked up, and saw a young man in a well-fitted suit — a lean and refined face, dark brows, dark eyes. Compared to the Jiang Hansheng who had worked at the provincial department five years ago, the man standing before him now appeared far more composed and self-contained.

Almost to the point of seeming cold.

Yao Weihai let out a quiet sigh. “So it really is you.”

Jiang Hansheng gave a nod in greeting. “Director Yao.”

Yao Weihai said, “Your mentor went to all that trouble to arrange for you to teach at Keda University — it was all to keep you safe. And now here you are again, coming back to investigate this case. Have you even considered how much risk you’d be taking on?”

Jiang Hansheng’s eyes were dark and still. “Running,” he answered, “will never be the solution.”