The kiss continued until both of them were breathless. Zhou Jin gradually slowed.

Her hands rested at Jiang Hansheng’s waist. She kept her eyes lightly closed and did not press the kiss deeper — only let their lips brush softly against each other.

At last, she gave his lower lip one firm, lingering pull before she finally ended it.

Jiang Hansheng’s lips, naturally thin and cool, had been kissed to a wet, vivid red. His long brows and eyes curved just slightly — and the effect was remarkably beautiful.

Seeing him smile, Zhou Jin felt a flush of embarrassment and tried to pull back.

Jiang Hansheng’s arm tightened and drew her back in. His gaze was sharp and bright, carrying a trace of cool, deliberate restraint.

Yet the more he restrained himself, the more plainly his desire showed.

Jiang Hansheng pressed a kiss to her and asked, “Are you jealous?”

Perhaps even he had not noticed how light and pleased his own voice sounded.

Zhou Jin had done no shortage of audacious things in her life, but throwing herself at someone like an octopus and kissing him forcefully — that was a first.

Her face had gone deep pink. She didn’t answer. Instead she reached out and wrapped her arms around him.

Like a drowning person clutching a piece of driftwood.

Zhou Jin pressed her face against his shirt, the tip of her nose catching the clean, pleasant scent that clung to him. She let her eyes fall closed. Something small and unnamed stirred inside her chest.

Jiang Hansheng’s hand moved to the back of her head, gently stroking her soft, dark short hair.

The sensation tickled through her hair — and the feeling traveled all the way to her heart.

She heard Jiang Hansheng say, in a tone full of quiet sincerity: “I’m very happy, Zhou Jin.”

Jiang Hansheng appeared, on the surface, to be a perfectly proper man — but he was not easily embarrassed. He stood in the corridor with his arms around Zhou Jin, and when people passed by, he showed no inclination whatsoever to let go.

Zhou Jin quickly grew self-conscious and squirmed slightly. “Alright, that’s enough…”

Jiang Hansheng paid her no mind and only pressed closer. “Not enough.”

Watching him act so unlike his usual composed and reserved self, Zhou Jin couldn’t help it — she wanted to laugh.

She laughed, and Jiang Hansheng’s expression softened with a hint of amusement as well, his warm breath spilling against the side of her neck.

The sensation tickled terribly. Zhou Jin arched away, dodging him. “Professor Jiang, if you keep this up it’ll count as assaulting a police officer.”

Just then, the ringtone on Zhou Jin’s phone broke through the moment.

“Phone call,” she said, signaling him.

Jiang Hansheng knew when to give way and reluctantly released her.

The caller was Zhao Ping. His usual easy-going drawl was nowhere to be found. “Senior, what the hell — I saw a ghost in broad daylight!”

“…”

The situation was too complicated to explain over the phone. Zhao Ping urged Zhou Jin to get back to the Major Crimes Unit right away, and specifically made a point of asking her to bring Jiang Hansheng as well, since Wang Pengzhe was also there.

Jiang Hansheng drove, and the two of them returned quickly.

When Zhao Ping saw them, he scratched his head and came straight to the point: “Didn’t you ask me to look into that car? I tracked down the owner, got hold of the dashcam footage, and it did catch the suspect’s full face.”

Zhou Jin immediately recognized this as a major breakthrough. “So have you confirmed the identity?”

Zhao Ping’s expression was one of pure dread. Even now, just thinking about it sent a chill crawling up the back of his neck.

“Confirmed,” he said. “Take a guess who it is.”

Zhou Jin raised an eyebrow. “Stop keeping me in suspense.”

Zhao Ping rubbed the tip of his nose. “The perpetrator behind a series of murders in Huaiguang City twenty years ago.”

Jiang Hansheng, who had come with them, went very still for a moment. “Who?”

Zhao Ping: “Qi Yan.”

Because the dashcam had captured a clear frontal image of the suspect, such a major breakthrough had prompted Zhao Ping to report the matter first to the unit chief, Tan Shiming — and of course to Wang Pengzhe, who had been following this case.

The moment Wang Pengzhe saw the photograph, his expression changed. “How is that possible?” The words came out before he could stop them.

He had recognized this as the perpetrator behind the old Huaiguang serial murder case and briefly filled the Major Crimes investigators in on the details.

Wang Pengzhe told the unit that five years ago, the “8·17” case had dragged the old Huaiguang crimes back into the light. The Provincial Department’s Criminal Research Division had moved swiftly to crack the serial murder case, with Yao Weihai personally leading the team to arrest Qi Yan.

During the arrest, Qi Yan had resisted and refused to surrender. The police had ultimately opened fire, and he was killed on the spot.

Wang Pengzhe did not mention Jiang Hansheng’s name.

He did not mention that Qi Yan’s body had been struck by four bullets in total. He did not mention that Jiang Hansheng had fired three shots at Qi Yan without a moment’s hesitation — straight through his chest — and that the final shot had landed squarely between his brows.

The only thing Wang Pengzhe confirmed to the members of the Major Crimes Unit was this: “Qi Yan died five years ago.”

The more Zhao Ping heard, the colder he felt. He turned to Wang Pengzhe to make sure: “Director Wang, you haven’t mistaken him for someone else? This is really that killer?”

The lighting in the footage had been poor, and the image of the suspect was not entirely sharp or clear.

Wang Pengzhe took a drag of his rolled cigarette, his expression dark and heavy. “That little bastard could be burned to ashes and mixed in with rotting fish and meat, and I’d still pick out his stench. I haven’t mistaken him.”

Zhao Ping: “…”

Director Wang’s way of insulting people was truly something else.

Jiang Hansheng stood before the screen in the conference room.

The footage playing showed a man steadying Chen Xiaoyu with his arm around her as they passed in front of a vehicle.

The man’s features carried a cold, unsettling kind of beauty — most of his face was concealed in shadow — but the corners of his eyes and brows held a hint of a smile, and at first glance his appearance seemed remarkably gentle and approachable.

If one had never truly encountered this person, it would be difficult to connect him in any way with the words “killer.”

Wang Pengzhe sat in one of the chairs at the back, hands clasped together, and asked: “My eyes aren’t playing tricks on me, are they?”

The conference room was completely silent.

After a long pause, Jiang Hansheng said quietly: “No.”

Wang Pengzhe said: “I believe in science. I don’t believe in ghosts.”

Of course, there was one other possibility — that a copycat killer’s admiration for Qi Yan had reached the point of obsession. That he was faithfully replicating Qi Yan’s methods step by step, reconstructing the original crime scenes, and had even altered his own appearance to resemble Qi Yan.

But the mere thought that a piece of filth like Qi Yan could inspire such fanatical devotion made Wang Pengzhe prefer to believe in ghosts.

Jiang Hansheng asked: “Has the footage been tampered with?”

The killer had already been careful enough to deliberately avoid every surveillance camera in the vicinity. Whether he had accidentally stumbled into the dashcam’s range, or whether it had been intentional — whether he had wanted the police to see his face — that remained an open question.

Wang Pengzhe answered: “The technical division went over it. No tampering.”

Jiang Hansheng was silent for a long time. Not a flicker of emotion crossed his face. His conviction did not waver in the slightest. “It’s not Qi Yan.”

Jiang Hansheng was the most qualified person to make that judgment with certainty — because Qi Yan had died by his hand.

After Zhou Jin arrived at the Major Crimes Unit, she and Zhao Ping made a stop at the forensics division first. They returned a short while later with an examination report.

When they came back to the conference room, both Zhou Jin and Zhao Ping wore expressions of unusual gravity.

Zhou Jin turned to Wang Pengzhe. “Director Wang, the forensic examiners recovered a semen sample from the victim Chen Xiaoyu’s body. It was matched against the DNA database. It has been confirmed as belonging to Qi Yan.”

The weight in Jiang Hansheng’s chest deepened. He slowly closed his fingers together.

Wang Pengzhe, upon hearing this, let out a short, sharp breath. “The man just refuses to rest,” he muttered.