It was the height of the evening rush hour. The headlights of countless vehicles stretched on without end, like a river of stars spilled across the earth.

There were only two people in the car — Wang Pengzhe and Zhou Jin.

Wang Pengzhe was a natural conversationalist, and Zhou Jin was nothing like the tight-lipped Jiang Hansheng. The two of them, one old and one young, found themselves getting along remarkably well.

At one point, Wang Pengzhe asked her: “You’ve been in the force for quite a few years now, haven’t you?”

Zhou Jin answered: “I graduated from the Jingzhou Police Academy. I started out at a neighborhood-level station, then was transferred to the Public Order Brigade, and only moved to the Major Crimes Unit a few years ago.”

Wang Pengzhe nodded thoughtfully.

For Zhou Jin to have made it into the Major Crimes Unit at her age, she must have put in an enormous amount of hard work and sacrifice.

Her transition from public order work to criminal investigation — the reason behind it was something Wang Pengzhe did not need to guess at. It almost certainly had to do with the death of her brother, Zhou Chuan.

Wang Pengzhe recalled that five years ago, when Yao Weihai had asked him to assist with the “8·17” investigation, he had passed along the files on both Zhou Chuan and Li Jingbo.

Zhou Chuan had left a strong impression on him.

Yao Weihai had once said that if the young man had not died in the line of duty, he would have been promoted to deputy captain of the Haizhou Special Ops Unit before long.

Zhou Jin’s eyes and brows resembled her brother’s somewhat.

She was tall, and held her own easily among the group of powerfully built men in the unit. Her shoulders and waist were slender, but they seemed to contain a kind of strength that resisted easy definition — giving even that distinctly feminine slimness the tenacious vitality of wild grass growing through concrete.

Warm, upright, and full of life.

Wang Pengzhe quietly marveled to himself. No wonder Jiang Hansheng had never been able to stop thinking about this young woman.

The car moved past the most congested stretch of road. Zhou Jin glanced up and caught a glimpse of Wang Pengzhe in the rearview mirror.

She hesitated for a moment before she spoke. “Director Wang — regarding the Huaiguang serial murder case… is it true that even police personnel outside the dedicated task force aren’t permitted to know the details of the case?”

Wang Pengzhe said: “That case was closed long ago. Strictly speaking, once the confidential phase of a criminal investigation has passed, there’s nothing that can’t be discussed. But because this case became entangled with the ‘8·17’ matter, and because of concerns for the safety of certain informants, it was never made public.”

Zhou Jin asked: “When you say informant — are you referring to Hansheng?”

Wang Pengzhe was mildly surprised. “He told you that? Well, better that you know than don’t know.”

“Hansheng isn’t at the Provincial Department anymore, and there’s a lot he can’t easily talk about openly — so I only have a rough picture,” Zhou Jin said. “Director Wang, my brother Zhou Chuan was one of the special unit officers who died during ‘8·17.’ If it’s possible, I’d like to learn more about the details of both cases.”

The night Jiang Hansheng had drunk himself into a state, he had been vague and noncommittal in what he said. Zhou Jin had suspected he was not at liberty to share too much, and not wanting to put him in a difficult position, she had decided to go straight to Wang Pengzhe instead.

She said: “Beyond what you said in the meeting — were there any other notable aspects? For example, did Qi Yan demonstrate any particular hostility toward the police as a group in the Huaiguang serial murder case?”

Hearing this, Wang Pengzhe understood at once. She was asking because of Zhou Chuan.

Wang Pengzhe said: “Hostility toward the police?”

Zhou Jin: “Yes.”

Wang Pengzhe said: “Of course he hated them. How else do you think Hansheng was able to lure him in?”

Zhou Jin’s expression went blank.

Seeing her reaction — or rather, her lack of one — Wang Pengzhe’s brow furrowed involuntarily. “You didn’t know?”

Zhou Jin said: “He never told me that.”

“…”

Wang Pengzhe closed his eyes briefly.

It was not surprising. Knowing Jiang Hansheng’s character, even if he had tried to be honest with Zhou Jin, he would have told her half and kept the other half to himself.

How could he have told her?

Told her how many needles — fine as threads of hair — the doctors had extracted from his body? Or how many doses of drugs Qi Yan, that vile creature, had injected into him?

No one truly knew how Jiang Hansheng had clawed his way back from the edge of death.

And the very first thing he had done upon waking was to grip Wang Pengzhe’s hand and ask: “Don’t tell my father. I don’t want him to worry.”

Wang Pengzhe had looked at Jiang Hansheng lying in that hospital bed — barely recognizable as himself — and the tears had come before he could stop them.

When Wang Pengzhe spoke again, his voice had dropped considerably.

“Zhou Jin,” he said, “Jiang Hansheng gave up his entire future for the ‘8·17’ case — and he very nearly left his life in Qi Yan’s hands. None of this — he never let you know any of it?”

Zhou Jin went completely still.

“Red light,” Wang Pengzhe said.

Zhou Jin hit the brakes without hesitation. The car came to an abrupt stop just before the white line. A brief, startled silence filled the air, and then she lifted her gaze, staring blankly at the traffic signal.

Seeing her reaction, Wang Pengzhe understood with perfect clarity. He already had his answer.

He continued, his tone gentle and measured: “You know that Chen Li, the one who originally turned himself in, was just a scapegoat — right?”

Zhou Jin was at a loss for a moment, and it took her a while to collect herself before she replied: “I know.”

“So the Huaiguang serial murder case from twenty years ago — it was a wrongful conviction all along. And getting the investigation reopened was no simple matter at all…”

At the time, given the gravity of the Huaiguang case, elite investigators had been drawn from multiple units to take part, and the matter had involved the city’s Public Security Bureau, the Procuratorate, and several other agencies besides.

Years had passed since then. Of the people involved, many had since risen to senior positions.

Once the investigation was reopened and the wrongful conviction overturned — once the truth was returned to the world — there would inevitably be a full reckoning for every individual who had played a role at the time.

Would they be willing to allow that?

Any attempt to begin from the Huaiguang serial murder case would put Wang Pengzhe under enormous pressure.

If only his own future were at stake, that would have been one thing. But the careers of so many young people in the Criminal Research Division rested in his hands. Without a sufficient degree of certainty, he had not felt able to take that great a risk.

It was while Wang Pengzhe was weighing everything repeatedly that Jiang Hansheng stepped forward.

He still remembered that day. It was also a rainy season like this one. The sky hung low and overcast, and the wind drove dark, rolling clouds in from the far edge of the sky.

A storm was brewing.

Jiang Hansheng pushed open his office door of his own accord.

The upright, striking quality he carried was the kind particular to the young. He planted both hands on the desk and looked up with an expression that spoke of someone who had already made up his mind to burn his bridges behind him.

He said: “I know what it is you’re worried about, sir.”

Jiang Hansheng was perceptive, and had been following the developments of the “8·17” case closely all along. There was much of the tangled, complicated history that he had understood without Wang Pengzhe ever needing to explain it.

Wang Pengzhe had understood in kind. He tilted his head away and refused to look at him squarely. “This is none of your concern. I haven’t given you permission to continue participating in the investigation. Get out, and close the door behind you.”

Jiang Hansheng paid him no mind. “I’ll submit a petition in my own name to the Provincial High Procuratorate, requesting that the Huaiguang case be reinvestigated.”

Wang Pengzhe’s brow snapped together. “Are you incapable of understanding what I’m saying to you? Now is not the time for you to be putting yourself forward like this!”

The force of his own emotion had been too sharp — and the moment the reprimand was out, he felt a flicker of regret.

But Jiang Hansheng held firm, and said quietly: “Sir, I’m not trying to put myself forward.”