Considering that the suspect likely had firearms in his possession, the Major Crimes Unit, while setting up their surveillance net, had also called in Special Forces support.

Tan Shiming had emphasized repeatedly that since the bar was open for business, the situation on the ground would be extremely complex — under no circumstances were they to fire their weapons unless absolutely necessary.

For this mission, he had originally not planned to have Zhou Jin participate.

But Zhou Jin’s stance was resolute. She removed her gun and credentials and pressed them down onto Tan Shiming’s desk, declaring: “Even if you strip me of my rank, I’m still going. Unless you handcuff me right now!”

When Zhou Jin had first joined the Major Crimes Unit, her father, Old Zhou, had given Tan Shiming a heads-up: “This daughter of mine isn’t easy to manage — feel free to scold her, dress her down, don’t go easy on her.”

Tan Shiming hadn’t gone easy on her. But as it turned out, Zhou Jin, working under him, was both willing to endure hardship and quick to learn — whatever he asked of her, she carried out without a single complaint. By any measure, she was an outstanding student.

Only now did he truly understand what “not easy to manage” actually meant.

Tan Shiming was already a stubborn old thing — and he’d gone and run into Zhou Jin, who was an even more stubborn young thing than he was.

Tan Shiming: “…Why didn’t I just slap you back to your hometown when I had the chance?”

A smile drifted across Zhou Jin’s eyes and brows. “Too late to regret it now.”

……

Jiang Hansheng found it difficult to concentrate on his work. He decided to give up, tossed aside the paper he’d been working on, and turned to face Zhou Jin, who stood before the mirror.

“Are you sure you’ll be fine?” he asked.

Zhou Jin bent down, fingers hooking around the strap of her high heels, and answered with casual indifference: “My mentor won’t let me directly participate in the arrest — I’m only responsible for going room by room through the private booths to search. If I spot the suspect, I notify the operations team immediately.”

She straightened up, looking more slender and tall than ever. She wore a long black dress, with thin spaghetti straps resting on her shoulders, her delicate, beautiful collarbones on full display.

She said: “Don’t worry, there’s no danger.”

After a brief pause, Jiang Hansheng spoke: “The outfit — is that for the mission?”

Zhou Jin raised an eyebrow. “Of course. It’s not like I can walk in wearing a police uniform, can I?” She paused, then broke into a grin, crossed her arms in a half-joking manner, and teased: “…Professor Jiang, if I may ask — have you ever been to a nightclub?”

Jiang Hansheng seemed to let out a quiet sigh of indeterminate meaning, his gaze shifting away from her. “No.”

No smoking, no drinking, no vices of any kind.

“So what do you do for fun? People in a career as exhausting as ours still find time to play team gaming competitions with officers from other units.”

Jiang Hansheng replied: “Read.”

“…”

Zhou Jin pressed her lips together in a slightly deflated expression, suppressing a smile. “Oh. Quite the rich personal life.”

Zhou Jin stood in the entryway confirming the operation’s timing.

Jiang Hansheng glanced out the window at the evening sky and reminded her: “Take an umbrella — there’s one in the cabinet.”

He thought for a moment, then decided he’d better fetch it for her himself.

The cabinet where the spare umbrella was kept was mounted in the wall above and behind Zhou Jin. Jiang Hansheng reached up to open it, his chest unconsciously drawing close to Zhou Jin.

Zhou Jin felt the warm trace of his presence, and felt a little uneasy. She tilted her head up — and met Jiang Hansheng’s dark, ink-black brows and eyes directly.

The atmosphere became suddenly, indistinctly charged with something unspoken.

Her neckline was cut perhaps a little too low. Jiang Hansheng could easily see her clean, fair skin, the taut lines of her chest, and beneath the hem of the dress, her long, straight legs.

Though her personality still blazed and rushed about like a young girl’s, Jiang Hansheng understood clearly — what stood before him was a woman’s body.

His throat moved as he swallowed. His breathing grew heavy, his gaze burning, almost scorching against Zhou Jin’s skin.

Without quite knowing why, he understood this was a moment — a chance to make his appeal to her: “Zhou Jin, from now on, let’s live together. What do you say?”

“I need you.”

……

Phoenix Fire Bar.

Zhou Jin sat at the edge of the bar counter. The raucous music shook at the chambers of one’s heart; the dance floor swayed with a colorful crowd of men and women — chaotic, clamorous. Yet she couldn’t take any of it in.

Her gaze fixed on the bartender’s swinging arms, her thoughts entirely elsewhere.

She thought of Jiang Hansheng’s eyes — so still, so focused. A faint, tingling sensation still lingered at the tips of her ears, a feeling that wouldn’t fade. It was Jiang Hansheng’s cool breath that had drifted down toward her —

“I need you.”

“…………”

A test signal came through the tiny Bluetooth earpiece in her right ear. Zhou Jin propped her forehead in one hand and exhaled a long breath. “Zhou Jin, focus — focus on the job!”

According to the manager’s description, Lai San’er had a highly conspicuous dragon-head tattoo on his arm that wound all the way up to his neck.

Since the possibility that Lai San’er had already fled to evade arrest could not be ruled out, this search operation, beyond apprehending Lai San’er, also aimed to bring in the owner of Phoenix Fire — Lai San’er’s cousin — for questioning.

The owner of Phoenix Fire was called He Wu. He was notorious in this part of town; anyone who saw him would call out a respectful “Boss He.”

Rumor had it the businesses under his hand were far from clean. The police had had their eye on him many times, yet had never managed to find concrete evidence of criminal activity.

Lai San’er had in his possession a service weapon stolen during the “8·17 Major Case.” The Major Crimes Unit had no choice but to suspect that his cousin He Wu was aware of the matter of the firearm.

Tan Shiming had emphasized repeatedly: “Once you spot the target individuals, do not act rashly under any circumstances. You must wait for backup before moving to subdue the suspect.”

The plainclothes officers mingling inside the bar had already begun their sweep.

Zhou Jin picked up a glass of liquor from the bar counter, dipped her fingers into it, and lightly dabbed her neck two or three times. Then she walked straight up to the third floor.

She swayed slightly, pretending to be drunk and to have stumbled into the wrong private booth — using that as cover to scout out the situation.

There weren’t many patrons on the third floor. Others were disguised as servers delivering fruit platters, and in less than ten minutes, the entire floor had been essentially cleared. No target found.

Zhou Jin followed instructions and headed downstairs, continuing her sweep from the second-floor corner toward the stairwell entrance.

The second floor was noticeably livelier — people came and went constantly through the corridor.

Zhou Jin proceeded with greater caution. Since she couldn’t enter and exit the private booths too frequently, she could only steal a quick glance whenever a crowd passed through.

At that moment, ahead of her stood two girls walking hand in hand. They had stopped just outside the restroom, as though they’d spotted something — leaning in to peer inside with startled expressions.

From within the restroom came the dull, muffled thuds of fists and feet striking flesh, and beneath the smother of the music, suppressed cries of pain that made one’s blood run cold.

The more timid of the two girls tugged at her friend, urging her to leave, whispering urgently: “Don’t look — it’s none of our business, don’t get involved.”

They hurried away. As they brushed past Zhou Jin, their eyes met hers for just an instant.

Zhou Jin saw it clearly — the deep, unmistakable terror in their eyes.

The restroom door hadn’t even been closed.

Two or three powerfully built men were beating a yellow-haired teenage boy who lay crumpled on the floor — punching and kicking him without mercy.

The boy howled in agony, begging for mercy. A vicious kick landed squarely in his solar plexus, and his cry choked off in a sharp intake of breath.

The boy could no longer scream. With a dull, wet sound, he spat out a mouthful of blood. His pupils began to lose focus; half-delirious, he murmured: “Brother Cheng, Brother Cheng… have mercy on me… I won’t dare again… I won’t…”

They pinned him down.

One of the men gritted his teeth. “Brother Cheng, let’s just cut off one of his hands — see if he dares pull this again.”

He was seeking instruction from a man.

That man was leaning against the window, smoking with a leisurely, unhurried air.

Outside the window, vivid neon light flickered and reflected inward. His tall, imposing figure loomed like a shadow that would not dissolve, draped over the spine of something small and insignificant.

He stood there, his posture impeccably straight — as though years of discipline had carved it into him. And though that shadow was dark, so utterly dark, no one could simply disregard him.

The man idly toyed with a lighter — clicking it open with a sharp snap, a straight blue flame leaping up, then clicking it shut again.

The cold, mechanical sound of metal chilled the air, sending a shiver through the bones.

The boy heard them speak of cutting off his hand, and knew this was no mere threat to frighten him. He began to struggle and wail: “Brother Cheng, Brother Cheng! Please spare me… I won’t dare again, I really won’t!”

The large man holding him down slapped the boy across the face and snarled: “Your mother’s — ! We raised you to work for us, and you little mongrel, you had the nerve to steal from us and sell it yourself?!”

“My mother is sick!” the boy wept, lifting his still-young, still-unformed face, and pleaded: “Brother Cheng, my mother is sick — I just needed money, I wasn’t betraying you… I’ll pay it back, I swear I will! I’ll work like a dog for you, Brother Cheng…”

The cries and pleading went on.

Despite the distance, despite the sounds being smothered under the music, Zhou Jin heard every word with perfect clarity. She could feel a vein pulsing at her temple.

“In the second-floor restroom — someone is being beaten.”

She kept her voice as steady as she could, relaying the report to Tan Shiming, who was coordinating the operation.

The instruction she received was exactly what she had anticipated. She already knew she couldn’t intervene.

Their mission this time was to apprehend Lai San’er and He Wu.

One wrong move — alerting the targets prematurely — and the consequences would be unthinkable. In all likelihood, it would sever the only remaining lead in the “8·17” case.

Zhou Jin chose to leave.

But she hadn’t taken two steps before even more anguished screams rang out from the restroom — still pleading, now calling for help.

From the sound of his voice, Zhou Jin could tell the other person was still an underage child.

Zhou Jin’s teeth ached with fury — furious that it was a critical moment, furious that it had to be her who ran into this.

She stomped one high-heeled foot against the floor as though venting her rage, then cleanly pulled the earpiece from her right ear, turned around, and walked straight into the restroom.

The room was dark, with only a thin wash of light seeping in from outside.

Zhou Jin’s sudden appearance drew every set of eyes toward her at once, the stares heavy with menace.

But when they realized the intruder was a young woman, that wall of vigilance and wariness slowly began to crumble.

Only the figure standing in the thick of the shadows froze for just an instant.

One of the men grinned with a leering smirk: “Hey there, little miss — wrong place, isn’t it? This is the men’s room.”

Zhou Jin said: “What do you think you’re doing?” Her gaze moved swiftly, locking onto the figure crumpled on the floor — and it truly was just a teenager, even though his face was by now a bruised and swollen mess, and his whole body riddled with injuries.

One of his eyelids had swollen shut. His reactions had already grown sluggish; as he slowly turned to look at Zhou Jin, everything before him was a blur — he couldn’t make out a thing.

Zhou Jin continued: “Are you alright? Do you need me to call the police?”

She addressed the question to him — but at the same time, it was also a warning to the men who had been inflicting the violence.

Someone laughed. “The hell is this blind woman doing here? Mind your own business — get lost!”

They balled their fists, twisting their faces into expressions of savage menace, trying to frighten her off.

A sharp click — the metal lighter snapped shut. In the silence that followed, a low, deep voice drifted over from the direction of the window.

“Show a lady some basic courtesy.”

He finally stepped out from that swath of dark shadow. With the light behind Zhou Jin falling onto him, his features gradually became clear.

It was a face that carried an overwhelming sense of aggression — the lines of it hard and sharp as though chiseled by a blade.

A man who looked like this should, by rights, have carried the cold severity of someone utterly indifferent to others. Yet his brows and eyes always held an undercurrent of careless, roguish amusement — his bearing entirely unlike that of the hulking, menacing subordinates around him. More untamable, more arrogant, and possessed of a certain dashing, effortless charm.

He laughed openly, looking Zhou Jin over from head to toe with a leisurely sweep of his gaze, then let out a light, easy whistle — his roguish nature impossible to conceal.

“What a beautiful young lady.”

The air stiffened, as though frozen solid.

Something bitter and unspeakable clogged Zhou Jin’s throat. Her lips couldn’t help but tremble.

Of all people — it was Jiang Cheng.