In that instant, Zhou Jin’s mind erupted with a thunderous roar.

What did this mean?

The person who had shot and killed Yao Weihai and Meng Junfeng was Jiang Cheng?

After the Major Crimes Unit confirmed the fingerprint belonged to Jiang Cheng, they pulled his complete file from the system.

From his birth records through his enrollment at Jingzhou Police University — after graduating, Jiang Cheng had first worked for three years at a grassroots district station in Jingzhou, then submitted a self-referral to transfer back to the Seventh Criminal Investigation Unit of Yunxia District in Haizhou City.

Jiang Cheng’s professional competence was exceptional, as his impressive record plainly showed, and his superiors had consistently regarded him as a key candidate for advancement.

The unfortunate reality was that this man had no regard for rules or conduct. He had once been sentenced to three years in prison for soliciting prostitution and illegal drug possession, which permanently ended his career as a police officer.

While incarcerated, he had come to know He Wu’s younger brother, He Wen. Through He Wen’s introduction, upon his release, Jiang Cheng had gone to work under He Wu, helping to manage the affairs of his logistics company.

The Jingang Port operation had already been inextricably linked to He Wu — and now Jiang Cheng’s fingerprints had been identified on the weapon.

Tan Shiming said in a firm, low voice, “Zhou Jin, I need to make one thing absolutely clear to you. The criminal organization Jiang Cheng belongs to is involved in organized crime and violent offenses. He himself is now a suspect in a deliberate homicide. I need you, at the critical moment, not to let your emotions govern your actions.”

Zhou Jin pressed her lips together and answered stiffly, “Understood.”

Tan Shiming continued, “If Jiang Cheng contacts you, you report it to the Major Crimes Unit immediately. Is that clear?”

Zhou Jin nodded again and reiterated, “Understood.”

Tan Shiming exhaled a long breath. The tangled mass of complications buzzed and churned through his mind. He rubbed his brow wearily and waved for Zhou Jin to leave.

The Autopsy Room.

The forensic examiner brought in another tray. On it rested two police badges.

The examiner informed Jiang Hansheng, “These were removed from the victims’ stomachs.”

Beating Yao Weihai and Meng Junfeng. Forcing them to swallow their own badges — desecrating their profession and their convictions. Then discarding their bodies like refuse beneath a remote underpass.

Every step of it had been designed to strip away their dignity as police officers.

Jiang Hansheng instinctively closed his right hand around his own wrist. He held the grip for a moment, then asked, “Can you establish the time of death with reasonable precision?”

The examiner said, “Three days ago.”

The search and rescue operation had run for five days. That meant from the moment Yao Weihai was taken, the criminals had killed him in under forty-eight hours.

Leaving the autopsy room, Jiang Hansheng went to the restroom to wash his hands — once, then again, the water running over his long fingers until the skin of his fingertips began to wrinkle slightly. Then he shut off the tap in a single sharp motion.

He pulled out paper towels and dried each finger, one by one.

Afterward, Jiang Hansheng left the restroom and headed in the direction of Tan Shiming’s office.

The corridor was quiet. Into that stillness, a phone ringtone cut jarringly.

Jiang Hansheng stopped walking, glancing at the caller display — an unfamiliar number.

He pressed the answer key. “Hello?”

Silence answered him.

The surroundings were so still, and Jiang Hansheng’s senses were unusually sharp — he could hear the other person’s breathing, faint and barely there.

After roughly ten seconds, Jiang Hansheng pressed the record button. His voice dropped lower. “Qi Yan?”

A burst of laughter broke from the silence. The other party finally responded: “Mr. Jiang — oh, no, it’s Professor Jiang now… How was it? Was my greeting gift grand enough for you?”

From the moment the pocket watch had resurfaced — killing four young women in red dresses, including Chen Xiaoyu, meticulously recreating the Huaiguang serial murder case; luring Yao Weihai to his death through a fabricated transaction, while simultaneously eliminating a mole within the organization…

All of it. Every last piece of it — a perfect reconstruction of the “8·17” case from five years ago.

In the original “8·17” investigation, Jiang Hansheng’s intervention had cost him dearly. Now he returned, standing before Jiang Hansheng once more — this time in the posture of a man who had won everything.

On the other end of the call, a coin danced across the man’s knuckles, flipping back and forth.

Half his face was submerged in shadow. Only his lips were visible — thin, and faintly curved.

Qi Yan let out a soft, contemptuous laugh through his teeth. “Professor Jiang, I do hope you appreciated my way of saying hello.”

Jiang Hansheng kept his composure and asked, “Why are you still alive?”

“Wrong question. Wrong question entirely.” Qi Yan shook his head, clicking his tongue. “Professor Jiang, that’s not what you should be asking. What you should be asking is — who was it that you actually shot dead that year?”

“…Who was it?”

“Where’s the fun if the answer comes that easily?”

Qi Yan was still toying with the coin. He flicked it upward and caught it cleanly in his palm, then said to Jiang Hansheng, “Guess — which side is it showing? Heads or tails? Guess correctly, and I’ll keep you company for a little longer.”

Jiang Hansheng fell silent. His fingers tapped against the back of his phone — once, twice — his mind running a rapid analysis of Qi Yan’s behavior. The call itself was simple enough to understand: Qi Yan wanted to assert dominance in front of him, to harvest a deeper sense of triumph.

Jiang Hansheng’s handsome face betrayed not a trace of emotion. He ended the call without hesitation.

He did not leave.

He pressed his back against the hard, cold wall. The shock of the temperature helped bring him to stillness.

He stood with his eyes closed, his hand hanging at his side, his fingertips continuing to tap against the back of the phone — one second, two seconds, three seconds…

Half a minute later, the ringtone sounded again.

Jiang Hansheng answered.

“Professor Jiang, you really—”

Before Qi Yan could finish, Jiang Hansheng hung up again.

His intent was to exhaust Qi Yan’s patience and deflate his arrogance — to leave him in no mood to keep circling around and playing games.

Jiang Hansheng had a precise read on where Qi Yan’s psychological threshold lay. He waited. Only when the phone rang a fourth time did he raise his hand and lift it to his ear.

“You are extremely rude.” Qi Yan was noticeably grinding his teeth now, his cool voice carrying a current of heat beneath it.

Jiang Hansheng smiled faintly. “Courtesy is the convention between people who have reason to observe it. With you, there is no reason.”

“What a shame.”

Footsteps sounded in the corridor. Zhou Jin had come downstairs and was making her way toward the forensics department. Spotting a tall, upright silhouette in the distance, she called out, “Professor Jiang?”

Through the receiver, Qi Yan spoke with an air of studied regret. “I thought we were friends. The gift I sent you last time was missing a photograph — I had been meaning to include it now as a follow-up…”

Zhou Jin drew closer. She caught the expression on Jiang Hansheng’s face and stopped short.

His eyes and brows were dark and sharply defined, the outer corners of his eyes slightly drawn — the quality of a man as calm and composed as polished jade. But now, whatever he was thinking, he seemed encased in a layer of impenetrable ice, and that composure carried with it a sense of immense, quiet pressure.

On the other end of the line, it seemed Qi Yan had caught the faint sound of a woman’s voice as well.

Qi Yan smiled. “Give Officer Zhou my regards.”