The following morning, Zhou Jin woke from sleep. She had forgotten to draw the blackout curtains, and sunlight filtered through the sheer drapes, spilling across the bed.
There was a faint scent near Zhou Jin’s nose — Jiang Hansheng. He lay quietly beside her. Sharing one bed left things a little cramped, and so the two of them were pressed close together.
Zhou Jin’s lower back was a little sore, and she had no particular desire to get up. She rolled over toward Jiang Hansheng, bent her legs and draped them over him, then stretched her arm across and wound it around him as well.
Jiang Hansheng woke easily, the corner of his lips curving into a faint smile. His palm settled over the back of her hand, and his fingers traced idle little strokes along her skin.
Zhou Jin lifted her head and found that his eyes were still closed. “Pretending?” she said.
Jiang Hansheng still did not open his eyes. He pulled her so that she was resting against his chest, and murmured in a low, husky voice, “Sleep a little longer.”
Zhou Jin smiled, tucked her head down to use his body as a pillow, and the two of them dozed on for another half hour or more before finally getting up.
Yesterday, Zhou Jin had relayed the latest developments to Tan Shiming, and by noon today a reply had come.
Tan Shiming sent Zhou Jin a file — including the call-out records from that year, along with the contact information for the police officer who had rescued Qi Zhen at the time.
The officer’s name was Jian Liang. More than twenty years ago, he had worked in household registration at the Xiacheng District police station, and had later transferred to Guiping County, where he served as the head of the local station.
Guiping County was a small county town under the jurisdiction of Huaigang City, not far from the city proper. With a highway connecting the two, it was about an hour’s drive.
Given the gravity of the case, Tan Shiming had not gone into much detail over the phone, and had only asked them to inform Jian Liang to cooperate with the investigation as fully as possible.
The people at the Xiacheng District station replied that Jian Liang was a thoroughly honest man — one who would certainly hold nothing back and say everything he knew.
Zhou Jin and Jiang Hansheng made their way to Guiping County. As they came off the highway, Zhou Jin used the contact information to call Jian Liang.
When Jian Liang learned they were from the Haizhou City Major Crimes Unit, he responded with great warmth, then asked, “Which case is this about, exactly?”
Zhou Jin said, “It’s hard to explain over the phone. Let’s talk in person — Chief Jian, how about we come directly to the station to meet you?”
Jian Liang glanced at the time and said, “It’s nearly noon. I’m the host here — I ought to treat you to a meal. Though we’d better not go out to a restaurant. There are orders from above: no corruption, no public dining at public expense — and the top sets the example for those below. If you don’t mind keeping it simple, come to my home for a home-cooked meal. I’m not blowing my own horn, but my wife cooks very well.”
He spoke with a natural, sincere earnestness — warm and full of enthusiasm.
Zhou Jin accepted.
Jian Liang sent her an address. Jiang Hansheng followed the navigation and drove all the way to the Jindun Residential Complex in Guiping County.
Jian Liang lived in an apartment building — quite old by now, with no elevator, and his flat was on the sixth floor.
Zhou Jin climbed the stairs, let out a breath, and knocked on the door of Jian Liang’s home. Quickly, she heard a woman’s voice in response: “Coming.”
The door opened. Standing before them was a woman in a blue-green dress with small white floral print. Her hair was loosely and lazily pinned up. On her wrist was a red garnet bracelet. She carried a mature, graceful charm about her — full-figured and captivating.
The hallway was dim, yet her appearance brought a sudden brightness to Zhou Jin’s eyes.
Seeing that the visitors were a man and a woman, she remembered what her husband Jian Liang had told her, and smiled as she said, “You must be Officer Zhou and Officer Jiang! Come in, come in — Lao Jian has something he had to deal with last minute, he’s not back yet. I’m his wife. You’re both so young — you can call me Auntie Jian.”
Mrs. Jian welcomed them inside and invited them to sit on the sofa, then went to the kitchen to make tea.
Jiang Hansheng sat with perfect composure. Out of habit, he automatically began observing his surroundings.
The apartment was modest — a two-bedroom, one-living-room layout.
There was one wall covered in photographs of various sizes. Nearly all of them featured Mrs. Jian: at the seaside, at home, at restaurants — most of them showing her smiling shyly at the camera, the photographer almost certainly being Jian Liang himself. Interspersed among them were couple photos of Jian Liang and Mrs. Jian together, and a few old photographs of two elderly people whom Jiang Hansheng surmised were Jian Liang’s parents.
A happy family with no children. That was Jiang Hansheng’s assessment.
Then, across the living room on the wall facing the door, a formal dress uniform hung on display — it didn’t look like something worn regularly, but rather something hung up to be admired.
Beyond that, in the corner of the living room stood a piano. Its lid was open, the bench slightly askew, as though someone had only just been sitting there and risen in a hurry.
Zhou Jin’s attention was fixed on the dress uniform.
Mrs. Jian carried the tea cups out, and noticing Zhou Jin looking at the uniform, she laughed gently and said, “Amusing, isn’t it? Who hangs a police uniform on the wall of their own home? My husband is such a narcissist.”
Zhou Jin quickly said, “Not at all.”
Mrs. Jian set down the tea cups and continued: “Lao Jian has had this habit since his very first day on the force. Every morning he gets up and looks at it — reminding himself to remain loyal to his duty, to be conscientious and hardworking. He also says that I’m often home alone and that having a uniform here makes it so even a petty thief who breaks in won’t dare steal anything.”
She pressed her lips together in a small smile. “That’s just the sort of man he is — I’m sure you young ones will get a laugh out of it.”
She walked over and sat down beside Zhou Jin. “Child, what would you like to eat at noon? Tell Auntie Jian, and I’ll make it for you.”
Zhou Jin said, “We’re not picky — nothing too spicy is fine. Let me give you a hand in the kitchen. We’re already imposing on Chief Jian with this visit.”
Mrs. Jian said, “Of course! I love having you young people around. Guests don’t come often — I’m quite happy to have someone here. It’s no imposition whatsoever.”
She was particularly fond of young women, and chatted more freely with Zhou Jin. Mrs. Jian took Zhou Jin off to the kitchen, leaving Jiang Hansheng in the living room to help himself to some fruit.
In the kitchen, a pot of corn and pork rib soup was simmering away. Zhou Jin washed her hands and went to help peel the potatoes.
Mrs. Jian was slicing pork belly, handling the knife with careful precision, and idly asked as she worked: “Lao Jian mentioned you’re officers from the Haizhou City Major Crimes Unit. You both look so young — truly impressive at such an age. The work must be exhausting, yes?”
Zhou Jin sat on a small stool and said, “It’s all right. Things get a bit hectic when there’s a case on.”
“Lao Jian is on his feet all day every day. That’s just the nature of this line of work.”
They chatted in an easy, leisurely back-and-forth, the atmosphere light and pleasant.
After a little while, Mrs. Jian asked: “Oh, by the way — what case have you come about this time? Surely Lao Jian hasn’t gone and violated some regulation?”
In the living room, Jiang Hansheng sat with his hands clasped together, his gaze growing slightly distant as it moved back and forth between the photographs on the wall, the dress uniform, and the piano in the corner of the room.
He thought back to when he had taken over the Huaigang serial murder case from Wang Pengzhe and drafted that first criminal profile report.
The perpetrator was between thirteen and eighteen years of age, had grown up in a single-parent household, raised solely by the mother — and as a result suffered from a severe Oedipus complex. In the course of growing up, it was highly probable that he had endured abuse, abandonment, or betrayal at the hands of his mother, causing his personality to gradually warp and distort, developing an extreme hatred toward women as a group — and thus committing a series of murders.
But beyond the profile drawn from the Huaigang serial murders, there was another case deeply intertwined with Qi Yan: the “8·17” gun robbery case five years ago, which displayed a strong and pronounced tendency of hatred toward police as a group.
Jiang Hansheng looked at the piano in the corner of the room, and thought of the red garnet bracelet that had wound three times around Mrs. Jian’s wrist. All the fragments twisted and churned together, and at last converged within the pitch-black depths of Jiang Hansheng’s eyes — assembling themselves into a complete portrait.
The corner of Jiang Hansheng’s lips curved slightly. He thought: he had found the answer.
At that very moment, a tremendous crash rang out from the kitchen — like something being knocked heavily to the floor.
Zhou Jin cried out in pain.