Zhou Jin gave a small nod.

Jiang Cheng noticed that her expression barely shifted, and felt a flicker of disappointment — but he didn’t dwell on it for long. He continued: “After Operation Jingang, I gained their trust and successfully infiltrated the organisation. The leader of this group is a man named Qi Yan…”

At that name, Zhou Jin and Jiang Hansheng both frowned at the same moment and exchanged a glance.

Jiang Cheng said: “…and there’s also someone called ‘Seventh Uncle,’ whose words carry considerable weight. They brought me to that warehouse — the location the police discovered — and after a day’s rest, I was blindfolded and driven in Qi Yan’s convoy to a drug manufacturing facility.

It was only then that Qi Yan told me: he was Old Scorpion.

Previously, ‘Old Scorpion’ had been his father. Five years ago, his father died suddenly from a heart attack, throwing the organisation into a leaderless state where each faction fended for itself. Not long ago, Qi Yan joined forces with He Wu and Seventh Uncle and others, seized back control, took his father’s place, and became the new Old Scorpion.

Operation Jingang was nothing but a trap — designed to eliminate Director Yao Weihai and flush out the undercover operatives he had planted inside the organisation. Qi Yan has no need to import narcotics — he holds mature drug synthesis technology and a fully operational production line in his own hands.”

With this uncovered, the net could be drawn in. The undercover operation that had stretched across five years could finally be brought to a close — but by then, Director Yao Weihai was already dead, and Jiang Cheng had no way to make contact with the police.

Fortunately, during Operation Jingang, Zhou Jin had appeared unexpectedly. When he left, sensing that his odds of survival were poor, he had taken her communications device.

His thinking was this: even if he died, he would pass on the intelligence and evidence gathered over these five years. Even if all it accomplished was bringing down He Wu, his life wouldn’t have been wasted.

This was all the intelligence he could offer at present.

After finishing his account, Jiang Cheng said to Zhou Jin: “They thought blindfolding me would obscure the factory’s location. But you know how I am — my sense of smell is sharp, and I quietly tracked the time and the direction of each turn the vehicle made. I’m confident I can locate the exact position of the factory.”

Zhou Jin let out a brief smile. “Right. The bloodhound and the walking stopwatch.”

It was a talent Jiang Cheng had demonstrated back at the police academy — an acute sensitivity to scent and to time. Zhou Jin had always known it. The smell of the surrounding environment, the duration of the journey, the direction of travel — these were enough for Jiang Cheng to reconstruct the route.

Jiang Cheng said, with gravity: “I have one condition. When the police move to destroy the factory and arrest Old Scorpion, I will personally lead the operation. Xiao Wu — they are connected to my older brother’s death. I will capture them with my own hands, and avenge him. I will. I will.”

The very end of his voice trembled faintly.

Beneath the table, Zhou Jin’s hand slowly curled inward — but she gave no reply to his words.

Jiang Hansheng, after listening, offered his assessment quickly: “I’ll find a way to retrieve the flash drive first. Once the evidence is secured, Director Liu and Team Leader Tan will be willing to accept your identity. At that point, they’ll organise and deploy the subsequent arrest operation.”

Zhou Jin suddenly rose to her feet and said to Jiang Cheng, “I’m going to the infirmary to have someone come and look at your wounds. Also — Team Leader Tan is my mentor. Like you, he suspected there was a mole in the force after Operation Jingang. I’ll tell him about this, and ask for his thoughts.”

“Xiao Wu…” he called after her.

Zhou Jin appeared not to hear it, and turned and left quickly.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Jiang Hansheng sat in thought, a faint trace of puzzlement in his expression.

Something was strange. From beginning to end, Zhou Jin’s reactions had been strange — but Jiang Hansheng couldn’t pinpoint where the problem lay.

Jiang Cheng reached for another cigarette.

Jiang Hansheng checked the time — it was nearly up. Without another word, he prepared to leave.

Jiang Cheng turned the cigarette box over and tapped it against the table, nudging the uneven cigarettes back into alignment, then said suddenly: “I remember warning you once — to stay away from Zhou Jin. It seems you didn’t take my words to heart.”

Jiang Hansheng stopped in his tracks.

He drew his fist slowly closed, knuckle by knuckle — but didn’t turn around. He said: “We are already married.”

“I don’t particularly care.” Jiang Cheng lit a cigarette, put it between his lips, and said through the haze of smoke with a vague laugh: “Jiang Hansheng, I’m nothing like you — a man who was born with everything already in place. I’ve had very little in my life, so the things that were originally mine, I’m not inclined to let go of easily.”

The interrogation room fell silent. The atmosphere had become as taut as it could bear.

After the silence — the break.

In the next instant, Jiang Hansheng wheeled around and shot out a hand, seizing Jiang Cheng by the collar. Jiang Cheng’s perception of danger was razor-sharp; he instantly counter-gripped Jiang Hansheng’s arm.

In the struggle that followed, the chair and table were sent crashing and scattering, clattering into disarray.

But Jiang Cheng was carrying injuries, and Jiang Hansheng — for all his composed, scholarly appearance — was a man of brutally ferocious force. Before Jiang Cheng had a chance to recover himself, Jiang Hansheng had dragged him sideways and slammed him hard against the wall.

A heavy, resonant thud. A burst of severe pain across Jiang Cheng’s back.

He grimaced slightly — but at Jiang Hansheng’s loss of composure, he actually laughed.

Driven to the edge by fury and wounded pride, Jiang Hansheng’s eyes had gone red-rimmed. He stared coldly at Jiang Cheng and said: “Until you are cleared of suspicion and your identity is restored — don’t come looking for Zhou Jin again!”

Jiang Cheng’s expression remained one of easy assurance. “Where’s your elegance, Professor Jiang? I merely said one thing — is that worth getting so angry about?”

“Remember this — the only reason you are standing here alive, able to see Zhou Jin, is because of me.”

Jiang Cheng’s brow creased. “What did you say?”

“You owe me your life. From now on, in my presence, you have no right to hold your head up.”

Jiang Cheng said, low and forceful: “Don’t you dare use that to hold it over me. Did I beg you? Who do you think you are — do you think I needed you to save me?”

“I saved your life, and you feel humiliated — or furious. Are you telling me you’d rather have chosen to die than owe me anything?”

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng said flatly.

“Good.” Jiang Hansheng released him in one sharp motion. His lips pressed into a thin line — a coldness that left no room for sentiment. “And in future, don’t use your years as an undercover operative to put pressure on Zhou Jin.”

Jiang Cheng looked at him — at the raw, undisguised ferocity in his brow and eyes — and found him utterly unlike the boy he remembered from years ago, the one who had always lingered behind Zhou Jin, barely daring to utter a word.

Jiang Cheng studied this sharp-edged, entirely different person with quiet suspicion.

Jiang Hansheng had said all of this — did he truly believe Jiang Cheng would use his undercover past to coerce Zhou Jin into reconciling with him?

Jiang Cheng let out a sudden laugh. After a pause, he said: “I assumed the two of you were very happy. It seems perhaps not—”

He didn’t trust Zhou Jin. Or rather — Zhou Jin didn’t love Jiang Hansheng quite so completely as all that.

Something seemed to click into place for Jiang Cheng, and in front of Jiang Hansheng, a victorious quality crept back into his bearing.

He asked: “Jiang Hansheng — are you afraid of me coming back?”

Jiang Hansheng’s eye twitched sharply. His expression turned even colder. He said nothing — and turned and walked out of the interrogation room.

The tap in the washroom was running with a steady rush of water.

The current moved over Jiang Hansheng’s fingers as he washed his hands — once, and again, and again.

Four or five minutes passed. He snapped the tap shut. The quiet settled in around him. Jiang Hansheng closed his right hand around his own wrist and looked up at his reflection in the mirror.

The man’s face was pale. His eyes were very dark.

Some hidden craving seemed to crawl out from the mirror’s surface and coil around his trembling arm — coil around his breath.

Jiang Hansheng closed his eyes.

“Does it hurt very much?”

“Beg me, and I’ll give you an injection.”

“I really want to see how long you can hold out.”

“This is exactly how it should be — the most helpless, degraded resistance is the most interesting kind.”

“Jiang Hansheng — are you afraid of me coming back?”