Before Yan Qing could react, Shi Ting had already placed himself behind her — like a solid wall, impenetrable, radiating a sense of complete security.

A creak. The worn wooden door scraped open with a sharp sound, and a woman in her forties emerged. Seeing the several people standing outside her door, she gave a start, and the washbasin in her hands dropped to the ground with a clatter.

“Ma’am, don’t be frightened — we’re from the Jinlin Guard.” Bai Jin quickly stepped forward and produced his credentials. “We are on your side.”

Hearing it was the Jinlin Guard, the woman relaxed. “You — do you need something?”

“Ma’am, have you seen this young woman?” Bai Jin held out a photograph for her to examine.

The woman looked it over and said, “Isn’t that Little Jing? She lives right here.”

Those present exchanged glances. As the saying goes — they had worn out their shoes searching, only to find what they needed without effort.

“Why are you looking for Little Jing? Has she broken the law?” the woman asked, guarded.

“We’re just conducting a routine inquiry.” Bai Jin’s smile, capable of winning over young and old alike, put the woman at ease. “Ma’am, may we take a look inside?”

“All right.” The woman picked up her washbasin from the ground, turned, and pushed open the door. “Come in — she lives in the basement.”

Hearing the word basement, Yan Qing couldn’t help glancing at Shi Ting. His deduction had been entirely accurate.

It was a standard three-room tiled dwelling. The interior had almost no decent furniture. The walls were blackened by smoke from the stove, and several flies circled lazily about.

The woman led them to a storage room in the back and pointed to a wooden hatch in the floor. “She lives down there.”

This type of residential house typically had a hand-dug basement — some used for storage, some for keeping vegetables through winter. It was rare for one to be used as living quarters.

“Is Jing Lan a relative of yours?” Bai Jin asked as he lifted the hatch.

“She just rents the basement from me,” the woman replied. “Fifty cents a month.”

“Do you know what she does day to day?”

“Of course — isn’t she a student? She also embroiders for embroidery shops on the side to earn her living expenses.”

“She lives alone?”

“Alone. She came to rent the basement a year ago, by herself.”

As they spoke, the hatch was fully open, and a damp, musty smell wafted up.

“The ladder’s quite steep — mind yourself,” the woman cautioned kindly.

Yan Qing, with limited mobility, did not go down. Bai Jin and Shi Ting descended the ladder all the way to the bottom.

Bai Jin found the pull-cord for the light switch and gave it a tug. A bare bulb hanging from the ceiling flickered on — its glow was dim, but just barely enough to make out the contents of the room.

In truth, there was little to make out: a bed and a battered writing desk, and not much else. Not even a wardrobe. The wallpaper was peeling away in patches, exposing the mold-speckled wall beneath.

In one corner, two iron racks held a few garments. Due to the extreme dampness of the basement, those clothes all carried the smell of mildew.

At the head of the bed sat an embroidery hoop, its silk halfway worked with a pattern of flowers and birds.

“This place is barely a step above a run-down cellar.” Bai Jin wrinkled his nose at the smell. “To think a young girl lived here — it can’t have been easy.”

Shi Ting made use of the weak light and crossed to the battered writing desk. Its worn surface was piled with books and everyday items.

He picked up a tattered picture frame and held it toward the light to see it more clearly. Bai Jin’s head leaned in curiously beside him.

“Who’s that in the photo? They look familiar somehow.”

—