The moment Shi Ting stepped into the main hall, every murmured conversation vanished as if it had never existed. Officers bent over their documents; those conducting comparisons returned to their work. The room hummed with focused, purposeful activity.

“Shi Xing Zhi — no, I suppose here I should call you Director Shi.” The woman in the leather jacket let her cold expression fall away and replaced it with a smile.

Shi Ting looked at her without any particular change in his expression. “What brings you here, Miss Han?”

“My father asked me to deliver this to Director Shi.” Han Xiling held out a document. “Once you read it, you’ll understand.”

Shi Ting took it. From inside the envelope, he withdrew a single sheet. Whatever the letter contained was unclear, but affixed at the bottom, unmistakably, was the Marshal’s official seal.

“Miss Han,” Shi Ting said, folding the envelope several times and tucking it away, “this is the Military Police Department. Every day, we match wits against the most dangerous criminals. We endure hardships ordinary people could not bear, take risks ordinary people would never face — and if fortune turns against us, we could lose our lives at any moment.”

“I know,” Han Xiling replied, her gaze bright and unafraid. “I studied criminal investigation abroad. I know precisely what the Military Police Department is and what kind of crime it deals with. Seeking justice for ordinary people has always been my aspiration. I hope Director Shi will give me this opportunity.”

“Since this comes at the Marshal’s direction and at Deputy Minister Han’s request, Miss Han may stay and train for now — but I’ll be direct: if Miss Han finds the conditions too difficult, or the work too demanding, please feel free to leave at any time.” Shi Ting called over the administrative officer. “Take Miss Han to be fitted for a uniform. A sidearm is not required for the time being. Have her familiarize herself with the department’s procedures first — no fieldwork for now.”

The administrative officer saluted. “Yes, Director.”

He then turned to Han Xiling. “Miss Han, if you’ll follow me.”

Han Xiling glanced at Shi Ting and gave him a brief nod before following the administrative officer away.

The moment she was gone, Zheng Yun came up from behind and lowered his voice. “This is the Marshal’s directive?”

“Han Xiling is the only daughter of Han Qi-ren, Minister of Finance. She went abroad at sixteen and returned to Shun Cheng last year. Most likely, Han Xiling approached her father with a request to train at the Military Police Department, and her father then contacted the Marshal, who issued the formal seal of authority.”

Zheng Yun said, “Er Yitai has been meeting with Minister Han’s wife several times recently.”

“Keep watching. If there are any developments on my mother’s end, notify me right away.”

“Yes.”

Han Xiling’s arrival at the Military Police Department likely had purposes beyond training alone.

Back in the autopsy room, Yan Qing and E’Yuan had completed the full examination.

E’Yuan handed Shi Ting the autopsy report as he entered. “The deceased was between 27 and 28 years of age, 153 centimeters in height, 60 kilograms in weight. Time of death was approximately 12:30 a.m. on the 6th.”

Yan Qing asked, “Any leads on her identity?”

“Missing person notices have already been posted, and several major newspapers are running the information. We should be able to identify her before long.” Shi Ting continued, “The bank clerk’s family has already claimed the body. No one has yet come forward to identify the dancer — I suspect she may not be from Shun Cheng originally, and her family may not be nearby.”

As Shi Ting spoke, he noticed Yan Qing raise a hand to press against her temple, a brief flash of pain crossing her features.

“Yan Qing — what’s wrong?”

“A bit of a headache.” Yan Qing said, “I may have caught a chill last night.”

“Come rest in my office.” Shi Ting moved forward without another word and took hold of her wheelchair. “Next time you’re unwell, don’t push yourself.”

Arriving at Shi Ting’s office, he first poured her a cup of warm water, then rummaged through his desk drawer and produced some medicine. “There happen to be some cold remedy tablets here. Take some.”

Yan Qing accepted them and said, “Thank you.”

He watched her take the medicine, then found a light blanket and draped it over her legs, lowering his voice. “Rest here for a while. I still have a few things to see to.”

He pressed a button on the wheelchair. The backrest gently reclined, settling into a half-lying position.

Yan Qing was surprised. “There’s a function like that?”

“There are so many functions, I forget about them myself.” He pulled the blanket up a little. “Are there still a lot of newspapers trying to commission poems from you lately?”

“How did you know?”

“Sixth Miss’s ‘Farewell to Cambridge’ has shaken all of Shun Cheng. Nearly everyone can recite it by now.”

Yan Qing looked a little uncomfortable. “That really wasn’t written by me.”

“Sleep.”

“Mm.” Yan Qing placed both hands on her chest and quietly closed her eyes.

After a moment, she could still sense his breathing nearby, and the urge stirred to open her eyes again — but as if he had seen right through her, his voice came softly: “Go to sleep.”

Yan Qing kept her eyes shut, a faint smile at the corners of her lips. “Why haven’t you left yet?”

“In a moment.”

She gave a small sound of acknowledgment. “I’m sleeping then.”

“Good.”

Yan Qing settled into an obedient position and drifted back toward sleep.

She did not know how much time passed. The person before him breathed in slow, even rhythms, lips gently pursed, lashes resting quietly beneath her eyes — she was clearly asleep.

Shi Ting could not bring himself to leave. Even simply watching her in silence like this was a kind of deep, wordless contentment.

It was only when a knock came at the door that he stood, cast one last reluctant glance at the sleeping figure, and turned to go.

“Is the little kitchen in the department still usable?” Shi Ting asked Zheng Yun, who was nearby.

“It is,” Zheng Yun said. “What does Seventh Brother need?”

“Go buy some ginger.”

“All right.” Zheng Yun asked no questions and walked straight out of the Military Police Department to buy ginger.

Directly across from the department was a stretch of market stalls — picking up a few pieces of ginger took only a few minutes.

When Zheng Yun returned, Shi Ting was already in the small kitchen, his sleeves rolled to his elbows to reveal a length of firm forearm. Several officers sat around the kitchen table giving him their reports.

Shi Ting took the ginger Zheng Yun handed him, rinsed it, and laid it on the chopping board, slicing it into thin pieces.

The water in the pot had already come to a boil. He added all the ginger slices in at once, and the small kitchen was immediately suffused with the sharp, biting scent of ginger.

The officers stared at their director, baffled as to why he was boiling ginger slices.

“When Bai Squad Leader and Shi Squad Leader come back, have them convene in the main hall below,” Shi Ting said. “The rest of you may go.”

The group gathered their documents and filed out one by one.

At the doorway, they encountered Han Xiling. She had already changed into a fresh new uniform, her hair tucked beneath a peaked cap, the whole effect sharp and spirited.

“You’re Zheng Shu-shi, aren’t you?” Han Xiling addressed Zheng Yun, her tone carrying a certain air of superiority.

The others alongside Zheng Yun exchanged glances of mild surprise. In the Military Police Department, everyone called Zheng Yun “Squad Leader Zheng.”

“I am.”

“Where is Director Shi?”

Zheng Yun said, “Is there something Miss Han needs?”

“We’ll be colleagues from now on. You can call me by my name.”

“Miss Han has not yet been entered into the Military Police Department’s records,” Zheng Yun said. “For now, we are not technically colleagues.”

Han Xiling was unruffled. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll find him myself.”

She gave a slight sniff. “Is that the kitchen over there? Someone’s brewing ginger soup — that would be your Director, wouldn’t it.”

Han Xiling moved toward the kitchen as she spoke. The others with Zheng Yun looked alarmed. “Squad Leader Zheng, what do we do?”

“Go do your work,” Zheng Yun said.

Han Xiling entered the kitchen to find Shi Ting standing at the stove, a document in hand, reading intently.

The small pot beside him was already bubbling, steam curling upward and wreathing him in its drift, lending him an unexpected air of domestic warmth.

“Is there something you need?” Shi Ting did not look up.

Han Xiling said, “Shi Xing Zhi — there’s no one else here. You don’t need to pretend to be indifferent to me.”

Shi Ting said, “I believe Miss Han may be mistaken. You and I are not well acquainted.”

Han Xiling smiled. “Yesterday, your mother and my mother met. It seems they were discussing a marriage arrangement between us.”

“I have not been made aware of this matter, and Miss Han need not take it to heart.” He turned to the next page of the document in his hand. “Since Miss Han has come to the Military Police Department to train, she should conduct herself according to the department’s rules. Whether in front of others or in private — please address me as Director.”

“Very well.” Han Xiling smiled lightly. “I know you doubt my abilities. But I will prove myself to you. Choosing me will not be a mistake.”

Shi Ting appeared not to have heard. He picked up the wooden spoon beside him and gave the pot a slow, gentle stir.

“I’ll get back to work, then.”

After Han Xiling left, Zheng Yun was still lingering, so she turned and asked him, “Who is Director Shi making this ginger soup for?”

“The Sixth Miss.”

“The Sixth Miss?”

“Our department’s forensic consultant.”

“Forensic consultant — what position is that?”

“Miss Han will come to know in time.” Zheng Yun glanced at his watch. “Let me show Miss Han around the department and walk you through the general workflow. Your current assignment is to compile into writing the leads that the investigators bring in.”

“When will I be allowed to take part in actual case investigations?”

“That is for the Director to decide.”

The two of them moved away, and by then the ginger soup was ready. Shi Ting ladled it into a bowl and carried it to his office.

Yan Qing had not yet woken. He covered the bowl with a larger one turned upside down to keep the soup warm.

Having done all this, he stood at her side and watched her with gentle eyes. A small strand of hair had fallen across her face. He couldn’t help himself — he raised a finger and carefully drew the strand to one side.

His movements were as careful as they could be, but Yan Qing stirred awake all the same.

Her sleep had been light to begin with, and she had been dreaming through it — dreaming of a dark street, a long-haired woman walking slowly ahead, and behind her, a shadow closing in, eyes gleaming with malice, raising a murderous hammer.

“Are you feeling better?” Shi Ting asked.

“Much better.”

He pressed the button, and the wheelchair returned to its upright position.

“My mother always said that when you catch a chill, cold air settles in the body — and ginger soup, drunk often, is the cure.” He picked up the bowl and brought it over. “It’s most effective while it’s hot.”

Yan Qing accepted it. “Where did you get ginger soup?”

“I made it.”

“The Military Police Department has a kitchen?”

“There’s a small kitchen — not much used, but making a bowl of ginger soup is no trouble.” He urged her along. “Drink it quickly.”

The ginger soup was sharp and pungent — the taste left something to be desired. But as it slid from the throat down into the stomach, it settled in as a spreading warmth.

Yan Qing drank the entire bowl in one go. When she finished, she tilted the empty bowl toward him with a look of quiet pride. “All gone.”

Shi Ting took the bowl and handed her a handkerchief.

“Have Bai Squad Leader and the others come back yet?”

“They should be back soon.”

Yan Qing dabbed the corners of her mouth. “I’ll join the meeting with you. I’ve thought of something about those wounds — what caused them.”