Shi Ting held up an evidence bag containing a set of keys.

“I’ve already tested them — these keys can open the door that Song Zixian had locked from the inside.”

“Didn’t Song Meimei say that only Liu Cui had a key? Did she secretly have a copy made?”

Shi Ting said, “Song Zixian was paranoid. He only trusted Liu Cui with the keys, and Liu Cui’s husband was completely loyal to Song Zixian — that couple would never betray him. But Liu Cui has a son called Ah Zai, who is fourteen years old this year. When investigators were looking into Liu Cui and her husband, they discovered that Ah Zai smokes. There were multiple packs of cigarettes in his room — cigarettes that were far beyond what Liu Cui and her husband could afford, let alone what a fourteen-year-old boy could purchase on his own.”

“Where is Ah Zai now?”

“In the interrogation room.”

In the interrogation room, fourteen-year-old Ah Zai sat with a childishly young face. When Zheng Yun slid a cigarette across to him, his eyes immediately lit up with an eager, hungry gleam — the look of someone dying of thirst who has just been shown rain.

Zheng Yun held it up and dangled it slightly. “Answer my questions honestly, and the whole pack is yours.”

“Yes, yes, sure.” Ah Zai, whose craving was overwhelming, kept his eyes glued to the pack.

“Who gave you the cigarettes in your room?”

“A lady.”

Zheng Yun placed a photograph of Song Meimei on the table. “Was it her?”

“Yes, that’s her.” Ah Zai licked his lips. “She said if I stole my mother’s key and brought it to her, she’d give me five packs of cigarettes.”

“And you did it?”

“I waited until my mother was asleep, then snuck the key out. But the lady returned it afterward — she told me to put it back where I found it and not tell anyone. Then she gave me the five packs.”

Zheng Yun asked a few more questions, but Ah Zai had no further information. Seeing clearly that the boy wasn’t lying, Zheng Yun handed over the cigarettes and said, “So young and already up to no good.”

Ah Zai picked up a cigarette and held it under his nose for a sniff. “There’s no law in Shun Cheng that says kids can’t smoke.”

Zheng Yun’s mouth twitched. What a world — a little brat daring to lecture him on the law.

After handing Ah Zai’s statement to Shi Ting, Zheng Yun said with some puzzlement, “Song Meimei secretly had a copy made of Song Zixian’s house key — was the goal to steal his money and kill him while she was at it?”

“I think her main objective was to find the combination lockbox.” Shi Ting flipped through the statement. “There were no signs of anything being searched or disturbed at the scene of Song Zixian’s murder, which means whoever took the lockbox already knew exactly where it was. If Song Meimei’s intention was to kill Song Zixian, she could have walked openly into his study — she wouldn’t have needed a key.”

Zheng Yun ventured a theory. “I still lean toward this being the work of accomplices. Song Meimei had a partner, and they jointly plotted to kill Song Zixian and take the lockbox. Afterward, they fell out over how to divide the spoils, and the partner killed Song Meimei to silence her — strangling her.”

“That’s possible.” Although Zheng Yun’s theory was perfectly reasonable, Shi Ting had a nagging sense that something was off. But the case was too murky at the moment, so he had no choice but to follow this line of reasoning for now.

“Boss,” called Bai Jin, rushing in breathlessly, his handsome face covered in sweat. “We’ve got something. Song Meimei’s ex-husband, Huo Zhiguo, is a prime suspect.”

“Have you brought him in?”

Bai Jin shook his head. “Huo Zhiguo must have sensed something was wrong — he’s already fled his home. We’ve set up a net at the harbor and the train station. There’s just been a report that he was spotted at Dawan Harbor.”

Shi Ting picked up his police cap and put it on. “Let’s move — Dawan Harbor.”

“Shi Ting.” Yan Qing suddenly called out to him, her expression anxious. “Be careful.”

If Huo Zhiguo truly was the one who had killed Song Zixian, and he had already managed to get his hands on a firearm, there was every chance he was still armed with more dangerous weapons.

Shi Ting’s expression softened slightly, and he gave a small nod.

“Miss Yan, you’re worried about the boss, but what about me?” Bai Jin pointed at his own face. “Look at me — all alone in this world, don’t I deserve a little sympathy?”

Shi Ting shot him a glance. “Get moving.”

Watching Shi Ting and the others leave, Yan Qing let out a quiet sigh. She couldn’t quite explain it, but whenever Shi Ting went out to personally make an arrest, her heart beat far harder than usual.

To ease the anxious worry gripping her, she returned to the autopsy room.

Yan Qing asked one of the officers to help her move Song Zixian’s frozen body back onto the examination table, hoping to find one more clue from the remains.

Song Zixian’s body was as cold as a block of ice, exuding a steady wisp of chill. Yan Qing’s gloved hands moved carefully, examining every part of him.

Song Zixian had been killed by a gunshot wound to the head, so the forensic focus had been on that area. Beyond that, there were no other injuries on his body — he hadn’t even had the chance to fight back.

Yan Qing lifted Song Zixian’s right hand and suddenly noticed some red markings on the pads of all five fingers. Due to the freezing, these marks had become more defined and visible.

She picked up his left hand and found the same markings there — and there were clear signs that someone had attempted to wipe them away.

She took out a magnifying glass and examined them closely. The substance looked like it might be watercolor paint, but not quite. She didn’t recall Song Zixian having any interest in painting.

Yan Qing carefully scraped a small piece of skin from the fingertip of the deceased, placed it in a specimen container, and sent it to the laboratory.

The military police department didn’t have a dedicated laboratory — this one office handled both toxicological testing and served as Bai Jin’s space for trace analysis.

The person in charge of toxicological testing was a chubby, pale-faced young man everyone called Bai Pang. In addition to running tests, Bai Pang also handled cleaning duties, and moonlighted as the canteen food server. When extra manpower was needed, he could go out on surveillance and investigations too — a one-man team who was never wasted.

Yan Qing handed over the skin sample from the deceased’s hand and asked Bai Pang to analyze what substance had been absorbed into it. Bai Pang accepted it with a cheerful grin. “Miss Yan, let me go serve lunch in the canteen first, and I’ll get right on this when I’m back.”

“No rush.” Yan Qing smiled in understanding. “Thank you for all your hard work.”

She glanced up at the clock on the wall, a quiet worry creeping in. She had no idea how things were going on Shi Ting’s end.

The vehicle carrying Shi Ting was speeding toward Dawan Dock. Old Zhao’s driving skills were easily worthy of a racing circuit.

Taking advantage of the journey, Bai Jin briefed Shi Ting on what they had found.

“This Huo Zhiguo and Song Meimei were introduced and married two years ago. Huo Zhiguo had been a branch manager at Zhongqi Bank — young, capable, and promising. After marrying Song Meimei, his career prospects looked brilliant. But then he got mixed up in gambling. Every evening after work he’d head to the gambling hall and throw money away, until someone finally set him up and he lost everything — his fortune and his job alike. Six months ago, Song Meimei divorced him. He fought it at the time, and it became such a scene they had to take it to the precinct. According to our investigation, even after the divorce, Huo Zhiguo kept showing up at her door repeatedly — either to borrow money or to ask her to pull strings with Song Zixian to get his old job at Zhongqi Bank back. He even approached Song Zixian directly, but Song Zixian completely ignored him and had people throw him out.”

“So Huo Zhiguo had a motive to kill.”

“Even though Huo Zhiguo’s life had fallen apart, he couldn’t shake the gambling habit. He sold everything in his home — nothing was left except a broken old bicycle.” Bai Jin grew more animated as he went on. “We lifted oil residue from that bicycle, and after comparison, it matched the oil residue found on the door handle of Song Meimei’s home and on her body. Huo Zhiguo is the one who killed Song Meimei.”

“What about the slippers? Have we found the missing pair that belonged to Song Zixian?”

“No, not yet.”

Shi Ting stared straight ahead, his mind threading through a thousand tangled possibilities.

“We’re here.” Old Zhao pulled the car to a stop.

Dozens of boats were moored at Dawan Dock — some fishing vessels, some passenger boats.

This dock had limited capacity, and the passenger boats that operated from here served only a handful of nearby towns.

Bai Jin walked while consulting a map. “If Huo Zhiguo is trying to flee, the most likely route is by boat to Songmu Town. The shipping routes from Songmu connect in every direction — from there, you can get almost anywhere.”

The group approached a modest ticket booth at the dock. Bai Jin asked about tickets to Songmu Town. The ticket seller, evidently taken by Bai Jin’s good looks, answered with cheerful directness. “The last boat to Songmu Town today leaves at one o’clock.”

Bai Jin checked his watch. “We’re in trouble — ten minutes until it sails.”

“Which berth is it at?”

“Dock two. Are you buying tickets? There are still two seats left.”

“No, thank you.”

Shi Ting and Bai Jin turned and sprinted toward Dock Two. As they drew closer, an ordinary passenger boat came into view, resting on the water. A gangway had been laid between the vessel and the dock, and a person in a blue-black uniform stood at the edge checking tickets. Only a scattered few passengers remained still boarding.

Bai Jin peered into the boat. “She’s about to leave — Huo Zhiguo has almost certainly already boarded.”

He flashed his credentials to the ticket checker and said quietly, “Official business.”

The ticket checker blinked in confusion before catching on, then waved them through.

Only two unsold seats remained on the boat. At a glance, the rest were all occupied.

“There are a lot of people.” Bai Jin and Shi Ting boarded as inconspicuously as regular passengers, moving toward the stern while scanning every seat carefully.

As they neared the rear of the boat, a man sitting in the last row caught their attention. He wore a black felt hat pulled down low over his face.

Bai Jin’s eyes sharpened. “That’s him, Boss — Huo Zhiguo.”

Shi Ting noticed that directly in front of Huo Zhiguo sat a woman cradling a child of three or four years old. In the interest of safety, he caught Bai Jin’s eye and signaled him to approach quietly and take Huo Zhiguo by surprise.

Just as the two were nearly within reach of Huo Zhiguo, the ticket checker came running back onto the boat and bellowed at the top of his lungs: “Hey, you two officers who just boarded — are you done with your business? This boat’s about to leave!”

At the word “officers,” Huo Zhiguo leapt to his feet like a startled carp and bolted straight for the stern.

“Freeze!” Bai Jin drew his pistol.

Huo Zhiguo seemed not to hear. He had already burst through to the aft deck.

Shi Ting saw that he was going to jump into the water to escape, and moved quickly to intercept him.

Huo Zhiguo ran a few steps, then spun around. In his hand, a gun’s dark muzzle was leveled directly at Shi Ting. A cold sneer curled his lips — and without a moment’s hesitation, he pulled the trigger.

From inside the cabin came Bai Jin’s shout: “Boss!”

—