Shi Ting’s brow furrowed slightly. “Didn’t you? You killed Song Zixian first, took his lockbox, then killed Song Meimei and intended to keep everything for yourself before making your escape.”

Huo Zhiguo, who had been silent and unmovable, seemed suddenly to ignite with fury. “I’ll admit it — I’m the one who killed that vile woman Song Meimei. But I did not kill Song Zixian.”

Shi Ting’s gaze sharpened. “Killing one person is a capital offense. Killing two is equally a capital offense. Why not confess to both?”

“There’s nothing in this world I fear — except being wrongly accused. Why should I admit to something I didn’t do?”

“But how do you prove you didn’t kill Song Zixian?” Shi Ting advanced one deliberate step at a time, guided and probing in sequence. For people who liked to use silence to disrupt an interrogation, he always found a way to identify their weakness and strike through it.

“It was definitely Song Meimei who killed Song Zixian.” Huo Zhiguo spoke with absolute certainty. “She wanted to open a dress shop, and she asked Song Zixian repeatedly to lend her the money, but that miserly old miser refused every time — not a single coin. Song Meimei lost her temper and killed him, then stole his lockbox.”

“Then why did you kill Song Meimei?”

Huo Zhiguo’s gaze drifted back to that night. “On the evening of the fourteenth, I went to Song Meimei’s home to borrow money. She said she had nothing to lend me. I spotted a lockbox sitting in her bedroom — and it was open. I asked if there was money inside, and she said no. I forced my way in and found the box was full of savings certificates, gold and silver jewelry, and a large amount of cash. I asked her to give me a share — she refused. In the argument that followed, I strangled her. When I saw she had stopped breathing, I took everything of value from the lockbox and left. Afterward I was terrified you would find me, so I bought a boat ticket and planned to flee to another city.”

“Where did your pistol come from?”

“I made it myself from parts. Back in Xijin City, there’s a large munitions factory — I used to be a worker there. I came to Shun Cheng afterward and worked my way up into a position at the bank through my own effort.”

Shi Ting had Zheng Yun bring in the weapon used to kill Song Zixian for Huo Zhiguo to examine. Huo Zhiguo identified it at once. “This is a large-caliber Mauser pistol produced by the Xijin munitions factory. Because of the large bore, it has certain drawbacks — it was never mass-produced or widely issued to troops. They only manufactured it for three years before halting production.”

“Have you ever encountered anyone in Shun Cheng using this type of firearm?”

Huo Zhiguo shook his head.

After leaving the interrogation room, Zheng Yun asked, “Boss, do you believe Huo Zhiguo?”

“Do you know why Huo Zhiguo came to Shun Cheng from Xijin City in the first place?”

“I read the files — I believe it was because someone at the factory falsely accused him of stealing raw materials.”

“Just as Huo Zhiguo said — there’s nothing he fears more than being wrongly accused. After coming to Shun Cheng, he never gave up trying to uncover the truth of what happened back then, and he eventually found the real person who had stolen the materials. Furthermore, he has already admitted to killing Song Meimei — there would be no reason to deny killing Song Zixian if he were also guilty of it.”

“What if he and Song Meimei were working together?”

“If they were working together, why wouldn’t Song Meimei have used Huo Zhiguo as her alibi? Instead, she admitted directly to us that she was home alone at the time of the murder. And besides — Song Meimei only wanted to open a dress shop. Whether that shop opened or didn’t wouldn’t put her life at risk. It doesn’t follow logically that she would kill her own father just to open a shop. Don’t forget — both Song Meimei and Liu Cui confirmed that before the murder, Song Zixian had become extremely paranoid, convinced someone was after his life. So what was it that had him on guard day and night? My stronger inclination is this: Song Meimei’s original intention all along was to steal money. That’s why she had the duplicate key made, why she scouted the place multiple times, and why she slipped into Song Zixian’s home while Liu Cui was out buying groceries and took the lockbox. As it happened, she had only just stolen the lockbox when Song Zixian was murdered.”

“Then how did Song Meimei open the lockbox? Song Zixian would never have told her the combination.”

“I think that question troubled Song Meimei for some time — which is why she got the lockbox early but only on the evening of the fourteenth found a way to open it. It was precisely at that moment that Huo Zhiguo came by to borrow money, saw the wealth inside, and killed her for it.”

Zheng Yun’s brow creased with worry. “So the person who killed Song Zixian wasn’t Song Meimei, and it wasn’t Huo Zhiguo either — then who wanted him dead?”

“Since Song Meimei was the one who took Song Zixian’s lockbox, and there were no signs of anything being searched at the scene, we can rule out robbery as the killer’s motive.”

The two of them were walking past the entrance to the autopsy room as they spoke. Shi Ting asked Zheng Yun to continue investigating Song Zixian’s social connections, then pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Yan Qing looked up and broke into a wide smile. “Finished with the interrogation?”

“Huo Zhiguo confessed. He killed Song Meimei over the money.”

“Song Zixian wasn’t killed by him though, was he?”

Shi Ting nodded. “I keep feeling this case involving Song Zixian isn’t going to be simple. Tell me — what could have happened to Song Zixian that would leave him, sitting inside his own home, already wearing dress shoes and ready to flee at a moment’s notice? Who was threatening his life?”

“Song Zixian lived his whole life for money. In the face of financial gain, he could even treat his own daughter as a stranger. Whatever shook him to the core probably had something to do with money as well.” Yan Qing thought for a moment. “What have the investigators turned up at Zhongqi Bank?”

“No useful leads so far.”

As they were speaking, there came a knock at the outer door, and Bai Pang poked his round head around the frame. “Miss Yan, what you requested is ready.”

Spotting Shi Ting, he immediately snapped to attention. “Director.”

“What is it?” Shi Ting asked.

Yan Qing wheeled herself forward and took a sheet of paper from Bai Pang’s hands. “I found some red markings on all ten of Song Zixian’s fingertips. I wasn’t certain what they were, so I asked Gu Zhen to run a test.”

Everyone was so used to calling the man Bai Pang that they’d almost forgotten his real name was Gu Zhen.

Bai Pang said, “The substance on the fingertips appears to be composed of cinnabar, oil, and dried mugwort.”

Seeing the puzzlement on both their faces, he continued, “In other words, what we commonly know as ink paste — the kind used for stamping seals.”

Yan Qing asked, “Was there any ink paste on Song Zixian’s writing desk?”

Shi Ting shook his head. “There wasn’t.”

“That’s strange then. Why would Song Zixian have ink paste on all ten of his fingers?”

“Could it have gotten on him from stamping documents?” Bai Pang offered. “He was a bank director — he must have used a seal constantly.”

Shi Ting shook his head. “Even when stamping with a seal, there’s no need to use all ten fingers. And if it were a matter of pressing a handprint, you wouldn’t need to press all ten fingers either.”

The mention of handprints sparked something in Yan Qing’s mind — a sudden possible explanation. “If there was no ink paste on Song Zixian’s writing desk, then the ink paste was most likely brought to the scene by the killer. After murdering him, the killer took both of his hands and pressed all ten fingerprints, then tried to wipe away the remaining ink paste left on his fingers — but ink paste is extremely difficult to remove completely, which is why traces of it were preserved on the body.”

“The ink paste could also have gotten on him while he was at the bank.” Shi Ting looked toward Bai Pang. “Would different ink pastes have different compositions?”

“In theory, yes. The quality of cinnabar varies considerably, and some ink pastes include additional ingredients. Unless they were produced on the same production line, it would be quite easy to tell them apart.”

“I recall that Song Zixian had an ink stamp pad in his office at the bank. I’ll have someone bring it back now so you can compare the two and determine whether or not they came from the same pad.”

Bai Pang nodded. “Understood.”

Shortly after, the ink pad was retrieved from the bank. Bai Pang immediately bent his head over it and began his examination. An hour later, the results were in.

“The two samples are definitely not from the same ink paste.” Shi Ting’s expression deepened. “The ink paste on Song Zixian’s fingers was very likely brought to the scene by the killer. It appears the killer’s true purpose was to obtain his fingerprints.”

Yan Qing was baffled. “What would the killer want Song Zixian’s fingerprints for? Are they planning to help solve the case themselves?”

“Have you heard of a lock called a fingerprint lock?”

Yan Qing blinked. Of course she had — in the modern world where she came from, smartphones were everywhere. Fingerprint locks were nothing. Faces could open locks now.

Shi Ting continued, “It’s a foreign invention, primarily used on lockboxes. To open one, you must press a registered fingerprint. However, these lockboxes are extremely expensive. Unless you have something of extraordinary value to protect, there’s no reason to buy one.”

“So you suspect the killer took Song Zixian’s fingerprints to open a lockbox. But isn’t Song Zixian’s lockbox the one Song Meimei has?”

“What Song Meimei stole is most likely only a portion of his savings. The one inside the fingerprint lockbox — the amount held there would be far greater.”

Yan Qing frowned slightly. “Song Zixian was a bank director, but even a director’s income has its limits. Where would he get that kind of money?”

Her mind immediately landed on one word: “Embezzlement?”

“That’s possible.” Shi Ting thought for a moment. “The idea that Song Zixian possessed a vast sum of money is still only our theory. To prove it, we first need to find evidence that he actually owned a fingerprint lockbox.”

He glanced toward the window. “The foreign trading house won’t have closed yet. Let’s go have a look now.”

“Let Bai Jin and the others handle it.” Yan Qing was worried about the wound on his shoulder. “The doctor said you need to rest properly for the next few days.”

“It’s not a problem. Besides, with you beside me, what do I have to worry about?”

Yan Qing sighed. “I’m a forensic examiner, not a doctor.”

“As far as I’m concerned, there’s no difference.”

Yan Qing knew there was no point arguing. She gave in, though reluctantly. “Fine. Let’s go — at least if I’m with you, I can make sure you don’t do anything reckless.”

Shi Ting wheeled her toward the exit. “From what I know, there’s only one place in all of Shun Cheng that sells this type of fingerprint lockbox.”

The David Import Trading House.

This establishment dealt exclusively in high-end foreign goods. The owner was a genuine foreigner — blond-haired and broad-browed, with large eyes, speaking a halting and imperfect brand of Mandarin.

The shop sold fine timepieces and fine paintings. Just inside the entrance, a large phonograph commanded immediate attention.

In this era, the pleasures of music were fairly simple: a phonograph, a night at the opera, or the voice of a singer drifting through a dance hall.

“Hello there.” The owner, David, had been about to close up for the evening. Seeing customers enter, he came forward at once with a warm smile.

—