Yan Qing had just stepped out from the reed shelter when Qiao Yiran hurried over, still carrying a packed bag of longan tea.

“Yan Qing, what are you doing over here? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Qiao Yiran arrived flushed and sweating. “There was a gang fight nearby just now — are you hurt?”

“Yiran, call the police quickly,” Yan Qing said urgently.

“Does the Military Police handle this kind of thing?”

“If the Military Police won’t handle it, the Public Security Bureau will. Just call the police first.”

“Got it. There’s a public telephone booth over there — I’ll go make the call.” Qiao Yiran thrust the longan tea into Yan Qing’s hands and ran off.

Yan Qing cast a worried glance in the direction Long Yunxiao had disappeared. Anxious as she felt, there was nothing she could do. She looked down at the gun in her hand, and quickly shoved it beneath the paper bag to avoid drawing attention.

Qiao Yiran returned before long, followed by three or four officers from the Public Security Bureau.

The Military Police handled major criminal cases, while the Public Security Bureau fell under its jurisdiction and was primarily responsible for maintaining social order — settling brawls and other petty disputes.

“I hadn’t even made the call yet when I ran into these officers on patrol,” Qiao Yiran said, catching her breath.

“The troublemakers are over that way.” Yan Qing pointed northwest, toward a sparsely populated alley.

The officers hurried off in that direction. After a moment’s rest, Qiao Yiran followed after them.

“Yiran, where are you going?”

“Where there’s news, there’s me.” Qiao Yiran held up her press credentials. “Don’t worry — I’ll be fine.”

Rounding a corner, someone up ahead called out: “There’s blood here.”

At first just a few scattered droplets, the blood trail quickly grew heavier. Seven or eight figures in black lay sprawled across the ground, their groans of pain breaking the silence at intervals.

Qiao Yiran spotted a dark shape sitting hunched in the corner, cradling someone in his arms. The person was dressed in white robes now soaked through with crimson; his eyes were tightly shut, his condition unknown.

“Get help — quickly!” The seated man looked up as people approached, his bright eyes blazing with desperate urgency.

Qiao Yiran recognized him as Long Yunxiao, the head of the Long Yun Society. She had seen him once at a banquet — elegant, dashing, and supremely self-assured.

Now Long Yunxiao’s face was streaked with blood, his expression haggard. There was nothing left of the commanding, formidable air that had once defined him.

“I’ll get Yan Qing.” Qiao Yiran, badly shaken, turned and ran.

A moment later she returned, pushing Yan Qing at a breathless pace. When Yan Qing recognized the person in Long Yunxiao’s arms as Long Yue, she was genuinely taken aback.

Hadn’t Long Yue already fled? How had he ended up back here?

“Miss Yan, please — save him.” Long Yunxiao’s voice was raw with urgency.

With Qiao Yiran supporting her, Yan Qing approached Long Yue and examined his wounds. Her brow furrowed. “Has a doctor been called?”

One of the Public Security officers answered: “We’ve already telephoned the hospital. Someone should be on the way soon.”

“How is he?” Long Yunxiao pressed anxiously.

Yan Qing shook her head. “The injuries are too severe. I can only help slow the bleeding for now.”

What she did not tell him was that Long Yue’s condition was grave. His pulse and breathing were both fading steadily — a stage known in medicine as the agonal phase, the first stage of the dying process.

Long Yue had sustained multiple stab wounds across his body. One blade had struck him squarely in the chest — his fatal wound.

That he had held on this long was purely a matter of will.

She was a forensic examiner, not a physician. Unless a miracle occurred…

“Long Yue…” Long Yunxiao held him tightly, his expression stricken with grief.

Earlier, when enemies had driven him into a desperate corner, he had been prepared to fight to the death. Then Long Yue had appeared without warning. The two brothers fought side by side, and though they ultimately brought down every last attacker, Long Yue had taken a grievous wound in protecting him.

That blade had been aimed straight at his chest. The blood had poured out in an instant, impossible to stop.

Long Yue had known he would not survive. Gravely wounded, he had looked at Long Yunxiao and said: he had no regrets.

Those were the last words he left for his brother.

Whether he meant no regrets over killing Shu Banxue, or no regrets over protecting him — it no longer mattered to Long Yunxiao.

The hospital vehicle arrived with a wail of its siren, and white-coated doctors worked in a flurry to lift Long Yue inside.

“Here.” Yan Qing placed the gun back in Long Yunxiao’s hand.

He took it. “I’m sorry. You were nearly caught up in this today.”

He had been careless. He hadn’t anticipated enemies so close by. The Long Yun Society and the Xing Gang had been at each other’s throats lately — he should have been more vigilant.

“It’s all right.” Yan Qing could find nothing comforting enough to say. “I hope he pulls through.”

“Thank you.”

As the vehicle disappeared from sight, Yan Qing exhaled a quiet sigh.

“Is he… is there still hope?” Qiao Yiran asked, her voice heavy with worry.

Yan Qing shook her head. “Only if there’s a miracle.”

As it turned out, miracles did not exist everywhere in this world. Two days later, white funeral flowers were hung at the entrance of the Long family mansion. Long Yunxiao stood dressed in black, a small white flower pinned to his chest.

Shi Ting pushed Yan Qing into the mourning hall. She picked up a stick of sandalwood incense, lit it, and raised her eyes to the large portrait hanging in the center. It all felt like something from another lifetime.

She still remembered the young man in white she had met at the market — spirited and brimming with confidence.

He had told her he wanted to be a detective, though he had yet to solve a single case.

He may have been a wicked person — he had, after all, killed someone he disliked. But that was what it meant to be human. Human nature was complicated, imperfect, impossible to reduce to simple categories of good and evil.

“Director Shi. Miss Yan.” Long Yunxiao walked over, visibly worn. Losing two family members in such quick succession had dealt him a devastating blow.

“Mr. Long,” Shi Ting said. “Our deepest condolences.”

Long Yunxiao nodded. “Please, come inside and take a seat.”

Shi Ting declined politely. “We won’t impose — we’ll pay our respects and be on our way.”

“Very well. I’ll have someone see you out.”

As he spoke, Long Yunxiao glanced at Yan Qing. She was dressed today in a black wool cape, which made her face appear all the more fair and delicate. He thought back to that day in the reed shelter, where she had displayed absolute calm and composure. He had known many women in his time, but none had been quite so intriguing as her.

They left the Long family mansion. The cold wind struck them full in the face outside, and Shi Ting unwound his scarf and wrapped it around Yan Qing’s neck.

“Home, or shall we walk a while?”

“Let’s walk for a bit.” Yan Qing said. “Look — all the leaves have fallen over there. The last time I came this way, there were still a few clinging to the branches.”

Shi Ting pushed her wheelchair along the roadside. His black boots crunched through the thick layer of fallen leaves, sending up a soft, rustling sound.

“I never expected Long Yue to die like this.” Yan Qing bent down to pick up a plane tree leaf — heart-shaped, now yellowed and brittle. “If I hadn’t been in that park, if he hadn’t stopped to speak with me — would he still be alive?”

Shi Ting said: “A man about to cross the street stops to chat with an acquaintance. By the time he finally steps off the curb, a car strikes him dead. Is the person he was talking to at fault? The one truly responsible is the driver who hit him.”

This was a matter between the Long Yun Society and the Xing Gang. They alone bore the consequences of their own feud.

Though Shi Ting’s words made sense, Yan Qing had witnessed Long Yue’s death with her own eyes, and the grief still sat heavily in her chest.

She had not known Long Yue long. She never could have imagined that the young man who had spoken every day of becoming a great detective would leave the world in such a way.

Perhaps this was the best ending for him, after all. He had truly protected the person he loved most.

Beep! Beep!

A sharp horn sounded. Shi Ting turned to see Bai Jin driving up behind them.

“Brother Seven. Sister-in-law. Get in.”

“A new case?”

“A homicide,” Bai Jin said. “Out in Xiqian Village. There’s still an unfinished case with E’Yuan — sorry to drag you out again, sister-in-law.”

In the autumn and winter months, with lower temperatures, the kind of advanced decomposition seen in summer was rare. For forensic examiners, the fall and winter seasons were the most manageable.

Xiqian Village lay on the outskirts of Shun Cheng. Shun Cheng was the main urban district, and surrounding it were dozens of villages of varying sizes.

Xiqian Village’s main crops were corn and soybeans. By mid-November, both harvests had been brought in. Across the open, sweeping fields, piles of corn and soybean stalks stood heaped like small hillocks in every direction.

The stalks could be used as animal fodder or as fuel for cooking fires and heating through the winter.

The car rolled along the dirt road, raising a cloud of yellow dust. People working in the fields paused now and then to look over.

Past the farmland lay the village. The road narrowed considerably as they entered, barely wide enough for a rickshaw to pass.

Bai Jin pulled the police car over onto a patch of open ground at the roadside and stepped out.

A group of children were playing in the nearby fields. When they spotted the car, they came running over in a rush.

“A big car! A big car!”

Bai Jin rummaged in the vehicle and found several candies to hand out. “Little friends, will you keep an eye on the car for me?”

The children, delighted with their sweets, nodded eagerly.

“Brother Seven. Sister-in-law. Let’s go — the scene is up on the hill.” Bai Jin led the way. “We’ll stop at the village committee office first. That’s where the report was called in from.”

Xiqian Village had only one telephone, installed in the office of the deputy village head at the village committee. Villagers who needed to make urgent calls would pay a fee determined by how far the call was going.

The village committee was situated not far from the village entrance — a square little courtyard with several bicycles parked inside.

It was lunchtime, and the smell of food drifted out from indoors.

The village committee had no canteen. Everyone brought their own meal box and warmed it in the boiler room at midday.

The newly appointed deputy village head was tall and lean — the villagers all called him “Bamboo Pole.” He was the one who had made the report.

“Officers! Please come in, come in.” Bamboo Pole was meeting Military Police officers for the first time, and his expression mixed reverence with nervous uncertainty.

Bai Jin waved him off. “No need to go inside. Take us straight to the scene.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Bamboo Pole ducked back into his office to grab a padded jacket and came hurrying out again.

“Was the scene secured?”

“Absolutely.” Bamboo Pole gave his assurance. “When you told me on the phone to cordon it off, I had people surround it immediately — tight as a drum.”

Bai Jin laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s a bit more than we needed.”

The mountain path was rough going. Shi Ting pushed Yan Qing’s wheelchair and chose the gentler slopes where he could, but the jostling was unavoidable.

“Right over there.” Bamboo Pole pointed ahead. “Do you see that cluster of grave mounds?”

—