Late at night. The serious crimes division.

The office lights had been turned off. The only light came from the warm white desk lamp on Zhou Jin’s table.

She had been resting with her head down on her arms, but before long she emerged from beneath her thin blanket, the shadows under her eyes slightly deepened, her expression carrying a faint weariness.

The time was three in the morning.

She rubbed her disheveled hair. Sleep was out of the question now. She bit her lip in frustration.

She thought to herself: Jiang Hansheng must have gotten away with a great deal on account of his looks. Otherwise, how had she let herself be so thoroughly beguiled — letting him slip past her so easily?

Zhou Jin had gone in with an unwavering resolve to get to the bottom of everything, only to be smoothly sidetracked by a few vague words from a man who was half-drunk. She had tried time and again to steer the conversation back on course, but Jiang Hansheng hadn’t answered — he had simply looked at her with quiet seriousness, a smile gathering at the corner of his lips, giving nothing away about what was going on behind those eyes.

I remember Zhou Jin.

Zhou Jin rubbed the tips of her ears, which had gone strangely warm, then picked up her phone and sent Jiang Hansheng a message.

“Does your head hurt?”

“Last time I made some honey water and left it in the fridge. Remember to drink a glass when you wake up.”

Zhou Jin was still deliberating over the wording, thinking over what else she ought to remind him of, when Bai Yang called before she could send it.

She quickly pressed to answer. “What’s happened?”

Bai Yang said: “Come save the world.”

His voice sounded a little hoarse — he was clearly exhausted. Zhou Jin grabbed a can of cola and brought it over to him.

When she arrived at the technical division, Bai Yang saw her hold out the cola and, in a rare deviation, shook his head at his beloved beverage. “I’ve got a fever. I’m drinking hot water.”

Zhou Jin: “Why didn’t you swap shifts with someone?”

“It’s nothing serious — one tablet and it’ll pass.” Bai Yang coughed a few times. “Come take a look at the surveillance footage.”

“You got something on camera?”

Zhou Jin was mildly taken aback. She hadn’t expected the first breakthrough to come from surveillance footage.

She hadn’t held out much hope for that particular line of inquiry at the start.

This wasn’t the killer’s first time. Before murdering Chen Xiaoyu, he had already killed three women in succession in Ningyuan and Jingang — and had calmly managed the crime scenes each time. The killer’s methods were, by any measure, extremely refined. How could he have been this careless?

Bai Yang frowned. “It was caught on camera, but…”

He didn’t elaborate, and simply pulled up the footage directly.

“According to the statements of Chen Xiaoyu’s friends, the last time they saw her was at an underground concert inside a bar called ONE. I pulled the surveillance footage from the surrounding area and confirmed that on the night of Chen Xiaoyu’s murder, she returned home with a man.”

The computer screen cast its cold white glow across Zhou Jin’s face. She stared fixedly at the footage.

Chen Xiaoyu came into frame. Although her back was to the camera, she was immediately recognizable — her vivid red dress drew the eye like a flame.

The man with his arm around her was dressed entirely in black, nearly dissolving into the darkness. He was very tall; beside him, Chen Xiaoyu looked slight and delicate, like a small bird sheltered against him.

In a few of the frames, Chen Xiaoyu had her arms around his shoulders, and the two shared a brief kiss.

To any passerby, they would have appeared to be nothing more than two people deeply in love — nothing to arouse the slightest suspicion.

Zhou Jin’s mind immediately went back to something Jiang Hansheng had said.

In the Huaiguang serial murder case, none of the victims had shown any restraint injuries. In the early stages, they had at least willingly brought the killer home themselves.

Qi Yan was dead. The man on the screen now was merely someone who had followed in his footsteps — yet this was no crude imitation. In terms of criminal method, he was a match for Qi Yan.

But after reviewing all the available footage, Zhou Jin frowned and noticed something off almost immediately.

She asked: “There’s no shot of his face?”

Bai Yang launched into his litany of grievances: “That’s exactly the problem. He seems to have deliberately avoided the cameras. Then he got Chen Xiaoyu into a car, and we never got a single clear shot of his face. And the license plate — it was fake.”

Zhou Jin asked: “What about the surveillance cameras near Chen Xiaoyu’s home?”

Bai Yang answered: “The Lishui residential complex is an older development — not many functioning cameras to speak of. I swept through everything available. Nothing of note.”

Zhou Jin bit her lip, thought for a moment, then said to Bai Yang: “Pull that last clip back up again — double speed, one more time.”

Bai Yang brought the footage up again. Zhou Jin dragged a chair over and sat down, watching it through again and again.

During the intervals, Bai Yang went to get himself a cup of hot water, took his fever medication, then settled back in front of the screen.

After roughly four passes, Zhou Jin suddenly told Bai Yang to pause, and pointed to a black car in the corner of the frame. “That car.”

With their backs to the camera, Chen Xiaoyu and the man were walking toward it. They passed alongside it and then disappeared from view.

“Keep playing.”

The footage continued. About ten minutes or so later, the black car slowly started up.

Bai Yang blinked. “Someone was sitting in it?”

Zhou Jin said: “We might be able to retrieve the dashcam footage. Can you get the license plate number?”

Bai Yang said: “That’s easy enough.”

He pulled up a different angle of the footage, and after some enhancement, the license plate came into sharp focus — Hai D · 2A523.

Zhou Jin gave Bai Yang a pat on the shoulder. “You can knock off for tonight. Send the plate number to Zhao Ping and have him run it.”

Bai Yang grabbed Zhou Jin’s hands with both of his and shook them vigorously. “I’ve finally realized it — you’re our guardian angel, Jin Jin.”

Zhou Jin laughed. “Get out of here.”

Bai Yang sighed. “That tone — sounds just like Captain Tan.”

Zhou Jin: “You become what you’re around. You become what you’re around.”

A sleepless night.

Just past seven in the morning, Zhou Jin went to the train station to meet Chen Xiaoyu’s parents and bring them to the station.

A forensic officer accompanied them for the identification. Zhou Jin did not go in.

Through the heavy door, Chen Xiaoyu’s mother’s voice broke apart — raw, inconsolable sobs spilling out, calling “Xiaoyu, Xiaoyu” over and over, as though she believed, desperately, that if she called loudly enough, she might somehow wake her daughter.

Chen Xiaoyu’s father wept in choked silence, holding his wife tightly in both arms.

His eyes were webbed with red. He stared at the sheet-covered body with a look of stunned disbelief, and after a very long time, managed to ask: “Why has it come to this? Why!”

“Can anyone tell me — why has my daughter ended up like this?!”

Zhou Jin pressed her lips together and stepped a little further from the door. The sound of weeping grew slightly quieter.

Yu Dan was also there. Seeing the shadow across Zhou Jin’s face, she came to stand beside her and asked: “It’s not the first time you’ve seen something like this. Does it still hit you this hard?”

Zhou Jin said: “I’m all right. It just makes me think of my mom and dad.”

“And what about you?” Yu Dan asked. She meant the day Zhou Chuan’s body had been identified.

Zhou Jin gave a short, quiet laugh — hollow, edged with something bitter. “Same as now. I didn’t dare go in then, either.”

Yu Dan put her arm around Zhou Jin’s shoulders and gave her a gentle pat. She wanted to offer some words of comfort, but couldn’t find any that felt adequate.

In the face of life and death, words are powerless.

Yu Dan would continue gathering further information from Chen Xiaoyu’s parents.

Zhou Jin, meanwhile, made her way to the reception room to debrief with the detectives who had come from Ningyuan and Jingang regarding the circumstances of those crime scenes.

It was not until midday that Jiang Hansheng arrived at the serious crimes division on his own, making his way to the reception room to find Zhou Jin.

When the detectives from Ningyuan and Jingang heard who he was, they greeted him warmly, reaching out to shake his hand.

“When Mr. Jiang was at the provincial bureau, he helped our Jingang criminal investigation unit with a case — a true master detective! We’d always heard of you but never had the chance to meet in person. To think we’d get the opportunity to work together!”

Jiang Hansheng maintained his precisely measured politeness: “You’re far too kind.”

“I hear you’re no longer at the provincial bureau. Where are you based now?”

Jiang Hansheng said: “I teach at the university.”

“So you’ve stepped back from the front line?” the other detective said with a note of genuine regret. “With a talent like yours — going into teaching really is a step down, isn’t it.”

Jiang Hansheng said: “I wouldn’t say that. It’s a good position.”

The detective sensed he had overstepped with that remark, and quickly laughed it off to smooth things over.

Zhou Jin noticed it was almost past mealtime, and said: “Shall we all eat together? My treat.”

The others promptly declined. “No, no — oversight’s been tight lately. We’re on official business, and there’s still plenty to get through. We’ll need to swing by the crime scene shortly — we can grab something to eat on the way.”

Zhou Jin didn’t press them further. After she had seen them out, only she and Jiang Hansheng remained in the reception room.

The two of them looked at each other for a moment.

The tips of Jiang Hansheng’s ears were faintly flushed. He was the first to lose his composure: “Was I last night—”

Zhou Jin cut him off: “Yes.”

Jiang Hansheng: “…”

Zhou Jin laughed and stopped teasing him. “Don’t worry. You have the best manners when you drink of anyone I’ve ever seen — even if one cup does knock you flat.”

Jiang Hansheng exhaled with the relief of a man who had just been pardoned, reached over to take her hand, and said: “I saw your messages.”

“…Oh.”

Just thinking about them, Zhou Jin still found it a little cringeworthy.

Jiang Hansheng replied with complete seriousness: “The headache is gone. I drank the honey water.”

Zhou Jin said: “You really didn’t need to make a formal report of it.”

“Zhou Jin.”

Jiang Hansheng suddenly stepped closer. She instinctively drew back — then his hand closed firmly around hers, and Zhou Jin stopped.

Jiang Hansheng looked down at her and said: “That was the first time you’ve ever sent me a message on your own.”

Zhou Jin blinked, feeling inexplicably caught out. “Was it?”

“I thought it warranted a proper reply.”

“Noted.” Zhou Jin lowered her voice. “Now — food. Let’s eat.”

Jiang Hansheng seemed to smile at that. “All right.”

Since Zhou Jin still had work to see to, the two of them went to the nearby Sichuan restaurant as usual.

By now the lunch rush was well and truly over, and the restaurant was nearly empty. The owner and his wife were both absent — the server explained they had gone on a trip.

Jiang Hansheng couldn’t handle spicy food, so when Zhou Jin ordered, she made a point of including one milder dish.

When she tried to place the order, though, no one came for what felt like a long while. After some waiting, A’Juan finally appeared, drifting out slowly from the back courtyard.

When Zhou Jin saw her, she didn’t think much of it and smiled. “Your parents are out traveling, so you’re holding the fort?”

A’Juan’s face was a little pale. She sniffled and said: “Yes. Yes.”

Zhou Jin ordered quickly, and throughout the whole process she could hear A’Juan’s runny nose. Mildly concerned, she asked: “Have you caught a cold?”

Jiang Hansheng raised his head.

Sensing his gaze, A’Juan glanced over — and their eyes collided. A’Juan startled, nearly falling into the deep darkness of his eyes.

A faint cold sweat appeared at her temples. Her reply to Zhou Jin sounded distinctly strained: “Yes.”

Zhou Jin reminded her to take care of herself. A’Juan thanked her and hurried away.

Jiang Hansheng watched A’Juan’s thin figure retreat. After a long moment, he suddenly rose to his feet and said to Zhou Jin: “Wait here.”