From Feifei, Zhou Jin had learned that the teahouse was called “Longjing Shore,” located at the entrance of Wuzhen Street in the lower district.
Wuzhen Street sat at the fringe of the lower district, in an area where urban and rural blended together — a place of mixed characters and lax public order.
The sign for Longjing Shore Teahouse was wedged among a row of other storefronts, with nothing particular to distinguish it.
Zhou Jin didn’t know enough about the teahouse’s interior to risk charging straight in, so she staked out the area nearby for a full day, observing the comings and goings of the people inside.
Sitting in the car, Zhou Jin tapped her fingers idly against the steering wheel, her gaze fixed on the teahouse across the street.
Stakeout work came with long stretches of tedium and boredom, and required a great deal of patience.
After staring for half the day, her eyes were aching badly. She lowered her head and rested her cheek against the steering wheel. From that angle, she had a clear view of Jiang Hansheng in the passenger seat.
His expression was calm and composed, his attention fixed steadily on the teahouse. Perhaps he’d noticed out of the corner of his eye that Zhou Jin was tired — without drawing any attention to it, he picked up the black insulated flask beside him and held it out to her.
Zhou Jin: “…”
Heaven only knew why Jiang Hansheng would bring something like that on a work trip. Wasn’t it heavy?
She took it obediently, drank two mouthfuls of warm water, and let out a satisfied breath.
She asked: “Are you tired?”
Under normal circumstances, someone who wasn’t a dedicated detective would struggle to adapt quickly to this kind of monotonous work.
But Jiang Hansheng shook his head. “Not tired.”
Had Zhou Jin known how many grueling hours Jiang Hansheng had endured alone in the cramped, sealed confines of a rehabilitation room, staring at bare, empty walls, she wouldn’t have found his endurance so surprising.
Zhou Jin said: “I’ve actually figured it out — it’s not that you’re worried about being in danger yourself. It’s that you’re worried about me being out here alone.”
Jiang Hansheng rested his chin on his hand and smiled at her slightly — as if to say, so you’ve finally worked it out.
Zhou Jin said: “But I’ll say the same thing I said before — I’m not afraid of them coming after me. I’m afraid they won’t, and then we’ll have to go to all this trouble tracking them down ourselves.”
She reached out and patted Jiang Hansheng’s shoulder, then added: “So you don’t need to worry about me, and don’t underestimate me either. If you’re genuinely tired, go back and rest. I can manage on my own.”
She always felt guilty for taking up his time and energy.
“I can’t.” Jiang Hansheng seemed to say it in earnest. “When I’m alone, I can’t stop thinking about what my wife is doing — so I’d rather just stay by her side.”
Zhou Jin: “…Professor Jiang, somehow that sounds like you’re stringing me along.”
Jiang Hansheng laughed despite himself and took hold of her hand.
His features were almost unfairly beautiful, but because of his reserved nature, his face was usually quiet and expressionless — yet the moment he smiled, those fine eyes and brows seemed to come alive, radiating a kind of bright, soaring charm.
His palm was dry, pressed against the back of her hand, the warmth between them gradually deepening.
He said: “I mean it.”
If the first remark had carried a hint of playfulness — something she could smile at and let pass — then this quiet, earnest reply was something else entirely. It was as though someone who normally kept everything carefully hidden beneath the surface, reserved to a rare degree, had suddenly opened themselves up and laid their heart bare. There was no way to doubt the sincerity of it, and it was genuinely difficult to deflect.
Zhou Jin’s face went pink. She looked away from Jiang Hansheng’s gaze, her eyes wandering for a long moment before finally drifting back to Longjing Shore Teahouse across the street.
About three or four minutes later, another person emerged from the teahouse.
Zhou Jin added the final stroke to complete yet another tally mark in her notebook.
She murmured in puzzlement: “How is this teahouse doing such brisk business?”
Jiang Hansheng was silent for a moment, then glanced down at his watch to confirm the time once more.
He said: “Over the past three hours, the teahouse has taken in fifty-four customers in total — and none of them have come back out.”
Zhou Jin chewed on her pen. “That’s not right — twenty-five have come out.”
Jiang Hansheng shook his head. “The appearances and clothing don’t match.”
“…”
Zhou Jin had been tracking the foot traffic in order to identify when the teahouse was at its quietest, as well as to pinpoint the regular staff — hoping to establish “Brother Hong’s” identity and social connections as soon as possible.
Beyond that, she hadn’t paid close attention to the finer details.
With Jiang Hansheng’s observation to prompt her, Zhou Jin’s puzzlement only deepened. Judging by its floor space alone, the teahouse couldn’t possibly accommodate that many customers at once — so was there more to it than met the eye?
Even if Brother Hong was a pimp, running this teahouse as a venue for prostitution seemed unlikely — it wasn’t even evening yet, and fifty-four customers had already filed in. The density of people was far too high.
Which left one other possibility.
Zhou Jin said: “Could it be an underground gambling den?”
Jiang Hansheng accepted her theory. “I’d suggest seeking assistance from the local public security brigade.”
Zhou Jin, however, didn’t think that was a good idea. In Huaisha, Jiang Hansheng’s name was essentially synonymous with a plague — wherever he went, doors slammed in his face.
Though Zhou Jin found this deeply impressive. After all, even a plague god was still a god.
Just at that moment, a cheerful whistle sounded at Zhou Jin’s ear. “Finally found you two.”
Since they’d left the window down for fresh air, a woman leaned down, propped her white arms on the car door, slid off her sunglasses, and met Zhou Jin’s eyes.
It was Feifei.
Zhou Jin’s brow furrowed slightly. “What are you—”
“Relax, I didn’t come to turn you in.” Feifei blinked. “I forgot to tell you — Brother Hong seems to be running a gambling den in there. Watch out, or you’ll get roughed up. You look capable enough — tough, can take a hit…”