Within less than a month, the internal review into the matter of Zhou Jin’s allegedly improper conduct during interrogation had reached its final conclusion — no serious disciplinary violations were found. The entire team received a formal written reprimand.
Zhou Jin was still not fully awake when she received Tan Shiming’s call.
She had spent so long working at relentless, uninterrupted intensity that she had barely noticed the toll it was taking — but the moment she finally let herself rest, the accumulated exhaustion seemed to seep slowly out from between her very bones. Her body ached and turned soft at the slightest provocation, and even her mind had grown sluggish.
That day, Zhou Jin slept until nearly noon. She surfaced from beneath the covers with heavy eyes and shuffled over, still half-asleep, to take Tan Shiming’s call.
He gave her a brief summary of the review’s outcome, then told her to report to the Major Crimes Unit that afternoon.
The moment she heard it, Zhou Jin was wide awake. She shot upright in bed. “Really?”
Jiang Hansheng had just stepped out of the bathroom. He saw her — alert now, eyes bright and smiling — and could tell she’d heard something good.
---
In the reception area of the Major Crimes Unit.
Tan Shiming glanced up at the man sitting on the sofa, then turned back to his call with Zhou Jin. “Is Professor Jiang with you?”
Zhou Jin: “Yes.”
“Put him on.”
Zhou Jin was a little puzzled, but she held the phone out toward Jiang Hansheng and murmured, “My mentor wants to talk to you.”
Jiang Hansheng raised an eyebrow, took the phone, and said, “Captain Tan, this is Jiang Hansheng.”
Silence from the other end. No response for a long moment.
Jiang Hansheng: “Hello?”
“— You little wretch! Quite the nerve, hanging up on me!”
A thunderous roar came through the receiver — rich, full, and furious — and Jiang Hansheng’s eyelid twitched involuntarily.
Zhou Jin heard every word with perfect clarity, and her expression shifted to one of surprise. Even Jiang Hansheng’s own father had never dressed him down quite like that — as though he were scolding a wayward grandson.
Jiang Hansheng pressed his lips together, closed his eyes for a moment, and then, after a long pause, called out with weary resignation: “Teacher.”
“Oh, now you remember to call me Teacher.”
The person sitting in the Major Crimes Unit office was none other than Wang Pengzhe.
His hair had gone grey and white, but it was slicked back with pomade — combed into place with meticulous precision — which gave him an air of particular sharpness.
Where Tan Shiming was strict and Yao Weihai was composed, Wang Pengzhe possessed a quality that was rarely seen in people of his station: a complete absence of worldly pretension.
He sat with his legs crossed, no grand presence about him whatsoever. A hand-rolled cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth — he just held it there, unlit, never actually smoking it.
When someone came over to light it for him, he’d let out a couple of easy chuckles and wave them off. “I’m trying to quit. I just like the smell.”
No one would ever guess that this particular old man was the director of the Provincial Bureau’s Criminal Research Division.
Upon learning that his teacher was right there in the Major Crimes Unit office, Jiang Hansheng asked, “What brought you here?”
“Official business — I’ll explain in person,” Wang Pengzhe said, his tone turning serious. “…Bring Zhou Jin along. It’s about time I met the girl.”
Jiang Hansheng glanced over at Zhou Jin, still in bed, and agreed, “Alright.”
When he hung up, Zhou Jin immediately asked, “Was that your teacher — Director Wang?”
Jiang Hansheng nodded. “He’s come to Haizhou. He’d like to meet you.”
Zhou Jin tensed at once. “Then — then should I prepare anything?”
Their marriage had been arranged by their parents, and Zhou Jin had never been particularly nervous about meeting elders. But from the exchange she’d just overheard between Jiang Hansheng and Wang Pengzhe, she had an instinctive sense that the two of them were close — far closer than Jiang Hansheng and his own father.
It was clear from his voice: Jiang Hansheng held Wang Pengzhe in deep regard.
Jiang Hansheng noticed her nerves, and his mood lifted. He went over and sat down beside her. “No need to prepare anything. My teacher is a kind person.”
Zhou Jin wasn’t entirely convinced by his reassurance. “I heard him call you a little wretch.”
Jiang Hansheng paused. “…Consider it a term of endearment.”
Delivered with his characteristically earnest expression, the remark was all the more amusing for it.
Zhou Jin burst out laughing — which only made Jiang Hansheng more flustered.
“Would you stop laughing?” he said.
“Alright, alright, I’ll stop — little wretch —” Zhou Jin teased him under her breath. When she saw his brow arch, she looped an arm around his shoulders and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “When you see your teacher, please put in a few good words for me.”
She hadn’t given it much more thought than that. Without lingering, she hopped out of bed and went to brush her teeth and wash her face.
She left Jiang Hansheng sitting there, momentarily motionless. He curled his knuckles and pressed them against the warm, faintly damp spot on his cheek, and slowly, quietly, began to smile.
---
That afternoon, Zhou Jin reported to the Major Crimes Unit.
Most of the office had cleared out — which almost always meant a new case had come in. Zhou Jin assumed it was connected to the “8·17” case, and when she found Tan Shiming, that was the first thing she asked about.
Tan Shiming said, “This is a different case — a homicide. As for ‘8·17,’ we’re still waiting on developments. Deputy Director Yao is overseeing it personally, and it’s not my place to ask too many questions. That said, Director Yao has indicated his position hasn’t changed — he still doesn’t want you directly involved in the operation.”
Zhou Jin said, “I handled the interrogation of Lai San’er without any misconduct. Doesn’t that count for anything—”
“Zhou Jin. Director Yao has his reasons. Besides, the Major Crimes Unit has other cases to investigate. This isn’t a place where you get to act on personal motives — you still have your actual duties to answer for.”