Tan Shiming’s reprimand left Zhou Jin feeling both aggrieved and ashamed. “So I can only wait?”
Tan Shiming: “You can only do what you’re supposed to do.”
“…”
Zhou Jin knew there was nothing unreasonable about what Tan Shiming was saying.
The “8·17” case loomed in front of her constantly. There had been moments when she thought: even if she were suspended, even if she never worked as a police officer again, she would keep investigating.
But Tan Shiming had promoted her, believed in her, and poured a lifetime of investigative experience into teaching her — and none of that had been for the sake of a single case’s truth.
The emotional pull — she couldn’t control that.
And perhaps that was precisely why Yao Weihai didn’t want her directly involved in “8·17.” He worried she would let her emotions interfere with the operation. He also worried about her safety.
“I understand.”
Zhou Jin drew a slow, deep breath and steadied herself quickly. “What’s the case? I’ll take it. I can go to the scene right now.”
Tan Shiming watched her straighten her back and tilt her chin slightly upward — the picture of someone ready to take on whatever came, no complaints — and couldn’t help but smile. “I suppose I didn’t teach you for nothing.”
Zhou Jin looked puzzled by his answer. “What do you mean?”
Tan Shiming stood. “A homicide has occurred at Lishui Residential Complex on Lanjing Street in Liyang District. The local station and the Major Crimes Unit both received the report simultaneously. Based on the preliminary examination of the crime scene, this case has been confirmed to be connected to three other homicides that took place over the past two months in Jingang and Ningyuan. All four cases carry the same criminal signature.”
Zhou Jin’s brow furrowed. The realization came quickly: “A serial killer?”
Tan Shiming nodded. “Director Wang Pengzhe came down from the Provincial Bureau specifically because of this case. And he asked for you by name to be part of the investigation.”
“Why me?”
Tan Shiming: “That I don’t know. He’s in the conference room right now — you can ask him directly.”
Zhou Jin: “…”
For the moment, she genuinely didn’t dare.
---
Wang Pengzhe was in the Major Crimes Unit’s conference room when Jiang Hansheng found him — leaning back in his chair, snoring away quite contentedly.
At the sound of footsteps, Wang Pengzhe snapped his eyes open. When he saw it was Jiang Hansheng, he broke into a grin. “Oh, the distinguished Professor Jiang himself. What an honor.”
He stood, and with exaggerated enthusiasm, seized Jiang Hansheng’s hand and shook it.
Since leaving the Provincial Bureau, Jiang Hansheng had only been in contact with Wang Pengzhe on holidays and special occasions. The two of them hadn’t seen each other in a long while. But the moment they were face to face, it was the same as always — one of them preternaturally composed for his age, the other with all the sprightliness of someone growing younger by the year.
Jiang Hansheng calmly retrieved his hand. “If there’s nothing serious to discuss, you’re welcome to go back to sleep.”
Wang Pengzhe sank back into his chair at once, pressing a hand to his forehead with a theatrical sigh. “Every time I think of you, I get a headache. How could I possibly sleep?”
Jiang Hansheng: “You were just snoring.”
“And whose fault is that?” Wang Pengzhe raised his eyebrows, shifting into a tone of accusation. “I told you to lie low here, live a quiet life — and look at you. You’ve gone and made yourself the police force’s star attraction.”
“…” After a brief pause, Jiang Hansheng said with complete gravity and sincerity: “Teacher, I have very much wanted to live a quiet life. It’s everyone else who won’t leave me alone.”
Wang Pengzhe was rendered speechless.
---
Three days earlier, Wang Pengzhe had received a call from Jiang Hansheng.
This student of his, though he’d had his moments of youthful fire, had always met adversity with unshakeable calm.
But that day, Jiang Hansheng’s voice came through the phone, and Wang Pengzhe heard the alarm in it almost immediately.
“The pocket watch,” Jiang Hansheng said, keeping his voice low. “…Teacher, they placed the pocket watch on Zhou Chuan’s headstone.”
The moment Wang Pengzhe heard those words, he was bolt upright and fully alert.
Anyone who had worked alongside Jiang Hansheng in the Criminal Research Division knew that he habitually wore a pocket watch at his chest.
Pocket watches were old-fashioned things — not exactly in step with the times — and for precisely that reason, it tended to draw attention.
When colleagues asked him about it — what era did he think he was living in, carrying something like that around — Jiang Hansheng would simply smile and say nothing.
Wang Pengzhe didn’t know the reason either. But he could see that Jiang Hansheng treasured the watch deeply. Whatever it meant to him, it clearly meant a great deal.
In the end, however, it had been lost.
Lost in the worst possible place it could have been.