The car stopped at the western edge of the city, the engine cutting off. Gu Zhixing wasn’t in a hurry to get out. He turned his face, the corner of his mouth still holding the curve of a chess player before making a move. “Mr. Lu, regarding the sanatorium matter, I will write the report based on the conclusion you just gave. As for Mr. Shen… you know how to report to him.” It wasn’t a question, but a confirmation. The sharp *click* of a metal buckle unfastening split the air inside the car, crisp and clear. “I know,” Lu Chenzhou said. “Good.” Gu Zhixing adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. The lenses caught the streetlight, refracting two cold, bright spots. “Where are you staying? Need a ride?” Lu Chenzhou pushed the door open and got out. The night wind rushed in, carrying the chill of early autumn and the muddy scent of the river. He shut the car door. The black sedan remained stationary for a few seconds before slowly pulling away, its taillights dragging two red trails in the darkness, like wounds. He raised a hand and pressed against the outer corner of his left eye. Something pulsed beneath the skin, faint, uncontrollable. A souvenir from that interrogation ten years ago. When pressure approached its breaking point, this body would remind him like this—you’re still standing on the cliff’s edge. It wasn’t a phone call. The screen lit up with a line of text: **North Suburbs, River View Pavilion. Now.** No salutation, no signature. A virtual number. But he knew who it was. This kind of summons, concise to the point of brutality, was used by only one person. 1:47 AM. From here to the north suburbs, a taxi would take at least twenty-five minutes. The other party had calculated it, giving him no time to prepare, yet not allowing him to be late. He put away his phone, walked to the roadside, and raised his hand. A taxi with its vacant light on glided over. He pulled the door open and got in, stating the address. The driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror but said nothing. People heading to the desolate outskirts at this hour were a bit unusual. Lu Chenzhou leaned back into the seat and closed his eyes. His mind began to deconstruct: How much did Qin Wangshu know about the West Suburbs textile factory incident? What about the metal box? The photographs? In what capacity was she summoning him? Deputy Team Leader of the Municipal Bureau, or… a disciple? His fingers moved unconsciously. The rusty copper key in his pocket was separated and then joined together again. Engraved with “047.” He didn’t know what the number represented, but instinct linked it to “Old K.” The neon lights outside the window gradually thinned, becoming sporadic streetlights, until finally, even the streetlights vanished. Only the car’s headlights cut through a small patch of darkness ahead, the asphalt road surface floating up in the light. The taxi braked at the end of a dirt path. The driver pointed ahead. “Here we are. The car can’t go further. The River View Pavilion you mentioned is still a walk up ahead.” On either side of the dirt path were weeds waist-high, rustling as the night wind swept through. The distant sound of river water slapping against the bank came through dully, one beat, then another, like someone pounding something. He walked up along the dirt path, his shoe soles crushing dry twigs, the sound especially jarring in the silence. A derelict wooden viewing pavilion. Octagonal, with upturned eaves, the red lacquer mostly peeled away, revealing the gray, weathered wood grain beneath. There were no lights inside the pavilion, only the occasional flashing navigation lights from freighters on the distant river surface, briefly outlining the pavilion’s silhouette before pressing it back into darkness. She stood with her back to the uphill path, at the edge of the pavilion, facing the river. Her figure stretched long in the gloom, almost merging with the night. A point of red light glowed and faded in her hand—she was smoking. Lu Chenzhou stopped three steps outside the pavilion. He didn’t enter immediately. His gaze swept quickly over the surroundings: the pavilion had only one uphill path; the other three sides were steep slopes, overgrown with shrubs, offering no place to hide. The river wind rolled up from below the slope, carrying the stale, moldy smell of wooden planks mixed with the river’s unique fishy dampness. Qin Wangshu didn’t turn around. Her voice was somewhat scattered by the wind. “You’re here.” She pinched out the cigarette butt, turned, and walked into the “Shen Yan’s case.” Qin Wangshu repeated it, her tone unreadable. “Shen Yan died in a downtown apartment, the scene is in the south of the city. The textile factory is in the west of the city, abandoned for over five years. It has no intersection whatsoever with Shen Yan’s social connections, movement patterns, or known leads. Tell me, what were you investigating there?” He was rapidly assessing — Did Qin Wangshu have access to the factory’s surveillance? Or had someone tipped her off? Or… was she nearby at the time? “Someone passed on a lead,” he chose to tell part of the truth. “About a possible middleman Shen Yan might have had contact with before his death.” “A middleman.” Qin Wangshu finally lit that cigarette. The lighter’s flame leapt up, briefly illuminating her tightly pressed lips. “What kind of middleman requires a meeting in a place like that? And needs you to climb the wall in the middle of the night, staying inside an abandoned workshop for forty-seven minutes?” The corner of Lu Chenzhou’s left eye twitched again. He forced himself to relax his facial muscles, his voice still steady. “The lead was anonymous, the location was set by the other party. After I went in, I found there were others there.” “Unclear. At least two groups, possibly more.” Lu Chenzhou said. “One group seemed like thugs Shen Yan kept, the other… well-trained, with radio command.” Qin Wangshu took a drag of her cigarette, smoke slowly escaping from her nose. “You got away.” “Luck.” She laughed, the sound light but devoid of warmth. “Lu Chenzhou, what was the first lesson you taught me? At a scene, there’s no luck, only traces. You got away because the other side intentionally let you go, or because you found something they didn’t anticipate?” The night wind stirred the stray hairs on her forehead, a few strands sticking to her cheek. She didn’t brush them away, just kept staring at Lu Chenzhou, her gaze like a scalpel. He calmly slipped his hand into his pocket, his fingertips touching the cold surface of the brass key. “I don’t understand what you’re asking.” “Don’t understand?” Qin Wangshu stood up. Her high heels tapped out a distinct rhythm on the wooden floor. She walked up to Lu Chenzhou, coming so close he could smell the faint scent of tobacco on her, and a hint of… disinfectant. Where had she just come from? The bureau? Or a scene? “Textile Factory, Workshop Three, the distribution box in the southeast corner.” She enunciated each word clearly. “Someone tampered with it. There are fresh pry marks on the inside of the door panel, the lock core was opened with professional tools, not brute force. There should have been an old-style fuse box inside, but it’s gone now, only leaving behind the rust marks from the four mounting screws.” He controlled it, but Qin Wangshu saw it. Her eyes were frighteningly bright in the dim light. “What did you find, *Shifu*?” She used that form of address again, her voice lowered, almost swallowed by the river wind. “A box? A document? Or a key?” A deep ship’s horn sounded from the river surface, *woo—woo—*, drawn out long, like some kind of lament. He needed time. Needed to judge how much Qin Wangshu actually knew. Did she find out herself, or did someone tell her? What was her stance? Was she here to retrieve the “physical evidence,” or to… help him? “Deputy Captain Qin.” He spoke, his voice colder than before. “If you have concrete evidence proving I illegally obtained or concealed physical evidence related to the case, you can apply for a search warrant. If not, then may I understand that you arranged to meet me tonight in a private capacity?” The cigarette burned quietly between her fingers. The ash had accumulated into a long column, finally unable to bear its own weight, it broke and scattered in the wind. She suddenly raised her hand, offering the cigarette to him. The gesture was too familiar. Ten years ago, on countless nights staying up late investigating cases, when the pressure made his fingers tremble, Qin Wangshu would offer him a cigarette just like this, saying nothing, just offering it. Back then, she was still a freshly graduated intern, following behind him like a stubborn little tail. Qin Wangshu took out her lighter and brought it close. The flame leapt up, this time illuminating the narrow space between them. Lu Chenzhou lowered his head to light the cigarette, seeing her hand holding the lighter — the knuckles somewhat pale, the web between thumb and index finger calloused from long-term gun handling. The pungent taste of Qin Wangshu smoked in silence. Halfway through the cigarette, she suddenly spoke, "Three days ago, Deputy Chief Zhao called me into his office. It wasn't about Shen Yan's case. It was about you." "He said someone above had passed down a message, asking whether the files from that political murder case of yours ten years ago, Lu Chenzhou's case, should be 'reorganized.'" Qin Wangshu's voice was calm, so calm it sent a chill to the heart. "Not a retrial, but a 'procedural review.' Meaning, they want to check whether your confession back then was obtained under duress, whether there were flaws in the evidence chain, whether there were issues with the verdict." "I don't know. Deputy Chief Zhao didn't say, but he said..." Qin Wangshu turned her head to look at him. "He said the person who delivered the message is very high-ranking, so high that the Municipal Bureau can only comply, not ask why." An official reopening of the investigation. It sounded like an opportunity, but he knew too well how the system operated—"procedural reviews" could drag on for one year, two years. During that time, his movements would be monitored, everyone he had contact with would be questioned, and the real culprits, those hiding in the shadows, would seize the chance to erase every trace even more thoroughly. "And," Qin Wangshu stubbed out her cigarette, the motion somewhat rough. "Recently, another force has been active. Not Shen Yan's, not the police. They're investigating the same thing—your case from back then. But the way they're investigating... is very professional, and very discreet. We intercepted two communication fragments, using encrypted channels, equipment that's military-grade." Lu Chenzhou thought of those highly trained people in the textile factory. "Right." Qin Wangshu turned to face him fully. "So do you understand now? That narrow path you're walking—on both sides aren't cliffs, but gun barrels. One side is the system, the other is some unknown 'external force.' And you, Master, what exactly are you holding in your hands that could make both sides move at the same time?" Lu Chenzhou threw the cigarette butt on the ground and crushed it under his shoe. The residual heat from the burnt-out cigarette transmitted through the sole, a faint, stinging sensation. "I don't know." "You don't know?" Qin Wangshu laughed, this time with clear disappointment in her smile. "Lu Chenzhou, you taught me that when someone repeatedly uses the words 'I don't know' during professional interrogation, it usually means they're hiding the most crucial information. What are you hiding? What's really in that box?" He couldn't say. That 2005 photograph, that figure suspected to be "Old K," that key engraved with "047"—this was his only lead to overturn the case. Handing it over to Qin Wangshu meant handing it over to the Municipal Bureau, to that "very high-ranking" person, to the "external force" that might be monitoring all of this. "The lead is unverified," he finally spoke, his voice regaining that icy calm. "And it could interfere with the main line of my investigation for Shen Yan. Shen Moqing hired me to find out how his son died, not to dig up a ten-year-old case." Qin Wangshu stared at him, her gaze as if trying to nail him to the spot. After a long while, she nodded, once, then again, the motion slow. "Fine. Very good." She took two steps back, pulled a small evidence bag from her pocket, and threw it onto the bench. Inside the bag was a black device the size of a button cell battery. "This is a fragment of a signal jammer we found near the distribution box at the textile factory. It can block all wireless communications within a fifty-meter radius, including police radio bands. Not available on the market. Custom-made." "And," Qin Wangshu continued. "After you left the textile factory, a car followed you for seven kilometers, until you switched to a taxi. The license plate was fake, the model a common black sedan, but the tire tread pattern and suspension height indicate it was modified, suited for high-speed pursuit and emergency maneuvers." "Master, I'm not here to steal your credit, nor to find dirt on you. I'm here to tell you—you're already under tight surveillance. Shen Yan, the police, and that group of unknown people—three sides are watching you. Every step you take now is under someone else's eyes." The river wind poured into the pavilion, making the hem of her trench coat flutter loudly. "So, hand over what you know." Qin Wangshu extended her hand, palm up. "That address, that name, or that number—whatever you're looking for, give it to me Some things didn't need to be said aloud. That interrogation room, that forged confession, the name signed to save a sister—Qin Wangshu knew all of it. She had been at the bureau then. She had seen it. But she could do nothing. Qin Wangshu slowly withdrew her hand. She lowered her head, her shoulders slumping slightly. For a moment, a fine crack appeared in the image of the ever-upright, ever-competent deputy squad leader. But only for a moment. When she looked up again, that professional chill had returned. "Since you insist," she said, her voice devoid of inflection. "Then I must formally notify you: the Municipal Bureau's Criminal Investigation Brigade has received instructions to initiate an internal review of the procedures related to Lu Chenzhou's suspected involvement in the political assassination case from ten years ago. During the review period, you are required to keep your communication channels open and cooperate with any potential inquiries at any time. Furthermore—" "—you are to cease all private investigative activities unrelated to the Shen Yan case. If you are found to be concealing, transferring, or destroying physical evidence related to the case, the brigade will take compulsory measures in accordance with the law." The sound of high heels striking the wooden floorboards was particularly jarring in the silent night. *Tap, tap, tap*—each step seemed to tread on some tightly drawn string. She walked to the edge of the pavilion and stopped, not looking back. The night breeze carried her final words, light as a sigh. "For the sake of uncovering the truth about Shen Yan's case. And for... yourself." Then she descended the earthen slope, her figure quickly swallowed by the wild grass and the night. Lu Chenzhou remained where he was, unmoving. The river wind scraped his cheeks with a damp, stinging cold. He reached into his pocket and gripped the brass key. The metal's edges dug into his palm. In the distance, the freighter's whistle sounded again, shorter and more urgent this time. Like a prod. He turned and walked towards the path down the mountain. His steps were steady, but each one fell within a timeframe someone else had calculated. Three lines of sight. One narrow path. The key in his hand felt heavy, inscribed with numbers, and inscribed with a price. The night swallowed the pavilion behind him. The lights of the city ahead remained cold, but their outline was different now—for he knew, within that light, gun barrels lay hidden.