Siheyuan came through and sent Jia Zhang to prison

Ma Xin didn't ask any more questions. She stood up, straightened the collar of her beige suit, and polished the buttons on her cuffs until they gleamed. "I'll get back to work now. The technical department is still comparing the hair samples from the scene. The DNA results are in. I'll let you know if there are any new leads." She hurried out the door, the sound of her high heels clicking on the terrazzo floor fading into the distance. Liu Li's death was just the beginning. She knew perfectly well that the people and events that followed would only become more complex and intertwined—to kill and silence someone right under the nose of the police, and do it so cleanly, meant that the power behind it was not to be underestimated. Those scattered threads had to be untangled as soon as possible; the slightest mistake could have far-reaching consequences, making it difficult to close the net later.

He Feng was the only one left in the office. The air was so still he could hear his own breathing, and even the soft scratching of his pen on the document sounded exceptionally clear, like a drumbeat in an empty room. He clutched the autopsy report, its edges curled from repeated handling. His fingertips traced the creases of the pages, as if trying to pry out some secret from the intricate lines—the depth of Liu Li's back wound, the type of dagger, the half-faded footprint left at the scene—every detail swirled in his mind. It seemed he could only investigate Liu Li's case discreetly himself—the bureau was rife with intrigue; from the deputy director down to the newly recruited officers, no one wore the words "loyal" or "treacherous." The more people who knew, the greater the risk of leaks. If they alerted the suspect and put them on guard, that would be truly troublesome.

As for the cases of Jiang Hu and Zhang Jie, they were like a block of ice that couldn't be warmed up. The higher-ups had already assigned special personnel to take over. People wearing white gloves sealed all the files tightly, stamped them with a red "Top Secret" seal, and a special car with special license plates drove them away without leaving a copy. He, the branch bureau chief, was now an outsider; even a simple inquiry was met with a "classified" response—it was ironic. But then he thought, well, at least he wouldn't be caught in the middle anymore, making those involuntary decisions, and he'd have fewer nightmares soaked in cold sweat—last time, to appease Jiang Hu's gang, he had to release two suspects; that feeling was worse than swallowing flies.

The sunlight outside the window grew brighter, like molten gold, piercing through the gleaming glass and spilling onto the table, making the handwriting on the report appear white, yet it couldn't penetrate the melancholy in He Feng's eyes. He gazed at the poplars outside the window, their leaves shining green in the sunlight, but what he saw were shadows hidden in the dense foliage. He knew this calm was merely the calm before the storm. Liu Li's death was like a stone thrown into a lake, seemingly only creating shallow ripples, but the undercurrents had already been stirred up—whoever could silence a seasoned veteran like Liu Li must possess a secret powerful enough to overturn the game. The ripples would only grow larger with each passing wave, until a colossal wave swept everyone in, leaving no one unscathed.

Sure enough, within half a month, Liu Li's case was closed. No usable fingerprints were left at the scene, the marks on the murder weapon were deliberately erased with a special solvent, and even the surveillance cameras "coincidentally" malfunctioned at a crucial time, leaving the hard drive with a piece of footage from that period seemingly ripped out. Even more strangely, the usually well-informed informants all seemed to have their throats choked, remaining completely silent. When asked about Liu Li, they either shook their heads saying they didn't know, or simply made excuses to avoid him, as if he had never existed, never been involved in the underworld, and had never left a trace in the city. The police department ultimately concluded it was "revenge by an enemy, the murderer is at large," and hastily filed it away, stuffing it into a dusty corner cabinet in the archives.

To outsiders, the incident seemed like a passing breeze, leaving no trace. The market continued its usual bustling activity, the streets remained busy with traffic, and no one cared whether a "gangster" lived or died. But only He Feng knew that the thorn in his heart remained, and it was only growing deeper—he couldn't truly relax for a single day without finding the mole within the Public Security Bureau. Perhaps right now, a pair of eyes were watching him from the shadows, every move he made being calculated.

This mole was too well hidden. He Feng pinched his brow, his fingertips aching, trying to dispel the confusion in his mind. He thought of Zheng Qiang, who had been pushed out to take the blame, and his heart grew heavier. Zheng Qiang was the deputy director of the Public Security Bureau, how many secrets did he hold in his hands? He knew the anti-drug team's operational routes, the real information of his informants, and even the flow of funds within the bureau. Even someone like that could be so easily abandoned, thrown out like trash to take the blame, which showed that the person they were protecting was either someone of such high rank and power that they could sacrifice the deputy director at will, or someone who knew a secret that could shake the foundations, or perhaps... was paving the way for a grand plan, a plan that required the futures and even lives of countless people to be laid.

But what exactly was that plan? He Feng sifted through every old file he could get his hands on, searching for clues in the yellowed documents; he spent countless sleepless nights watching surveillance footage frame by frame until his eyes were bloodshot, but he couldn't find a single decent lead. This was what troubled him the most—his opponent was in the shadows, while he was in the open; the opponent's cards were well hidden, not even a single useless card was revealed; he, on the other hand, was like a blind man, groping in the fog, not knowing whether his feet were on flat ground or in an abyss.

"We must investigate this thoroughly," He Feng muttered to himself in the empty office, his voice low but carrying a resolute determination. He tapped his fingertips heavily on the desk, the sound startling a leaf from the pothos on the windowsill. No matter who the other party was, no matter how outrageous the plan, he had to pull out this poisonous thorn. Otherwise, countless people would fall into this invisible trap, those he wanted to protect, the rules he upheld, would all be crushed to dust. Sunlight from outside shifted across the corner of the desk, casting a crooked shadow on the floor, like an arrow pointing into the unknown, and he could only follow this faint light, step by step, downwards.

He Feng pushed open the office door. The morning sunlight, like cut gold leaf, slanted across the desk, casting long shadows on the mountain of documents, making even the creases at the edges of the papers clearly visible. He walked to the window, rested his elbows on the cool windowsill, and watched the pedestrians and vehicles passing by on the street below—the white steam rising from the breakfast stalls, the jingling of bicycle bells, the hurried pace of commuters—everything seemed so ordinary, yet he felt an emptiness in his heart, as if a piece of him had been ripped out.

There's really nothing to do lately. Three days ago, the higher-ups sent a special task force to take over Jiang Hu and Zhang Jie's case. Those people were wearing crisp uniforms, their leather shoes making a crisp "thump-thump" sound on the floor, exuding an unquestionable authority. They took all the case files and evidence at once, leaving even him, the captain in charge of the case, unable to get a word in edgewise. He could only sit in his office staring blankly at the empty folders.