Ji Chenjiao paused for a moment, not answering immediately.

Chen He did indeed give him such an impression—showing a good attitude in confessing and fully cooperating with the police. On an emotional level, it felt like Chen He was truly remorseful. But rationally—or coldly speaking—couldn’t this also be a calculated effort to win the goodwill of the police and the public?

“Actively confessing, plus having a motive rooted in revenge for an innocent girl who died long ago… someone he had no real connection with… all purely driven by so-called ‘justice.’ For this ‘justice,’ he was willing to sacrifice himself.” Xie Qing spoke sharply. “The motive doesn’t affect the conviction, but it does affect the sentencing. His confession and his claimed motive will definitely influence the judge’s final decision.”

After a moment, Ji Chenjiao murmured, “I don’t want any guilty person to slip through by pretending. I want the real motive, even if in the end it doesn’t change the sentence at all.”

Xie Qing said, “Keep investigating. I also don’t believe that Chen He’s true purpose was to avenge some girl who’s been dead twelve years and whom he never even knew.”

“Thanks, Captain.”

“Don’t rush. My superiors are pushing me, but I won’t rush you. Go eat something first. Cases need solving, but so do meals.”

After Xie Qing left, Ji Chenjiao’s phone rang. A cheetah avatar popped up on the screen.

Ling Lie: [Captain Ji, I heard your case is solved?]

Ji Chenjiao: [What do you want?]

Ling Lie: [My phone…] followed by an emoji of rubbing fingers like counting money.

Ji Chenjiao chuckled softly, the tight knot in his chest loosening a little. [Where are you?]

Ling Lie: [If I tell you, will you buy me lunch? It’s noon, after all.]

Earlier, when Liang Wenxian had called him to eat, Ji Chenjiao was too caught up in the case. Now, with Ling Lie pestering him for food, he finally realized he was hungry too. [Sure.]

Ling Lie: [I’m right downstairs!]

Ji Chenjiao couldn’t help but laugh again. This guy did it on purpose, didn’t he? He knew Ji Chenjiao would say yes?

Ling Lie was standing at the city bureau entrance, fiddling with his wrecked phone. Liang Wenxian and the others were returning from lunch and happened to pass by.

Shen Qi: “Eh?”

Ling Lie waved. “Good afternoon.”

Liang Wenxian said, “Looking for Captain Ji? He’s writing his report.”

Ling Lie grinned. “He said he’d buy me lunch.”

After greeting him, the group continued on. Shen Qi muttered, “Brother ditched us for lunch because of this pretty boy, huh.”

Just then, Ji Chenjiao appeared from the building. Shen Qi shouted angrily, “Bro, why aren’t you eating with us?”

Ji Chenjiao replied, “Got things to do.”

The group watched his hurried figure as he left. An Xun mumbled dumbly, “Why can’t he tell us if he’s just eating with Ling Lie?”

Fifteen minutes later, Ling Lie was seated in a stew restaurant, quickly ordering food. “I’m starving, starving, absolutely starving!”

Ji Chenjiao: “……”

After ordering, Ling Lie said, “Captain Ji, since the case is solved, shall we buy me a phone this afternoon?”

Ji Chenjiao: “It’s not solved yet. There are loose ends to tie up.”

Ling Lie pouted, poking at his broken phone.

A large pot was brought out, filled with beef, yellow catfish, chicken feet… not a single vegetable, all meat, seven or eight dishes.

“What’s left to check? I’ll help,” Ling Lie said while eating quickly. “Once you finish this case…”

Ji Chenjiao: “…I’ll buy you a phone, right? I remember.”

“Hey!” Ling Lie protested. “Am I that shallow?”

Ji Chenjiao nearly jumped in surprise. “Don’t pretend to be innocent if you’re human.”

Ling Lie grinned. “I meant, once you finish this case, clear my name soon. Don’t forget that, Captain Ji.”

Ji Chenjiao: “……”

After the meal, Ji Chenjiao planned to visit Chen He’s home again. Ling Lie tagged along. “You know I have a great memory, and lots of clues. Let me in.”

Chen He’s apartment in the Eastern District was sealed off; the Major Crimes Unit had already searched it twice and checked all the surveillance. But since Chen He had confessed early and clearly, the evidence at his home seemed of little value.

Ji Chenjiao unlocked the door. It was a three-bedroom apartment with simple décor: bedroom, study, and what seemed like a home office with several computers.

The study had glass bookshelves on two walls. A computer had once sat in front of the floor-to-ceiling window—it had been taken to headquarters for inspection. It was this computer Chen He used to give orders to Wan Yue and Li Aijie.

A coffee table sat in the center of the room. Unlike the living room’s table, which held a kettle and fruit basket, this one was oddly empty—out of place with the room’s otherwise full arrangement.

On the wall was a whiteboard plastered with photos of Wan Yue and others, covered in timelines. The bookshelves were packed with books and DVDs; even the computer desk had an ashtray. Only the coffee table remained bare.

Ji Chenjiao opened the bookshelf doors. The books inside were diverse—one whole row on criminal law, but most were IT books, some in foreign languages. Judging by the wear and notes inside, these weren’t for show. Chen He really studied them.

Ji Chenjiao sighed. “Chen He went from being an orphan to where he is now. He must have worked far harder than most. And even after working, he kept pushing to improve. How did he end up on this path?”

Ling Lie put a heavily marked book back. “Maybe because he had to.”

Ji Chenjiao stood silent for a moment. “Which proves even more—his motive wasn’t Tang Hongting.”

The upper shelves had glass doors, the lower ones wood. Ling Lie crouched down and opened the wooden doors. Inside were mostly miscellaneous items—bundles of wires, broken electronics, old packaging boxes.

Ling Lie pulled everything out. All ordinary. But one box, originally for a tablet, held a pile of paper scraps and a folded game map.

The map and cards were worn and old.

Ling Lie flipped through them and suddenly said, “It’s a military chess set.”

Ji Chenjiao walked over.

“Played this as a kid?” Ling Lie asked.

Before entertainment became what it is today, boys could spend an entire afternoon on military chess, paper games, marbles.

Ji Chenjiao picked up a card. “Yeah.”

“Not me. Shen Qi said after this case, he’d teach me,” Ling Lie said.

Ji Chenjiao asked, “Why are you talking about military chess?”

“Because we saw an old set just like this in the principal’s office at Cangshui Middle School,” Ling Lie said.

Ji Chenjiao’s heart skipped. “You’re sure?”

“Definitely.” Ling Lie then told him how he bribed Shen Qi with dandelions to get into Cangshui Middle.

“Let’s go!” Ji Chenjiao quickly packed the chess set and box into an evidence bag. “To Cangshui Town!”

The Major Crimes Unit had left Cangshui Town a while ago, but the Tang Hongting case was still the townspeople’s favorite gossip. Back at Cangshui Middle School, Principal Guan looked nervous.

Ji Chenjiao asked, “Do you have a military chess set here?”

“Is it this one?” Principal Guan pulled one from a cabinet.

After comparison, Ji Chenjiao confirmed—it was the same type as Chen He’s. “Did Principal Chen leave this?”

The principal, puzzled, answered, “Yes. That cabinet held little things he bought for the kids. He left, but we kept them as memories for the children.”

The cabinet also had faded blocks and other old games—nothing valuable, no interest for today’s kids.

Ji Chenjiao asked, “He bought these for the students?”

The principal recalled how hard times were over a decade ago. The school couldn’t afford extracurricular stuff. Principal Chen used his own money every year to buy toys in the city. High schoolers didn’t care, but junior high kids loved them—especially military chess sets. He bought dozens; only this one survived after the craze faded.

Ji Chenjiao’s pulse quickened—so close to the truth. “What was his relationship with Chen He?”

“Principal Chen treated every child equally,” the principal paused, “but Chen He was from the orphanage. It’s only natural to care a little more for a child without parents.”

City Bureau Major Crimes Unit.

Chen He was brought back to the interrogation room. When he saw what was laid on the table, the smile on his face cracked for the first time.

After a pause, he gave a bitter smile. “You still found it.”

Chen He’s earliest memories were of the dim winter sky over Cangshui Town and the lingering smell of burning coal that never seemed to clear from the welfare home. He was small for his age, and the oranges and apples the caretakers gave him were often snatched away by the older children.

The caretaker told him that he’d been left at the orphanage gates, just like a little kitten—except even kittens cried louder than he had. His parents didn’t abandon him because he was unlovable; they simply couldn’t afford to raise him.

The caretaker was gentle, weaving comforting lies with the kindest words she could find. Like the other children, Chen He grew up—not exactly living a good life, but at least not freezing or starving. He was often bullied, and the things he ate and wore were no match for what children with parents enjoyed, but he survived.

Still, he was never truly happy and always kept to himself. When kind people donated toys and books, the other kids fought for the toys while Chen He quietly took the books. The orphanage director noticed his love for reading and began teaching him to write and do arithmetic early on. By the time he was in the second grade, he was already reading advanced mathematics.

As his knowledge grew, so did his distance from other children. He thought of them all as fools, no better than the rats that scurried in the corners of the welfare home.

Chen He grew older, and the books donated by well-wishers and handed out by his elementary teachers were no longer enough. The tough problems that the older students couldn’t solve, he could answer with a single glance.

After a parent-teacher meeting, the orphanage director found himself troubled. He knew Chen He needed more advanced books and a broader world, but the boy was only in the fourth grade—far from being able to live independently—and the orphanage couldn’t afford to send him to the city. They could try buying some books, but the director wasn’t a teacher; he feared choosing the wrong ones and delaying the child’s growth.

Mr. Chen, a math teacher from Cangshui Middle School and the director’s neighbor, came to mind. Back then, neighbors often dropped by each other’s homes. Mr. Chen was a bachelor who had devoted half his life to education and was rumored to be up for the position of vice-principal. During a casual chat, the director mentioned Chen He, and Mr. Chen immediately said, “What kind of books does that child need? I have plenty.”

His home was filled with math books. After hearing about Chen He’s situation, Mr. Chen pulled out a stack of problem sets filled with notes and handed them to the director to take back for Chen He to try.

Chen He treated them like treasures, working through them late into the night until the caretaker called him to bed three times before he reluctantly put them down.

From then on, Chen He no longer had the energy to wonder whether the other children were fools or rats. He was lost in the sea of mathematics. What others saw as punishment—math problems—were rewards to him. When he finished one set, he urged the director to take it back to Mr. Chen for marking and eagerly asked for the next set. He also wanted to meet Mr. Chen.

Mr. Chen eventually became the official vice-principal and got so busy that he rarely visited the welfare home. But one day, he finally came. Under the shade of a tree, teacher and student sat together again, debating solutions before Mr. Chen shared stories of mathematicians and scientists from around the world.

Chen He disliked elementary school but deeply looked forward to middle school. Mr. Chen gave him something to anticipate—he wanted to sit in a classroom and listen to his lessons, even though by then, Chen He would probably have mastered everything at the junior high level.

But things didn’t go as planned. When he finally reached the age for middle school, he learned that Mr. Chen no longer taught classes. As principal, he had other duties. The math teacher in Chen He’s class was a young man he didn’t know.

At the opening ceremony, Chen He saw the principal again. He looked a little different from what Chen He remembered. The teachers said that Mr. Chen had fallen ill and suffered burns on his face due to a medication error.

The disfigured principal seemed even gentler than before. Chen He felt no revulsion toward his scarred face; instead, he felt a deep, unspoken reliance, as if Mr. Chen were family.

Despite Mr. Chen’s best efforts, the quality of education at Cangshui Middle School was still quite poor, and changing that quickly was impossible.

During the summer vacation after seventh grade, Mr. Chen returned from the city, bringing watermelons to the welfare home. As they ate, Chen He said, “I can help you.”

Mr. Chen didn’t understand. “Hmm?”

“You want your students to get good grades, to have more top scores, right?” Chen He said. “Two years from now, you’ll have them.”

Mr. Chen couldn’t help but smile at the boy’s youthful confidence and ambition. “Fine, then get into No. 1 High School for me.”

No. 1 High School, located in the main city, was one of the best in both the city and surrounding counties.

Chen He frowned. “I said I’d get high scores. I didn’t say I’d go to No. 1 High School.”

“But what’s the point of high scores if not to get into a better school?” Mr. Chen asked.

“That would mean leaving Cangshui,” Chen He replied.

What he didn’t say was: That would mean leaving you.

Mr. Chen, ever the educator, patiently laid out the benefits of going to No. 1 High—the greater opportunities for elite universities, for a bright future, for serving the people and living a life without worry.

Chen He listened with a headache, finally snapping impatiently, “I’m not going! I can get into a top university from Cangshui Middle too!”

Mr. Chen smiled helplessly. “You stubborn child.”

With the promise of top scores two years later, Chen He worked even harder. Because of his excellent grades, girls sometimes came to him for help with homework. He’d explain with a blank expression, looking as if he didn’t care, but he taught better than the teachers. Gradually, he began to have friends.

In eighth grade, the board game army Chess became popular. Mr. Chen ordered dozens of sets for the boys to play. Chen He found it boring. Why did the world have such time-wasting things? Eating someone’s commander—would that get him a better score?

When the director told Mr. Chen about this comment, Mr. Chen laughed heartily. Taking time out of his busy schedule, he called Chen He to the same tree where they’d solved problems years ago and dragged him into playing army chess.

Chen He scowled the whole time, but Mr. Chen was delighted.

“Things that waste time aren’t entirely useless. Sometimes you have to let yourself rest on the way to your goal. When you start running again, you’ll have more strength.”

Chen He argued, “But that’s still wasting time.”

Mr. Chen thought for a moment. “That’s true.”

Chen He: “…”

After they finished the game, Mr. Chen added, “But isn’t wasting a little time kind of fun too?”

Only then did Chen He realize he’d been smiling.

But what was so fun about it? Was it just because Mr. Chen made time to play with him?

“As long as you’re happy, that’s enough.” Mr. Chen patted Chen He’s head. “Child, don’t be so tense all the time. We always say wasting time is shameful, but you already work hard enough. Sneaking in a little waste—no one will blame you.”

That set of army chess remained at the welfare home. Sometimes, Chen He would take it out, look at it, and then carefully put it away again.

By ninth grade, some students who didn’t plan to continue studying left early for vocational schools. Mr. Chen focused more on the high school division, and his time with Chen He grew rarer. Chen He too concentrated on exam preparation, and before he knew it, the high school entrance exam had arrived.

Chen He kept his promise and achieved the best scores in Cangshui Middle School’s history. That summer, phone calls came from every top high school in the main city.

“I’m not going,” Chen He stubbornly told Mr. Chen. “I’ll stay here at Cangshui for the college entrance exam.”

Mr. Chen was deeply moved but also troubled. He wanted the best for Chen He. Despite all his efforts to improve Cangshui Middle School, it couldn’t hold back a boy like Chen He, who deserved the finest education in the finest schools.

Principal Chen spent a whole week persuading Chen He before he finally agreed to attend No. 1 High School. Deep down, Chen He was holding onto a determination: when he became an adult, finished college, and graduated, he would return to repay Principal Chen.

His days at No. 1 High passed in a blur. Everyone around him was as brilliant as he was—some even more so. Chen He pushed himself with all his strength and only returned to Cangshui Town during winter and summer breaks. Meanwhile, Principal Chen poured his heart into improving Cangshui Middle School bit by bit; his hair was already turning white.

Eventually, Chen He was admitted to a prestigious university in another province, majoring in computer science. Principal Chen proudly sent him off at the train station, saying Chen He was his pride.

“I want to come back and be a computer teacher,” Chen He said seriously.

Principal Chen smiled and replied, “Don’t come back. You have a broader world waiting for you. I want to see you fly higher.”

Because of this sentence, Chen He left with anger in his heart. University life was hectic—classes, part-time jobs—and he didn’t even return to Cangshui Town for Chinese New Year. Later, when the Tang Hongting case broke out, he was abroad doing research as an outstanding student under his mentor.

Never one to pay attention to social news, it wasn’t until his career was fully settled that Chen He decided to return to Cangshui Town to visit Principal Chen and ask him if he had become the person Principal Chen had hoped to see.

But what awaited him was a tragedy.

Under pressure and the curses of Tang Hongting’s grandmother, Principal Chen left Cangshui Middle School. He accidentally fell into the water while fishing and drowned. By the time Chen He returned, all that was left was a cold urn of ashes.

Chen He’s spiritual world collapsed instantly. Humanity became ugly and despicable in his eyes. He had always looked at the world with indifference, but it was Principal Chen’s warmth and care that had changed him.

The irony was unbearable—such a kind, gentle man had died because of people’s malice. Was Tang Hongting’s death really Principal Chen’s fault? The true culprit was still at large, so why was it someone as good as Principal Chen who had to bear the bitter fruit of Tang Hongting’s murder?

After paying his respects to Principal Chen alone, Chen He returned to the city where he lived.

From then on, his life changed. He had a glamorous job, solid skills, and was soon to be promoted from an employee to a partner. But the true meaning of his life was revenge for Principal Chen.

He would stop at nothing to make those evildoers pay the most painful price.

“I’ve explained everything that matters,” Chen He said, the sharp energy in him seeming to dissipate all at once, leaving him dull and lifeless. “I hid my motive not to get a lighter sentence—you were wrong about that.”

As he spoke, he glanced at the Chinese military chess set, as if looking through time back to that leafy summer day when Principal Chen was full of dreams, trying to bring hope to Cangshui Middle School, and he himself had worked hard solving problems to win a top score for Principal Chen.

But life had played a cruel joke. The world was no longer the same.

“This is the only thing he left me,” Chen He said. “It’s the only thing I can’t bear to throw away.”

Ji Chenjiao asked him, since this was revenge for Principal Chen, why had he used Tang Hongting as a cover. Chen He gave a faint smile but did not answer.

“There’s one more question,” Ji Chenjiao said. “What is your relationship with Ji Ke?”

Chen He’s expression turned complicated again. It was as if he understood something but refused to speak it aloud, as though silence could preserve the illusion of ignorance.

Ji Chenjiao took out a photo of Principal Chen before his disfigurement and placed it next to a photo of Ji Ke. “When you were in elementary school, Cangshui Middle School was being renovated. Principal Chen wanted the campus to look better but didn’t have the budget. His old classmate Ji Ke helped him get a batch of tiles at cost. That summer, Ji Ke stayed in Cangshui Town—maybe he helped Principal Chen in more ways than one.”

Chen He’s pupils shrank sharply. After a long silence, he let out a bitter laugh. “I don’t know him. I did everything by myself. I have nothing more to say.”

Ji Chenjiao watched as Chen He was taken to the detention center. In his heart, he already had the answer.

“He doesn’t want to stain Principal Chen’s name. That man worked hard all his life and, even in death, was just an ordinary—and yet extraordinary—educator,” Ling Lie said as he walked up to Ji Chenjiao. The scorching summer sun swept across the entrance of the police bureau.

“He knows Principal Chen wouldn’t have wanted him to do this—but he did it anyway,” Ji Chenjiao sighed. “Maybe for someone else’s sake, too.”

Ling Lie shrugged. “But as long as he stays silent, you’ll never find out. This truth belongs only to them.”

Ji Chenjiao paused for a while, then turned to Ling Lie. “Whose truth does the Liu Yixiang case belong to?”

Ling Lie spread his hands lightly. “Certainly not mine. Captain Ji, my innocence…”

“I know. The Major Crimes Unit owes you that innocence—we will repay it,” Ji Chenjiao said as he walked toward the parking lot.

Ling Lie asked, “Where are you going?”

“To the Ji family,” Ji Chenjiao said. “To find out what Ji Xing confessed to last time at the Mountain.”