Ji Chenjiao said irritably, with a hint of embarrassment, “Can’t you use a better metaphor?”

Ling Lie waggled his eyebrows, clearly itching to make fun of him but holding back.

Ji Chenjiao asked, “Where’d you go?” He wasn’t interrogating him—just genuinely curious. Ling Lie looked weird: dressed in tight, long-sleeved athletic gear for running, a waist drum strapped around his middle, his hair dripping with sweat. Wasn’t the waist-drum team under investigation? Were they operating again?

“Working,” Ling Lie said as he took off the drum. “Playing a mascot. Ugh, I’m suffocating. The inside of that suit’s filthy. I wore this to create a barrier.”

Ji Chenjiao chuckled. “Pretty meticulous.”

Ling Lie shot him a look. “If the waist-drum team hadn’t been screwed, I wouldn’t need to work this hard to make a living. Helping the Major Crimes Unit, but they don’t even pay me. Hmph—hmph—”

Ji Chenjiao: “…Not even a single tear, and your performance’s so dramatic.”

Ling Lie said, “I meant your unit’s stingy.”

Ji Chenjiao: “……”

Ling Lie peeked into the kitchen. “Ohhh, Captain Ji, were you trying to recreate my legendary tomato corn soup?”

Ji Chenjiao pulled out a popsicle without a word.

Ling Lie grinned. “Tomato corn soup may be simple, but not everyone can make it. Some people, you know, don’t even know how to make tomatoes taste good~”

Ji Chenjiao clenched the stick so hard it snapped.

Ling Lie darted into the kitchen. “So fierce!”

Ji Chenjiao “followed” him and grabbed the small tuft of hair at the back of his head. “I heard that.”

Ling Lie turned back. “Captain Ji, wanna stay for a casual meal?”

Ji Chenjiao swallowed a mouthful of popsicle. “…Sure.”

Ling Lie cooked a bowl of mushroom meatball soup and a plate of mapo tofu.

The mushrooms and tofu were bought fresh from downstairs, and the meatballs were made from ground meat that Ling Lie blended himself.

Ji Chenjiao didn’t even remember owning a home meat grinder. When he asked, Ling Lie said, “Oh, I bought it. Can I expense it to the landlord?”

Ji Chenjiao was about to say I didn’t even use it, but then he tasted a meatball—tender and flavorful—and ended up eating most of them.

“…Fine. Whatever else you bought, calculate the total and give me the bill.”

Ling Lie asked, “Anything counts?”

Ji Chenjiao grew suspicious. “What else did you buy?”

“I want to buy cat food.”

“You’re planning to keep a pet here?”

“Can I?”

Ji Chenjiao flatly refused. Ling Lie didn’t argue.

After dinner, Ji Chenjiao left. Ling Lie casually said, “Come again anytime.”

On the way home, Ji Chenjiao found himself a reason for his failed cooking attempt—the case is still unsolved. My mind’s not on cooking. Once we crack the case, I’ll try again—and I’ll nail it.

---

The next day, part of the Major Crimes Unit headed for Cangshui Town.

Ji Chenjiao looked at the slow-moving traffic ahead. “Can we make it before noon?”

“Doubtful.” Shen Qi brought up the traffic report. “See? The elevated roads out of the city are jammed—it’s like this every morning.”

After a while, Shen Qi added, “Brother, I still think the connection between Liu Yuchun and the Cangshui Town case is kind of weak.”

Being a local from Xiarong City, Shen Qi naturally knew more about the case since the media had covered it relentlessly at the time. Ji Chenjiao didn’t interrupt and let him go on.

“I’ve been thinking since last night. The only connection between the two cases is that Liu Yuchun happened to be in Cangshui Town when Tang Hongting was murdered. But tons of people were in town then. Wang Huiqiang said he once tried to visit her, but she turned him down—and he doesn’t even remember the date clearly. People’s memories get fuzzy after so long.”

“The most important point is, Liu Yuchun’s just an ordinary worker. Before retirement, she was introverted, maybe even socially anxious. She’s the most common type of person in our society. What are the odds she’s connected to a murder from twelve years ago? Was someone avenging Tang Hongting? Did Liu Yuchun kill her? She really doesn’t look like a killer.”

Ji Chenjiao said, “Yet here you are.”

“Hey, I’m just following orders! Brother, I always listen to you.”

Ji Chenjiao didn’t respond.

Shen Qi mumbled, “Fine, I’m curious too. Even if the cases aren’t related, solving the one in Cangshui Town would still be great. That girl—her case was so tragic.”

The car inched forward on the elevated road. The traffic ahead looked like a lazy wall of steel. Everyone gets frustrated in jams. Ji Chenjiao said, “I’m not heading to Cangshui today because I believe the two cases are definitely connected.”

Shen Qi said, “Oh, and there’s also the Ji Ke thing.”

Ji Chenjiao shook his head. “Liu Yuchun’s transfer to Cangshui was overlooked during initial checks. It should’ve been followed up on anyway. And she had never left the city before—suddenly requesting a transfer to a remote district? Don’t you find that odd?”

Shen Qi thought for a moment. “Yeah, that is weird.”

“Even without the Tang Hongting case, I’d still have to make this trip.” Ji Chenjiao pulled down the sun visor and squinted. “Especially when current leads still can’t reveal the truth.”

Once they cleared the city, the highway was smooth. Shen Qi drove while recalling how people had reacted to the Cangshui Town case back then, narrating whatever came to mind.

“When it first happened, everyone was shocked and furious. Then the media swarmed in. The cops couldn’t keep them out, and back then there weren’t even official police bulletins, I think. I just remember getting all my info from the news.”

“Reporters said the girl was repeating a year, had no parents, worked to pay her tuition. She went out late at night to a place full of thugs just to make money—to get into college and change her and her grandma’s lives.”

“It was heartbreaking. My mom cried while watching, said the killer had better be caught and executed. But guess what happened later?”

Ji Chenjiao didn’t guess. “All I know is, the longer a case drags on, the harder it is to solve. And once the media loses interest, public attention fades.”

“Exactly! The reporters were waiting for a big headline about a solved case. I only realized after becoming a cop—these people lurk around for cases to break. Any tiny progress becomes news. That Li-something Jie was sneaking around outside our gate yesterday. The moment I stepped out, she asked me for updates.” Shen Qi wandered off-topic. “Like I’d tell her.”

Li-something Jie? Ji Chenjiao remembered the female reporter who leaked Wang Xiaowen’s chat logs. She’d been present at several recent cases. But technically, she wasn’t a real journalist—more like a content creator chasing clicks. Most of those in “new media” didn’t have actual press credentials.

Ji Chenjiao said, “Her name is Li Aijie. What were you saying just now?”

Shen Qi paused. “Right. The media were waiting for the case to break, but it never did. With no new updates and KPIs to meet, they started digging for something else. Regular reporting got boring, so they changed tactics—dug into the girl’s personal life. They only published the bad stuff, never the good. Said she was withdrawn, jealous of anyone with better grades, even rude to her only family. Yelled at her grandma in their crappy apartment.”

Ji Chenjiao turned to him, clearly paying attention now. “No matter the era, people love to feast on others’ pain.”

“Exactly.” Shen Qi said, “Ordinary folks are easy to sway. Bad gossip spreads faster than good news—it’s all about traffic now. Honestly, even I believed some of it back then. I thought, ‘She wasn’t that great after all.’ But then my mom gave me a talking-to.”

“I still remember what she said.” Shen Qi’s tone turned solemn. “She said, ‘She was a girl who was murdered. Even if she was jealous of classmates or argued with her grandma, it doesn’t change the fact that she was a victim. Don’t judge strangers so easily. You’ve got flaws, too. You’ve argued with me, fought with friends—does that make you a bad person?’”

There was a brief silence in the car.

Ji Chenjiao said, “Your mom is gentle and wise.”

Shen Qi nodded. “I’m lucky to have her. But not everyone’s like my mom. Most people saw those reports and immediately bashed the girl. Then came the rumors—that she was selling herself on that street, running errands for traffickers. One sentence: she deserved it.”

It seemed to be the fate of every victim—people start by pitying you, and eventually dig up your flaws, even imaginary ones, just to tarnish your image.

“My final memory of that case is just rumors. And then, nothing. The news cycle moved on.” Shen Qi sighed. “Twelve years and still unsolved. It’s just sad.”

Ji Chenjiao smiled. “Cheer up. Didn’t you just say we’re solving this one on the way?”

Shen Qi laughed. “Right! There’s no case the Major Crimes Unit can’t solve.”

The car fell quiet. The officers in the back seat were asleep. Shen Qi focused on driving, and Ji Chenjiao gazed out the window. Suddenly, he thought of someone—Jaco.

In the Xieyang Road case, Jaco and Li Aijie were the most prominent in the media. But in this case, Li Aijie was once again at the forefront, while Jaco had seemingly vanished.

That didn’t make sense.

He opened Jaco’s homepage and saw that Jaco hadn’t updated a single related video. The last one was still Pandora’s Box.

Was he on vacation?

By the time they reached Cangshui Town, it was already two in the afternoon. Ji Chenjiao asked Shen Qi to drive to Hualan Street, where Tang Hongting had been murdered — it was still the busiest street in Cangshui.

The chicken soup and beef in Cangshui were quite famous. Ji Chenjiao ordered a few bowls of chicken soup rice noodles and observed the surroundings while they waited.

Shen Qi said, “Doesn’t look like much has changed. Back then, all the news reports just kept filming this same street. Still the same as before.”

People gradually came in to eat, some dressed like local thugs, speaking rudely. Ji Chenjiao sat by the entrance and could see most of the street. It was working hours, yet the street was filled with people who obviously had no jobs and seemed idle.

Shen Qi lowered his voice, “This really is Thug Street.”

After finishing their noodles, they wandered through a few side alleys — Tang Hongting had been killed in one of them. Surveillance cameras had since been installed in many places, but it was as if the town had already forgotten her.

On the way to the police station, Ji Chenjiao asked Shen Qi to turn around temporarily and head to the beef processing plant where Liu Yuchun had once worked. The factory was on the outskirts of town, three kilometers from Hualan Street.

That might not be much in a big city like Xiarong, but in a small town like Cangshui, it felt like crossing several bus stops.

Ji Chenjiao hadn’t notified the local station ahead of time. He simply showed up with a cooperative investigation order. The officer who greeted them panicked the moment he heard they were reopening a twelve-year-old case and immediately called the deputy director.

The deputy director had been one of the officers dispatched back then. The case had remained unsolved in his hands before being passed to the sub-bureau and later the city bureau — still unresolved. At the mention of the old case, a look of guilt crossed his face.

“Is this case being reopened?” the deputy director asked nervously but with anticipation. He lightly tapped the desk. “It’s good to reopen it. If you need anything from me, just say so.”

Ji Chenjiao had already reviewed the case files on the internal network yesterday. No matter how detailed the words and photos were, there were bound to be gaps — the emotions of someone who lived through it couldn’t possibly be captured entirely on paper.

“Just tell me how the initial investigation went,” Ji Chenjiao said.

The deputy director nodded and flipped through the records. “It was raining heavily that day — summer, you know, sudden downpours. We got a call from Shu Xiaoling’s grilled fish restaurant. They said there was a dead body in a cardboard box behind their shop.”

When the police arrived, the female corpse was curled up like a baby inside an air conditioner box. Blood had soaked the cardboard, but the rain had washed away the blood on the ground, leaving only faint stains. Midday was the peak hour for foot traffic on Hualan Street, and with all the trampling and rain, the forensic team couldn’t collect a single usable trace.

Her identity was confirmed within two hours — the bar she worked at recognized her. She was supposed to perform at ten the previous night but never showed up. She was just a part-timer, and the boss hadn’t paid her much attention, not even bothering to call.

In the deputy director’s account, Tang Hongting was an unfortunate but ordinary girl. She had some unsavory habits, but she wasn’t as disgraceful as the media later made her out to be.

Poverty had narrowed her view of the world. The local teachers always drilled into students that studying was their only way out — especially for girls, the only way.

Tang Hongting wasn’t particularly smart, but she was extremely diligent and put herself under a lot of pressure. She devoted all her time to studying. When she didn’t score well, she hated herself — sometimes more than her classmates — and even clashed with her grandmother.

Before she repeated a year, she had friends. But after failing the college entrance exam, her mental state collapsed further, and she cut ties with those who had gotten into university. In her new class, she couldn’t fit in. Her classmates often spoke of her with disdain.

After the exam, she started working — at milk tea shops, stir-fry diners — but quit those in August when she began repeating the year, keeping only her nighttime job at the bar.

She was pretty and had been harassed by customers more than once. No one intervened, and she endured it silently.

In short, she wasn’t well-liked and had a fragile mindset. But to say she had serious enough conflicts to be stabbed? There was no one like that.

In other words — the killer lacked a clear motive.

The crime had occurred in the town’s most chaotic area. Tang Hongting had been heavily intoxicated before her death, and her body was covered in messy knife wounds. The station, sub-bureau, and city bureau all concluded it was a spontaneous act during a conflict — a crime of passion.

Almost every young person in town had been questioned during the investigation. The deputy director said, “I know the killer was among them. But I just couldn’t find conclusive evidence.”

Even after twelve years, there was still bitterness in his eyes. As a police officer, there was no greater frustration.

As he continued speaking, the deputy director also mentioned how inflammatory the media reports had been. He became visibly upset: “Sure, what they wrote was technically true — Tang Hongting did have a difficult personality — but why write about a murder victim like that? The reporters published their stories, and the public started making wild assumptions. A poor girl ended up being seen as someone who deserved to die. Her grandmother lost her only family member and was then ridiculed by neighbors — she passed away not long after. I really don’t like those reporters. They have no conscience.”

The old officer couldn’t articulate grand principles — just sighed and shook his head in grief.

What happened twelve years ago was still happening now. With the rise of new media, the number of “reporters” chasing after the “Hat Queen ” case had multiplied tenfold. The major crimes team kept the information under wraps, but for the sake of traffic, those people pulled out every trick in the book — making up outrageous rumors every day.

Rongxing Media.
Li Aijie walked out of her team leader’s office and rolled her eyes. Her last scoop had brought the company a lot of profit, so her boss was pressing her for a new hit.

But news like that wasn’t so easy to find.

Her phone on the desk showed two missed calls from “Little Brother.” Smiling, she called back. On the other end: “Sis, are you free? Let’s grab a bite?”

It was three in the afternoon — too late for lunch, too early for dinner — and technically still work hours. But Li Aijie didn’t spend much time in the office anyway. She claimed she was going out to chase leads, grabbed her crossbody bag, and headed out in a hurry.

At a renowned dim sum restaurant downtown — still packed with guests even at dawn — Li Aibing had already filled a big round table with snacks by the time she arrived, munching on chicken feet with milk tea.

“Sis, long time no see.”
Li Aibing stood up and hugged her affectionately, just like when they were kids. He pulled her to her seat, holding her hand the whole way.

Li Aijie looked genuinely happy too. Her brow lifted slightly, sweeping away the gloom from earlier. She examined her younger brother with a relaxed expression. “When did you get back?”

Li Aibing rotated a tray of crab roe crystal dumplings toward her — her favorite.
“Late last night. Thought you had work early, so I didn’t wake you. Slept in, and now it’s already afternoon.”

Looking at the dumplings, Li Aijie’s smile suddenly froze.
Li Aibing noticed. “Sis, what’s wrong?”

She quickly shook her head and poured herself a glass of iced water. “My boss treated us to soy-braised pork ribs and rice at lunch. Too greasy — made me feel queasy.”

“Your boss treated? Wasn’t he the stingiest guy alive?”
Li Aibing handed her a bowl of congee and leaned on one hand, smiling at her. “And he expected you to finish everything, huh.”

With his handsome face, Li Aibing wasn’t just popular among fans who were “attracted by looks, loyal to talent.” Even Li Aijie — his own sister — felt a bit overwhelmed when he looked at her like that. She laughed and lightly tapped his forehead.
“There’s only two of us. Why’d you order so much? How could I possibly eat it all?”

“Take it to go! Sis, I know you. You love this place but always think it’s too extravagant.”
He suddenly said, “Sis, just quit your job.”

Li Aijie almost choked. “What?! That’s not possible.”

“Why not? You wanted to be a journalist, but the real newspapers are dying, and you couldn’t get into TV. What you’re doing now isn’t real journalism. Your company isn’t even qualified to issue press cards. The boss is stingy — pays one salary for three people’s work. You’re totally being taken advantage of. I can support you.”

She looked at her brother — decked out in designer brands — and didn’t respond for a while.

“Are you mad?” he asked nervously.

They’d grown up relying on each other through tough times. Li Aijie had always loved her brother dearly. For him, there was nothing she wouldn’t do. Of course she wasn’t truly angry. She smiled.
“No. I’ve got my own plans. I won’t quit. And you shouldn’t spend money like that. You’ve got to think about the future.”

“I’ve got a house, a car, and I’m investing. I am thinking ahead,” he said.

She hesitated, then asked, “Are you thinking about moving abroad? I heard immigration costs a lot.”

“What’s going on, sis?” Li Aibing asked, puzzled. “You want to go abroad?”

She shook her head. “No. Never mind. Let’s just eat.”

They chatted over food. He asked why she never wore the clothes he bought her. She said she couldn’t be too flashy at work. Then the conversation circled back — he still wanted her to quit.

She sighed. “Mr. Famous Author, I know you’re finally making money, but don’t let it go to your head, okay?”

“I am popular, you know,” he muttered.

Li Aibing was a web novelist who had failed for years before suddenly exploding in popularity two books ago. The lucrative rights deals had turned him from a tenant in a shared flat into a wealthy man. And he hadn’t slacked off — his last book was also a hit. Though the one he was currently serializing had slightly dipped in popularity, his reputation was already established.

Even if he never wrote another word, he and his sister would never have to worry about money again.

Recently, he’d spent two months in another city working on a script adaptation.

Seeing him so full of confidence, she didn’t want to dampen his spirits and stopped nagging. They happily chatted about celebrities — his work being adapted meant he was half a step into the entertainment industry and had met a lot of big names. Before they left, he suddenly had another idea.

“Sis, you haven’t taken your annual leave yet, have you? Let’s go to the West and see the snowy mountains.”

Li Aijie instinctively said yes, but her expression quickly darkened.
“Now? I can’t — too much going on. Let me finish this batch of work first.”

“You always say that.”

She gave a tired smile, as if carrying a heavy burden.
“This time, I mean it. Once I’m done, I’ll go with you.”

Before leaving the restaurant, he asked her to try on the new shoes he’d bought. She was delighted — wore them straight back to the office.

Cangshui Town.
The deputy director arranged dinner and lodging for the major crimes unit. Everyone was moved by the old officer’s sincerity — a fire burned quietly in their hearts. Since they had pulled this case back from the dust of time, they were determined to solve it.

Before bed, Ji Chenjiao was still sorting through clues by category. They were chaotic right now, and as the team leader, he had to stay calm and rational at all times. He couldn’t sleep, and at midnight, glanced at his phone.

A message popped up from an unfamiliar profile picture with a photo of dinner attached.

Ling Lie:
[Aunt Wang brought me some cured ribs today — perfect for gingko soup. Yum.JPG]

Ji Chenjiao stared at the pale, milky stew, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

Ling Lie?
His gaze shifted to the profile picture, and only then did he remember — it was Ling Lie.

After adding each other as friends, he had never actually chatted with Ling Lie. At the time, he’d even specifically checked Ling Lie’s Moments—blank profile picture, username just “Ling Lie,” and posts were only visible for three days.

But now, not only had Ling Lie changed his username, he’d also replaced his profile picture with a… cat?

Ji Chenjiao zoomed in on the picture. It wasn’t a cat—it was a leopard. The “visible for three days” notice had also disappeared, but there was still only that one post he could see.

Able to see it but not eat it—Ji Chenjiao tossed his phone aside. Still, perhaps that pot of thick, white soup had a soporific effect, because before long, he fell asleep.

In the morning, after breakfast, the major crimes unit split up to conduct their investigation. The deputy chief took Shen Qi and the others to the crime scene to walk through the events in detail, while Ji Chenjiao went to visit the Niuwang Beef Processing Plant where Liu Yuchun used to work.

Thanks to economic support, the factory was now running well, solving a lot of local employment problems. They had even upgraded a whole batch of equipment this year—it was thriving.

After Ji Chenjiao explained why he was there, the deputy factory director said he did remember working with a parts factory, but he hadn’t interacted with the workers who came from there. Still, he called over a dozen veteran workers for Ji Chenjiao to talk to.

The old workers spoke in the local dialect, which Ji Chenjiao struggled to understand, but he patiently made small talk. Quite a few of them remembered Liu Yuchun, because she was from the city and very pretty. Her husband treated her well, too—he would come to see her whenever he had time.

All of that matched what Ji Chenjiao had previously heard from Wang Huiqiang.

“Was this Liu Yuchun’s first time doing meat processing work? It’s not exactly easy to pick up,” Ji Chenjiao asked.

“But she was eager to learn and smart. There were five of them total, I think? I could tell the others were just going through the motions—after all, the factory paid a salary and gave subsidies. But Liu was serious about learning and picked it up really fast.”

Ji Chenjiao wanted them to keep digging through their memories, so he prompted, “You were the one who taught her, right? Were you two close?”

The older worker waved him off. “I taught her, yeah, but she didn’t need me for long. She learned quickly. As for being close… we all went home after work. She lived in the dorms, so we didn’t really stay in touch outside of work.”

Another person chimed in: “I just remembered—one time we were short a player for cards, so I went to the dorm to see if anyone wanted to join. Ran into Liu. She said she didn’t know how to play. I told her I could teach her, but she said she was heading to Haochi Street to help out in a kitchen.”

Ji Chenjiao immediately became alert. Among locals, “Haochi Street” was the same as the Huadeng Street where Tang Hongting had been killed.

“What do you mean ‘help out in a kitchen’?”

“That part, I’m not sure about,” the man replied. “She’s from the city and had money—no way she’d be working for wages. She wouldn’t earn as much there as she did in the factory anyway.”

Author’s note:
Captain Ji, how can you go around pulling someone’s little pigtails?