“Yao Jue probably wasn’t telling the truth,” Ji Chenjiao said. “If Yao Jue had threatened Kang Wanbin face-to-face and forced him to leave with him immediately, then in a moment of shock or anger, Kang Wanbin might’ve acted impulsively and gone with him. But Yao Jue threatened him at night, and Kang Wanbin didn’t go to meet him until a few hours later. That doesn’t make sense. A man like Kang Wanbin—give him a few hours to think, and he’d surely come up with a way to deal with you.”

Liang Wenxian said, “Either the threat was something else entirely, or Kang Wanbin received some information that left him no choice but to go to the fish farm alone.”

“From Yao Jue’s perspective,” Ji Chenjiao mused, “is there anyone he’d rather shoulder all the blame himself to protect? Luo Wanwan would’ve had a far easier time asking Kang Wanbin to meet. Did Luo Wanwan have a motive to kill Kang Wanbin?”

By the end of the meeting, the investigation’s new focus was clear—find Luo Wanwan and get to the bottom of her relationship with Kang Wanbin.

After the meeting, Ji Chenjiao spotted Ling Lie swaggering into the Major Crimes Unit’s lounge eating a banana.

“Delivering takeout again? Who let you in this time?” Ji Chenjiao glanced around the room. “Looks like it’s time to tighten up discipline in the Major Crimes Unit.”

Ling Lie rummaged through his bag and pulled out a temporary ID. “Certified by Captain Xie. Official field agent of the Major Crimes Unit.”

Ji Chenjiao took the card and inspected it. Since when did the Major Crimes Unit issue things like this?

Ling Lie carefully tucked the ID away and kept eating his banana, even lifting his leg to rest it on Ji Chenjiao’s desk.

Ji Chenjiao smacked it down and went off to find Xie Qing. But Xie Qing dodged all explanations about the “official field agent” badge, changing the subject and asking how the case was progressing.

The old fox won again. Ji Chenjiao had no choice but to report.

The crayfish party had started on the afternoon of June 5th. Kang Wanbin was killed early on the 6th. Yao Jue was already the prime suspect, but the investigation was far from over. Another key figure, Luo Wanwan, had been missing for two days.

No one had seen her in those two days. Her phone and social media accounts were silent. The unit had applied to check her bank records and online transactions—her last mobile payment was made on the morning of the 5th.

Yao Jue insisted he was the sole killer, but the longer Luo Wanwan stayed missing, the more suspicious she seemed.

The Major Crimes Unit arrived at Wanbin Laihe Company. The office building was still decorated for the upcoming launch of a new game—cleaning services hadn’t yet been told to remove them after the incident.

The staff all knew their boss had been murdered. Some worried about their own futures; more were huddled together gossiping about Kang Wanbin and Yao Jue.

In Kang Wanbin’s office, Xi Wan was packing up computers and office equipment. Ji Chenjiao followed her, hoping to find out exactly what Luo Wanwan’s role in the company had been.

What he knew so far: Luo Wanwan, 32, was a veteran host at Xiarong TV. She’d started as a news anchor, then shifted to producing, and now the only show she appeared on was Deep in Xiarong, a nightly program focused on local life—a show with decent ratings.

Though not old, Luo Wanwan had joined Xiarong TV early. Shortly after she started, she married the then-deputy director of the station, and her career had soared. There were plenty of rumors that she had traded her looks and charm for professional favors. But no one could deny her talent—she was skilled, poised on camera, sharp-witted, and had genuinely solved many real problems for citizens in past years.

But after getting involved with Kang Wanbin, her reputation declined. Her divorce from the deputy director only cemented rumors of an affair.

She had never addressed these rumors, and in recent years, had scaled back her TV work, focusing instead on public relations for Wanbin Laihe. Although she held no formal position there, employees called her “President Luo,” and Kang Wanbin had repeatedly referred to her in meetings as the company’s second-in-command.

“This is President Luo’s office,” her assistant said, unlocking the door. The air inside was heavy with fragrance, and Ji Chenjiao frowned instinctively.

The assistant gave an awkward smile. “President Luo likes incense. It’s just her personal habit.”

The office was bright and spacious, with a fantastic view. From the decor, it was clear Kang Wanbin had placed great trust in her.

The assistant said that when Wanbin Laihe had first started, its reputation was terrible—especially after swallowing up small studios—and after He Lin’s suicide, the industry had openly scorned the company.

Later, Kang Wanbin had turned to Luo Wanwan to improve the company’s image.

Ji Chenjiao asked, “How did she do that?”

“President Luo has a lot of connections in media, and she’s very good at what she does. She’s influential. People trust her from her shows—they believe what she says.”

Reputation is always the same story: if the ones holding the microphone keep telling you something, sooner or later, you forget why you ever disliked someone or something.

“But President Luo and President Kang definitely weren’t like what people gossip about,” the assistant added. “They were business partners. They respected each other, that’s all. Yes, she divorced after meeting him, but as far as I know, the divorce was because of the deputy director’s problems.”

Ji Chenjiao opened Luo Wanwan’s computer and caught sight of a photo frame on the side. Both faces were familiar from television—Luo Wanwan on the left, and Xiarong TV’s most popular host, Long Shasha, on the right.

Both had attended Kang Wanbin’s party. But a top host like Long Shasha had likely been invited personally by Luo Wanwan.

These two were sisters—real, blood-related sisters. Luo Wanwan was a few years older than Long Shasha, though Ji Chenjiao couldn’t remember exactly how many. He did recall that when he first became a detective, the whole unit had watched Xiarong TV’s Mid-Autumn Festival special—Luo Wanwan had introduced the young, fresh-faced Long Shasha as her younger sister and asked everyone to look after her.

In the blink of an eye, Luo Wanwan had faded from TV to become a behind-the-scenes power in business, while Long Shasha had taken her place as Xiarong TV’s top star.

Their beaming photo suggested they’d remained close.

The assistant came over. “President Luo cares most about Sister Shasha. When Sister Shasha has night shows, she often makes soup and brings it herself. If she’s too busy, she sends us. Sister Shasha hasn’t worked a late shift alone for years—President Luo worries about her safety and picks her up, no matter how late.”

“Do they live together?” Ji Chenjiao asked.

“They each have their own place—but they also share an apartment.”

Ji Chenjiao handed things over to Xi Wan and went to see Long Shasha.

On the day of the party, Long Shasha had returned to her room by midnight, with no time to commit any crime—she’d been one of the first guests to leave Fengyi Villa. Now she had just finished taping a show and was touching up her makeup in the lounge.

On camera she had seemed calm and charming, flashing her trademark gentle smile. But backstage, even makeup couldn’t hide her weariness and worry. As soon as she saw Ji Chenjiao, she asked, “Is there news about my sister?”

Ji Chenjiao shook his head. “Not yet. I came to ask about Luo Wanwan.”

Hearing there was still no news, Long Shasha’s eyes turned red; she quickly raised her face, forcing back tears.

“My sister… she shouldn’t have gotten involved with Kang Wanbin.” Once she steadied herself, she sighed. “I warned her. Kang Wanbin’s family is shady—some in prison, some on the run. Frankly, Kang Wanbin can’t even protect himself. What good could come of working with him?”

“But my sister thought he had a sharp business mind. After her divorce, she felt a woman needed her own career—that she’d eventually leave TV anyway—and Kang Wanbin was the partner she chose.”

Ji Chenjiao asked, “TV isn’t a career?”

Long Shasha gave a bitter smile. “Don’t be fooled by her starting out as a host. She always looked down on hosts—thought we were just pretty faces. That’s why she moved behind the scenes later on.”

“What do you know about her marriage to the deputy director?”

The deputy director had landed in prison last year for financial crimes, but had once been a big name in Xiarong’s media world, known for his sharp mind and creativity. Several famous national programs had been his work. But when it came to his personal conduct, people spoke less kindly.

“My sister was his second wife—he was nearly twenty years older than her.” Long Shasha hesitated but finally went on when Ji Chenjiao waited silently. “She did marry him because he could help her career. But I never thought my sister only got where she was because of him. Their relationship was mutually beneficial. All those hit shows he produced had my sister’s input.”

Ji Chenjiao asked, “Then why the divorce?”

Long Shasha pressed her lips together. “Because of me.”

Ji Chenjiao hadn’t expected that. “You?”

“My sister found out early on that he was dirty with money—and mixed up with bad people. She kept urging him to stop, but she didn’t cut ties. That’s why he didn’t get caught until after they divorced.”

“Later on, he actually started giving me trouble because I was too close with my sister. My sister could tolerate everything else, but she couldn’t stand seeing me get targeted and picked on. She talked to him about it many times, and that only made him feel even more that my sister and I were the real family—not him and her. Isn’t that ridiculous? My sister and I came out of the mountains together and depended on each other for everything. Of course we were bound to be sisters for life!”

As Long Shasha spoke, she grew more and more agitated, her cheeks faintly flushing. She seemed to realize she was getting carried away and gave Ji Chenjiao an embarrassed smile. “Sorry, I got too worked up.”

“It’s fine.” Ji Chenjiao stood up and walked to the window, turning his back to Long Shasha to give her space to compose herself.

After a moment, Long Shasha said, “There wasn’t much affection between them from the start—it was more like two skilled people using each other. My sister sensed he would eventually get into trouble, and with everything going on with me as well, she proposed a divorce.”

“He agreed?”

“Not so easily. He threatened to blacklist me and ruin my career, but my sister had evidence of his financial crimes. If he refused to divorce or kept going after me, he wouldn’t come out of it unscathed either.”

Ji Chenjiao did some mental math. Luo Wanwan divorced three years ago—right around the time Long Shasha managed to establish herself at the Xiarong TV station.

“After the divorce, the deputy station head really didn’t bother you again?”

“No. He’s a shrewd man—doesn’t let emotions get in the way of his decisions. After that, the three of us minded our own business, and he barely paid attention to the station’s affairs anymore.”

“What role did Luo Wanwan play in him ending up in prison?”

Long Shasha froze for a moment, then quickly shook her head. “It wasn’t my sister. She didn’t actually have solid evidence in the end.” She stood up in surprise. “Detective Ji—are you suggesting my sister’s disappearance could be revenge from someone connected to the deputy station head?”

Ji Chenjiao shook his head. He realized that Long Shasha and the police weren’t thinking along the same lines. The Major Crimes Unit leaned more toward the idea that Luo Wanwan might have been involved in Kang Wanbin’s death and fled afterward. But Long Shasha believed her sister had likely been harmed too—by either Kang Wanbin’s enemies or someone connected to the deputy station head.

Ji Chenjiao thought of what Luo Wanwan’s assistant had mentioned. “You and Luo Wanwan still live together?”

A shy smile appeared on Long Shasha’s face. “My sister and I have always been close. The place I’m living in now was bought for me by her. I did buy my own apartment later on, but after her divorce, unless there was something special, we usually lived together.”

“Something special?”

“Like business trips, overnight shoots, that sort of thing.”

Ji Chenjiao considered his words. “Forgive me for asking, but has your relationship life been influenced much by Luo Wanwan?”

Long Shasha blinked, then shook her head. “I’ve always been single. Living with my sister feels just fine to me.”

“Has Luo Wanwan been acting strange recently?”

At this question, Long Shasha looked downcast again. “I’ve been too busy lately, and so has she. There was the promotional work for Kang Wanbin’s project—she hadn’t stayed with me for a while. I’d mostly been staying in my apartment near the TV station too. We agreed that once we were both free, we’d go on vacation together and finally relax.”

“If… if I’d been paying more attention, maybe I would’ve noticed she was in danger.”

Ji Chenjiao could see the deep bond of sisterhood in Long Shasha, but as far as the investigation was concerned, the clues she offered were few.

Back in the car, Ji Chenjiao opened the background check files on Luo Wanwan and Long Shasha that the precinct had sent over. The two were cousins, both from Xiarong City—or rather, not quite. Their registered birthplace was originally Nanfeng Town, the Fengyi Mountain area. At the time, Nanfeng wasn’t part of Xiarong City but under the jurisdiction of a county. Only when the city limits expanded about ten years ago did Nanfeng become part of Xiarong.

Ji Chenjiao thought: Luo Wanwan disappeared up in the mountains of her hometown.

Their family had died while they were still minors. Luo Wanwan was four years older than Long Shasha and had raised her like a daughter. Long Shasha had only entered the media industry because of her sister.

If Luo Wanwan was the killer, what motive would she and Yao Jue have had to kill Kang Wanbin? But if she was killed along with Kang Wanbin, why would the killer hide her body?

Too many questions remained unanswered. Ji Chenjiao closed his eyes; clues clashed and tangled in his mind. Suddenly, he heard a knocking sound to his right. When he looked, Ling Lie was smiling at him outside the car.

Ji Chenjiao: “…”

He unlocked the door, and Ling Lie got in like it was his own car, settling into the passenger seat.

Ji Chenjiao said, “You’re awfully shameless.”

“When you rode my tricycle, you weren’t exactly polite either.”

“…Fine. You win.”

Summer had fully arrived. Ling Lie was sweating all over and immediately twisted open a bottle of cola. Ji Chenjiao, who couldn’t stand sugary drinks, pretended to kick him out. Ling Lie shrank against the car window. “Hey, hey, what are you doing! I bought this myself!”

“No drinking that stuff in my car,” Ji Chenjiao muttered distractedly, his mind still full of the case, “unless you give me some.”

Ling Lie: “…”

Ji Chenjiao: “…”

The car fell silent for a moment. Ji Chenjiao cleared his throat. “I was joking.”

But the bottle—covered with beads of condensation—was already being held up to his mouth. Ling Lie said, “Here, take it. Three yuan only. Your buddy Lie Lie is generous.”

Ji Chenjiao took a sip before realizing what Ling Lie had called himself—and almost choked.

Ling Lie took the bottle back and burst out laughing.

“Captain Ji, come on, let’s discuss the case.”

Ji Chenjiao instinctively said, “No comment.”

“Stingy!” Ling Lie whipped out his special work permit again. “I’m officially a temp worker now. Are you still going to keep secrets from me?”

Ji Chenjiao remembered—Ling Lie was technically on their side now. The two of them had built an odd but effective rapport during the previous cases. Back then Ling Lie had been a suspect, so of course Ji Chenjiao couldn’t tell him everything.

But that caution wasn’t necessary anymore.

When Ji Chenjiao mentioned Luo Wanwan’s divorce with the former station head, Ling Lie said, “Could Luo Wanwan and Long Shasha have that kind of relationship?”

“What kind?”

“You know… girlfriends?”

Ji Chenjiao was silent for a moment, then turned to Ling Lie. “But what does that have to do with Luo Wanwan’s disappearance?”

“Whether they were lovers or not—and whether that relates to her disappearance—that’s the same kind of question as whether Luo Wanwan’s disappearance is related to Kang Wanbin’s death, isn’t it?” Ling Lie looked at Ji Chenjiao. “Captain Ji, the moment you heard Luo Wanwan was missing, you connected it to Kang Wanbin’s death and came after Long Shasha because of that. But when I suggest they might’ve been lovers, you ask me what that has to do with Luo Wanwan going missing.”

Ji Chenjiao frowned, almost tangled up by Ling Lie’s rapid reasoning. But thinking carefully, he understood. It was because of the coincidental timing, because Luo Wanwan and Kang Wanbin had been close business partners with many secrets, that her disappearance and his death had been immediately linked. Similarly, if Luo Wanwan and Long Shasha had been lovers, her going missing and that fact shouldn’t automatically be assumed connected—unless someone with Ling Lie’s unusual train of thought pointed it out.

And objectively speaking—just like being lovers wouldn’t directly cause Luo Wanwan to disappear—her disappearance wouldn’t directly cause Kang Wanbin to die either. These were guesses shaped by circumstance.

Ji Chenjiao asked, “What did you come looking for?”

Ling Lie screwed the cap back onto his Coke and stuck it into the cup holder. “Work, of course.”

Ji Chenjiao: “……”

Ling Lie put his hands together and grinned. “To tell you the truth, isn’t it lunchtime? Your Major Crimes Unit might not pay me a salary, but sticking close to Captain Ji at least means I get fed.”

Ji Chenjiao steered the car onto the main road. “I knew you were up to no good.”

“Hehe!”

Twenty minutes later, as Ji Chenjiao drove farther and farther away, speeding along Wubin Avenue out of the city, with not a single restaurant in sight, Ling Lie finally shouted, “Wait, wait! Where are we going?!”

“Nanfeng Town,” Ji Chenjiao replied.

Strictly speaking, Nanfeng Town no longer existed. The area around Fengyi Mountain was now called Nanfeng District—one of Xia Rong City’s newer districts, administered by the southern zone.

Because of the recent case at Fengyi Manor, Nanfeng District was especially lively these past two days. Even at random roadside stalls where they grabbed lunch, every table was buzzing with gossip about the death of the wealthy businessman.

At a simple wooden table laden with small dishes and alkaline tofu pudding, Ling Lie devoured his food with gusto while Ji Chenjiao made calls, inquiring about the resettlement of the former residents of Nanfeng Town.

By the time Ji Chenjiao finished gathering information, Ling Lie had practically wiped the table clean, leaving behind only a small portion of tofu pudding and a whole bowl of braised beef.

“I left you all the lean stuff. I ate the twice-cooked pork and stewed pork with preserved vegetables.”

Ji Chenjiao quickly finished the rest. “Not bad. You’ve got a conscience after all.”

According to local records, the old Nanfeng Town sat on the southernmost edge of Nanfeng District. To develop tourism, the town had been transformed into an ancient street, while the townsfolk—except those who went off to work elsewhere—mostly remained, living on that street. A modern residential street had been built beside it to house them.

Ji Chenjiao and Ling Lie arrived at the old street. It wasn’t a major tourist attraction—visitors were rare, and most shopkeepers were older folks passing time with tea and cards.

Ji Chenjiao found a teahouse. The woman serving their tea, spotting them as outsiders, warmly began introducing the street’s history. Ji Chenjiao feigned fascination for a while before casually asking, “I heard the two famous sisters from the TV station came from here. Do you know them?”

“Oh, you’ve come to the right person!” The woman slapped the bench and hollered for three other middle-aged ladies to join in their gossip session.

The Long family, like most families in town, made their living farming. They needed strong hands for the fields, but the Longs only had one daughter—Long Shasha—who was pretty and sweet-tempered since childhood, loved by all.

Neighbors often urged the Longs to try for a son to help with the work, but for some reason, they never did.

Then one year, a big incident rocked the town—a developer came to seize land by force. Outraged farmers stood up to resist. A fierce brawl broke out, and when the police arrived, both sides had suffered injuries and deaths—including Long Shasha’s father. Her mother had already passed away years before.

Just like that, Long Shasha became an orphan. Thankfully, she had a cousin to rely on—Luo Wanwan.

At the mention of Luo Wanwan, the women sighed. Luo Wanwan had it even worse than Long Shasha. Her home was in an even poorer, more remote village. After losing both parents, she came to live with the Longs. Knowing she was an outsider, she worked tirelessly from dawn till dusk, returning covered in dirt and sweat like a little mud monkey.

When the Longs died, Luo Wanwan essentially raised Long Shasha herself.

“Girls really do blossom as they grow up—Luo Wanwan was so dark and scrawny back then, but now, my goodness, what a lady!” the women gushed. “Long Shasha owes her success to Luo Wanwan’s kindness, no doubt about it.”

Ji Chenjiao frowned slightly. He’d never heard of anyone dying in Nanfeng Town over a land dispute. “Do you remember which real estate company was involved?”

The women glanced at each other uncertainly. No one could recall. But one finally spoke up: “It wasn’t a proper company, that’s for sure. The police locked them all up later. The ones doing the beating weren’t even the developers—they hired thugs. Martial arts people, you know?”

Martial arts? Anyone with some familiarity with Xiarong City knew what that meant—the notorious Kang family of Tongqie County, who ran a so-called martial arts school as a front for their gang activities.

And the only member of the Kang family to escape the city’s major crime crackdown unscathed… was none other than Kang Wanbin!