In the previous investigation, it had already been uncovered that Kang Wanbin had made numerous enemies. But this new lead directly tied him to Long Shasha and Luo Wanwan.

Long Shasha had never mentioned the tragic misfortune that had befallen her family, as if completely unaware that Kang Wanbin was also a member of the Kang family. And Luo Wanwan, who had abandoned her position at the television station to partner with a businessman of Kang Wanbin’s dubious reputation—this too was highly suspicious.

Now these doubts seemed to have some explanation. Though Kang Wanbin might not have been involved in the Kang family’s past crimes, in the eyes of the victims’ families, he carried the same Kang family blood. The rest of the Kang family had either ended up in prison or in ruin—only Kang Wanbin had flourished. But why him?

“Luo Wanwan and Long Shasha both got into the Xiayang Broadcasting and Television Academy with excellent grades, finally shedding the label of impoverished orphans and climbing the social ladder to establish stable lives. And then they began to think of revenge.” Ling Lie squatted by the lotus pond fishing for shrimp—one of the summer amusements offered on this old street. Vendors sold little fishing lines and meat scraps, but only children seemed to care.

In no time at all, Ling Lie had filled half a bucket, making the nearby children stare hungrily with tears in their eyes.

“Luo Wanwan got close to Kang Wanbin, earned his trust, and became the true second-in-command of Wanbin Laihe.” Ling Lie fished up another shrimp and tossed it into the bucket. “Would she really use murder to exact her revenge?”

Ji Chenjiao stood beside him, watching the ripples in the water.

Discovering that Long Shasha’s father had died at the hands of the Kang family’s hired thugs certainly shed light on the case. But logically speaking, Luo and Long’s path of revenge shouldn’t have been as simple and crude as murder. If Luo Wanwan wanted that, she wouldn’t have needed to stay by Kang Wanbin’s side for three years.

She had manipulated a cunning deputy station director like a toy in the palm of her hand, proving her intelligence beyond doubt. Having come this far, her most fitting revenge would either be to seize Kang Wanbin’s assets or to expose his business crimes and bring the last shining member of the Kang family to legal ruin.

So this lead couldn’t explain Kang Wanbin’s death—or point to Luo Wanwan as the mastermind.

Then what role did Long Shasha play in all this?

If Luo Wanwan got close to Kang Wanbin for revenge, Long Shasha certainly knew every detail. She must also have known Kang Wanbin wasn’t killed by Luo Wanwan. And Luo Wanwan’s disappearance, in her eyes, must be more closely linked to danger than flight. Yet even now she refused to speak of the enmity between the Long and Kang families.

“More than just Long Shasha’s father died that year.” Ji Chenjiao muttered as he discussed it with Ling Lie. “If the killer is a relative or friend of another victim, and they found that Luo Wanwan—one of their own—had betrayed them to work with Kang Wanbin, what would they do?”

Ling Lie said, “Kill her too, while they’re at it.”

After a moment, Ji Chenjiao said, “Come on, let’s check the list of victims.”

Ling Lie picked up the small bucket, and the kids stared longingly at him, but because of Ji Chenjiao’s imposing presence, none dared approach.

Ling Lie said, “You go ahead.”

Ji Chenjiao raised an eyebrow. “Hm?”

When Ji Chenjiao had walked a dozen meters away, the children swarmed Ling Lie.

Ji Chenjiao: “…”

Like a king of children, Ling Lie gave them the bucket and was rewarded with a chorus of “Thank you, big brother!”

At the police station, only paper records remained from the old investigation into the brawl. Five people had died and twelve had been seriously injured. Only one death and three injuries came from the developer’s side; the rest were local farmers defending their land.

The old officer swore that all the injured and bereaved families had received compensation and proper arrangements. The town had done everything it could to help the Long family, covering the girls’ education expenses completely. As for the developer, it wasn’t a large company, and in the anti-crime crackdown that had swept away the Kang family, they too had been taken down.

Ji Chenjiao photocopied the records and names to take back for further investigation from this new angle.

But as he stepped out of the station, Ling Lie was nowhere to be seen. The man was always coming and going like a ghost, but as a half-member of the Major Crimes Unit now—one of his own—Ji Chenjiao frowned and called him.

It rang a long time before Ling Lie finally picked up, with noisy background sounds.

“Where are you?” Ji Chenjiao asked.

Ling Lie was… playing mahjong. “Captain Ji! Go back without me. I like the vibe here in the old street—might stick around for a few days. Bye!”

Ji Chenjiao didn’t even get to reply before Ling Lie hung up.

Forget it. Ji Chenjiao thought he’d done his duty keeping an eye on the man. And Ling Lie—though unreliable on the surface—never did anything without reason. If he stayed in the old street, he was likely chasing leads.

Anyway, the Major Crimes Unit would probably send more people. Let him be for now.

Back in the car, Ji Chenjiao didn’t start the engine immediately. He called Liang Wenxian, reporting what they’d learned in Nanfeng District.

“As for Luo Wanwan,” Ji Chenjiao added, “we need to prepare for both possibilities. Shen Qi has been monitoring her communications and transactions—if she’s on the run, the moment she appears online, she’ll be traced. But if she’s dead, Brother Liang, I think we should organize a mountain search.”

Liang Wenxian was silent for a few seconds. “You’re right. I’ll coordinate manpower for the search.”

Hanging up, Ji Chenjiao closed his eyes, sorting through the threads of the case before starting the car—only to have his phone ring again.

It was his adoptive mother, Zhou Yun.

“Mom.” Ji Chenjiao’s expression softened. “How have you been?”

Zhou Yun was gentle as always, calling to check on him and offer her usual reminders to take care. But she rarely called in the afternoon. When Ji Chenjiao answered, he hadn’t thought anything of it, but her voice was oddly hurried.

“Xiao Chen, you must be busy at work, right? Am I disturbing you?”

“No, is something wrong at home?”

“No, no! Everything’s fine! Your father and I are packing—we’re thinking of going away for the summer to escape the heat. It’s a last-minute decision, and I didn’t want you to worry if you couldn’t reach us—just letting you know in advance.”

“Where are you going?”

She mentioned a province to the west, then hinted they might go abroad—but didn’t say where. She fussed over him a bit more, telling him to take care and bring souvenirs next time he visited.

After hanging up, Ji Chenjiao couldn’t help but think about his family.

His adoptive parents were businesspeople—not rich, but well off. They’d spent years building their company, almost never taking trips together. Maybe now they were finally willing to let the younger generation handle things and enjoy themselves?

But why the rush? Was there trouble with the company?

Ji Chenjiao quickly searched their company’s name. No negative news. He found his cousin’s number in his contacts—hesitated—but didn’t call.

He’d been seven when adopted, old enough to remember. His foster parents had treated him impeccably, but by nature he was distant, never truly close with the rest of the family. Now, even if he wanted to ask, there was no one suitable.

Maybe it was just the stress of dealing with murder cases for so long making him overly suspicious. Ji Chenjiao sighed and stepped on the gas.

The investigations by the Major Crimes Unit and the Southern Division continued. The South Division had already cleared two-thirds of the dozen people with motives to kill Kang Wanbin. The remaining suspects linked to an incident three years ago—when Kang Wanbin deceived two small studios into signing over control, ultimately absorbing them into his own company. One of the studio founders, young designer He Lin, committed suicide out of despair.

He Lin had been only twenty-three, a local prodigy who started designing games in college and became a well-known name in the field. At twenty, she and her friends founded “Youheju Studio,” producing polished works with beautiful art and rich storytelling.

But small studios struggled to survive. Despite its reputation, “Youheju” was drowning in financial problems.

Enter Kang Wanbin with promises of investment, painting grand dreams and assuring He Lin that if she surrendered operations to him, she’d be free to focus on creation without money or distribution worries.

Naive He Lin signed—dooming herself the moment she did.

Three months later, “Youheju’s” core team was ousted. The studio merged with another Kang-controlled studio and was left to rot under clueless businessmen.

He Lin lost everything—even her nearly-finished game, now the property of Wanbin Laihe. She was barred from completing or using her own creation.

Three months after that, He Lin gave up on life.

Many mourned her back then, but few remembered now. Wanbin Laihe had become one of the top game companies—its sins forgotten.

“He Lin was a local, from a happy family. But after her death, the family fell apart,” Chen Jing said. “Her parents couldn’t have children of their own—they’d adopted her from an orphanage. She was their only bond. When she died, so did the family.”

“Adopted?” Ji Chenjiao’s eyes flickered. “Which orphanage?”

“North Suburb’s Lily Fragrance—though it was torn down over ten years ago.”

Ji Chenjiao was silent. Lily Fragrance—he’d lived there once, too.

“Captain Ji?” Chen Jing asked.

“I’ve got ties to that orphanage,” Ji Chenjiao replied. “I’ll handle He Lin’s case myself.”

Chen Jing seemed surprised but agreed. “Alright. I’ll help Old Liang search the mountains.”

Ji Chenjiao parked on a quiet side street in Nancheng’s Yongbei Road, unbuckled—but didn’t get out right away.

It was mid-June. Summer’s peak hadn’t yet arrived, but the yellowhorn trees cast deep shade. This old neighborhood was much quieter than the bustling city center—unlike the shiny, half-empty skyscrapers of the new districts.

These streets seemed soaked in the thick wine of time. The dappled light between mottled walls carried the faint fragrance of forgotten years.

At the end of the alley stood what used to be the Lily Fragrance Welfare Home — now rebuilt as a community senior center. From once being a home for children who had lost their parents to now sheltering the elderly in the twilight of their years, this place had protected generations of people.

Ji Chenjiao thought of that spring when he was seven, the year his adoptive parents drove out of this very alley, taking him to see every part of this city where he had lived for three years yet left almost no trace behind.

When spring came to Xiarong City, it was always accompanied by endless drizzle. So his memories of leaving this place were like being veiled under a hazy rain. On the day when the sun shone through the rain, he had met a little boy outside a McDonald’s — thin, bony, with dirt smudged across his face and hands.

Once again, he couldn’t help but think of the “young master” Ling Lie had mentioned.

But no — that boy certainly wasn’t the “young master.” And Ling Lie definitely wasn’t the pitiful little kid he had once helped.

Shaking off these memories, Ji Chenjiao opened the door and stepped out of the car, walking toward the senior center. Both the old Lily Fragrance Welfare Home and the present-day senior center had been established with support and coordination from the community. Someone here should be able to contact former staff from the welfare home.

After Ji Chenjiao explained his purpose, the staff eagerly reached out to the relevant community officials. Through them, they found Aunt Liu, a former welfare home worker who now lived nearby.

Ji Chenjiao felt a sense of familiarity just upon hearing her name. When he met Aunt Liu at the community retirement activity center, he remembered — she had once taken care of him, too.

But so many years had passed. On top of that, Ji Chenjiao had changed his name after being adopted. Aunt Liu no longer recognized him.

“Officer Ji? The folks at the community center said you wanted to see me. What’s the matter?” Aunt Liu was in her sixties, still spirited and warm, and she immediately offered to peel him an apple.

Ji Chenjiao quickly declined. “I wanted to ask about a girl who once lived at Lily Fragrance Welfare Home. Her name was He Lin.”

Aunt Liu thought for a moment and then picked up the kettle. “Come with me to my place. When the welfare home shut down, I kept some records and photos.”

Ji Chenjiao followed her home. The old apartment had poor lighting, so Aunt Liu moved all the welfare home booklets and newsletters out to the balcony. She put on her reading glasses and began carefully searching through them.

Ji Chenjiao also picked up a booklet — and to his surprise, immediately saw himself: a silent, expressionless boy standing at the very end of the line. All the other children were smiling; only he wore that blank face. On the back of the photo, his original name was written: Xia Chengshi.

“Found her. Is this the one you’re looking for?” Aunt Liu pushed the booklet toward him. “Xia Xiaoxiao, adopted at age eight. The adoptive family’s surname was He.”

In the photo, Xia Xiaoxiao wore twin pigtails and smiled innocently. Next to it was a small newsletter clipping about her — reporting on a hearing-impaired girl named Xia Xiaoxiao being adopted.

Media back then weren’t as sensitive about privacy or personal dignity as they are now. Xia Xiaoxiao’s adoption, despite her hearing impairment, had been considered newsworthy.

Ji Chenjiao nodded. “Do you remember anything else about her time at the home? How did she end up here?”

Aunt Liu sighed. “Of course I remember. She had a disability and was very afraid of being looked down upon — afraid of being a burden to the other kids. So she was always the most eager and hardworking. A very kind girl.”

“But her hearing impairment made adoption difficult. Many younger children were adopted before her. She didn’t get a home until she was eight — so she cherished it all the more.”

Aunt Liu clearly didn’t know that He Lin had died three years ago. She smiled cheerfully, saying that Xia Xiaoxiao was probably a lovely grown woman by now — perhaps even married with children.

When Ji Chenjiao had lived at Lily Fragrance Welfare Home, he’d seen parents abandon children they couldn’t raise. Some staff members knew who these birth parents were.

“Do you remember who Xia Xiaoxiao’s birth parents were?”

Aunt Liu searched for a while longer but found no specific record. “She was left at our gate. But I remember us discussing who her parents might have been… Wait, let me call the old director.”

“Hello, Director Wang? Yes, yes, how are you? Listen, I have a police officer here asking about Xia Xiaoxiao from our home…”

Aunt Liu chattered on as Ji Chenjiao continued flipping through the booklets, half-listening.

“…their surname was Jiang, right? I thought so! Okay, I’ll visit you soon!”

Hanging up, Aunt Liu turned back to him.

“The director remembered — their last name was Jiang. The father was a tailor, the mother unemployed. They were the ones who left Xia Xiaoxiao here!”

“You’re sure?”

“Don’t underestimate us. A lot of parents come by to scope things out before they abandon a child. The Jiang couple came by several times. We knew something was wrong. After Xia Xiaoxiao appeared at our gate, they never showed up again. We even asked their neighbors — they’d had a child, but claimed they’d taken it back to their hometown.”

“But it was good she ended up with us. They wouldn’t have raised her well anyway. Her adoptive family was far better off than those tailors.”

So now they knew He Lin’s biological father was likely a tailor named Jiang — but this clue was still like searching for a needle in a haystack. Aunt Liu and the old director might have been right, but Xiarong City had millions of people, and decades had passed. No telling if the Jiang couple was even still there.

Perhaps DNA screening could help — He Lin’s DNA data was likely in the database, but her relatives might not be.

Just as this thought crossed his mind, Aunt Liu’s landline rang again — the old director calling back.

She said that years ago, a child had come looking for her, asking about Xia Xiaoxiao’s adoptive family. Due to confidentiality, she hadn’t revealed anything. But the boy was anxious — even cried.

He had said Xia Xiaoxiao was his sister. He had only just learned from his parents that they’d abandoned a sick daughter at Lily Fragrance. Now that he’d grown up, he wanted to find her — to take care of her and atone for their parents’ sins.

Ji Chenjiao asked urgently, “How old was he? Did he leave any contact information?”

The old director replied, “He left his number. I just found it — his name was Jiang Meng. He came to see me three years ago, said he’d just finished the college entrance exam, so he should be about twenty-one now.”

She gave Ji Chenjiao the number, which he quickly jotted down. Just as they were about to hang up, he suddenly asked, “Director Wang!”

“Yes?”

“Twenty-one years ago, in spring — did a very small, thin boy ever come to the welfare home on his own?”

The old director fell silent for a long time. “You mean A’Dou?”

“A’Dou?”

“I can’t remember exactly how many years ago — but yes, there was a little boy who came alone.”

Ji Chenjiao’s heart skipped, rare tension rising in his chest — excitement mixed with fear of disappointment.

“I remember him well because he asked, ‘Is this Lily Fragrance Welfare Home? A big brother named Chengcheng told me to come here.’”

Ji Chenjiao’s pupils shrank slightly.

The old director chuckled. “No other child was like him. He’d walked so far, all the way from the city center. We’d just sent away a boy named Chengcheng — so we took him in.”

Ji Chenjiao’s throat tightened. “And afterward…?”

She sighed. “He disappeared.”

“What?”

“He only stayed with us for half a year. One day — poof — gone. Just as suddenly as he arrived. Kids who came to us often had no past, but he was the only one who vanished right under our noses. That’s why I’ve never forgotten little A’Dou.”

Leaving Aunt Liu’s home, Ji Chenjiao immediately sent Jiang Meng’s name and number to Shen Qi and asked Xi Wan to search for any relatives of He Lin using her DNA profile.

After doing all this, he couldn’t help but fall into memory.

As a child, he had believed that thin, hungry boy would surely reach Lily Fragrance  Welfare  Home — and be sheltered and cared for, just as he had been.

For years afterward, he forgot the boy.

Then, returning to Xiarong City for work, he once revisited the northern district while investigating a case — and the memory resurfaced. He suddenly realized: from the city center to Lily Fragrance Welfare Home was impossibly far.

That little boy could never have made it on foot.

Ling Lie had suddenly appeared in his life. The last time they ate at McDonald’s, Ling Lie had mentioned being saved by a little young master’s chicken wings, and that memory made Ji Chenjiao think once more of the little boy he had helped long ago.

He clearly knew that Ling Lie and that little boy couldn’t possibly be the same person, and yet just now, he still couldn’t help but ask the old director.

The answer surprised him—but also felt like it fulfilled the small wish of his seven-year-old self.

So the little boy was called A’Dou. How fitting—a name as tiny as he was.

And A Dou really had gone to Lily Fragrance Welfare Home, had really lived there peacefully for half a year.

But what happened afterward? Why did A’Dou disappear? Where did he go? Did he grow up well?

Ji Chenjiao’s mind involuntarily conjured up Ling Lie’s beautiful yet perpetually annoying face.

He was clearly thinking about A’Dou—but the person he saw was…

He pinched the bridge of his nose, and in his heart, a small voice whispered:
What if Ling Lie really is A’Dou?

At that moment, Ling Lie was wandering the old street of Nanfeng District. He had just played tai chi with an elderly man and learned knitting from an auntie. Such a complicated stitch pattern—he had only watched twice and could already do it, even faster than the aunt herself.

The aunt was so delighted she couldn’t stop smiling, praising Ling Lie for being smart. Whatever Ling Lie asked her, she happily answered.

This aunt was actually a woman with a bitter fate. She had once married gloriously when she was young, but before she and her husband could share more than a few warm nights, her husband was killed in a violent clash over land. Though she received a large sum in compensation and lived comfortably, she became a widow. The villagers pitied her, but behind her back they whispered that she brought bad luck to her husband’s family.

And so, she remained unmarried into her thirties, giving up on the idea of marriage and starting her own small business. Now in her forties, life was getting better and better.

Ling Lie asked her about that violent clash, and she described it in great detail. Her husband’s family had taken the compensation money and moved away, feeling this place was full of sorrow. As far as she knew, they had never returned.

Another family from that time was now the wealthy family on the old street, running a restaurant and a guesthouse, having long since put their grief behind them.

The Long family was doing fairly well too; at least their daughter had become successful.

But in the auntie’s eyes, the most tragic of all was the Ou family.