Overly Intense [Criminal Investigation] 4

Chapter 4: A Person of Iron, Hard to Deal With

“If the new continent possesses images of both the mother tribe and the barbarian tribe, then they can call their invasion an adventure—an adventure to conquer those atavistic phenomena. The foreign and the irrational are thus invisibly isolated. They even give this narrative a beautiful name: the advanced blue civilization.”

—Qin Luo’s short review of AvaXar after an invitation to a screening.

An iron ship crashed upon a cunning new continent.

Standing opposite Shen Yiyi, Qin Luo couldn’t tell if she was the scorched earth or the scrap metal.

The forensic pathologist had her hands in her pockets, shrugging slightly as she spoke. “Did you get vision correction? I only recognized you when I saw your name on the screenwriter credits. You’ve changed so much.”

…

I’ll clamp.

I’ll clamp was Qin Luo’s go-to curse word. It represented her fight for the “sexual autonomy” of her own body even in the realm of language. She had the final say on clamping any gender, and where she used to clamp was also her decision.

She wanted to clamp Shen Yiyi to “death.”

Of course, this action had no erotic meaning; it was purely on the level of cursing someone out.

She couldn’t understand how Shen Yiyi could so gently and easily seize the upper hand. How could she blame the four hours and fifty-eight minutes of pretending not to know her, and the brief moment of criticizing her professional ability, on the fact that a girl changes from childhood to womanhood?¹ And even flash a breezy smile at her.

Qin Luo stepped closer, revealing her delicate, light makeup, and widened her eyes. “Excuse me, has my corrected vision been reborn in your eyes? Can’t you see these obvious contact lenses? How did you become the director of the identification center with such powers of observation?”

Her tone was quite… harsh.

“Deputy director.”

Shen Yiyi quickly corrected her. After the correction, she seemed to feel she was in the wrong and lowered her head to apologize. “I’m sorry, I was unobservant this morning.”

Her lowered head was now scanning Qin Luo’s hands.

Qin Luo hadn’t fully dried her hands. Her nails were painted a sheer nude color, and she wore many accessories on her fingers, but Shen Yiyi confirmed there was no wedding ring. The face of her watch was still covered in water spots.

Shen Yiyi had already forgotten she was in the middle of an apology. Her obsessive-compulsive tendencies took over, and she pulled a pack of tissues from her jeans pocket, methodically extracting one.

Lifting her head, she handed it to Qin Luo. “Dry your hands first.”

Shen Yiyi has OCD, too…

Although Qin Luo was still displeased, she took the tissue, giving the awkward, unfamiliar four hours a buffer.

But she didn’t do as she would have sixteen years ago, carefully unfolding the tissue in a way that would please Shen Yiyi, wiping between her fingers according to the other woman’s preferred steps.

Instead, she let her mood dictate her actions, perfunctorily and forcefully crumpling the clean white tissue, even rubbing the back of her hand red with excessive violence.

Qin Luo knew full well that a bad mood would make one suffer.

But she was still angry at Shen Yiyi’s lack of observation, angry at her dismissive neglect.

It was as if, standing opposite each other under the harsh sun, she was thrown back into the early autumn of a new school year. She was still in the role of an observer, her body beginning to hunch over, shrinking with cowardice, waiting with longing eyes, doing her utmost to play the part of the loser.

Insecurity was like an acne scar from her formative years. It seemed that as soon as she looked in the mirror, those pits and craters would abruptly reappear on her face.

It had nothing to in with the quality of the mirror; it was simply the grotesque reflection of her own hesitation. She had achieved such social success, yet she still didn’t dare to approach or invade so easily.

“I’m really sorry.” Shen Yiyi saw Qin Luo’s reddened hand and sensed the other’s exasperation.

But she really hadn’t meant it.

If she had to say it was intentional, it was only because her roommate, who had driven her to Pudong for the meeting, had insisted on taking a detour to have breakfast with his girlfriend, causing her to be almost late.

She had rushed into the building after getting out of the car and jumped into the elevator. When the doors opened, she was only focused on finding the conference room and, in her haste, didn’t recognize Qin Luo.

Of course, she didn’t dare to recognize her either.

At that moment, Qin Luo’s hands were in the pockets of her gray trousers, the cuffs of her white shirt neatly folded back, allowing her to take a comfortable, deep breath like an oxygen-deprived creature. Qin Luo’s hair was pinned up in a not-too-complex style. Her thick, dark hair pierced through the shadow beside her. The sleepwalker radiated a faint halo, and the scent of ripe green grass reached her nose, making even the most vigorous growth feel alarmed.

Shen Yiyi hadn’t made any connections at the time.

She hadn’t even suspected who Qin Luo might be—the insecure high school student from the past, or a mother with children, or a successful elite.

It was as if she were none of those things. She was just herself.

Shen Yiyi once again offered a sincere self-criticism. “I’m sorry, Qin Luo.”

After saying that, she paused, with no follow-up.

“I know.”

Qin Luo nodded, then glanced at her watch. There were still twenty minutes until the meeting started. Seeing that the other woman had nothing more to say, she was eager to escape. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be going.”

“Mm, okay.”

Shen Yiyi’s tone sounded even less attached than hers.

Qin Luo smiled, threw the crumpled tissue in her hand into the trash, and walked away briskly with her back to Shen Yiyi.

***

Back in Conference Room 12, all the team members had arrived. The room was crowded with people of various appearances.

Qin Luo sat in a corner, her fingertips sliding across her phone screen.

She had just asked the production assistant to contact Shen Yiyi, using the excuse of script editing work, to get the other woman to add her on WeChat as soon as possible.

After sending the message, she found the official public account of the Evidence Identification Center and began to search for any trace of her.

She clicked on an article titled “Announcement of the Appointment of Shen Yiyi (Female) as Deputy Director of Supervision and Inspection at the Shanghai Identification Center.”

The first thing that caught her eye was a photo of Shen Yiyi in a police uniform. Her gaze was serious and capable, and three medals of merit hung below her police number.

Below the photo was a description.

“Shen Yiyi, 2025 Advanced Individual in Public Security Science and Technology, female forensic pathologist at the Institute of Criminal Science and Technology. In her 11 years on the force, she has examined and identified over 2,000 bodies, participated in over 200 difficult and major cases, and has excellently completed all work tasks. She has participated in 2 national and ministerial-level scientific research projects and published papers…”

Just as Qin Luo was analyzing Shen Yiyi’s personal experiences over the past sixteen years, word by word, Li Wenping started the meeting again.

“Alright, the meeting has begun. Since we finished with the art department this morning, let’s start with your cinematography team this afternoon.”

Qin Luo didn’t look up; her fingers continued to scroll on the screen.

Another photo.

Shen Yiyi in a white lab coat, a police uniform shirt underneath. She was wearing gloves and handling two bones—no telling if they were animal or human.

And another one.

She was in an investigation suit, standing by a river, surrounded by a crowd. Over thirty bodies lay on the ground, covered with white cloths. She was the only woman among the workers, and she stood the straightest.

“The ‘Light of the Sea’ passenger ship capsized and sank in the middle reaches of the Fengjiang River. Shen Yiyi led her colleagues from the Zhejiang Provincial Public Security Department’s Identification Center to the scene to provide support immediately. As the leader of the individual identification team, she spent 5 days, pushing her limits, to confirm the identity of every victim.”

The cinematography team’s executive DP walked to the front of the conference room’s large screen and began to speak.

“We’ve had production meetings before, and our general ideas have been discussed with the directing and art teams. But Ah G and I have a new idea.”

Her voice was gentle. With a shaved, goose-egg-shaped head, she began the cinematography team’s reading.

Qin Luo couldn’t help but put down her phone and look at her.

She had heard of this great cinematographer.

Her original name was Wang Lu, and her professional name was Lu Xi. Li Wenping had specially invited her back from Africa. Her bald head was the result of an insect bite in Africa that had become inflamed, and the doctor had advised her to shave it for treatment.

But she never wore a hat to cover it.

When she arrived this morning, she only startled the old guard who changed the water.

Everyone else on the crew thought the look was quite novel. The director, in particular, had asked Lu Xi how it felt, if it was cool, and if it was satisfying to suddenly startle a man.

Holding a digital pen, she began to speak, pointing at the screen:

“De-objectification is the main cinematographic technique for our team this time.”

“The lens expression will still be split into two parts. First, before the character’s transformation early in the story, we agree with the art department to use traditional fragmented shots, describing body parts locally, but we will strive to weaken the male gaze in this part. But later on, for the most part, we will only use full or medium shots.”

“In all POV shots, we will no longer use any soft, sensual lighting. For facial contours, we will not choose soft light or highlights, but rather use a large amount of side and backlighting. We hope to use very direct, symbolic light to enhance the ‘inferior she-self’ in the objective view.”

Hearing this, Qin Luo fell into deep thought.

But before she could raise her hand, Li Wenping beat her to it. “Ah Lu, I have a question.”

“Go ahead, President Li.” Lu Xi smiled, her gaze shifting over.

“I can understand all the considerations for shooting a female-centric theme, to avoid the illusion that female audiences sitting in a theater will still appreciate women alongside men.”

“But is it appropriate to give the perpetrator too much hard light to show their internal struggle for freedom?”

“President Li, rest assured, Ah G and I have considered this…”

The great cinematographer was still explaining earnestly, but Qin Luo had little interest in professional jargon. She lowered her head, unlocked her screen to continue looking at Shen Yiyi on her phone, but someone tapped her on the shoulder from behind.

“Screenwriter Qin.”

It was the assistant director calling her. Qin Luo didn’t turn around, just leaned back slightly and whispered, “What is it?”

“Are you free after we finish tonight?” The way these artistic grunts flirted was very direct, their ambiguous breath spraying right behind her ear as they spoke.

Qin Luo straightened up and locked her phone.

Normally, she might have agreed right away, found a bar with the assistant director to chat and laugh, gather some writing material. If she was still interested at the end of the night, it wasn’t impossible for things to develop further. As a creator, experiencing love and desire was an important source of inspiration.

But today, she hesitated slightly, biting her lip in thought for a moment.

Qin Luo felt like she was answering a true-or-false question.

She was judging whether the assistant director, who had inserted himself into her otherwise uneventful day, or the Shen Yiyi on her phone screen, was a stronger blocker of her excitement. If their positions were swapped, and it was Shen Yiyi asking her out today, how would she choose?

“Are you free tonight?” Seeing her hesitation, the assistant director persisted with his invitation.

Ding—

A message popped up on WeChat.

Qin Luo’s eyelid twitched.

Her intuition was faintly hooked. A slow-building anticipation flowed along a groove into her desire. A fresh adventure pierced her back, like a play reaching its first small climax.

She unlocked her phone with a proud posture.

Production Assistant: “Sister Qin, Forensic Pathologist Shen isn’t replying to me.”