Chapter 33: Confirmed—no Remnant Traces of the Corpse

It was confirmed: no remnant traces of the corpse.

Wen Du had stocked up on fresh flowers over the weekend. When she arrived at work on Monday, she noticed that the glass vase on her desk had a new arrangement.

From tulips to lily of the valley—a different flourish, yet just as refined.

Chief Ji’s earnestness was plain to see. She was determined to ensure Director Wen enjoyed fresh flowers all year round, brightening her days through every season.

But Wen Du’s mood today resembled neither tulips nor lily of the valley. It was like the iridescent sheen of lotus leaves after a rainstorm, their transparency revealing a rainbow of potential hues. What colors it would ultimately display depended entirely on the Special Action Department’s next moves.

Ji Tingxi’s desk bore no flowers, but that did little to dim her fresh, vibrant allure.

Unlike her colleagues’ standard office attire, she sported a lightweight cotton trench coat, dark leather boots, and a formal hat fastened with a polished copper clasp. At a glance, her outfit screamed fieldwork—practical for blending into the shadows and moving discreetly.

Seizing an opportunity during inter-departmental communications, Wen Du lingered near the first-floor corridor. She finally caught Ji Tingxi descending the stairs, staging a long-overdue “chance encounter.”

“Heading out so early, Chief Ji?” Wen Du asked, clutching a folder to her chest, her smile warm and genial.

“Indeed. Aren’t you up and at it bright and early yourself, Director Wen?”

“Oh, this is just my usual routine. But you’ve been dashing out every day lately. Any breakthrough in Professor Sha’s missing worker case?”

“For now, Professor Sha’s worker seems impossible to recover. Still, there’s some cleanup work left to handle.”

Wen Du tilted her head slightly, her eyes curving upward with feigned enthusiasm.

“Need a hand? I could tag along if you like.”

Ji Tingxi arched an eyebrow in mild surprise. Rather than answer, she countered, “Director Wen, you’d join me on fieldwork?”

Wen Du straightened up, her words clear and earnest. “Didn’t you say before that I’d never be a bother around here?”

Operatives from the Logistics Department passed in and out nearby. One started to wave a greeting, but paused at the sight of the two women chatting with such intimate warmth—like there was no room for a third wheel. Reluctantly, he slipped away without a sound, not even letting his footsteps echo.

Ji Tingxi smiled, her lips blooming like a flower. Her eyes sparkled, the play of shadows across her eye sockets and nose bridge lending an indulgent softness to her expression. Yet a closer look into her gaze revealed something less clear-cut: she was smiling, yes, but not wholeheartedly.

“You’re right—I did say that. You can drop by anytime. But Professor Sha’s situation needs your follow-up right now. We’ll have to divide and conquer: you handle him, and I’ll take the Police Bureau side.”

“Oh, I see,” Wen Du replied. She’d finally gleaned Ji Tingxi’s destination and feigned comprehension. “Then I wish you smooth sailing on your outing, Chief Ji!”

Ji Tingxi settled her hat on her head and tipped it lightly in return. “And I wish you fruitful talks with Professor Sha, Director Wen.”

Her boots clicked against the tiled floor, sending faint echoes through the vast lobby.

Wen Du stood rooted in place, listening as the footsteps shifted from sharp to soft, from near to far, until they faded entirely.

The corridor lights blazed brightly. She maintained her earlier expression—mild, friendly, perfectly composed. But her breaths came thick and heavy now, each exhale laced with polite restraint.

—It was certain: Ji Tingxi was still digging into the Hoof Lake incident. That case was far from closed.

…

Ever since the Wei Investigation Institute set its sights on Sha Jiali, the already overworked Director Wen had unlocked a slew of new duties: keeping him company, dining with him, hunting for his missing worker. With the person gone, she now had to represent the institute and offer apologies.

From university professor to institute official, and now moonlighting as a family teacher—Wen Du was no stranger to juggling roles. Meeting Sha Jiali again? She could chalk it up to adding public relations to the mix.

She could handle it. She was a veteran of far worse.

May had arrived, and North County University brimmed with spring’s vibrancy. Trees donned fresh green canopies, early fallen leaves long cleared from the paths. Wide avenues gleamed under the sun, and the campus shuttle wound lazily through venerable old buildings—a ride more pleasant than any tourist jaunt.

In this ideal weather—no need for air conditioning or heat—the café felt perfectly temperate, neither dry nor clammy. The rich aroma of coffee wafted everywhere, serving as the room’s signature scent.

Wen Du chose a corner seat, far from the natural light, illuminated only by a soft vine-woven pendant lamp overhead. Its hazy glow soothed any emotional turbulence.

Sha Jiali took the book from Wen Du’s hands and clucked his tongue in admiration. “A whole week, and you’ve finished it already. If my students learned at your pace, I wouldn’t struggle so much with exams—like a beast thrashing against a headache curse.”

“If every student matched us, it would diminish our own worth, wouldn’t it?”

“You make a fair point.” Sha Jiali tucked the book away and savored his afternoon treat. The crepe was thin yet resilient and crisp, shattering perfectly under his fork. The fresh raspberries inside cut through the richness of the exterior.

Wen Du smiled graciously, but she harbored a deep aversion toward the man before her.

If he hadn’t thrown his hysterical fit—one part wailing, two parts ranting, three parts threats of self-harm—and refused to leave the police station, the authorities never would have bothered tracing Luo Zi’s whereabouts. Ji Tingxi would never have gotten involved.

Ji Tingxi was a force of nature. The moment she stepped in, complications sprouted like weeds. Patrols mobilized, sweeping Hoof Town. Luo Zi was spotted. The group had no choice but to act, drowning a patrol officer and dumping the body in the lake. That sparked a death investigation, drawing all eyes to Hoof Lake.

And now, the man who’d set that chain of events in motion sat across from her, unscathed and smug as ever.

Any Giel operative in her seat would have turned this “afternoon tea” into his last meal, sending the old bastard packing.

Fortunately, Wen Du had spent years among wolves and mastered the art of masking hostility. Her performance was flawless; no one could dissect her expression and find a single flaw.

“Professor Sha, Miss Ji and the police have done everything in their power. But the kidnappers were far too cunning. They evaded surveillance, swapped license plates midway, throwing off the trail and complicating the investigation. We can’t pinpoint the vehicle’s location. Luo Zi’s been missing five days now. The odds of recovery are slim, unless the culprits reach out to you first.”

Sha Jiali had a hearty appetite. He cut off nearly half the crepe in one go, rolling it around with raspberries in his cheeks as if swallowing fork and all.

It took time to chew through such a mouthful. Wen Du waited patiently until he swallowed before hearing his response—a delicacy going in, but bile coming out.

“I figured as much. North County’s cops are like limp dough figures—every last one a useless pastry! Lazy to the bone, all show and bluster, bullying folks with borrowed power. Real crimes? They barely lift a finger. And now they can’t even find a living person after days of searching—no plate number, nothing. Sounds like the kidnappers’ car sprouted wings and flew off!”

He aimed his tirade at the Police Bureau, eyes fixed on his plate as he sliced methodically. But Wen Du caught the subtext—was he slamming the police… or the Wei Investigation Institute?

What right did he have to complain, anyway?

Even if the institute played the bully’s lapdog, snapping at heels for years, hadn’t it protected the lofty status of people like him?

All that fawning at his side, and this was her reward—”useless pastry”?

As one such “pastry,” Wen Du remained outwardly unshaken, her resolve firm.

“The Police Bureau truly regrets this. Their capabilities fell short. To express our apologies and compensate for your property loss, they’ve notified the Affairs Management Bureau. In the coming days, they’ll line up a new worker for you—more diligent and responsible than Luo Zi, with better safety awareness. Free trial for three months: no payments to the agency or the worker herself.”

Sha Jiali finished his round of battle, folding a napkin to dab his mouth. He devoured like a whirlwind, leaving not a crumb behind—no need to worry about stragglers.

“At this point, what choice is there?” He finally met her eyes, his tone shifting to courtesy. “But scouting just one worker won’t cut it.”

Wen Du’s facial muscles tightened. “What do you mean, then?”

“You know how it is—I’m getting on in years, not as robust. Adapting to a new worker is tough. I finally trained one perfectly, and poof—she’s gone without a trace. If it’s one hire, one loss, police drawing blanks every time, forcing constant restarts… I don’t have the leisure to run a full-time ‘model worker academy’ at home.”

“I understand,” Wen Du said, playing along. “You’d prefer us to train the worker to your specifications first, then send her over?”

“No need for that.” Sha Jiali’s cheekbones lifted in a plump smile, but his words cut sharp. “Agency-trained help is like dim-witted hens— they can’t even dust with any grace. I have to handle the teaching myself.”

He paused for a breath, then laid out his true demand.

“I want ten workers. And I need to pick them personally. No dim-witted hens for me. Living under one roof long-term means they have to be… entertaining.”

Wen Du didn’t need him to spell out the criteria. She knew his type: girls, slender and pretty, young and innocent, with blemishes on their resumes—complaints that left them no escape. They’d have to take his employment and stay firmly under his thumb.

Just like the ones already in his home: Yuan Miu, relying on antibiotics to stave off her slow rot; Duo Er, rotting faster in school; Luo Zi, risking everything to flee the decay.

Wen Du’s hands encircled her coffee cup. The liquid scalded, steam clinging hot to her fingertips with a sharp sting. She didn’t pull away—instead, she pressed deeper, amplifying the pain to crush the obstruction in her chest.

She’d just gotten one out. Now he wanted to drag ten more in. What was this, one fake merits ten replacements?

“Professor Sha, I get your concerns, but ten seems excessive, doesn’t it? The worker quarters at home wouldn’t suffice, and that many might disturb your rest.”

“No trouble at all. I’ve got another property in North County—the university gifted it to me. It’s been sitting empty, which is a waste. I can house some workers there, get it spruced up, and switch residences now and then.”

Professor Sha lit up with enthusiasm, practically glowing at the prospect of his new home. Retraining one had seemed too draining before, so now he’d train ten in one go!

Wen Du didn’t press further. His tone brooked no argument. She lifted her scalding coffee and took a gulp. It burned a fiery path down her throat.

A fierce urge seized her: their strength wasn’t enough yet. But if it were… they wouldn’t have sent Luo Zi away. They’d ship Sha Jiali off instead—to a nursing home in Kangman Industrial City, where dozens of nurses could watch over his “peaceful” twilight years.

…

Ji Tingxi had maintained steady contact with the Police Bureau.

This time, however, her destination was the Sern Affairs Management Bureau.

Over the past month-plus in her role, she’d wrapped up her official duties and often piled on extra work—burning the midnight oil to pore over police and bureau archives on Sern people, studying local crime and victimization patterns to better grasp the city’s security landscape and prevention needs.

Ruo Xing, seeing his chief “studying by lamplight,” found it both inspiring and touching. He half-wanted to snap a photo, print it out, and pin it to the institute’s honor board to move the whole Wei Investigation Institute.

Ji Tingxi harbored no grand ambitions to “inspire the institute.” She was simply doing her due diligence within her remit. Unexpectedly, that diligence paid off at a crucial moment.

The clerk at the Affairs Archive Section confirmed once more with her visitor. “Do you recall the approximate timeframe?”

Ji Tingxi replied, “Second half of Star Yuan 321—autumn through winter, up to before Winter Festival.”

The clerk pinned down the dates, searched the database with keywords, and located the record. Moments later, she retrieved a ledger, flipped to the relevant page, and laid it on the desk.

“Are you referring to the worker suicide in Hoof Town on November 17, 321?”

Ji Tingxi examined it closely. The date, location, and details matched her memory perfectly: three winters ago, the Sern man Te Wa Li had taken his own life, hurling himself into Hoof Lake. He’d left a suicide note declaring his “resolve,” and the police had honored it by letting him rest whole in the water.

Ji Tingxi had skimmed the full record before, including this entry. The name “Hoof Town” had lodged in her mind, now resurfacing.

…

These past two weeks, the Police Bureau’s Special Case Team had pounded the pavement most in Hoof Town.

What was once a bustling tourist haven now teemed with cops, the tense atmosphere scaring off visitors.

The town’s formerly busy locals idled at home, itching to gawk at the police activity. But with the area cleared, they had to swallow their curiosity indoors.

By late afternoon, the town mayor arrived at the scene. He’d come prepared, armed with stats on recent tourism growth and public safety—practically a speech scripted for Ji Tingxi’s ear.

A few folding stools dotted the lakeside, shaded by a picnic canopy. Ji Tingxi sat in the dim coolness, her complexion somber. Beneath her felt hat, though, her expression was relaxed. If she swapped her thermos for a proper teacup, the mayor might regret skipping the bento and joining Chief Ji for an impromptu picnic.

“You’re quite familiar with this lake, I take it?”

The mayor replied, “Moderately so. Shares the town’s name, but it’s pretty remote—folks rarely visit. Such a shame about the incident.”

“Quite.” Ji Tingxi echoed his regret. “The lake’s mainly fed by rainfall and groundwater, right?”

The mayor’s “regret” cut short. “Eh?”

How had they leaped from condolences to hydrology?

His assistant stepped forward. “Yes, Commander.”

“Any outflow from the lake?”

“Commander, it’s a closed basin—water flows in, but none out. Current water temperature’s around 10 degrees Celsius; drops to 4 in winter. There are a few fish, but no one fishes here.”

Ji Tingxi fell silent at the answer, leaving it unclear if she was satisfied. The mayor floundered awkwardly, unsure whether to press the conversation or wait her out.

The tension didn’t linger. The lake surface broke with a splash as two fully geared diver operatives surfaced. They climbed ashore, removed their goggles, and gripped them dripping in hand.

One of them gasped for air before hurrying over to report, his words still damp with lake mist.

“Report to Chief Ji: the underwater terrain is relatively straightforward, minimal sediment. Searching was straightforward. Confirmed—no remnant traces of the corpse!”