Chapter 52: ◎Then I Have No Regrets.◎

Three days later.

Following the leads provided by Yu Bai, the police tracked down the true perpetrator of the River Channel Murder Case, Zhao Haiqin, inside a tin-roofed shed at an abandoned factory on the city’s outskirts. When Zhou Hui and her team burst into the room, he was sitting at the table, calmly eating a bowl of plain noodles. He barely reacted to the sudden police intrusion, simply raising his hands in compliance.

The workshop behind the house was the site of his first murder and dismemberment. The gore was so overwhelming that even veteran detectives with decades on the force could hardly stomach it.

Twenty arms and legs piled into a gruesome mound, human ears and eyeballs scattered amid pools of congealing blood across the floor.

With time, the flesh had begun to rot, and flies and maggots crawled everywhere.

Several rookie officers, fresh on the job, vomited on the spot.

Zhou Hui fought down the nausea rising in her gut and called in the forensics team to process the scene.

Everything proceeded smoothly and methodically.

Zhao Haiqin offered no resistance during his arrest and confessed to his crimes without hesitation.

Before leaving the premises, Zhou Hui glanced once more at his so-called home. It was scarcely fit for a modern human.

The room measured less than ten square meters, furnished only with a rickety wooden table and a military-issue folding cot shoved in the corner. The windows were boarded up tight, blocking out all light and air.

In this twenty-first-century world of rampant information and ceaseless urban hustle, it was unimaginable how anyone could survive in such conditions.

For two years, he had skulked in the shadows without papers or a name, forever watching his back for snitches from the drug rings or the police.

One month later, the Pingling Municipal People’s Court sentenced Zhao Haiqin to death with a two-year reprieve for intentional homicide. Barring any further intentional crimes during that period, the sentence would commute to life imprisonment.

Xu Zhixin, meanwhile, had helped Zhao Haiqin fabricate false testimony—fully aware of his murderous intent—leaked police investigation details to him, and exploited his public office to facilitate Jiang Jiwen’s killing.

In the end, he was convicted on multiple counts, including harboring and abetting a criminal and complicity in intentional homicide. The sentences ran concurrently, totaling seven years in prison.

It was the best outcome they could have hoped for.

With that, the River Channel Murder Case that had gripped Pingling City drew to a close, as did the Shao Yuan Case from two years prior.

The hero’s spirit could finally rest in peace.

The Dongyue Provincial Public Security Department posthumously honored Shao Yuan as a martyr. After nine long years, his first-class merit award was approved at last, his deeds enshrined in the martyrs’ roll of honors.

Seven years of youth, seven years of fervor—the first-class merit he had traded his life for weighed heavy indeed.

His urn was relocated to the Martyrs’ Cemetery in Pingling City, Dongyue Province. At last, his tombstone bore the name “Shao Yuan.”

Later, Zhou Hui relayed the news to Zhao Haiqin, now serving time in prison. The cool-headed, logical man finally wept openly.

Separated by the visitation window’s glass, Zhou Hui asked him, “Zhao Haiqin, do you regret it?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he said, “If there’s truly some cosmic fate at work, some inescapable karma, then why did the monsters who slaughtered Shao Yuan’s family of five never get caught on camera? Why did the law never touch them?”

Zhou Hui paused, then let out a soft sigh. “Because they had no conscience, no shred of remorse. Ghosts on a midnight road won’t bump into the heartless—karma has no way to find them.”

On the other side of the glass, Zhao Haiqin smiled faintly and shook his head. “Then I have no regrets.”

In that instant, Zhou Hui understood.

Everyone has their own stage in life. Some bask eternally in the glare of spotlights, revered by the masses. Others are fated to dwell in the shadows behind the light of law—like stubborn smog that never clears, moss wedged in stone cracks, rats forever fleeing through sewers.

In the filthy, forgotten alleys at the edges of the city, their kind lingers. Day after day, year after year, they grind away their lives until one day they slip from the world without a sound.

It was Shao Yuan’s choice. Xu Zhixin’s choice. Zhao Haiqin’s choice.

Zhou Hui could pass no judgment on them.

On the morning of July 1, 2018, at nine o’clock, somber funeral music echoed through the Martyrs’ Cemetery as Shao Yuan’s interment ceremony began.

In the memorial hall, his urn rested quietly on the altar, draped in the party flag. The assembled officers stood bareheaded in silent tribute.

Here he would sleep forever, his heroic soul watched over by the eternal pines and cypresses.

Once Shao Yuan’s urn had been laid to rest, Zhou Hui spotted Yu Bai at the back of the crowd, turning to slip away. Dodging the mourners laying flowers at the grave, she hurried after her and called out, “Yu Bai.”

Yu Bai turned her head at the sound. Beneath the clear blue sky, her face remained pale, her curly fringe clinging to her temples, the corners of her eyes betraying a fatigue she couldn’t fully conceal despite her efforts. She mustered a smile.

“Officer Zhou? Long time no see.”

Zhou Hui’s heart gave a slight jolt as she swallowed a surge of emotion.

In truth, it had been a full month since she had last seen Yu Bai, back at the hospital.

Yu Bai had spent only one night in the private clinic before checking herself out the next day with unyielding determination. Without a moment’s delay, she had gone straight to the Provincial Department to resign from her position as consultant with the City Bureau Police. She never returned, and her resignation paperwork had been handled entirely by her lawyer.

The City Bureau had been overwhelmed with the Zhao Haiqin and Xu Zhixin cases. By the time Zhou Hui managed to catch her breath amid the chaos, Yu Bai had already been absent for more than half a month.

Her phone rang endlessly unanswered. Zhou Hui had scoured every place she could think of—the club, the bars, her home—but found no trace.

Yu Bai’s shady friends, her bodyguards, her enforcers—they had all stonewalled her with tight-lipped denials.

An entire month had passed with no one knowing where Yu Bai had gone. She had vanished off the face of the earth, severing all contact with the outside world on her own terms.

“Long time no see.” Zhou Hui cradled her police cap in her left hand and stood rooted to the spot, her lips pressed into a thin line. After a long hesitation, she finally spoke. “How have you been this past month?”

The weariness and melancholy vanished from Yu Bai’s face in an instant, replaced by a mask she had clearly prepared in advance. She smiled warmly. “I’m doing just fine. Thank you for your concern, Officer Zhou.”

“You’ve been avoiding me?”

Yu Bai gave a soft chuckle. “Now you’re being distant, Officer Zhou. When have I ever avoided you?” Her gaze dropped demurely as she explained in a gentle voice, “I really did have something to take care of.”

Zhou Hui drew in a shallow breath and pressed on. “What could possibly make you drop off the grid for a whole month?”

“That’s my business.” Yu Bai interlaced her fingers in front of her and leaned forward slightly, a tender smile playing on her lips. “No comment, Officer Zhou.”

That voice sent a tremor through Zhou Hui’s eardrums.

With that, she had collected her twenty-fourth “no comment” of the month.

Her anger surged to a boiling point.

She tugged at her tie to rein in her impulses and walked out of the cemetery side by side with Yu Bai.

When they reached the parking lot, Zhou Hui pulled her close and ushered her into the passenger seat of her Volkswagen.

She circled around and slid into the driver’s seat herself.

Yu Bai lifted her eyes and let out a surprised laugh. “I drove here myself, Officer.”

Zhou Hui’s chest rose and fell with restrained breaths. She said nothing.

Yu Bai let out a soft sigh. “So, Officer Zhou, after spending a month looking for me, what exactly did you need?”

Zhou Hui’s throat tightened.

She didn’t know how to answer.

When Yu Bai received no reply, a faint smile curved her lips. “Actually, I have something for you.”

Her smile faded as she reached into her handbag and pulled out a folded slip of paper, handing it to Zhou Hui. “Room 103, No. 159 Changping Street, Dongcheng District.”

Zhou Hui took the note hesitantly, unfolded it, and held it up before her eyes. “What does this mean?”

Yu Bai snapped her handbag shut and leaned back against the seat, turning her gaze toward Zhou Hui. “That’s the morgue of a private hospital near East Suburb Airport. Yan Mingchang’s body is there.”

Zhou Hui shot upright. “Yan Mingchang is dead? When did this happen?”

“Easy now, Zhou Hui.” Yu Bai gave a wry chuckle and gently pressed down on Zhou Hui’s shoulder. Her tone was soothing. “The killer wasn’t Zhao Haiqin. He had nothing to do with it.”

Zhou Hui shot her a suspicious glance and frowned. “How can you be so sure it had nothing to do with Zhao Haiqin? When Jiang Jiwen blurted out in the hospital that Yan Mingchang was the sixth killer in the Shao Yuan case, Xu Zhixin was right there in the room. How can anyone guarantee he didn’t pass that information along to Zhao Haiqin?”

“He wouldn’t have.” Yu Bai met Zhou Hui’s eyes with unwavering certainty. She shrugged by way of explanation. “Perhaps I should put it another way: by the time Jiang Jiwen spun that tale, Yan Mingchang was already lying in the hospital morgue.”

Zhou Hui arched an eyebrow. “So Jiang Jiwen was lying? That’s a first.” Her voice dropped an octave. “If you knew that at the time, why didn’t you say anything?”

A flicker of cunning crossed Yu Bai’s eyes. Her lashes fluttered as her lips curved into a perfect arc. “Jiang Jiwen was Zhao Haiqin’s final target. To play it safe, I held onto Yan Mingchang as a bargaining chip. In the end, though, Zhao Haiqin tipped his hand too soon, so I never needed to use it.”

Her smile was unmistakable as she leaned in a little closer to Zhou Hui. “Otherwise, I can guarantee that even without those incriminating photos, I could have used this dead man to draw out both him and Xu Zhixin. Do you believe me, Officer Zhou?”

Zhou Hui’s chest tightened. She believed her. Of course she did.

To go to such great lengths—throwing out a smokescreen to fool everyone, dragging Yan Mingchang into a case from two years ago, and crafting him a flawless identity—the methods were undeniably brilliant.

She had no reason left not to believe.

Yu Bai watched the shifting expressions on Officer Zhou’s face. She recalled that night when she had met Yan Mingchang’s female secretary, Tong Jinhua. She had sent people to his villa at the East Suburb Airport, only to find that someone had already turned the place upside down.

She had a premonition then that Yan Mingchang had likely already been killed.

Sure enough, at two-thirty in the morning, she received confirmation of his death.

By the time she rushed to the East Suburb villa, the bodyguards had just fished Yan Mingchang’s bloated corpse out of the underground sewer.

“What do we do, Madam? Should we call the police?” one of the bodyguards asked, shining his flashlight on the body.

Yu Bai frowned and crouched down. She slipped on a pair of gloves and began searching the corpse. “Bring the flashlight closer.”

Ten minutes later, she stood up, peeled off the gloves, and stood lost in thought in the darkness for a full minute. Then she turned to the bodyguard. “Don’t call the police yet. Have the body sent to the morgue at a nearby hospital. Bribe the staff generously. Make sure it’s done cleanly—no loose ends. I don’t want to hear a whisper about what happened tonight.”

Early the next morning, she arrived ahead of schedule at the hospital room where Jiang Jiwen was being held. Seizing the moment when Han Wei went downstairs to buy breakfast for him, she slipped inside and laid out her offer: if he identified Yan Mingchang as the sixth killer in the Shao Yuan case, she would ensure his sentence was reduced. “Just repeat what I told you,” she said. “I guarantee you won’t get the death penalty.”

Jiang Jiwen didn’t want to die. Predictably, he followed her script to the letter.

…

Yu Bai let out a breath of relief and turned to Officer Zhou. “There. The case is closed. Now you can finally have Yan Mingchang. After all, I have no interest in shelling out top dollar to store a corpse in the morgue just for my own amusement.”

Officer Zhou: “…”

“But I’m afraid investigating the killer will keep you busy,” Yu Bai added with a shrug. “Unfortunately, Yan Mingchang’s body yielded no useful clues at all. It’ll be a tough one to crack.”

Officer Zhou resigned herself to taking on the murder case from over a month ago. With a hint of helplessness, she asked, “If there’s anything else you haven’t said, spit it out now. I don’t want to hear your ‘new insights’ on this case a month from now.”

A smile played at the corners of Yu Bai’s mouth as she shook her head. “No more insights from me.”

Her gaze darkened, and her smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. “The only thing I’m curious about now is how Zhao Haiqin found out that the killers in the Shao Yuan case were Wu Guojiang, Jiang Jiwen, and the other three. Are he and Xu Zhixin really as innocent as they claim?”

Officer Zhou’s heart gave a faint tremor. She slowly furrowed her brow and fixed Yu Bai with a piercing look. “Do you always have to speculate so maliciously about people’s motives? Do you have to paint yourself as some cold, emotionless machine?”

Yu Bai paused, then offered a smile. “Just the facts—eliminating all possibilities. As for me…” She paused deliberately, a hint of softness in her elongated eyes. “Officer Zhou, you seem to have some keen insights. I’d love to know what kind of person you think I am.”

“You’re not as sharp as your words make you sound, at least.” Officer Zhou’s eyes were clear and steady, as if peering straight through her. “Everyone knows Zhao Haiqin and Xu Zhixin’s motives by now. What I want to know is yours, Yu Bai. Why have you been helping me from the very start of this case—whether intentionally or not?”

Light and shadow flickered in Yu Bai’s eyes. She looked at Officer Zhou and sighed softly. Her voice was warm and gentle. “Officer Zhou, some things don’t need a reason.”

In the moment Officer Zhou was lost in those words, Yu Bai reached for the car door and pulled it open. She glanced back with a farewell. “See you around, Officer Zhou. I hope next time it’s not over some tedious case.”

Officer Zhou snapped out of it just in time to see Yu Bai’s retreating figure—devoid of any lingering attachment.

Officer Zhou sat in the car until the lingering scent of Yu Bai’s woody perfume fully dissipated. Only then did she turn the key and drive back to the cemetery.

The mourners didn’t disperse until late, mostly colleagues from the police bureau. Shao Yuan’s circle had always been small, thanks to his undercover work.

Everyone in the profession knew the job was grueling and dangerous—one day, you might sacrifice yourself on duty. There was a saying that circulated endlessly in the bureau: third-class merit is awarded standing up, second-class lying down, and first-class goes to your family.

Yet on the day of Shao Yuan’s funeral, his only family—his younger brother, Shao Ze—never showed.

The Provincial Public Security Department accepted the honors on his behalf.

It wasn’t until a rainy day half a month later that a bouquet of white chrysanthemums appeared before Shao Yuan’s silent tombstone.