Chapter 764

Women with big mouths love to pry into and discuss all sorts of nonsense. If Wang Yan finds two or three such people in each of the village's four directions and center, he can roughly grasp the village's situation.

After chatting with the eldest sister for over two hours, he left amid her reluctant farewell; she noted down that Wang Yan's name was "Little Wang," gave him her phone number, added him on WeChat, and insisted he must help if she ever needed anything.

To do mass work, Wang Yan, like Zhang Zhijie, prepared two phones, two SIM cards, and two WeChat accounts—one for work and personal life, the other exclusively for contacting the masses.

Wang Yan smiled and waved goodbye to the reluctant sister, then got back in the car with Zhao Jiwei, turned on the air conditioning, picked up the notebook Zhang Zhijie had given him, signed his full name on the first page, and began recording what the sister had said.

"We spent over two hours at just one household—how long will it take us to visit all hundreds of homes in this village?"

"Didn't I say? If you can't finish, keep going—whenever you have time, go. And you don't need to chat this long with everyone; some only need ten or eight minutes, three or five minutes is enough." Wang Yan didn't look up, still writing, and asked, "What did you pick up from what Sister Zhai said?"

"The village chief is having an affair and embezzling? Song's kid is filially disrespectful?" Zhao Jiwei had almost forgotten what the sister said; after thinking a moment, he could only name two things that sounded like big news.

He gave up trying to recall and said instead, "That sister clearly talks more than Li Dawei—she's obsessed with gossip, her eyes light up when talking about others. I heard a lot of it was absurd, obviously fabricated. Especially the stuff about women being immoral—my own family's from the countryside; whoever's pretty or flirtatious gets called immoral."

"But in reality, they're all good people, just ruined by the gossip of these big-tongued old women. Life's hard enough in the surrounding villages; over time, even kids start making snide remarks—you can't take it seriously."

"I'm glad you've come to understand that."

Wang Yan looked up at the naive kid and gave him an approving nod, then continued, "But what are we supposed to use our brains for? Can't we judge for ourselves? You know the saying: listen to all sides and you'll be clear; believe only one side and you'll be blind. The village's real situation lies in these fragments."

"We don't need to chat this long with every household. Just find similar people in different areas, go more, ask more, listen more, observe more, and summarize yourself—you'll grasp the village's situation well enough. Our work will then proceed more smoothly. Compared to working in apartment buildings, village work is easier, because relationships aren't so distant or cold—you can learn about all sorts of messy things."

"Next time we visit, watch how I talk, and consciously analyze who we're speaking with. This is a practical skill—everything requires study to understand. People are the same: only when you know people, know the commonalities and individualities of different groups, can you work effectively."

"Why can veteran cops spot troublemakers at a glance? That's from years of accumulated experience—they see someone once, and already have them figured out in their mind. This ability is especially crucial, whether for investigations or mass work. You must consciously train and improve it—it's a major step forward for your personal capability."

"Just like you always want to show off, earn merit, and advance—if you master this skill, reading people and flattering your superiors is a practical ability. Not like now, where everything you think shows on your face. Do you think no one in the station knows your thoughts? Everyone knows—even the auxiliary police know."

"Learn more. This afternoon, you go talk to them—I'll stand by and watch. Don't act like you did at Sister Zhai's—looking around, touching things, looking bored. Don't think just because she laughs and gossips she doesn't notice your attitude—how many eye rolls did she give you? You didn't even count?"

"She talks so badly—about whose tenant is a prostitute, whose child had an abortion, whose family drinks so much they'll drink themselves to death."

"Patience is the foundation of mass work. We can't always be gentle—we must show authority when needed. But there's no need to bully the masses unnecessarily. Especially disdain and impatience must never show on your face. Let's go—there's still plenty of work to do."

In this short time, he had already finished recording all the details the sister had shared. Obviously, he couldn't write while she was gossiping—taking out a notebook then would've made her withhold real information.

As he spoke, he started the car and drove toward the other end.

Zhao Jiwei asked, "Aren't we supposed to visit door to door?"

"You need methods. Who is Sister Zhai? Gossipy, curious, loves drama. Her words are crude, but she's got a good heart. Didn't she mention her neighbors? Nothing wrong there. First, we find a few well-informed people in each direction of the village to get a general sense of Dongning Village. Then we visit the families and individuals they mentioned—look at the problems first, then the ones without, and prioritize accordingly."

"But Master said we're just little cops—what problems can we solve? We'd be better off checking on thefts and missing children."

"Are you arguing with me?"

Young people, when taught by peers, still resist—especially Zhao Jiwei, who's stubborn and single-minded. Wang Yan shook his head and said, "Brother Zhang also said: even if you can't solve a problem, you must understand it. And your attitude isn't even aimed at understanding problems. Jiwei, everything I've said these past two days has been wasted on you. Do you think visiting the masses offers no chance for merit?"

"How?"

"You forgot Liu Guangfei, the phone repair shop owner? You forgot the fugitive I caught on my first day? What about gamblers—don't they have visible traits? They're usually anxious, smoke heavily—can you spot them during visits? They hide among the masses—we catch them, isn't that merit? Jiwei, think bigger. The best fighters leave no famous exploits; the best doctors treat illness before it manifests. Understand?"

This kid is rigid—he has his own cognitive system and behavioral rules. Only prolonged exposure and influence can change his stubbornness.

Does he know merit doesn't make him rich or promote him? He knows. He knows it won't change his family's situation. But he still wants merit because it helps his future—he wants to stand firm in the station, climb up, be respected, be looked up to. He's young, and of course he has some admiration for the police profession—though perhaps not as fervent as Li Dawei.

But saying a few things did have an effect. At the next household, Zhao Jiwei sat quietly and listened, watching Wang Yan chat warmly with the whole family—from daily life to work, to the children's school, grades, college application strategies, even promising to chat that evening with their son who had just finished the Gaokao, helping him decide on his major.

College application counseling is a mature market. Many high school teachers and education agencies help current applicants find the best universities and majors within their score range. Fees aren't cheap—two or three thousand at least, up to ten thousand.

Wang Yan understood this issue both professionally and developmentally—he'd been doing cutting-edge scientific research all along. A quick check of recent university trends was enough to give solid advice. The key issue was simply whether parents and students trusted him.

Some were willing to pay for consultation, some weren't; some trusted Wang Yan, some didn't. But regardless, Wang Yan's attitude as a police officer offering enthusiastic help to the masses had been communicated—whether they appreciated it or not didn't matter.

After discussing this, mutual trust deepened. Then came Zhao Jiwei's familiar part: sitting together drinking tea, talking about village gossip.

But this time, there were new details—after all, this was a village of hundreds of households, and with migrant populations, over ten thousand people. Information spread slowly; only truly explosive news could break through barriers and reach everyone, locals and outsiders alike. That's why Wang Yan went everywhere—north, south, east, west, center—to talk to women.

After these two visits, Wang Yan had Zhao Jiwei take the lead, watching him awkwardly struggle to build rapport, before stepping in himself to talk.

Likeability, beyond outward appearance—just standing there without causing discomfort—is also about how you talk, how you make people want to speak. These are trainable skills, developed through practice and reflection.

The day passed quickly. By sunset, they'd only visited six households. At that point, they arrived at a house in the village center—the family that had most recently reported a burglary two months ago.

"People who've been robbed are different—wow, they've installed two surveillance cameras at the gate." Zhao Jiwei stared at the cameras on the gate.

After a full day, the young man had been convinced. After all, comparing goods reveals their worth; comparing people reveals their inadequacies. Wang Yan chatted easily, warming up to strangers in minutes, while Zhao Jiwei fumbled, making them look at him like an idiot. Though he still felt reluctant, he deeply admired Wang Yan's ability.

Wang Yan stepped forward and knocked on the door. Soon, a fat, shirtless man appeared. Seeing the police, he paused, then asked, "Officers, did you catch the thief who stole from our house?"

"No, we're just here to understand the situation." Wang Yan glanced at the yard's layout, the camera in the corner, then the two side rooms, and stepped inside. "You know this thief—he strikes randomly, and the stolen amounts are small. So far, we've found no surveillance footage, no useful footprints, no identifiable fingerprints. We're completely in the dark."

"Nowadays, without surveillance, you cops can't solve anything. So why are you here?"

"Let me explain, brother. Even without surveillance, relying purely on deduction, we still need clues to narrow suspects. We're certain this thief likely lives in Dongning Village—but with ten thousand people here, who do we suspect? Brother, don't give me that look—we're not gods. Even with clues, it's like searching for a needle in a haystack. And we've got nothing."

"When you first discovered the theft, if you hadn't touched anything, we might've found footprints to judge his height and weight. If we'd found fingerprints, we could've matched them and arrested him right away."

Wang Yan waved his hand, cutting off the brother's rebuttal. "Are your houses rented out? Have you registered the tenants? If not, get it done quickly—we're doing a sweep in the next few days."

"These two places are both new tenants. The police station's so busy, you wait in line for hours. We're just poor laborers—how can we afford to wait around?"

"The landlord can apply on your behalf—sign a contract, bring his ID, and we can process it. I can't control how slow the queue is—Balihe Police Station has only twenty-some officers, you know that. But if your tenants don't have residence permits, I can act. Get it done quickly—I'll come back in a few days."

Ignoring the brother's obvious reluctance, Wang Yan stepped forward. "Come on, brother, tell me exactly what happened. Maybe I can find other clues."

Though reluctant, and though this young cop seemed impolite, the brother still reluctantly let Wang Yan in, talking as they walked.

"When we came home, the main lock had been picked. We used to lock only the main gate, not the side door. But after we built new rooms to rent out, we started locking the side door too. Oh, right—the locks on both side rooms were also picked, the doors bent out of shape. Replacing all three locks cost me over a thousand."

"When I saw the door broken, I rushed inside. The place was completely ransacked. But nowadays everyone carries phones, so we only kept a few hundred yuan for the kids. See? Under this TV cabinet—eight hundred yuan total, all gone. That thief was cruel—he knew he couldn't withdraw from our bank cards, so he cut them all up."

"Even with the cost of replacing the locks, it's under two thousand. But it was cutting the cards that made me run to several banks to replace them. Officer, you know how banks are these days—oh, it's a nightmare…"

A strong man, yet he sounded utterly wronged. The woman eating at the table rolled her eyes, embarrassed. A teenage girl with two thick braids looked disgusted.

Clearly, this was a loving family—the brother was a kind, likable man, caring well for his wife and daughter.

"That's all?"

"That's all! What else could there be?" The brother was clearly annoyed. "If I knew who did it, I'd go beat him up myself, then drag him to your station."

"Even if you know who it is, you can't hit them. Petty theft still carries rights. If you hurt them, even slightly, you'll owe them two thousand. Brother, with your build, one slap could cause tinnitus—that's minor injury, criminal liability, up to three years, plus medical compensation. Your daughter's future would be affected. Talk all you want, but don't actually hit anyone—not anyone."

"Don't listen to him—he just talks big all day. He's no match for a good woman. All bluster, can't even spit out a word after three whacks."

Hearing the woman's words and seeing the brother's embarrassment, Wang Yan chuckled and shook his head. "Do you still have the shredded bank cards?"

"I kept it—it's right in that drawer." As he spoke, the older brother pulled the bank card, cut into two pieces, from the TV cabinet and handed it to Wang Yan.

Seeing how he held the card, Wang Yan shook his head and sighed, gesturing for him to place it on the table: "Was this how you held the card back then?"

"Yes, my wife and daughter both held it to look, and I even took it to the bank to show the staff. Is it useless?"

"Who knows?" Wang Yan pulled out a UV flashlight from his waist, shone it back and forth over the card, examined the dense fingerprints, then pulled out an evidence bag, pinched the card's edge, and placed it inside. "I'll check it out when I get back. Even if it's unlikely we can extract the thief's fingerprints, it's still a hope."

"But why didn't you say anything earlier? When I reported it, your station sent people fast—some guy named Cao…"

"Cao Army Supervisor," Zhao Jiwei interjected to remind him.

"Ah right, him. He came over, looked around, asked a bunch of pointless questions, then made me sign a police report—and after that, nothing happened. If you'd collected fingerprints back then, you'd have caught that bastard long ago!"

"You lost over eight hundred yuan—that's a small amount. You yourself didn't care much, let alone a cop who's busier than a dog every day? Besides, fingerprint collection and matching is a specialized technical task. None of our station staff know how to do it; only the branch's technical unit can handle it, and they're swamped too."

"In three years, there've been over ten similar cases, but the total value doesn't reach thirty thousand yuan. Brother, think for yourself—would anyone take this seriously? If you'd lost thirty thousand, and the thief hadn't worn gloves, then without a doubt, the person who stole it would've been caught by tomorrow. But we lost eight hundred. Compared to someone losing thirty thousand, or being robbed on the street, or murdered with no one to appeal for justice—what's lighter and what's heavier?"

"That's why everyone says the police don't do anything? It's because they truly can't keep up. Luckily, I have this skill right now—I thought of your case first thing, didn't I?"

"What you said does sound reasonable," the older brother mumbled, confused.

"That's exactly how it is." Wang Yan waved his hand. "Is the front door still there?"

The older brother perked up, visibly excited: "Yes, yes, yes! I was going to sell it as scrap metal, but I've been too busy lately to get to it. We didn't touch that door at all—back then, only the door installer came from the factory, and I just helped him out a bit; I barely touched the handle. Same with the other two doors. I've stacked them all in the side room by the gate, no wind, no sun, no rain—just a lot of dust. Come on, come see if it's any good."

"No rush, brother, sister. You two eat first. Let's chat while we eat. I've been assigned to community work—I want to learn about our village's situation so I can do my job better later."

"Have you two eaten yet? If not, have a bite with us—I'll cook two more dishes." The woman warmly invited, already moving to start cooking.

Wang Yan quickly stopped her: "Really no need, sister. We ate before coming over, and we've got a schedule. Just talking and getting to know the situation is enough."

Seeing his firm refusal, the family stopped pressing. They began chatting—about the kids' school, safety, recent human trafficking incidents—random stuff, mostly the same as other places. But there were also some new details.

Though everyone was from the same village, the people they knew differed—some knew deeply, knew a lot; others knew little, only heard rumors.

After over an hour of talking, the older brother drank a cup of baijiu and two bottles of beer, lit a cigarette, his face flushed, and took Wang Yan to the side room by the gate. Passing two rented rooms, Wang Yan reminded the tenant—who had just returned from a nearby construction site—to get his residence permit.

Then he followed the older brother into the side room, blew off the dust, used the UV light to examine the fingerprints, asked the brother for a screwdriver, put on white gloves, unscrewed several door handles, and placed them into evidence bags.

"Brother, don't touch these doors anymore—they still have plenty of fingerprints. If the handles aren't the breakthrough, I'll come back later with tools and scan all these doors."

After receiving the older brother's cheerful promise, Wang Yan left with the bewildered Zhao Jiwei.

"Brother Yan, there's something I don't get."

"Say it."

"At first, that older brother didn't like us at all. You weren't even polite to him—why did his attitude get better and better?"

"He wants a cop who gets things done. What did we do?"

"We got things done."

"Then that's it." Wang Yan shook his head. "What did I say before? Sometimes you need to be stern. Being a cop, doing mass work—it's not about smiling at people. Like you—why do you stutter when talking to them? Because deep down, you want to please them. When you think that way, you're not on equal footing. You're no longer in control of the conversation."

"Be confident. We're not begging for favors—we're making friends with the masses. Your attitude shouldn't be hard, shouldn't be soft—you must find the right balance. First, you need the right mindset; then comes whether your words are pleasant or skillful. Think about it yourself. Hungry? If not, hold on. And we still have Zhang's four ex-convicts to visit before we eat."

"Let's go. I'm not that hungry—I ate well at lunch."

They didn't drive. It was already after work hours; all drivable roads were jammed with cars. Walking was faster now.

The few ex-convicts they were visiting weren't serious offenders—mostly arrested for fighting, gambling, or stealing. Their sentences were light—all under three years, except one who got over three.

Now some worked on construction sites, others ran small shops—they looked fine.

Soon they reached the last person's home, at the northern edge of the village—the only one sentenced to over three years. Wang Yan knocked loudly on the tightly shut door. After a long while, a voice called out: "Who is it?"

"Balihe Police Station. We're here for a community visit, to check the situation."

After much hesitation, the door opened. A middle-aged man of average build stood there—Dong Nianfeng. He was pitiful: once he'd beaten his wife's lover half to death after catching them together, accepted compensation from the lover, then was sued and sentenced to over a year. His marriage ended, the child wasn't his, and both parents had died of illness years ago.

He had an older brother and a younger sister who bought apartments in the city; this old house was left to him. He'd cared for his parents before. Before prison, he worked in business sales. After release, no one hired him due to his record, so he used his savings to open a small shop selling ornamental fish. He claimed he'd always liked fishing and keeping fish, and understood them well.

Dong Nianfeng, seeing two unfamiliar cops, clung to the door and asked suspiciously: "Where's Officer Zhang?"

"He's been busy lately. He sent us two to check in."

Zhang Zhijie had warned them: no one knew how terrifying a person like this could be—this was the biggest instability factor.

Wang Yan tapped the door. "Let us in, let's chat. What are you doing leaning on the door like that?"

Dong Nianfeng hesitated, but didn't move. Wang Yan frowned: "Are you hiding something?"

No answer. Dong Nianfeng lowered his head, his expression shifting. After a long while, he raised his head with a bitter smile, looking at Wang Yan's furrowed brow and Zhao Jiwei, now on guard behind him.

He sighed, stepped aside, and rasped: "Come in."

Without the door blocking his view, Wang Yan saw the splattered red bloodstains on Dong Nianfeng's clothes, and the knife clutched behind his back.

Wang Yan shook his head and sighed. Watching Dong Nianfeng slowly slide down the wall, dropping the knife, and noticing the blood footprints along the path, he activated his body camera and, without turning, ordered Zhao Jiwei, who had already drawn his baton and was eager to act: "Turn on the body camera. Go inside and check."

"Got it."

Zhao Jiwei's voice carried excitement. After turning on the body camera, he carefully avoided the bloodstains and stepped inside. Not long after, the eager rookie's excitement vanished—his face turned pale, he fought back nausea, staggered out, and gasped for fresh air.

He trembled, pointing at the slumped Dong Nianfeng: "He… he…"

"They're all dead," Dong Nianfeng said flatly, voice hoarse. "I planned to dispose of them both—hide if I could, die if I couldn't. But you two came just in time. Maybe heaven's taking me."

"Not heaven. The law."

Wang Yan pulled handcuffs from his waist, knelt down, and personally cuffed Dong Nianfeng. Only then did Zhao Jiwei cover his mouth, throat bobbing, and sprinted outside to vomit violently.

Wang Yan shook his head, pulled out his phone, found Zhang Zhijie's number, dialed, walked into the room, avoiding blood splatters, and stared at the gruesome scene inside.

The call connected. Zhang Zhijie's tired voice came through: "Hello? What's the situation?"

"Brother Zhang, Dong Nianfeng killed a man and a woman at home—likely his ex-wife and her… boyfriend? He's already partially dismembered them—chopped off two heads and one arm of the woman. Dong Nianfeng offered no resistance—he's been secured. Zhao Jiwei and I are safe."

At the Balihe Police Station, where chaos reigned, the usually composed Zhang Zhijie screamed: "What? Say that again!"

Instantly, the station fell silent. Wang Shouyi, who had been cheerfully serving tea, turned serious at once, strode over to Zhang Zhijie, and stared at his wide eyes, asking with a look.

After hearing Wang Yan repeat it again, Zhang Zhijie ordered: "Secure the scene!" Without hanging up, he told Wang Shouyi: "Chief, Wang Yan and Jiwei encountered a murder and dismemberment case while visiting ex-convicts in Dongning Village. Don't worry—the suspect didn't resist and is already cuffed. They're both safe."

"What?" Wang Shouyi's eyes widened. Without hesitation, he pulled out his phone and called the branch's criminal investigation team, gave a brief summary, had Zhang Zhijie relay the address, then summoned Gao Chao and four officers and auxiliary police. They ran out, jumped into two patrol cars, sirens blaring, heading for the scene.

Police usually don't activate sirens—fear of disturbing the public over minor matters. But this was clearly an emergency. Without reaching the scene, they couldn't confirm the details—it was murder and dismemberment…

The Balihe Police Station was nearby, and with the sirens flashing, they arrived in just seven or eight minutes.

"Are you all okay?"

Wang Yan shook his head with a smile, pointing to his body camera for the station staff to see.

Wang Shouyi nodded, then walked to Zhao Jiwei, whose face was pale as paper, and rubbed his head: "Scared, huh? This kind of thing—even some cops never see it in their whole careers. Alright, go sit in the car, drink some water, cool off with the AC, and calm down."

Zhang Zhijie also asked Zhao Jiwei a couple of questions, then walked over with a look of regret and crouched beside Dong Nianfeng: "You…"

Dong Nianfeng shook his head and smiled: "Sorry, Officer Zhang, I've caused you trouble."

Zhang Zhijie sighed, said no more, patted his shoulder, and stood up. At this point, nothing could be undone—there was no point in saying more.

But he really had caused trouble—it was his job. Now, a released prisoner, full of resentment, had killed a pair of adulterers—that meant he hadn't done his job well. Not to mention, he'd have to write reports for two full days.

Fortunately, Wang Yan and the others had arrived on the scene in time, so there was no need to wait for a missing persons report before the Criminal Investigation Team mobilized resources. Though the case's difficulty level probably wasn't high.

Wang Yan had already talked with Dong Nianfeng for a while—this kid still thought he could hide, but how could he? In a murder case, the first thing they do is check everyone nearby; this kid was already a key suspect during the first round. Plus, lacking criminal experience, he might have prepared thoroughly, but he likely didn't understand forensic techniques well enough. All that blood in the room? Impossible to clean up completely in a short time without leaving traces.

On the other hand, Dong Nianfeng never even thought about hiding—he made his attitude clear: live one more day, that's all. Villagers mocked him; relatives and friends surely gossiped about him. He didn't know how his siblings were, but seeing their happy lives made him miserable.

After thinking it over and over, he felt life had no meaning, no direction, no value—each thought made him angrier, until he went to extremes. He sought revenge against those responsible for his suffering…

No one asked about the situation; no one entered to inspect the scene. Zhang Zhijie merely nodded at Wang Yan, then sighed and went outside to help Wang Shouyi and others maintain order. They'd arrived with sirens blaring, turned them off upon arrival, and nearby households had already stepped out with bowls in hand to eat. The bolder ones gathered closer, asking about what had happened.

In fact, they didn't wait long—only five or six minutes after Wang Shouyi's team arrived, the wailing of police sirens echoed, followed by a rapid clatter of footsteps and voices outside, then a flood of people entered. A forensic technician in a lab coat led the way, followed by other scene investigators, then a short-haired, muscular, dark-skinned middle-aged man who walked in with Wang Shouyi, Gao Chao, Zhang Zhijie, and others to inspect the scene.

As for Dong Nianfeng, two officers directly took him outside and into a car. Aside from the voices of Wang Shouyi and the others, no one even discussed it—giving off a powerful sense of professionalism.

Of course, it was an illusion. Once the Criminal Investigation Team set up the crime scene tape and left the Balihe officers on guard, they immediately began chatting.

Soon after viewing the scene, Wang Shouyi, Zhang Zhijie, and Gao Chao—all looking unwell—followed the dark-skinned, muscular, short-haired middle-aged man who clearly led the team.

Wang Shouyi drank some water, suppressed his nausea, cleared his throat, and introduced: "Wang Yan, turn off your body camera. This is Captain Luo Zhiyong, head of our branch's Criminal Investigation Team. Tell him everything you saw."

"Alright." Wang Yan nodded, turned off the recorder, and said: "Captain Luo, here's what happened: I was with another probationary officer, Zhao Jiwie… then I called my mentor, Officer Zhang Zhijie, and reported the scene. Except for the moment we opened the door, every other detail was recorded by the body camera—you can review it later."

"Good kid," Captain Luo praised. "Big guts, high alertness, and excellent adaptability. According to your account, Wang Suo, if it hadn't been two officers arriving—say, if it had been just one civilian, or if Officer Zhang had come alone today—it might have cost another life."

Zhang Zhijie had already thought of this too. A killer who'd already murdered two people—would he hesitate to kill a cop? Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn't. He'd always gotten along decently with Dong Nianfeng. Still, he sighed—this thought was terrifying.

"You're Wang Yan, right?" Captain Luo waved his hand. "Alright, you're done here—go back. Officer Zhang, tell me about the suspect."

Zhang Zhijie replied: "Suspect's name is Dong Nianfeng, age…"

Wang Shouyi didn't bother with the rest—he pulled Wang Yan outside: "You look calm, but even I felt uneasy seeing that scene, let alone a rookie like you. This isn't our case—we're just helping with security. You and Jiwie go home, rest well. Come in late tomorrow—get a good night's sleep."

"Suo, I'm really fine, no effect at all," Wang Yan shook his head. "Lao Gao gave me three cases. One's a string of over ten home burglaries over three years. Today I visited the family that reported it two months ago—I took the cut bank card and the three broken door handles, planning to lift fingerprints and catch the thief directly."

"What? You want the Criminal Investigation Team's tech experts to lift and compare them? Forget it—they don't have time for such small stuff. If we could've done that, wouldn't we have already? Why let this thief roam free for three years?"

"I can do it, Suo."

Wang Yan said, "But lifting fingerprints needs equipment we don't have—no scanning devices either. I just want to borrow the gear, then compare the prints back at the station. If it's not too hard, and the prints are in the database, I should match them in a couple of days—assuming the thief didn't wear gloves. Otherwise, it's all Bai Mang."

"What? You can compare fingerprints?" Wang Shouyi widened his eyes. "You've had this skill all along? If you'd told us, we could've solved so many cases!"

"You never asked," Wang Yan replied modestly. "I'm only basic at it—not highly skilled. But I can also do footprint analysis—somewhat better at that."

In reality, experienced cops can roughly estimate footprints. Fingerprint comparison is more technical, but veteran detectives who study it can handle simple matches. Still, in grassroots police stations, few know fingerprint comparison—footprint analysis is more common.

"Damn, you little rascal—you've been holding out on me! What a surprise! Wait—I'll go tell Captain Luo right away. See if we can get a set of fingerprint extraction and comparison gear. I heard it's not expensive—probably no problem. If not, I'll beg old favors from Song Ju. Then you can compare them slowly back at the station."

As Wang Shouyi turned to leave, he looked back: "You're really okay? Work won't wait—rest if you need to."

Wang Yan nodded: "Really fine, Suo. Don't worry."

Wang Shouyi turned and ran back. The atmosphere wasn't so tense now—the case was solved; it was just tedious evidence collection. Soon, Gao Chao came out.

He still kept his expression controlled, though—outside, a crowd had gathered, snapping photos with their phones and posting to Youquan. Police warnings did nothing; people were gossiping about Dong Nianfeng's tragedy.

"You can compare fingerprints? Captain Luo agreed—he said we can pick up the gear at the Criminal Investigation Team. Let's go. You drove, right?"

"Yeah. I wanted to drop Jiwie off first—he was sick."

"That's normal. Suo's right—many cops never see anything like this. But you've earned major credit this time—even if it was luck. I think you'll get an award. Suo can push for your early promotion and official law enforcement status—no problem."

"Credit doesn't matter. Besides, what about Officer Zhang? If he has to write a self-criticism and report, and I get the award? That'd be too hot to handle."

"Either way, he'll have to write a report—but no punishment, no big deal."

As they talked, Wang Yan called Zhao Jiwie, got him into his car, dropped him off at Junyue Xincheng, then drove with Gao Chao to the branch…

Thank you to the five brothers: (Yufang) (Fuyan MD zenme yan) (Mr Xing Chen) (Mingku Ren duhougan) (Lao Yezi of the 1980s) for continued support.

Daily thanks to the good brothers who voted for monthly tickets.

Thank you to all the brothers who voted for recommendations.

Thank you to the brothers who quietly read.