Chapter 12: Chapter Twelve: Rottweiler

The police dog of the Ningtai County Criminal Investigation Brigade’s Police Dog Unit was named Da Zhuang, a four-year-old Rottweiler with a robust build, a square face, and sparse fur, with a daily food allowance of 45 yuan.

Compared to Hezi, the police dog from neighboring Longli County, Da Zhuang was younger, more handsome, and stronger. But precisely because he was young, he had no merit badges on his chest and no police-civilian cooperation projects on his back, so his daily food allowance was 30 yuan less than Hezi’s.

Da Zhuang didn’t know this, so his mood remained perfectly calm; when someone approached, his eyes lit up with simple joy, and his tail swayed lightly.

“Da Zhuang, sit still.” The trainer, feeling the dog’s wagging tail was undignified, came over from the other side of the wall and barked sharply.

Jiang Yuan followed the voice and saw a tall female officer with long, slender legs, a narrow waist, and straight posture turning around.

In that instant… Jiang Yuan thought her face looked just like a Rottweiler’s.

Her face was square, her brow ridges prominent, her ears flattened, her almond-shaped eyes dark-brown with a hint of sorrow.

“Li Li, can I borrow your kitchen to make fried rice? Got rice and eggs?” Wu Jun greeted her without ceremony, then introduced Jiang Yuan: “My apprentice. He makes excellent fried rice.”

Li Li nodded politely at Jiang Yuan, then said: “Take a few eggs from Da Zhuang’s basket first—there’s meat in there too. I’ll ask the vegetable delivery to replenish it this afternoon.”

Da Zhuang, hearing his name, sat up even straighter.

Wu Jun had come to mooch off Da Zhuang before; he chuckled and asked: “Have you eaten? Want to join us for fried rice?”

“Sure,” the female officer Li Li replied cheerfully. “Good timing—I’ll make some food for Da Zhuang too.”

The three of them walked into the police dog unit’s kitchen, chatting as they went.

In terms of basic infrastructure, the police dog unit’s conditions were even worse than those of the main criminal investigation team. The training ground was hardened earth, the courtyard walls built of simple red brick and cement—by the look of it, possibly constructed by the dog officers themselves.

The police dog unit’s separate kitchen consisted of only two single-story rooms, possibly dating back to the 80s or 90s. It was clear that Ningtai County, a small county under a prefecture-level city, had made little progress in capitalizing on the era’s benefits.

The kitchen’s equipment was complete, especially a large pot with a powerful flame stove that looked highly professional—but Li Li pointed to a small ordinary stove beside it and said: “Use that one. This side is for Da Zhuang’s food. How much meat?”

“No meat. I only make vegetarian fried rice,” Jiang Yuan said. “Just rice, eggs, some scallions, and oil. Should I make extra for the police dog?”

“No need. Your fried rice is too low in nutrition. Dogs can’t eat it.”

Li Li pulled ingredients from the fridge: she gave Jiang Yuan a portion of rice and dumped all the pig’s trotters into the dog’s bowl; she gave Jiang Yuan a portion of eggs and tossed all the chicken breast into the dog’s bowl; she gave Jiang Yuan a portion of scallions and dumped all the shredded carrots, broccoli, and cabbage into the dog’s bowl…

Da Zhuang’s 45-yuan food allowance was purely for food costs, just like Hezi’s 75-yuan allowance for merit dogs or the new recruit’s 19.3-yuan allowance—all purely food costs, excluding water, electricity, gas, rent, or labor expenses. So everyone assumed it was sufficient.

In comparison, Uncle Shi’s egg fried rice, for three portions, used one jin of rice (cost: 1.2 yuan), half an egg (cost: 0.5 yuan), and oil, scallions, and seasonings (cost: 0.8 yuan)—so the total cost for Jiang Yuan’s meal was 2.5 yuan, or roughly 0.8 yuan per person…

But Uncle Shi’s Level 3 Egg Fried Rice skill still made this meal visually appealing, aromatic, and delicious.

In contrast, Li Li’s cooking skills were probably below Level 1—a fact evident from Da Zhuang’s sniffing-and-eating behavior and Li Li’s wolfish devouring.

“Come by often when you have time,” Li Li said after gulping down several bites and downing half a glass of water, then patting her chest at Wu Jun: “Wu Team Leader, you’ve recruited a real talent. This is the kind of person who gets things done. Can we borrow him to our unit? Look at Da Zhuang—other dogs fight over their food, but he barely finishes his…”

“I don’t have authority over personnel assignments,” Wu Jun replied with a smile, quickly finished his fried rice, stood up, and picked his teeth: “We’ve got work this afternoon. You clean up the dishes.”

Wu Jun, full and satisfied, called Jiang Yuan and left, moving with the ease of a regular customer from Sanlipu Alley.

Jiang Yuan glanced back at Da Zhuang and saw him calmly eating from his bowl of 45-yuan rations—neither fast nor slow, his expression serene, like a car refueling itself.

“It’s odd that a female officer named her trained police dog Da Zhuang,” Jiang Yuan remarked as they walked.

Wu Jun chuckled. “Probably named by her previous trainer. They once joked that the first dog would be Da Zhuang, the second Er Zhuang, and so on—neat and orderly.”

“Where’s Er Zhuang? On duty?”

“One dog came in, and the naming plan stopped,” Wu Jun snorted. “Team Leader Huang’s view: dogs are too expensive. One’s enough. Save the rest for hiring auxiliary police.”

Jiang Yuan thought for a moment and nodded in agreement.

Noon.

Jiang Yuan napped for half an hour, then woke up, opened the fingerprint images from the intentional injury case suggested by Xiao Wang, enlarged them, and studied them carefully.

The suspect left four consecutive fingerprints, each with varying clarity and completeness—choosing which one to prioritize was the first consideration.

If judged by completeness, the little finger’s fingerprint was the most intact—but it also had the highest probability of no match, because little finger prints are the least commonly collected; for temporary residence permits and fingerprint scans, authorities almost always use the thumb or index finger.

Conversely, the index finger’s fingerprint had the lowest completeness among the four, with the widest peripheral distortion and the most severe deformation.

Jiang Yuan paused, zoomed in on the index finger image, and began analyzing it.

The little finger’s fingerprint was relatively easy to mark—though, since it was captured in segments from a cylindrical surface, Old Yan and Xiao Wang might not have been able to do it well, but since he’d participated in past fingerprint campaigns, it should still have been correctly marked.

So the main reason the little finger didn’t match was likely that no matching print existed in the database—a problem technology couldn’t fix.

The fingerprint most likely to have failed matching due to technical limitations alone was the index finger’s.

This print was severely distorted: the suspect must have gripped the object with tremendous force during the assault, squeezing some fingerprint ridges together while stretching others far apart, like a mountain road crushed flat under a giant’s foot.

Jiang Yuan opened Photoshop and tried using Photoshop-CS5’s “Edit—Transform” function.

This step was like restoring the mountain road’s original spacing and dimensions on a flat plane.

Jiang Yuan first adjusted the left and right sides inward by 5%, felt it wasn’t enough, then adjusted to 10%, then 20%, then fine-tuned back slightly…

These operations had no fixed templates. The only reference was the standard ridge spacing of an average human fingerprint—0.52 millimeters—but this value offered limited guidance, especially when adjusting in 1% increments; an average number was nearly meaningless.

On the other hand, since fingerprints were captured in segments and the crime scene officers’ skills were mediocre, the shooting angles of different photos seemed inconsistent—normally irrelevant, but now, during fine adjustments, the lack of synchronization became obvious.

All these factors combined meant Jiang Yuan tried repeatedly without success.

Just before quitting time, Xiao Wang rushed over, whispering mysteriously beside Jiang Yuan: “I checked—this case has been through three fingerprint campaigns and got no results.”

“Provincial?” Jiang Yuan paused his mouse.

“First was provincial, the next two were municipal,” Xiao Wang said, then grinned: “The first was back in the horseshoe-mirror era—no automated fingerprint system. The second one had it, but same result.”

The horseshoe mirror was a handheld magnifier, resembling a microscope lens, requiring the user to press their eye to the eyepiece. Traditionally used for fingerprint matching, document inspection, and evidence retrieval, it could also be paired with a camera to photograph and extract prints. Before automated fingerprint recognition, it was the most powerful tool in a trace evidence technician’s hands.

Xiao Wang’s “horseshoe-mirror era” meant the time before automated fingerprint recognition became widespread—when fingerprint experts weren’t seated at computers as bald primates, but instead held horseshoe mirrors and fingerprint cards, still bald primates.

Fingerprint matching relied mostly on experience and memory.

Jiang Yuan nodded slightly. From his understanding, this case was one that received moderate attention but not top-tier priority. For a serious injury case this old—over a decade unsolved—this level of criminal investigation resources was essentially the limit.

“I’ll run it once,” Jiang Yuan said, re-edited the fingerprint’s feature points, and submitted it to the automated fingerprint recognition system.

Soon, a list of candidate fingerprints appeared on the right side of the screen.

Jiang Yuan and Xiao Wang scanned the 20 candidates from top to bottom—no surprise, only disappointment.

“This is pure luck,” Xiao Wang said. His technical skill was average, but his judgment was decent. “Even if it matches, it won’t be near the top.”

Jiang Yuan agreed: “True. With such extreme adjustments, the system’s ranking has little reference value. A fingerprint ranked 50 could still be the suspect’s.”

“Forget it then. I’ll look for another case later,” Xiao Wang sighed, turning to leave.

Jiang Yuan held his mouse, moved it slightly right, thought for a moment, and set the candidate list to show 150 fingerprints.

Now, the system would return over seven times as many matches, and the lower down the list, the lower the probability of a true match.

Jiang Yuan wasn’t in a hurry. Once he decided, he settled in to study the prints.

Soon, a semi-transparent system prompt appeared in his vision—

Task: Match fingerprint in Liu Yu’s injury case, assist in solving the case.

Task content: The victim needs comfort, the perpetrator needs punishment, both need inner peace. Help them.

Jiang Yuan couldn’t help smiling. He’d already planned to push through this intentional injury case—now with the system’s boost, he was even more patient.