Chapter 128: Peaceful Days

The sun blazed fiercely.

The skin felt scorching hot.

The car's engine roared, no air conditioning on.

Pff—

A massive jet of hot, thick exhaust spewed from the tailpipe, nearly melting the asphalt beneath.

Wu Junhao sat in the passenger seat, carefully oiling and maintaining his small shield.

Yes, he had a small shield—transparent, round, tiny—but once strapped to his arm, it became super-hard, super-strong.

Wu Junhao's police baton-shield technique was well-known throughout Qinghe City, often invited by property management companies for demonstrations; in actual operations, he was the backbone of the Push-Through Team's advances.

When they arrived, Wu Junhao slowly lifted his head; his face held none of the vicious intensity seen in TV dramas, only calm as he opened his radio: "The factory ahead is where our target is. Everyone's seen the photo—keep your eyes locked."

Static crackled through the radio; no one replied.

The Push-Through Team members were careless about everything else, but when it came to arrests, they were truly professional.

Wu Junhao continued: "Tracking this guy wasn't easy. You've all seen what Jiang the Forensic did—this time, we're going for a big fish."

Wu Junhao added: "But no matter how critical the mission, you only get one life. If he runs, we chase again. We've got so many brothers—be confident, but trust the men beside you. If you can't hold, if you're unsure, step back and let someone else take over."

He finished: "Alright, we've gone over the plan—no more chatter. Internal staff stay in the car, keep communication open. Everyone else, follow the plan."

"Unit Two, received."

"Unit Three, received."

Only then did the other vehicles respond casually.

For the Push-Through Team, arrests like this were routine, ordinary.

Wu Junhao himself was serious yet nonchalant.

He and his fellow officer wore uniforms, but the six men in Units Four and Five were in plainclothes.

So Units Four and Five parked farther away; the officers in civilian clothes slipped through gaps between other factories to block the target's rear exit.

Once the rear team was in position, Wu Junhao waved his hand—the cars rolled forward together, and a group of police stormed the factory gate.

The factory door was open—just a push and they were inside.

Inside, the space was empty, save for a few machines rumbling, and one man bent over a machine, working intently.

Hearing the noise, he looked up, saw the group in uniforms, froze—his tool clattered to the floor, he snatched it up, tried to run, didn't know where, only gripped his wrench tightly.

Wu Junhao and the others instantly confirmed: this was the target.

The facial features on the printed photo were etched clearly in Wu Junhao's memory.

A group of police, batons in hand, formed a curved encirclement. Wu Junhao stood among them, the small round shield held before his chest, ready to move—

Outer circle encircling the inner circle.

The young entrepreneur, fresh from the big city, stood clutching his wrench, dumbfounded—wanting to resist, yet his legs trembled uncontrollably.

Meanwhile, the plainclothes officers guarding the rear burst in—silent, heads down, charging forward. Their experience told them: first secure the escape routes, like grabbing the pig's leg before it bolts—waiting until it charged would be too dangerous.

Dozens of large men, fully armed, surrounded a single man by a single machine—the air grew thick with grim tension.

The young entrepreneur finally dropped his wrench to the floor.

"Xiao Ba!" Wu Junhao barked.

"How did you…?" Xiao Ba couldn't believe it.

"Are you called Xiao Ba?" Wu Junhao already knew—but he had to confirm.

Xiao Ba nodded weakly: "Y-yes…"

"Hands on your head. Squat down." Wu Junhao bellowed again, fierce and sharp.

Xiao Ba snapped his legs together, squatted, clasped his head, curled into a ball—and felt a flicker of safety, his trembling lessening slightly.

"I won't run. I'm right here," Xiao Ba whispered, voice thin and sticky.

Wu Junhao and the others exchanged glances, strangely feeling their effort was wasted.

Like eighteen strong men swarming a baby chick.

So many of us, storming in like this—you could at least pick up a chair, make a token resistance. Why drop that wrench so easily? When you picked it up, we thought you were going to fight.

"How did you find me?" Xiao Ba asked quietly, still disbelieving.

"Keep your head down. Stay quiet," Wu Junhao and his deputy barked together.

They had to shout—their emotions were hard to control.

"I knew it—trusting others never ends well."

"Are you going to cuff me?"

"Be gentle with the cuffs—I skin breaks easily."

Xiao Ba spoke, then looked up at Wu Junhao and the others.

Wu Junhao gripped the oiled transparent round shield, his fingers clicking softly, and asked gruffly: "What did you do in Beijing, Shanghai, Guangzhou?"

"I really can make fake documents," Xiao Ba protested, wanting to stand up and explain.

A nearby officer shoved him back down.

…

The case processing center buzzed like a festival.

The green ivy along the corridor stood tall and lush, thick and broad.

Of course, it wasn't actually New Year—just the period before it.

At every moment, someone complained of understaffing; at every moment, new recruits arrived.

Meanwhile, arrests continued outside, as if determined to clear everyone before the holiday.

Xiao Ba, the fake-document forger, once again supplied the interrogation rooms with a steady stream of suspects.

As Huang Qiang had predicted, Xiao Ba—who paid no heed to underworld rules—had indeed kept plenty of "document-making records."

He'd originally returned home because he'd built up a client base but couldn't afford housing in the big city; unlike older criminals, Xiao Ba had learned to take orders online, shed geographic limits, and his business thrived.

Had he not been caught, he'd already begun planning to build his own guesthouse, to better serve document-forging clients—a one-stop tourism-and-fake-docs service, very safe.

Huang Qiang mobilized four full squads of detectives at once; a quick review turned up three wanted fugitives.

Though their status paled beside the B-class fugitives from earlier days, the feeling of easy gains remained.

Like beachcombing—you put in effort, yet still felt like you'd scored a freebie.

The tide rose.

The tide fell.

…

Wednesday noon.

After squeezing the last drop from Fool Guo, Wei Zhenguo packaged him off to the county prosecutor's office.

Compared to the other four middle-aged thieves, Fool Guo's sentence would be far longer—he might be out by the time his midlife crisis had vanished, already reconciled with the world.

After the five thieves were shipped off, Jiang Yuan received his new computer.

A brand-new host machine, approved by the county bureau—the model from last year.

Jiang Yuan was still thrilled.

After all, it was at least five years ahead of his old one; given the bureau's procurement habits, it might even be eight or ten years newer.

Jiang Yuan happily installed all his usual software, then powered it on and began browsing.

Using the new computer was indeed more fun!

Wu Long watched Jiang Yuan's silly grin and smiled too, took out a Zhonghua, lit it quietly.

The quiet office, the quiet police compound, the peaceful Ningtai County—what a perfect moment, what a golden age!

…

"Love even if you die, unless it's wild and complete, it's not enough…"

Wu Long's phone vibrated and sang out.

Wu Long answered, grunted twice, sucked down the last half of his cigarette, crushed it into the flowerpot, and turned to Jiang Yuan: "We're moving—a hand amputation case. Head to the scene."

"So brutal? Is the victim alive?" Jiang Yuan grabbed his gear, asking as he walked.

"Alive—taken to the hospital," Wu Long tucked the stub in his pocket, walking as he spoke. "Victim passed out, doesn't recognize the attacker. No suspect found yet."

Jiang Yuan's expression turned sharply serious.

There were major differences between domestic and international judicial systems. Overseas, police prioritize the trial phase—without solid evidence, even the most perfect case is rootless, meaningless.

Overseas: I know you're the killer, everyone knows you're the killer, you know we know you're the killer—but without enough evidence, you can't be convicted.

Police, including forensic experts, must prove beyond doubt that the suspect is the killer.

For domestic forensic officers and detectives, their primary task is solving the case; once prosecution is filed, their job is mostly done.

So when the victim doesn't recognize the attacker and no suspect has been found, the case instantly becomes far more difficult.

Jiang Yuan and his master arrived at the scene.

It was a self-built courtyard, surrounded by a two-meter-high wall, with a large double iron gate and stone lions squatting at the entrance.

The scene inside was bloody—large pools of blood splattered across the ground.

If this were a chicken-slaughtering site, it would equal the blood of two chickens—but the stench in the air was unmistakably human blood.

Jiang Yuan carefully donned his mask and gloves, then entered the crime scene perimeter with his master.

The scene was small, but no wandering allowed.

The crime scene investigators had marked the boundaries and were photographing; seeing Jiang Yuan and Wu Long, they smiled warmly.

The internal report on the "Wu Long Mountain Wildman Case" had already circulated—any investigator with half a brain, upon seeing the clues Jiang Yuan uncovered, could only cry out: "True expert!"

Today's case didn't involve any deaths, so to Jiang Yuan, it should count as a minor matter.

Several on-site investigators glanced curiously at Jiang Yuan.

Jiang Yuan stood in the center of the courtyard, facing the pool of blood, and took a deep breath…