Chapter 151: High Fall

Morning.

After eating another portion of spare ribs with soup and rice, a small amount of pickled radish, a touch of chili paste, a hand-held pancake, and a 200-milliliter cola, Jiang Yuan headed to work in good health.

Last night, Jiang Yuan briefly described his concerns.

As a well-known wealthy household in the city's notorious demolition zone, Jiangfuzhen frequently hosted meals in the village, but there was still no guarantee that some desperate individual wouldn't come knocking.

After reviewing numerous cases, Jiang Yuan's understanding of unexpected situations had changed somewhat.

Jiangfuzhen agreed and decisively decided to install a 24-hour intelligent early-warning defense system—two dogs.

Jiang Yuan approved of his father's plan and calmly took the Elpha to the Criminal Investigation Unit.

He'd handled too many cases these past two days and didn't even feel like driving himself.

At the office, Jiang Yuan was lethargic—he first watered the office's green plants, then put on gloves and cleaned the cigarette butts from the pots of hanging orchids on the windowsill.

Although cigarette butts would soon pile up again, the area would look cleaner for several days.

After watering the plants, Jiang Yuan swept, mopped, and wiped the desks, acting like a diligent new office worker.

He now truly understood civil servants' obsession with office cleanliness; in a way, office hygiene was the only factor a worker could control.

Every other word outside of that felt like an offense.

"You're here this early?" Wu Jun entered with a serious expression.

"Master, good morning."

Jiang Yuan replied, then asked curiously, "Are you in a bad mood today? Shall I brew you some tea?"

"Bring me a cup," Wu Jun sighed.

"Then Longjing it is." Jiang Yuan brewed Wu Jun a large cup of tea in a transparent glass and placed it before him.

"Thanks," Wu Jun sipped and said, "You didn't check the almanac, did you?"

Who in their right mind checks the almanac every day?

Jiang Yuan silently scoffed and asked, "What's today?"

"Inauspicious for all matters," Wu Jun spat coldly, his expression as grim as a food blogger caught red-handed after eating a great white shark.

Jiang Yuan assumed a solemn expression and slowly nodded. "Hmm."

This was about as far as Jiang Yuan's understanding of "inauspicious for all matters" extended—he wasn't even this superstitious; his father used almanacs to wipe tables.

Wu Jun shook his head helplessly and added, "On the bright side, at least it didn't rain today."

"The weather is quite nice, and the sunshine is great," Jiang Yuan agreed.

Wu Jun said, "But not too good. Under strong sunlight, corpses decompose faster and stink faster."

"Ah, I get it," Jiang Yuan said, shaking his head: "Can't people die every time it's 'inauspicious for all matters'? Ningtai County only has one or two homicides a year."

"There are over a dozen non-normal deaths annually," Wu Jun said.

"That's true!"

But over a dozen non-normal deaths per year doesn't mean performing a dozen autopsies.

Usually, most cases only require a surface examination to determine the cause of death, making autopsy unnecessary.

Even among the few cases requiring autopsy, not all become homicides.

Of course, if a real homicide does occur, it's another "live-at-the-unit" package.

Knock knock knock.

A knock came at the door.

"Come in," Wu Jun called.

"Chief Wu, Jiang Forensic," in walked the familiar Mu Zhiyang.

His arm was suspended in a cast, still not fully healed, but his overall energy was excellent.

Red-faced and white-toothed, he looked full of vigor.

Mu Zhiyang couldn't help grinning as he stood in the cold forensic office.

Wu Jun suddenly realized: "Oh, it's you?"

"Me?"

Mu Zhiyang looked confused and pointed to his own nose.

Wu Jun shook his head and chuckled: "It's rare these days for someone to get shot. How are you feeling?"

"Fine, a bit itchy," Mu Zhiyang laughed dumbly.

"That's luck—some people never see a criminal pull a gun in their lifetime."

"Now I've got a good story to tell. Got a third-class merit too—worth it," Mu Zhiyang said cheerfully.

Wu Jun wanted to shake his head, then reconsidered—third-class merit really was appealing.

For young officers in the police system, if you don't rise early, you'll only find it harder later.

Mu Zhiyang, so young, having earned a real merit—especially by taking a bullet—is no small feat; it offers him a significant opportunity.

"Last time, we really owed you," Jiang Yuan handed Mu Zhiyang a cigarette.

Mu Zhiyang waved it off: "You already thanked me. Don't mention it again. Besides, I didn't take that bullet for you—I just got unlucky."

"Regardless, if you hadn't taken the bullet, the rest of us would have," Jiang Yuan lit Mu Zhiyang's cigarette and smiled: "You've been working hard."

"Paid leave? Pretty good."

"Back to work already? A bit early, isn't it?"

"My mom keeps showing up every day, crying all the time—it's driving me crazy," Mu Zhiyang, clearly frustrated, vented: "I finally earn a merit, and she wants me to quit. Isn't that stupid?"

Jiang Yuan and Wu Jun exchanged glances but said nothing.

If they'd been shot, their families wouldn't just nag about quitting—they'd go further.

Fortunately, regular forensic officers mostly deal with the dead.

Being a police officer really isn't a career with much worldly potential.

In terms of power, even reaching the rank of police station chief as an ordinary officer is extremely difficult—most never make it.

In terms of income, officers' monthly salaries are transparent, and the only places to make extra money are dangerous—far more dangerous than ordinary industries.

The only advantages are the faint authority and social recognition that come with the title, but the constraints and negative evaluations that accompany them likely leave those inside the system with deep, complex feelings.

In short, it's perfectly normal for police officers as individuals to occasionally consider quitting.

Neither Jiang Yuan nor Wu Jun was in a position to advise Mu Zhiyang now.

A third-class merit wouldn't launch him onto a fast track—it would merely smooth his path a little.

Mu Zhiyang knew this himself; after venting, he stopped complaining and grinned again: "I'll have my cast removed in a few days, then officially return to work. Jiang Forensic, if you need anything, remember to call me."

"Got it," Jiang Yuan replied immediately—he'd taken a bullet for him.

Wu Jun clicked his tongue, thinking: Could this unlucky kid have turned his luck around after getting shot?

Now, everyone in the county bureau knows Jiang Yuan solves cases quickly and well—everyone wants him on their team… they just haven't had a case yet.

I didn't expect Mu Zhiyang had just come back and already got himself on the list—this kid has expanded his horizons!

"Let's have dinner together later. I'll get something light—Cantonese cuisine, good for recovery," Jiang Yuan said, watching Mu Zhiyang's suspended arm with concern.

When that thug charged forward that day, even though there were four of them, Jiang Yuan had absolutely no confidence.

In fact, if the SWAT sniper hadn't fired decisively and hit the vital spot, those four inexperienced rookies might have all been killed.

Mu Zhiyang happily agreed, then left after Jiang Yuan slipped him two packs of soft Zhonghua.

Jiang Yuan returned to his seat and suddenly felt a surge of energy.

The same fear of danger had, strangely, a positive effect.

Nothing happened that day.

After slacking off for hours, the master and apprentice watched the sunset together and exchanged a smile.

It was time to leave work again.

Wu Jun reflected: A day of "inauspicious for all matters," yet meeting Mu Zhiyang had turned it into a positive.

Just as he thought this, his phone rang.

"Hmm… Chief Huang," Wu Jun answered, his expression darkening.

"Wanghe Building, high fall death, east side… enter from this parking spot," Huang Qiang quickly explained.

Wu Jun shot up from his chair: "Understood. Wanghe Building."

After hanging up, Wu Jun turned to Jiang Yuan—already a forensic officer who knew how to prepare his gear himself.