Chapter 19

Jiang Yuan pulled out the first fingerprint: a partial print, its location blurred.

Faced with such a fingerprint, Jiang Yuan’s first task was to determine which finger it came from.

Then came image processing.

Finally, marking the characteristic points.

After acquiring the fingerprint skill, Jiang Yuan had used it several times and was now somewhat proficient—his movements felt smooth and natural.

The enlarged, slightly blurred fingerprint image shifted under his mouse: zooming in and out, adjusting color levels, brightness, and contrast, while Jiang Yuan continuously marked characteristic points.

Wang Zhong felt dizzy; after watching for a while, he couldn’t bear to look anymore.

Photoshop has powerful built-in functions and numerous shortcuts to boost user efficiency.

But to an observer, if the user doesn’t explain or clarify, a flurry of shortcuts will leave them utterly bewildered.

That was exactly Wang Zhong’s state right now.

“Alright, I’m heading back.” Yan Ge, bored out of his mind, bid farewell and returned to his office to get back to work.

Wu Jun naturally turned to Wang Zhong and smiled: “Aren’t you going back to work, Xiao Wang?”

“Work… I’ll watch a bit, learn a little, then go back.” Wang Zhong didn’t fully understand Jiang Yuan’s actions, but he knew Jiang Yuan was processing the fingerprint.

Even if Jiang Yuan explained it all in detail, Wang Zhong wouldn’t remember it—and even if he did, he couldn’t apply it anytime soon.

So Wang Zhong just stared blankly, learning whatever he could.

At least now he was picking up something; in the past, following Yan Ge, he had nothing left to learn.

During image processing, Jiang Yuan marked four characteristic points. After completing this step, he selected another area and marked five more, saying: “That’s enough for now—run it and see.”

Wang Zhong was still dazed, barely in the groove, when he saw Jiang Yuan had already started the software.

Moments later, twenty candidate fingerprints appeared in the list.

Jiang Yuan eliminated them one by one and re-marked the points.

Wang Zhong quickly grew bored.

Comparing fingerprints in forensic analysis was inherently excruciatingly dull.

It was like trying to find a twin for a hedgehog.

You could pluck eight spines, compare them across the world; if no match, pluck more, mix some with the original eight, or isolate them into new groups, and keep comparing endlessly until you found a match—then verify every single spine.

An ancient saying goes: Eight and eight, eight and eight, each spine different, hard and elongated.

Jiang Yuan spent half the afternoon comparing tirelessly, and at quitting time, finally declared the first fingerprint comparison a failure.

“Let’s go home.” Jiang Yuan packed up, ready to leave on time.

Wang Zhong felt as dazed and exhausted as a physics enthusiast who’d sat through half a day of theoretical physics lectures—he thought he should be excited, but his body and mind insisted he was wrong, leaving him questioning his own existence.

Jiang Yuan didn’t care—he went home to eat meat and told his father about his reward.

“You got a reward right after starting work? Good, good.” Jiang Fuzhen beamed, pulled out his phone, and called Aunt Hua: “Do you know how much young people earn these days? Is ten thousand yuan a lot?”

“Probably a lot—these days, renting a two-bedroom apartment in our neighborhood costs only one or two thousand, depending on the renovation.” Aunt Hua replied naturally: “I bought a place in the provincial capital last month—it rents for three or four thousand a month, but honestly, it’s not worth it…”

“I thought so. But back when we were farmers, ten thousand yuan was a fortune. Now I don’t know anymore—just watching money flow into accounts, I can’t tell if it’s much or little.”

“You’re Fuzhen—you must have plenty.”

“I heard from my son—he cracked a case at work last couple days and got ten thousand yuan as a reward. So I wondered—are rewards this big now? Hahaha, probably are…”

Aunt Hua’s tone changed: “Do police get rewards this high?”

“I said the same—I’d never heard of it. But he cracked a twenty-year-old case—the kind they call cold cases on TV.”

“Whoa, that’s impressive.”

“Yeah, even his superiors praised him. So I just wanted to check—wondering if money’s depreciated these past couple years…” Jiang Fuzhen chuckled a few times and hung up.

Jiang Yuan looked up at his father and said: “Aren’t you always at the market?”

“Just confirming. You don’t know how bad inflation is. Oh, I forgot to ask…” Jiang Fuzhen picked up his phone and redialed.

After a brief pause, a robotic voice came through: The number you dialed is currently busy…

Jiang Fuzhen wore a satisfied smile.

…

The next day.

Jiang Yuan arrived at work and turned to the second fingerprint.

No match.

The third day.

Continued from yesterday—no match.

The fourth day.

Jiang Yuan abandoned the second fingerprint and began comparing the third.

Compared to the previous two, this fingerprint, though partial, had richer detail in the broken areas—like a hedgehog with healthy fur and full, sturdy spines.

Jiang Yuan focused his comparison on the finer details.

Starting points, bifurcations, dots, hooks, junctions…

He enlarged the fingerprint image so much that only a small portion filled the screen, gently moving the mouse to meticulously trace each feature.

Wang Zhong finished his daily tasks and came over as usual to watch.

He stared at Jiang Yuan’s actions, feeling he might be able to do it himself—yet also feeling he couldn’t.

It was like facing a physics problem: you knew all the formulas, thought your approach made sense, but when you tried to think it through yourself, your head felt crushed by a door.

Wang Zhong watched, watched, and fell asleep again.

Only when Jiang Yuan said “Got it” did Wang Zhong snap awake like a frog under a spell: “Matched?”

“This one’s probably it.” Jiang Yuan gestured vaguely at the screen.

Wang Zhong leaned forward eagerly; while Jiang Yuan double-checked, he nervously compared the prints himself.

“How’s it look?” Jiang Yuan asked politely.

“It… seems matched?” Wang Zhong wasn’t sure how to answer. For him, matching a fingerprint from a new case was routine—but matching one from an old case, even a cold case, was rare.

If he himself had made the match, he’d likely jump up and shout.

But Jiang Yuan showed no intention to celebrate.

To him, this case’s fingerprint wasn’t easy—but neither was it difficult.

That was normal. No matter how many thefts Wang Zhong called a “series,” it still couldn’t compare to a major case like “Liu Yu’s Assault”—the kind with massive public impact. The fingerprints involved in such cases had already been meticulously screened by city-level experts.

This “Highway Service Area Oil Theft Series” sounded low-tier. Though widespread, the forensic analysts handling it were mostly county-level officers. Even if some county bureaus had skilled technicians, there was no guarantee the case went to them.

Like in Ningtai County—it was Wang Zhong’s case. If he couldn’t solve it, it just stayed unsolved.

“This guy’s already in prison,” Jiang Yuan said, opening the suspect’s file to reveal a standard prison photo: small eyes, a flattened nose, a thin mouth, slanted brows.

“He was incarcerated a month ago—no time conflict.” Wang Zhong glanced quickly, sighed in relief, then read the charge: “Look—he got into a fight at a nightclub, causing minor injury. The money he spent there was probably from stealing oil.”

Jiang Yuan asked: “So now?”

“Call Huang’s team. Take the evidence for interrogation—you’ll probably expose a few more in the gang.” Wang Zhong grimaced: “If Huang hears you cracked another case, he’ll be thrilled.”

Jiang Yuan smiled: “I’ve just been a bit idle lately—no other cases…”

Wu Jun, who had been lounging comfortably, instantly stiffened at those words.

Jiang Yuan blinked, then sheepishly smiled: “Forgot—I’m not supposed to say I’m idle, right?”

“Don’t say that word…” Wu Jun sighed heavily, glancing down at his phone unconsciously—as if it might ring at any moment.