Chapter 229

Afternoon.

Jiang Yuan strolled down the stairs, feeling utterly relaxed, as if he'd experienced the pure joy of getting out of class early during his school days.

Looking back now, the joy of skipping class was the real joy.

Compared to that, spending thousands or even tens of thousands of yuan on leisure time as an adult was utter nonsense.

Jiang Yuan swung his arms as he walked, even wanting to sway his hips.

"Going out?" Huang Qiang's voice came from behind.

Jiang Yuan jumped—he'd almost felt like he was back in the age when the homeroom teacher controlled everything.

"Uh… just stepping out for a bit." Jiang Yuan said.

"Need a car?" Huang Qiang offered a 55. -degree smile—so warm and approachable it was almost absurd.

If there were a world ruled by crocodiles, a crocodile carrying a chicken for his mother-in-law and smiling like this would already meet society's average expectations.

Jiang Yuan deeply considered the possible outcomes of nodding versus shaking his head, then, with the cold detachment of a forensic pathologist, nodded: "Yes, I need a car."

"Take our team's new one," Huang Qiang said, handing over the keys to a Great Wall Pao.

At that moment, if viewed from above, Huang Qiang's thick, short arm looked like a fertilizer-fattened olive branch.

Jiang Yuan's hand remained in his pocket, squeezing his Mercedes G-Class keys, and he hesitated: "No need…"

"You earned this car—let you enjoy it first isn't only fair, it's expected," Huang Qiang insisted. "It drives like a dream—step on the gas and the whole thing leaps forward."

"If you floor it, the car really does…"

"It's a four-year-old vehicle, maintained every year—you know our bureau never skimps on this kind of expense," Huang Qiang shoved the keys into Jiang Yuan's hand. "When you're done, leave the keys with the admin or just drop them here. Don't block others from using it."

Jiang Yuan truly didn't want to block others—he raised his hand.

"Don't use the unit car to pick up girls," Huang Qiang added. "Don't park at bars, KTVs, or any nightspots. If there's no parking, drive farther away. If you need to make a bust, just block their doorway—don't park in designated spots."

Jiang Yuan looked down at the Great Wall Pao keys.

He'd ridden in it once—when he went to Pingzhou with Liu Jinghui. The highway ride wasn't great, but off-road performance was decent.

And regardless, its price was still far superior to imported pickup trucks.

But driving this thing to a bar to pick up girls…

Logically, any girl willing to be hit on by this vehicle must at least be attracted by its looks.

"By the way, how's that new ninhydrin cabinet working?" Huang Qiang walked Jiang Yuan to the car.

The brand-new pickup from four years ago was parked right at the front gate of the Criminal Investigation Team, slightly blocking the entrance.

Jiang Yuan walked as he spoke: "I haven't used it yet—it's mainly for fingerprint extraction, mostly used in active cases."

"Turn it on later and test it—if there's a problem, we can fix it early," Huang Qiang advised.

"Got it."

"Don't worry about lack of cases. In such a big county, how could there be no conflicts? Even murders… pfft… go have fun. Call if anything comes up…"

Huang Qiang waved Jiang Yuan off, then turned back to see two young officers walking in, holding thick, porridge-like milk teas, laughing and chatting.

"Cough. Cough." Huang Qiang half-closed his eyes, lips pressed flat.

The two officers nearly vomited their milk tea on the spot.

"Chief Huang."

"Chief Huang~"

Huang Qiang grunted, pointed at the milk teas, and said: "Next time, drink it, but use unmarked bags to bring it in."

"Yes…" The two clutched their milk teas and hurried off.

…

Jiang Yuan picked up Wei Zhenguo at the intersection and drove toward Qinghe College on the city's outskirts.

Qinghe College was a junior college—small in scale but packed with students, a cornerstone of Qinghe City's prosperity. Every year, thousands of young students flooded into Qinghe like fresh blood, each attempting to start a business, unknowingly sustaining countless livelihoods.

Zeng Zhuohu was a professor of zoology in the Animal Medicine department at Qinghe College—thin, fit, clearly someone who exercised regularly.

Though the school was mediocre, Zeng Zhuohu had his own office and lab, and he was quite content.

Plus, being near Wu Long Mountain, professors like him could gather abundant research material just by visiting protected areas, making life comfortably easy.

Zeng Zhuohu's research approach was simple: place cameras systematically in the wild, retrieve them periodically, analyze animal behavior in the footage, jot down ideas, then turn them into papers.

To process the massive volume of video data, they'd purchased relatively high-end computers.

Upon learning Jiang Yuan's request, Zeng Zhuohu immediately arranged everything for him.

All required software, down to the exact versions Jiang Yuan specified, had been installed by students, just waiting for his arrival.

Jiang Yuan didn't hesitate—he opened the video, glanced briefly, then launched the software.

Zeng Zhuohu and several students gathered around, clearly hoping to upgrade their skills and become self-sufficient, not reliant on outsiders.

Jiang Yuan let them watch, but offered no explanations.

Video enhancement wasn't something you could explain in a sentence or two.

If you could understand it just by listening, you wouldn't need Jiang Yuan—you could just read a book.

Run one video once—if it worked, run it again; if not, try a different algorithm.

That's the basic workflow for video enhancement, but real-world operation involved countless messy details. Often, whether it worked wasn't judged by the naked eye—it required different quantitative assessments depending on the algorithm used.

Zeng Zhuohu quickly understood—he, at his age and background, could never teach himself to this level.

So Zeng Zhuohu's expression brightened.

Nothing in the world is hard—if you're willing to give up.

Give up buying a house, achieve financial freedom. Give up marriage, achieve personal freedom.

Zeng Zhuohu was a pioneer of the lying-flat generation—he avoided competing for university admission, returned to his hometown at Qinghe College, married, had children, got promoted, and raised his salary.

Biology was too competitive, so he switched to zoology. Zoology was still too competitive, so he just took photos and videos, focusing on local niche academic topics.

While others did ecological surveys in Shennongjia, he did them on Wu Long Mountain.

While others used pristine data, he tweaked his own.

The animal footage was the same.

Ten years ago, when China first started deploying outdoor cameras, capturing snow leopards or Northeast tigers was enough to publish in top journals.

Now, of course, it's worthless—Wu Long Mountain's wildlife drew little attention—but Zeng Zhuohu's standards were low.

He just needed to publish papers.

SCI was fine; domestic core journals were more than satisfactory.

Still, though Zeng Zhuohu was a lying-flat scholar, years spent on one mountain had yielded genuinely excellent footage.

Jiang Yuan couldn't help thinking—if the hunting gang that killed those men had been caught on camera during their poaching or murder, that would've been interesting.

"Do the cameras ever catch people? Like poachers?" Jiang Yuan asked suddenly, sounding curious.

"We've caught people before—useless," Zeng Zhuohu shrugged. "Our cameras are placed inside protected zones. Outside those zones are buffer areas, off-limits to ordinary people—so anyone caught on camera is definitely up to no good, but we just notify the forest police."

One of his students added: "Some local villagers still sneak into the woods—not always poaching. Sometimes they just collect herbs."

"And there are hikers who sneak in too," another student said. "You wouldn't believe how bold they are."

"I know," Jiang Yuan recalled his days climbing old hunter trails on Wu Long Mountain, and sighed. "I've collected a lot of hikers' bones. Some were surprisingly tough."

The student who'd spoken froze, then burst out laughing: "You're hilarious."

Zeng Zhuohu, as the professor, felt he needed to protect his students, so he whispered: "Jiang Yuan's official job is a forensic pathologist."

"Huh… then…" The students behind Jiang Yuan all stepped back in unison—evidence of their military training.

"Alright, this video's done," Jiang Yuan stood up, stretched, and stepped aside for Zeng Zhuohu.

"Already?" Zeng Zhuohu asked.

He sat down and watched—the previously blurry pheasant footage had suddenly become crystal clear, every outline sharp and distinct.

"Your technique—if you opened a video enhancement company outside, you'd make a fortune," Zeng Zhuohu said honestly.

He intended to pay Jiang Yuan—requests were requests, fees were fees.

But the school's rate was still slightly below market price; still, Zeng Zhuohu knew skilled video professionals were in short supply. Just the endless head-swapping for bad celebrities could keep them busy forever.

Not to mention that before those celebrities went bankrupt, they'd need head-swapping for filming, powered by high-tech.

Too bad Jiang Yuan had no interest in money.

He smiled calmly and moved on to the next video.

Working through video after video, time quickly slipped into evening.

Zeng Zhuohu was about to invite Jiang Yuan to dinner when a colleague rushed in, whispering urgently.

Zeng Zhuohu listened, turned back, frowning deeply. He pulled Wei Zhenguo aside and whispered: "We've had a theft."

Wei Zhenguo asked calmly: "What was stolen?"

In such a large school, a theft was hardly unusual.

But Zeng Zhuohu wasn't relaxed at all—he said seriously: "Four rhesus macaques used for experiments."

"Value… uh, how much is one monkey worth?"

"150, 00 each," Zeng Zhuohu explained. "They used to be around 7, 00–8, 00, but prices have skyrocketed…"

"I'll report this!" Wei Zhenguo couldn't take it—600, 00 yuan in losses was a major theft case.

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