Chapter 23

Noon.

After washing up and taking a brief nap at home, Jiang Yuan immediately returned to the Criminal Investigation Unit.

Entering the courtyard, one could feel the heavy atmosphere.

Several second-class-one and second-class-two officers who were at home had furrowed brows and whispered in low, somber tones; as they passed by, their steps were hurried, their eyes filled with exhaustion.

Police ranks differ from military ranks; below the white shirt level and for leadership positions, rank is essentially unrelated to duty, and even the director of the county bureau, the rank merely reflects seniority.

However, for ordinary police officers, high seniority often means being a frontline officer.

For serious cases like homicide, assigning them to young officers with only one bar was something no one felt confident about.

Jiang Yuan himself was a young officer with one bar—one who hadn’t even gotten to know the police station’s dog, and the detective he’d spoken to the most was probably the team captain, Huang Qiang.

Wu Jun hadn’t returned yet, and Jiang Yuan didn’t want to go back to the office and feel the pressure, so he turned straight toward the Police Dog Unit.

The police dog Da Zhuang, who had also been busy all day, lay sprawled before his kennel, his ears drooping lower than usual.

Li Li was busy with her back turned in the kitchen; through the kitchen window, the kitchen door, and the reflected sunlight, one could see her elegant silhouette, graceful movements, and astonishingly slender waist and long legs.

“Jiang Yuan?” Li Li finally turned around—her Rona Wei-like face instantly shattered all prior impressions.

“Wang.” Da Zhuang, the real Rona Wei, barked.

“Da Zhuang, sit.” Li Li waved her hand, then asked Jiang Yuan: “You stayed up late yesterday too, right?”

Jiang Yuan said: “I slept an hour this morning, didn’t want to eat the cafeteria food, so I thought I’d come make some egg fried rice.”

Li Li smiled, her thick eyebrows lifting noticeably, and said: “Perfect, make me some too. I’m already swamped making dog food. Just now I was thinking whether I should just boil an extra chicken leg…”

Da Zhuang’s eyes shifted toward Li Li, then returned.

“I’ll make the fried rice.” Jiang Yuan rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

Uncle Seventeen’s fried rice not only used minimal ingredients but was also quick to prepare, giving off the vibe of a night-market king.

Jiang Yuan quickly fried up a pot of rice and, using the kitchen’s teapot, brewed a pot of tea.

The tea-brewing skill came from the legacy left by Xue Ming, but as part of his camping skills, the tea he made was utterly unremarkable.

“Wait a moment, the dog food’s almost ready—the meat’s too much, takes longer to cook,” Li Li explained.

Jiang Yuan placed the fried rice on the table, took two sips of tea, and asked: “Can I pet the dog?”

“You might get bitten—if you’re not afraid, go ahead,” Li Li rolled up her sleeves, half-teasing Jiang Yuan.

Looking only at her arms and not her face, Li Li’s arms were actually quite attractive—dancer-like, glowing white, long with subtle muscle definition; the several scars on them stood out sharply, yet upon closer inspection, they weren’t deep, even somewhat alluring, making a man want to be Da Zhuang a few times…

Jiang Yuan judged the depth of the scars by his forensic experience and felt somewhat reassured: “Then I’ll pet a few times.”

Saying this, Jiang Yuan stepped beside Da Zhuang, eager to begin.

Seeing this, Li Li had no choice but to call out: “Da Zhuang, let him pet you.”

Da Zhuang’s ears instantly drooped, his body stretched out, and his tail began to wag slowly.

Jiang Yuan’s hand immediately covered Da Zhuang’s forehead; with slight pressure, he closed his eyes in delight.

There’s a saying: Rona Wei, bald dog, oily to the touch, slippery when rubbed, coarse fur but gleaming, teeth stark white.

“Trained dogs feel different,” Jiang Yuan marveled. This dog, when fierce, was like a wildfire; when gentle, it was like a lapdog—its bald head nudging gently, occasionally sticking out its tongue, utterly adorable.

“Dinner’s ready.” Li Li carried out a large basin of dog food with both hands.

Unlike usual, today’s dog food contained a large amount of beef—each piece the size of a walnut—a reward for the police dog’s work yesterday. Besides that, the proportions of chicken and vegetables were also generous; the basin was piled high, giving the impression of exceeding the meal budget.

“I’ll get the fried rice.” Jiang Yuan voluntarily brought out the fried rice, costing 0.8 yuan per person, poured tea for both of them, and devoured the golden rice while drinking tea.

Beside them, Rona Wei ate his food bite by bite—neither enjoying it nor willing to let go, like a dog that had given much, once resisted, but was ultimately tamed.

Jiang Yuan felt sorry for him and said to Li Li: “I made extra fried rice today—can I give Da Zhuang some? I only used oil and eggs, hardly any seasoning…”

“If you can’t eat it, give it to me—fried rice can’t be given to dogs,” Li Li cheerfully scooped away Jiang Yuan’s extra portion and ate it heartily.

Jiang Yuan could only pat Da Zhuang’s head, finish his own meal, then rise and return to the office.

Wu Jun had already arrived, rubbing his eyes and squatting before an electric stove, bubbling something.

He was getting older; staying up for night shifts was exhausting, and staying up for autopsies was even worse.

“Jiang Yuan’s here,” Wu Jun greeted.

“I made fried rice at the Police Dog Unit—have you eaten?” Jiang Yuan asked.

“I had a little, but I’m not hungry. My stomach’s upset,” Wu Jun said, waving his hand: “Don’t bother with anything else—just eat a red egg.”

He blew on it, fished out a boiled egg dyed red with a spoon, placed it on the table, and gestured for Jiang Yuan to take it.

Jiang Yuan asked without surprise: “What’s the custom here?”

“Eat a red egg after seeing a corpse—to ward off evil. Nothing special,” Wu Jun said, fishing out another red egg for himself, cracking it open and standing it upright on the table.

When the egg cooled slightly, Jiang Yuan cracked his open, peeled it slowly, and ate it.

It tasted like an ordinary boiled egg, leaving only a pile of red shells.

“In the past, when we responded to scenes with corpses, the cafeteria always boiled red eggs,” Wu Jun said while eating.

“Why don’t they anymore?”

“Too many deaths—cafeteria staff found it a hassle,” Wu Jun said. “Now there are fewer homicides but more unnatural deaths—sudden falls, pesticide overdoses, all the time.”

Wu Jun finished his red egg in a few bites and added: “Hurry up and organize the files—today’s going to be busy. If we still can’t find any leads, you won’t sleep tonight.”

“Understood,” Jiang Yuan’s mood grew heavier.

The Criminal Investigation Unit, burdened by case-solving pressure, was now under the heaviest atmospheric pressure.

There’s a saying about homicide cases: the golden 72 hours. It means the first three days after the crime are the most critical and offer the highest probability of solving the case.

There’s solid scientific basis behind this.

On one hand, the shorter the time elapsed, the more physical evidence and traces remain, making it easier to discover clues and connections. Witness memories and information from those familiar with the case are also clearest and most accurate within 72 hours, then rapidly decay.

On the other hand, during the first three days after the crime, the suspect’s movements are most active and his psychology most vulnerable.

Regardless of how well-prepared the criminal was beforehand, after committing the crime, his psychological state is inevitably shaken—he may try to cover up, hide, or inquire, leading to extensive contact with the outside world, making this the easiest time to catch him. After this period, the criminal’s emotions and psychology gradually stabilize, his hiding place is confirmed, and even if he’s identified, arrest and interrogation become difficult.

Additionally, the fatigue level of the investigating officers accumulates over time.

Under today’s conditions, pressure to solve homicide cases is Cengcengxiaya —directly involved officers are almost always working through the night. After two or three days of this, fatigue is fully maxed out.

If the suspect is caught within three days, the officers can grit their teeth and continue interrogations. But if they fail to catch him, their momentum collapses, and regaining it will take far more than double the time.

For the newly reported homicide in Ningtai County, 24 hours have passed without any new leads—an alarming trend.

“The hair DNA sent out for cross-checking came back with bad results,” Wang Zhong, who got the news fastest, quietly slipped into the forensic office.

Jiang Yuan and Wu Jun both looked over.

Wang Zhong whispered: “The provincial DNA lab matched it—but the suspect has an alibi. She works at a KTV, was previously handled by the Public Security Unit, and was out of town accompanying clients at the time of the crime.”

“If she was out of town accompanying clients, how did her pubic hair end up in the victim’s crotch?” Jiang Yuan thought for a moment and asked the key question.

Wang Zhong chuckled softly: “She accompanied the victim this morning, took 500 yuan, then drove to the provincial city. We got the traffic camera footage—she was driving on the highway, and there were eyewitnesses with her…”

“So complete an alibi?” Wu Jun asked curiously: “She was delivering food, why did she have eyewitnesses?”

“Two people—2,000 each,” Wang Zhong held up two fingers.

Wu Jun clucked his tongue: “Big difference between county and provincial city—her value jumped fourfold.”

“Special services cost extra,” Wang Zhong corrected.

Wu Jun shook his head: “Times have changed. Now I work with Xiao Jiang, always go out in pairs, and my salary hasn’t gone up a cent.”

Wang Zhong couldn’t keep up—he stiffly turned to look at Jiang Yuan, then added: “We’ve also checked her workplace and residence—no results. No fingerprints or traces matched. The victim’s old neighborhood had few surveillance cameras; no usable video footage. Relatives haven’t been fully interviewed, but it’s unlikely to yield anything…”

“So what now?” Jiang Yuan’s focus remained on the case—it was only his second homicide, and his involvement was still intense.

Wang Zhong fell silent for a moment, then said: “I heard the current investigation direction still focuses on the victim’s social circle—the outcome is uncertain… But if we still have no results by tonight, the entire bureau will be mobilized.”

Ningtai County Public Security Bureau had no so-called genius detectives or legendary case solvers. Their methods were all standard. If they had any big weapon, it was manpower.

In big cities, even if a recent homicide couldn’t be solved immediately, they’d at most form a special task force and borrow a few dozen or hundred personnel. But in a small county, a recent homicide was a matter of state—under necessary circumstances, a thousand-person search was normal—not just checking a thousand people, but deploying over a thousand staff members to investigate, and if needed, they could run DNA tests on an entire university.

At such times, not just the Criminal Investigation Unit, but even police stations down to administrative cadres above would be dispatched; some bureaus even borrowed personnel from other units.

Jiang Yuan frowned slightly.

Doing searches meant basic labor, yet he had Crime Scene Investigation Level 4—he might be the strongest scene examiner in the entire county—and he should choose a direction more likely to yield clues.

“Let’s do a re-examination,” Jiang Yuan volunteered.

Re-examination was a natural duty for scene examiners, and forensic doctors were also required to revisit the scene.

Jiang Yuan recalled the previous scene examiners’ methods and already had a plan.

The other scene examiners in the Criminal Science Unit, regardless of skill or dedication, were average; with his Level 4 Crime Scene Investigation, Jiang Yuan could certainly spot oversights.

Though he didn’t know whether these overlooked spots held clues, in the face of a stalled investigation, his sense of responsibility involuntarily swelled.