Chapter 86

Li Zemin casually opened the new message notification, tapped once more, and saw two fingerprints quietly appearing on the left and right sides of the screen.

But unlike Jiang Yuan’s previous “match confirmed” fingerprints, these two fingerprints had a left one that was blurred to the horizon.

Li Zemin rubbed his eyes in surprise: “It’s this bad?”

“The blurring is mostly noise—it’s not that extreme once processed,” Jiang Yuan said simply.

Li Zemin clicked his tongue twice, pressed close to the left side of the screen, and examined it carefully.

After a long while, Li Zemin lifted his head with a series of impressed clicks and tapped the “agree” button on the right side of the new message.

He too relied purely on ridge patterns and ridge types to confirm matches, but he hadn’t used this method in a while.

When he looked up again, Jiang Yuan’s match count had already changed to “2”—eleven experts had already confirmed the match.

“Old man,” Li Zemin patted his forehead, then glanced beside him—Jiang Yuan and the Zhonghua cigarettes were gone, and Jiang Yuan’s host machine was again roaring loudly.

Li Zemin hurried out of the office and found several guys smoking on the shaded balcony ahead.

“All taking a break,” Li Zemin walked up with a smile.

Jiang Yuan handed Li Zemin a cigarette.

“Perfect,” Li Zemin happily took it and grinned: “The image you processed was impressive—your image processing skills are top-notch, yet you’re doing fingerprint work? What a waste.”

“Waste? Image guys are all weaklings,” said Qian Mingyu from Miaohé County’s fingerprint unit, who held Jiang Yuan in high regard after he cracked Case 515: “Not saying image analysis isn’t useful, but fingerprints are the king of evidence. If you’re good at fingerprints, why waste time on images? Besides, image guys stare at screens all day—they ruin their eyes.”

At this, everyone present burst into laughter.

Who ruined their eyes first—fingerprint guys or image guys? Hard to say.

“What case did Jiang Yuan just crack? I rushed out and didn’t check the details,” Li Zemin asked again. He’d been thinking about the Zhonghua cigarettes and hadn’t clicked into the case info.

Jiang Yuan said: “Arson case—Fumin Building in Changyang City.”

“Arson case—no wonder,” Li Zemin nodded. “Suspect? Matched?”

“Currently serving time in Prison One—for arson,” Jiang Yuan replied.

Li Zemin blinked, then chuckled: “Then it’s definitely solid.”

Jiang Yuan agreed and handed him another cigarette.

Li Zemin exhaled smoke and asked: “Aren’t you having one?”

Jiang Yuan shook his head: “Someone said even smoking without inhaling absorbs nicotine—I’ve quit.”

“Then you’re wasting your cigarettes,” Li Zemin sighed, taking a deep drag.

“That way, there’s more for everyone. And it gives me an excuse to step out for air.”

“That’s the right mindset—broadens your path,” Li Zemin said, looking at Jiang Yuan with admiration. After years as a detective, he understood human relations well—he admired two kinds of people: those with exceptional skills, and those who handled people and affairs brilliantly. Jiang Yuan had just checked both boxes by offering the Zhonghua cigarettes.

Jiang Yuan shared two more cigarettes with the group, then returned to his office—his host machine’s roar had ended.

The machine, never used for such grueling work, panted heavily; when Jiang Yuan moved the mouse, its fans spun wildly, as if the casing had split open and shouted: Can you hurry up?

Jiang Yuan ignored the machine’s noise, focused, and began marking feature points on the processed fingerprint image.

This time, he was working on a blood fingerprint so blurred it was nearly unreadable—likely captured from glass or another reflective surface, still showing glare; to the naked eye, the overall quality was extremely poor.

But after image processing, it was barely acceptable—yet even this fingerprint image would still be nearly impossible for an ordinary fingerprint examiner to mark accurately.

Image enhancement works much like a beauty filter: turning a pitch-black fingerprint into clear, bright ridges is essentially the same logic as turning a pitch-black face into a clear, bright one. But forensic image enhancement has stricter requirements—it must preserve true ridge distortions and variations.

When marking feature points on processed images, you must avoid certain special areas.

Jiang Yuan had to mark them with extra care.

Li Zemin rubbed his ears, glancing amusedly between Jiang Yuan and the host machine, which occasionally groaned as if still recovering.

Yes, the noise was unbearable—but if it led to a fingerprint match, even the director would have to endure it with earplugs.

The most direct solution would be replacing the computer or providing a dedicated room. Someone had probably already complained—maybe even called the director directly.

Seeing Jiang Yuan’s demeanor, Li Zemin figured he didn’t care much. Then again, everyone served the people—if the machine was worn out, didn’t that prove the operator’s dedication? As long as results came, maybe even inviting the director to witness it would be better.

Just then, Yang Ling, head of the fingerprint unit, entered the office.

The provincial bureau’s fingerprint unit was a section-level unit with only a handful of staff, mainly handling communication and coordination—such as organizing fingerprint campaigns.

Yang Ling, in her thirties, was a top graduate of the Criminal Police College, technically skilled, capable, and socially adept, effortlessly directing a group of middle-aged, severely nearsighted fingerprint examiners.

Entering the office, Yang Ling smiled warmly, walked up to Jiang Yuan, and whispered: “Teacher Jiang, do you have a moment?”

Calling him “Teacher” was a sign of great respect.

Jiang Yuan looked up, saw it was Yang Ling, smiled back, but hesitated slightly: “I’m sorry, just one minute? This one looks promising.”

“Understood, understood,” Yang Ling nodded immediately. During the fingerprint campaign, reading fingerprints was the most important thing—she had no need to rush.

Out of courtesy, Yang Ling walked around the desk and stood beside Jiang Yuan.

From her position, she could see the fingerprint image on his screen.

The two images were indeed quite similar.

Yang Ling’s expression grew serious.

Each case here, if released to the public, would stir up immense attention. Even working at the provincial bureau, surrounded by cases daily, Yang Ling dared not take any lightly.

Though the provincial bureau held fingerprint campaigns every few months, gathering dozens of experts to work day and night for half a month, only if they solved over fifty cases would they make a big deal out of it.

On average, each fingerprint expert solved just one case.

And anyone who’s had their workload averaged knows: “one case per person” means many experts went home with zero results.

Zero results weren’t the issue—if every expert could guarantee a result after fourteen days of effort, there wouldn’t be so many cases piling up at the provincial bureau.

Therefore, if Jiang Yuan’s current fingerprint showed promise, Yang Ling would never, under any circumstances, dare to disturb him.

The Defense Is Here

Jiang Yuan checked left and right, then opened the original blood fingerprint for a closer look.

After about two or three minutes, Jiang Yuan submitted his “match confirmed,” exhaled, and looked at Yang Ling: “Sorry, I was just finishing the final step.”

“No problem, no problem,” Yang Ling waved her hand, glancing again at Jiang Yuan’s screen.

At that moment, the number of experts agreeing with Jiang Yuan’s “match confirmed” on his screen’s lower-right corner surged rapidly.

Many had noticed Head Yang had arrived and naturally checked the latest update.

And after seeing the new message, agreeing with Jiang Yuan’s “match confirmed” was only natural.

On the wall in front of the office, the projection screen’s results ranking showed Jiang Yuan had jumped to second place, trailing only Zhu Huan by one case.

“You came to see me—what’s the matter?” Jiang Yuan asked Yang Ling.

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