Chapter 988

“He must have gotten it. Otherwise, he would have captured Zhang Xiaoya for questioning instead of killing him outright.”

Liu Jinghui solved a complex problem with simple reasoning.

Qi Changye nodded unconsciously: “Makes sense. If you really can’t find it, at least set fire to that room.”

At this moment, Qi Changye finally appreciated the value of the Reasoning King. Solving a twenty-year-old cold case with evidence alone is incredibly difficult—but a sound deduction resolves it directly.

Liu Jinghui’s face showed no trace of pride; such deductions were effortless for him. Only after elaborating further on the case did his expression turn slightly more serious. “Now the key question: have you cracked this intelligence network? Any findings?”

Qi Changye hesitated, then said: “I’ve already sent people to investigate, but so far, nothing. Logically speaking… well, it hasn’t been cracked. Otherwise, given the connection to the Zhang family and Jianmen Academy case, there would’ve been some feedback.”

“So this spy network is still active?”

“Well… not necessarily.” Qi Changye paused, then continued: “We shouldn’t imagine spy networks as too mysterious. Networks that operated for twenty years without detection are extremely rare—of course, we only hear about the ones that were caught. Normally, if a spy cell survives twenty years, it’s likely because it’s still in dormant phase, not yet activated.”

“You mean Zhang Xiaoya discovered a spy cell in dormant phase?”

“That possibility is also very low—if it’s dormant… but who knows? Maybe some coincidence occurred.” Qi Changye spread his hands. “Isn’t reality stranger than fiction these days? Especially in espionage—there’ve been plenty of big shots unlucky enough to get caught.”

Qi Changye rarely spoke this much, but since he was being asked for information, he paused again and added: “There’s another possibility. Zhang Xiaoya may have uncovered a spy network that was either active or just beginning to go dormant. The opposing intelligence officer, upon discovering it, might have dealt with the issue by reclassifying the cell from active to dormant—or even withdrawing it entirely.”

“If they withdrew it, doesn’t that mean the case ends here?” Huang Qiangmin couldn’t help interjecting.

Qi Changye sighed: “Unsolved cases are common enough. But on the bright side, most spy networks rely primarily on locally recruited assets, so full withdrawal is rare. Re-dormancy is far more common.”

“Twenty years, and they still haven’t withdrawn?”

“It’s possible. But there’s no need. A recruited asset is valuable only if he stays local. If you recall him, he becomes nothing but a burden to maintain.”

“I see…” Liu Jinghui fell into thought.

Qi Changye continued: “In most spy networks, even high-level ones, there’s at most one or two of our own intelligence officers. Often, there are none at all. These officers mostly handle liaison work and often have diplomatic cover… In this case, there’s still no sign of any high-value intelligence.”

Sending one of our own trained intelligence officers to conduct covert operations abroad is an elite-level spy network—like police sending an undercover agent into a criminal organization. Such immense risk demands commensurate reward. But can a typical criminal organization justify the risk of one police officer? And can a police undercover agent really gain greater returns?

Similarly, if we send out a carefully trained intelligence officer, can we be certain he’ll gather more intelligence? And if he’s captured, might he leak more than he gathers?

Thus, even the spy networks Qi Changye had encountered were mostly composed of locally recruited members.

“Then we need to re-examine everything Zhang Xiaoya did before his death. I recall someone already worked on this.” Liu Jinghui picked up the phone and ordered someone to retrieve the files.

Soon, Wang Chuan entered carrying materials.

The earlier task force had already, based on witness statements and neighborhood inquiries, established Zhang Xiaoya’s movements in the three days before his death.

The notebook’s dense timeline showed this trajectory had been meticulously compiled.

But it was useless.

In criminal investigation, if you can’t solve the case, everything is wasted.

The bitterness of criminal investigation corresponds exactly to the sweetness of bureaucratic work.

Jiang Yuan took the trajectory chart and slowly flipped through it.

Liu Jinghui and Qi Changye continued discussing the case, constantly bringing over physical evidence.

“Have you found the newspapers?” Jiang Yuan finished reviewing Zhang Xiaoya’s movements and gained no insight—he still needed more data.

Qi Changye paused his conversation with Liu Jinghui, took a sip of water, and said: “They’re going through records at several newspapers. Right now, the main goal is confirming the names used in the ads. Back then, placing ads didn’t require real names—you just paid and got it published. No ID needed. We don’t even know how many aliases the suspect used.”

“Even if not on a fixed schedule, the ads should’ve appeared on the designated page of the designated newspaper, with a conspicuous marker, to serve as a code.” Jiang Yuan offered casually.

“Jiang Yuan knows his stuff.” Qi Changye sat up, glanced at Jiang Yuan, then smiled: “We’re checking the same way. So far, we’ve identified two newspapers: China TV Weekly and Democracy and Rule of Law. Ads in the center column, under thirty characters, irregular timing. The advertiser’s name is always one of the three surnames: Liu, Guan, or Zhang.”

“The Three Kingdoms.” Jiang Yuan murmured as he scanned the center-column ads in the three-proof notebook.

The first page’s center ad read: Two male bulls, three years old, dark-colored, glossy coat, healthy, for sale due to production changes. Interested parties please call BP: 126***

Jiang Yuan pointed at the BP number and asked Qi Changye: “Is this BP number fake?”

“Probably. Each ad has a different number—we haven’t had time to check thoroughly yet.” Qi Changye had only recently taken over the case.

Jiang Yuan nodded and continued flipping through the ads one by one, occasionally jotting notes.

Qi Changye waited beside him for a while, his attention gradually shifting back to Liu Jinghui.

Soon, phone calls began pouring in, and Qi Changye grew busier, forced to open a separate office for on-site work.

The workload was clearly heavy. Soon, Qi Changye became overwhelmed, his shouts growing louder.

Jiang Yuan and Liu Jinghui whispered to each other, their voices growing quieter.

Finally, as Qi Changye’s voice rose sharply, Jiang Yuan waved him over.

“I’ve got something.” Jiang Yuan said.

“From where? The code?” Qi Changye was even more surprised—he hadn’t seen Jiang Yuan leave, and the only new evidence was the codebook.

“Yes.” Jiang Yuan answered promptly.

Qi Changye found it incomprehensible: “You translated the code? Our seized codebook is incomplete.”

He didn’t disbelieve—it just seemed illogical. An incomplete codebook couldn’t fully decode messages. And if Jiang Yuan could crack it, why hadn’t his own experts done so sooner?

Jiang Yuan didn’t need to explain further. He waved his hand: “It’s true the suspect didn’t copy all the codes. But we should ask: why did he copy any at all?”

“From where? The password?” Qi Changye was even more surprised; he hadn’t seen Jiang Yuan leave, and the only new evidence was the password book.

Jiang Yuan opened his notebook: “I believe the suspect couldn’t remember so many codes. Li Dianzhong had low education and likely had no interest in memorizing codes, so he copied down only some—mostly infrequent phrases and numeric or alphabetic substitutions, probably for quick reference.”

Jiang Yuan emphasized: “In other words, he didn’t copy codes he already knew well. I’ve compiled these, and found some high-frequency terms that allow reasonable guesses.”

“Midway?” Qi Changye instantly recalled the famous WWII code story.

“Exactly.” Jiang Yuan drew a line in the air: “Three represents the printing plant.”

"Why?"

Jiang Yuan opened his notebook and said, "I believe the suspect couldn't remember so many passwords. Li Dianzhong has low educational attainment and likely has little interest in memorizing passwords, so he wrote down some of them. From the recorded passwords, it's clear he mostly noted uncommon phrases, along with numbers and letter codes—probably for easy reference."

Jiang Yuan emphasized further, "In other words, he didn't write down passwords he was already familiar with. I've compiled these, and found several high-frequency terms that allow reasonable guesses."

"Midway?" Qi Changye quickly recalled the famous WWII password story.

"Correct." Jiang Yuan drew a line in the air with his hand: "Three represents the offset printing factory."