Chapter 944: The Case Has Grown More Complex

“Can’t you guys have some sense at all~”

Qin Jingru angrily tidied up the kitchen, muttering under her breath about the two who came home late.

“Even if you had something to do, couldn’t you spare a moment to call home~”

“Went to take a bath”

Han Jiankun was really good at explaining—he knew his wife had said they were late because they had something to do, yet he went out of his way to claim they’d just been bathing.

“Of course!”

Qin Jingru brought out a basin of braised pork and set it on the table, glaring at Han Jiankun: “You two went out having fun while leaving us women at home worrying ourselves sick, is that it!”

Han Jiankun glanced at the basin of braised pork, his lips twitching involuntarily; he kept his head down and said nothing.

He didn’t care about his wife’s nagging—this wasn’t meant for him!

He was a driver; where he went depended entirely on his superiors—he wouldn’t take the blame for this.

Li Xuewu could hear the subtext in her words, but he didn’t care—he wasn’t the head of this household; Gu Ning was.

As Gu Ning’s belly grew larger and her movements became more difficult, Qin Jingru’s attitude grew increasingly cautious.

Every day after returning home, she reminded Li Xuewu not to sleep too soundly at night and to keep an eye on Gu Ning when she got up to use the toilet.

Due to physiological changes, the larger the fetus grows, the more frequently the pregnant woman must urinate.

Though Qin Jingru had just married and hadn’t given birth yet, she was very familiar with caring for pregnant women—there had never been a shortage of children in her family since childhood.

Add to that Liu Yin’s advice months ago when they returned to the Sihe Academy, and the arrangements made by the old lady while she was here—she paid special attention to diet, nutrition, sleep, and rest.

So Li Xuewu, who often challenged these rules, became Qin Jingru’s object of vigilance.

“Why did you suddenly think of stewing meat?”

Li Xuewu raised his eyebrows slightly, surprised to see the basin of braised pork.

Even though their household was doing well, real opportunities to eat stewed meat were rare—not because they lacked meat, but because Qin Jingru herself couldn’t bear to use it up.

“Little Ning wants to eat it”

Qin Jingru stood to the side with a helpless expression: “She kept complaining in the afternoon that she wanted some, but when I made it tonight, she only ate two bites.”

“You two eat!”

As she spoke, she noticed both men staring at her.

“Why are you looking at me? Do I have braised pork on my face? Hurry up and eat—I’ve been busy all day and need to wash the dishes!”

Watching Qin Jingru go to the living room to soothe the child, Li Xuewu and Han Jiankun exchanged glances, both eyes fixed on the pork.

“Jiankun, eat some meat.”

“Leader, you eat.”

“Don’t be polite—eat, eat, have more!”

“You eat~ you eat, you eat too~”

…

Li Xuewu hated corpses—he was a gentle, literary young man, ill-suited for cases like this.

After seeing that thing in the afternoon, coming home to find braised pork made him feel sick!

They kept politely deferring to each other, and in the end, each of them ate only half the basin.

Yeah, they didn’t eat much at all.

In the end, Han Jiankun used the leftover broth to soak his steamed buns—cleaned the pot completely, no need to wash it.

Qin Jingru came in and took one look: “Good heavens, thank goodness I only made one basin—if I’d made less, they’d have eaten the pot too!”

Their polite refusal earlier had nothing to do with the afternoon’s discovery—it was simply because meat was hard to come by in this era.

What?

Disgusting?

You haven’t seen anything disgusting yet—in winter trenches it’s bearable, but in summer? The smell? Absolutely delightful.

Especially in rainforest zones—when the front lines distribute canned food, just listen.

The rookie in the next trench lets out a “heave!” while the veterans on this side just go “slurp!”

The severed limbs were just in the way—pick them up, toss them out, wipe your hands on your pants, and keep eating.

The motto: you vomit, I eat—nobody bothers anyone else.

Won’t eat?

Then starve. Are you waiting for your squad leader to come over and sweet-talk you like a child into eating?

Yeah, wait—wait until Da Fei kicks you like a kid till you’re crying, then you’ll know to eat.

Li Xuewu never needed anyone to urge him to eat—he’d been starving since childhood, before joining the army; at twelve or thirteen, he ate lunch at eleven, and by half past noon he was half-starved.

Li Shun’s salary was high enough, and he earned well when he first started—but little was added to the household; it all went into the mouths of these kids.

While other families’ children cried from hunger, Li’s four children grew tall and strong, their cheeks plump with fat.

Neighbors envied the Li family’s children, saying Li Shun wasn’t a doctor at the Traditional Chinese Medicine Hospital—he was a pig farmer.

Li Xuewu ate well as a child and grew up healthy—his family fed him well, but he kept running off to play, so his belly stayed empty.

Back then, children weren’t worth much, nor were people—whatever grew in the fields, flew in the sky, or swam in the rivers, if others could eat it without dying, everyone ate it too.

When he joined the army and proper training began, this tall boy became an even bigger eater.

His habit of eating fast started then—others might be full after three large steamed buns, but he needed six, and they all had the same amount of time.

So before braised pork or plain rice, no problem was a problem.

Not just him—even retired cadres and teachers sent down to the countryside, once refined and genteel, now sneaked off at night to the latrine to gnaw stolen radishes.

When you’re not hungry, you’re all bravado; when you’re truly starving, give you a bite to eat and you’ll call your benefactor “Grandpa”—even “Ancestor” won’t be too much.

Don’t compare city life to rural life, and don’t compare the lives of dual-income cadres to ordinary people.

Even in the early 21st century, hunger hadn’t been eradicated—think about this era: Yin Mancang called him, and half the people in the neighboring village were gone.

Don’t ask where they went—answer: natural disasters and human misfortunes, five out of ten households empty.

City dwellers rarely see this—go walk around the countryside. Villages named Wangjia Village, Li Family Village, Zhao Family Village? Those names were mostly changed in the 1950s.

Ask the villagers how many still bear the surnames Wang, Li, or Zhao—if few remain, that’s the reason.

If you’re wealthy—even if you’re a farmer—you’re wrong. Your land was hoarded by ancestors who scrimped and saved; you’re a landlord.

If a village still has many people with the same surname, ask the elders if those families truly bore that name—answers will differ.

Before death, changing your surname may be a condition—and instinct—for survival; ancestors don’t feed you.

A Zhang moves into Li Family Village, and suddenly everyone’s Li—you’re Zhang? Looking for trouble?

You don’t need to look far—ask around the outskirts of Jingcheng, you’ll find plenty.

Entering December, especially after mid-December, the weather turned brutally cold.

“Gaga” isn’t an adjective—it’s onomatopoeic; you hear “ga, ga” when snapping many things.

Soft things froze solid; hard things shattered.

Li Xuewu was used to wearing a jacket with a wool overcoat on duty, since he spent more time in the office than outdoors.

But after yesterday’s crime scene experience, and realizing this case wouldn’t be resolved in a day or two, he quickly dug out his cotton overcoat.

Han Jiankun was like a fool watching his neighbor’s New Year’s feast—seeing Li Xuewu prepare his cotton coat, he rummaged through his own things and found one too.

As for the underground storage room, Li Xuewu definitely knew less than these two—everything had been packed and stored by them.

On the 16th, Li Xuewu first spent the morning busy at the factory, then reported to Li Huai about assisting with the case.

Li Huai supported him, but insisted Li Xuewu not neglect his factory duties.

Li Xuewu assured him he wouldn’t delay factory work—he’d prioritize it above all else.

Li Huai understood the debt of favor—he couldn’t say who owed whom anymore; they all moved in the same Dongcheng circle, always bumping into each other—this case couldn’t be blocked.

After leaving the factory, he rushed to the Third Regiment’s base for a meeting and handled some documents.

Before he’d even finished, the branch office called.

Li Xuewu knew Banan well—once you took it on, there’d be no rest.

He was now drawing two salaries—he had to coordinate with both units, or else it’d count as doing private work.

Yesterday Zheng Fuhua said the ministry had approved it; a coordination letter should arrive soon once the case details were confirmed.

If the investigation took a long time, proper allowances must be given, personnel letters issued—no one could take leave casually.

When Li Xuewu arrived at the branch office, the conference room was already waiting.

The case analysis meeting first reaffirmed the investigative team structure: Zheng Fuhua in charge, Lai Shanchuan as lead investigator, with Li Xuewu added to assist.

Li Xuewu’s role as assistant was followed by a parenthetical: interrogation and guidance.

The meaning was clear—he wasn’t the lead investigator; his working hours were flexible.

The fact that today’s meeting waited for him alone spoke volumes.

Of course, don’t think it’s impressive—it’s normal in work, and for Li Xuewu, it wasn’t a good thing.

If they treat you with such respect and attention, yet you show no real skill or tangible results, you’ll be the one ashamed—no one needs to say a word.

“The forensic conclusion”

An assistant handed Li Xuewu the files; Lai Shanchuan, chairing the meeting, said: “Zhang Shuqin likely died two months ago, possibly on the 29th.”

Li Xuewu slightly raised his eyebrows, continuing to read the documents—he didn’t understand the earlier arguments, but the conclusion was vague.

Too much time had passed—two months, during a season of drastic climate change—no precise time could be determined.

“Explain the reasoning.”

Zheng Fuhua gestured for Lai Shanchuan to speak: “Also describe the victim’s condition.”

“Understood.”

Lai Shanchuan opened his notebook and reported to Zheng Fuhua: “According to the investigation, Zhang Shuqin left the credit union accompanied by a colleague—this is confirmed by someone at the credit union.”

“And Zhang Shuqin’s colleague confirmed they parted ways on the road in front of Wangfujing Mall.”

He glanced at his notes and added: “The investigation into her supply and marketing cooperative colleagues revealed she had receipts for purchases at the mall.”

“There are eyewitnesses, right?”

Zheng Fuhua tapped the table—reminding himself, and reminding Li Xuewu.

“I remember we handled this as a theft case originally; everyone involved had to be investigated.”

“Yes, there were eyewitnesses inside the mall.”

Lai Shanchuan confirmed: “According to the original door-to-door investigation, when she bought the leather shoes, she argued with the salesclerk over the price, even mentioning she herself was a salesclerk—this is clear.”

“Although the salesclerk’s statement and the counter receipts show she was alone when purchasing, they don’t prove when the two actually parted.”

“So we must first determine whether this supply and marketing cooperative salesclerk lied!”

Zheng Fuhua tapped the table with his finger, his gaze fixed on Li Xuewu: “Now it’s time to see your psychological skills.”

“Psychology isn’t magic, and it’s not a lie detector.”

Li Xuewu smiled helplessly: “Just make a comprehensive judgment. Lai Chu, keep going.”

“I’ve had doubts too.”

Lai Shanchuan frowned: “I used to wonder if we could find clues from her.”

He shook his head: “Now that the body turned up in the Goldfish Pond, unless she was part of a gang, she had no time to commit the murder alone.”

As he spoke, he pulled out case files: “We ran experiments and comparative investigations. The two parted at 2:11 p.m. The salesclerk estimated their meeting time around 2:30 p.m.”

“Based on the time needed to make the purchase and the time she was seen by an acquaintance upon returning home, she had no time to commit the crime.”

“Here are our experimental results.”

Lai Shanchuan slid a document across the table to Li Xuewu, signaling him to review it.

“From the credit union to Wangfujing Mall is 2.6 kilometers—by bicycle, it takes fifteen to eighteen minutes.”

“Assuming they parted at Wangfujing, if Zhang Shuqin rode alone, her arrival times at the Goldfish Pond and her home would be roughly equal.”

“From Wangfujing Mall to the Goldfish Pond is almost a direct side route—2.3 kilometers, fourteen to fifteen minutes.”

“From Wangfujing Mall to Qian’er Hutong, the victim’s home, is 5.5 kilometers—about thirty minutes by bike.”

“The odd part is here.”

Lai Shanchuan narrowed his eyes: “If we follow her daily commuting route—the shortest bike path—when she turned at Zhushi Kou East Street, the Goldfish Pond was just a few steps away.”

“Now I don’t understand: if she took the money and said she was going shopping with her colleague, that’s plausible.”

“But now we’re talking about fraud involving forty-five thousand yuan—and she brought her colleague along. That’s exactly why we suspect she fled with the money.”

“But now she’s dead in the Goldfish Pond—why did she go there?!”

“If she wanted to catch a train, she rode past it!”

“Hmm, that’s a key point.”

Zheng Fuhua frowned and nodded: “If we follow this hypothesis, then from the moment she parted from her colleague at Wangfujing until she reached the Goldfish Pond—was she alive or dead?”

The system and management of this era had flaws: on one hand, there was no electronic record-keeping to trace digital footprints; on the other, there were no surveillance cameras to identify individuals.

Thus, as the case files showed, the credit union’s accountant and cashier were the same person, and the supply and marketing cooperative’s cashier could take cash from the till and go shopping alone.

Li Xuewu carefully examined the environmental investigation data, specifically considering whether someone might exploit these loopholes.

Especially the key point: how did the fifty thousand yuan disappear?

The credit union’s management environment investigation showed its establishment and system evolved in two phases.

The first phase was from the early days of liberation to 1958—a period of widespread establishment and rapid growth of credit unions.

At the time, following directives from higher authorities to promote collectivization, nationwide rural areas implemented the “Three Cooperatives”: production cooperatives, supply and marketing cooperatives, and credit cooperatives.

Although early credit unions emerged from small-scale peasant economies, were small in scale, and had low management standards, China’s credit cooperative movement began here.

The second phase was from 1958 to the present—a period of management turmoil and adjustment.

During this time, the entire national economic system shifted under special policies and directives.

Credit cooperatives were hit hardest and changed the most.

Especially this year, rural credit union management has been handed over to communes and production teams, with highly irregular authority and personnel systems.

Because both operated under the same cooperative system, part of the supply and marketing cooperative’s merchandise funds were stored and managed by the credit union.

Li Xuewu stared at the management loopholes in the documents—frustrated and utterly helpless.

It wasn’t strange: in this era, many management systems were irregular, relying entirely on self-discipline and moral character.

You know what? Aside from a few exceptional cases, this moral restraint was surprisingly strong—even stronger than the law.

Look at modern management systems—you’ll understand why so many seemingly idiotic procedures were created: they were born from outdated institutional design.

Only after something went wrong did they rush to patch the hole—and even then, the patch was incomplete, as if deliberately leaving a gap for clever criminals.

Ask yourself: can the accountant and cashier be the same person? Can the cashier take public funds out to go shopping? Even by the late 1990s, no real lesson had been learned.

After Lai Shanchuan finished his report, Li Xuewu closed the documents and asked: “Did you find the victim’s bicycle?”

“What?”

Lai Shanchuan blinked, then turned to the head of the Criminal Investigation Unit.

“We looked. When we first searched for Zhang Shuqin, we investigated how she disappeared and paid attention to the bicycle.”

The Criminal Investigation Unit head frowned: “But we found nothing—it vanished as if with the victim.”

“We also wondered if she’d discarded it along the way or hidden it somewhere.”

He added, puzzled: “Since we found the body yesterday, we’ve been considering whether it’s in the Goldfish Pond.”

“Any results?”

Zheng Fuhua tilted his head slightly: “Did you leave someone at the Goldfish Pond yesterday?”

“Yes, we had someone on duty.”

The Public Security Unit head nodded: “We assigned personnel to monitor. Last night, someone did sneak onto the ice—but we found nothing.”

“Don’t be careless.”

Zheng Fuhua frowned: “Be wary of secondary concealment—this could happen.”

“Like discovering a clue, fearing surveillance, and marking a new hiding spot.”

Lai Shanchuan explained to the Public Security Unit head: “Director Zheng means we must monitor suspicious behavior without alerting them.”

“This….”

The Public Security Unit head hesitated: “During the day, it’s manageable. But at night, under moonlight, visibility is still poor.”

“If there’s no moon, we can only rely on manpower—no other option.”

“No good. If someone’s watching, this trick won’t work.”

Zheng Fuhua tapped the table, frowning, and turned his gaze to Li Xuewu.

Li Xuewu paused, then smiled: “This is so close to the Third Regiment’s base—you could just make a phone call.”

“I call? What’s easier than asking you directly?”

Zheng Fuhua pointed to Li Xuewu and told the Public Security Unit head: “Ask Li Tuan to lend us an infrared night vision device—it might work.”

“Li Tuan…”

The Public Security Unit head stood up to salute Li Xuewu, but Li Xuewu waved him down.

Li Xuewu gestured for him to sit and nodded: “I’ll call later—you go pick it up.”

“I’ve used one—damn thing, the battery alone weighed twenty-nine jin. Carrying it was exhausting.”

“Mounted on a rifle, it looked like a searchlight—we always took it off. For big targets like tanks, you could see them a kilometer away.”

Li Xuewu explained: “For people, three hundred meters is the limit. I’d guess you’d need to get within a hundred meters for clear observation.”

“Having it is better than nothing!”

The Public Security Unit head grinned: “This ‘night vision eye’ is better than our eyes. We could dig a pit and hide inside—just cold.”

“Figure something out. Push through it.”

Lai Shanchuan nodded: “For now, let’s proceed this way and see how things develop.”

The infrared night vision device Zheng Fuhua and Li Xuewu mentioned wasn’t high-tech—it had been used by the Germans in World War II.

What we used now was a copy of war spoils captured during the Korean Aid War, successfully replicated by Jicheng Optical Factory in 1958.

For the first time, Li Xuewu’s role in the case was recognized—not a critical turning point, but enough to earn him respectful glances.

“Talk about the case.”

Zheng Fuhua asked Li Xuewu: “What’s your take?”

“I still think there are many suspicious points.”

Li Xuewu shook his head slightly: “Based on current evidence, Zhang Shuqin was definitely murdered—the motive was almost certainly the money.”

“The killer likely used her identification to send letters from various locations to mislead you.”

“Why? Simple.”

Li Xuewu looked at Lai Shanchuan: “Because you investigated her social connections—you may have triggered the case’s first security fuse.”

“Premeditated murder…”

Lai Shanchuan was startled, then realized—it made sense. Until now, they’d assumed it was a crime of passion.

Clearly, from this angle, it might be a robbery-murder.

But following Li Xuewu’s logic, it becomes premeditated murder.

The difference was enormous—completely different investigative approaches.

“I’m just hypothesizing.”

Li Xuewu noticed the surprise on Lai Shanchuan and the others, and explained: “First, Zhang Shuqin likely had no plan to flee with the funds—you all should know that.”

“Yes, we previously suspected it too.”

Lai Shanchuan nodded: “At first, we suspected Zhang Shuqin had committed fraud and fled, but we found no trace of her departure.”

“Then we suspected she might have been harmed—either killed by an accomplice or by someone who saw the money and acted on greed.”

“But the letter appeared and threw off our focus, and with the pressure… we circled back to the original assumption: a fraud and flight case.”

“Hmm, now that I think about it, there were problems.”

He frowned, thinking, then said: “Zhang Shuqin didn’t tell her husband, didn’t pack any valuables from home, and left all her documents behind—it’s suspicious.”

“Also, according to this investigation, the motive of using public funds to shop at a mall seems plausible.”

Li Xuewu tapped the file and reminded: “Her sudden separation from her colleague right outside the mall is suspicious—did you investigate that?”

“Yes.”

The Criminal Unit chief spoke: “We questioned her colleagues. She rode off directly and didn’t linger near the mall.”

“Then where did she go?”

Li Xuewu raised an eyebrow: “She knew she was carrying public funds—and money from fraud—so what was she planning to do?”

“From a normal perspective…”

Lai Shanchuan tapped his own head: “She should’ve taken that money and vanished. If she called her colleague along, she should’ve shifted the danger onto them.”

“I thought the same.”

Li Xuewu frowned: “All clues point to serious irregularities. A premeditated fraudster would never fail to secure an escape route.”

“So now there are three directions.”

Li Xuewu looked at Zheng Fuhua: “First, confirm whether Zhang Shuqin actually committed fraud—did she take the money, and who else handled it?”

“Second, investigate Zhang Shuqin’s social connections—her lover, anyone who might have been an accomplice, then betrayed and killed her.”

“Third, investigate her cause of death—track her personal belongings and bicycle to deduce the killer’s methods and habits.”

“Also trace the murder weapon and the primary crime scene—check if robbery occurred. Don’t overlook this.”

“Right!”

Lai Shanchuan added: “Check whether the victim had any motive for fraud—what she truly intended to do with the money. It definitely wasn’t to go to Hong Kong!”

“If we rule out passion murder and an accomplice as backup, and if she feared exposure, it’s possible she avoided taking documents and kept her routine unchanged.”

“She might not have died on the 29th—if so, this case becomes a massive mess.”

“Hmm.”

Zheng Fuhua nodded: “That makes sense. The third direction is unlikely, but we can’t afford to be careless.”

“Then investigate—her social ties, the credit union’s fund transfers and documents, and the cause of death.”

“Alright.”

He pointed at Li Xuewu and instructed Lai Shanchuan: “For any re-investigation involving statements, ask Comrade Xuewu to review them—double-check everything.”

“Got it, no problem.”

Lai Shanchuan, energized by the successful case analysis and new direction, now looked alert.

“We need to re-interrogate Yu Lanfang, and summon personnel from the supply and credit union involved—please ask Comrade Li Tuan to help.”

“Then let’s split up and move.”

Zheng Fuhua closed his notebook, glanced at his watch, and said to Li Xuewu: “Work must be done, but lunch must be eaten too.”

He smiled at Lai Shanchuan: “Comrade Li Tuan doesn’t like our kitchen master’s cooking—tell Master Zhang to prepare some hearty dishes.”

“Forget it, whatever’s served is fine.”

Li Xuewu waved him off and turned to Zheng Fuhua: “It’s been a long time since I ate food that tastes like gasoline—I miss it.”

“Hahaha~”

Lai Shanchuan and the others burst out laughing: “Our bureau’s specialty dish—eat it once, you’ll come back. That’s why we call our canteen ‘Good Again.’”

“...”

Li Xuewu pulled at his lip at the explanation: “What a waste of a good name.”

“What are you doing here?”

After lunch, Li Xuewu followed Lai Shanchuan to re-interrogate Yu Lanfang.

It was his first time meeting a direct suspect in this case.

Yu Lanfang, opera performer, leading old male role in the drama troupe.

According to Lai Shanchuan, Yu Lanfang wasn’t ordinary—he was the adopted son of Master Ma of Peking Opera, a top disciple of Master Tan, personally instructed by Master Li.

So when Li Xuewu met him, he saw no special treatment.

Peking Opera masters were once prominent figures, not to be trifled with—but now they meant nothing.

If masters meant nothing, what was a disciple worth? Especially when entangled in fraud.

Of course, physical abuse was unlikely—even if earlier interrogations had been rough, they wouldn’t have gone too far.

But his mental state was poor—he’d clearly suffered. Professional interrogation takes a heavy toll on the spirit.

Yet from his posture and speech, he was clearly educated: his words were clear, his expression slightly melancholic, yet calm.

Only when Lai Shanchuan mentioned his wife Zhang Shuqin did he lose control.

But Li Xuewu found no suspicious signs—even though he himself was a fake psychology expert.

Not finding signs doesn’t mean he’s innocent. Actors are experts at hiding emotion and inner turmoil. Li Xuewu trusted no one.

So he cried; neither of them delayed anything—they kept questioning.

When they exited the interrogation room, Lai Shanchuan saw Li Xuewu frowning—he knew Li Xuewu had gained nothing, and they’d have to question others.

As soon as he entered the office, Li Xuewu saw Lin Tingting sitting in a chair—that’s what caused his earlier surprise.

Lin Tingting was lost in thought; hearing footsteps, she looked up and widened her eyes in shock upon seeing Li Xuewu.

Lai Shanchuan also stared at her, then at Li Xuewu: “Do you know her too?”

He added “too” because yesterday, Li Xuewu had also known the person who found the body—this city was too small.

“Yes, that Lai Commandant.”

Li Xuewu pulled at his lip, turning his back to Lai Shanchuan: “I think I need to recuse myself from this case.”

“Why?”

Lai Shanchuan raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the woman inside: “Your relative?”

“We dated.”

Li Xuewu was a grown man; his relationship with Lai Shanchuan was professional—he had no shame saying this.

Especially in a case, if recusal is needed, don’t hesitate—otherwise you’ll get dragged in.

He was here to help, not to be a sacrificial lamb. Who knew how many people this case would Qianche ?

If suspicion turned toward him—even if he was innocent—he didn’t want it.

Seeing Li Xuewu about to leave, Lai Shanchuan grabbed him: “Don’t give me that crap. Unless she’s your wife or your blood relative, recusal has nothing to do with this!”

He pulled Li Xuewu inside: “This case finally has a glimmer of progress—if you walk out now, Director Zheng will scold me to death!”

“It’s not like that.”

Li Xuewu waved: “I didn’t even know she was involved—if I had, I’d have—”

“Irrelevant. I’m leading this case.”

Lai Shanchuan wasn’t stupid. Even if they’d dated, he didn’t believe Li Xuewu would break the law over it.

If he truly wanted to help her, he wouldn’t have come here personally.

Besides, this woman is only a suspect—extremely minor. If her background check had been clean, she wouldn’t be sitting here.

“I’ll handle this with Director Zheng. You stay and help me solve this case—nowhere to go.”

As he’d just said, Li Xuewu was a man of great wisdom. With progress finally made, he couldn’t let him go.

He spoke while pushing Li Xuewu into the chair, then turned to the stunned Lin Tingting: “Since you and Comrade Li Tuan are old acquaintances, our conversation will be simpler.”

“Tell us everything you know—every detail related to the case.”

Lai Shanchuan sat beside Li Xuewu and gestured to Lin Tingting: “Comrade Li Tuan is here—he’s our expert consultant. Help him, help me, help yourself.”

“I...”

Lin Tingting’s gaze shifted from Li Xuewu to Lai Shanchuan: “I’ve already told you everything I know—my part’s been cleared, hasn’t it?”

“New developments have emerged.”

Lai Shanchuan raised an eyebrow: “Zhang Shuqin is dead.”

“What?!”

Li Xuewu clearly saw Lin Tingting’s shock—her expression wasn’t faked.

“How… how could this happen...”

“That’s the situation.”

Lai Shanchuan sighed, pursing his lips: “Two months of work wasted.”

“She died two months ago—almost exactly the day of the crime, right after you last saw her.”

“Last time...”

Lai Shanchuan’s goal was to make her revisit that moment—to reexamine whether she’d missed anything critical.

Lin Tingting nervously twisted her fingers, frowning in thought. Zhang Shuqin’s death brought her great pain.

She wasn’t just recalling what happened during their last meeting—she was wondering how Zhang Shuqin could be dead.

For months, Zhang Shuqin’s fraud and flight had seemed settled; her involvement had been thoroughly cleared.

Unexpectedly, the case took another turn—the fraud became a case of embezzlement and flight, and now it’s become a murder case.

“Tell me again what happened.”

Seeing she couldn’t recall, her forehead slick with sweat, Li Xuewu tapped the desk to remind her to follow the clues step by step, starting from the beginning.

Lin Tingting looked up at Li Xuewu and nodded: “That day I only had a half-day shift; they suddenly said I needed to go to Wangfujing to find the pair of shoes I liked…”

The situation was simple: she wasn’t Zhang Shuqin’s partner for withdrawing money, and that day’s actions had nothing to do with the funds.

No wonder Li Xuewu had grimaced while reviewing the environmental investigation files upstairs—the cashier could perform the withdrawal alone.

The two of them ate lunch at the supply and marketing cooperative, then rode their bikes together to the credit cooperative; she waited outside while Zhang Shuqin withdrew the money, and then they rode together toward Wangfujing.

Lin Tingting carefully recalled: when they both reached the entrance of Wangfujing, Zhang Shuqin suddenly stopped her, saying she had something to attend to.

They had planned to shop together and return together—Lin Tingting’s home was near the supply and marketing cooperative, so their routes were aligned.

But she didn’t think much of Zhang Shuqin’s sudden departure, assuming she was returning to work; she didn’t even ask, and went off to shop alone.

“That’s all I know.”

Lin Tingting looked at Li Xuewu and Lai Shanchuan, her voice trembling: “This has nothing to do with me.”

“I’ll ask, you answer.”

Li Xuewu looked into her eyes and pointed at himself to remind her to focus on him.

“Okay.”

Looking at that familiar yet slightly alien face, Lin Tingting felt a flood of emotions.

Trusting Li Xuewu, she forced herself to calm down and listened to his questions.

“How did you determine the exact time you parted from Zhang Shuqin?”

Li Xuewu tapped the investigation file on the case dossier and asked: “It says the time is recorded to the minute.”

“My watch—I have a watch.”

Lin Tingting hesitated for a moment, then lowered her head, rolled up her sleeve, and revealed the watch inside.

Li Xuewu glanced at it and nodded—he remembered this watch; it was the wedding gift he had given her.

Back then, he didn’t have watch coupons; it was Lao Biao who helped him get it.

Things remain, but people have changed—she is still the same person, yet between them now stood a desk, wide and wide…