TTB C10

Chapter 10

7  “Does he treat you badly?”

He Lin chose a restaurant not far from the city bureau and led Li Shang inside.

As soon as they entered, the proprietress greeted He Lin warmly, clearly recognizing a regular.

Li Shang looked around, picked a spot, and sat first.

After a brief chat with the proprietress, He Lin turned and noticed Li Shang had chosen the inner side of the dining room.

It avoided windows and was away from the crowd, but closer to the back kitchen exit; even at noon it needed lighting.

Li Shang sat reading the menu, posture naturally straight, head slightly lowered. The sidelight traced his clean jawline, drawing a near‑perfect edge.

If Fang Jue sat there alone, he would look like an idle stray puppy; but Li Shang there gave a sense of quiet ease—calm and solitary.

He Lin pondered for a moment how best to describe it, then thought: like a proud, beautiful crane.

He Lin had a soft spot for colleagues who were both independent and efficient.

In the team, Old Wu was experienced but old‑school, with a generational gap; Cheng Xiaoyi mainly handled technical and clerical work; Fang Jue was young—high enthusiasm, less steadiness; there was no one to really strategize with.

He Lin suddenly felt that even if they couldn’t be master and apprentice, he and Li Shang could at least become good buddies.

That corner looked inconspicuous, but He Lin immediately caught the logic in it; he sat across from Li Shang: “Nice choice—picked the best spot on entry.”

Li Shang looked up and explained: “Fewer people here. Quieter.”

He Lin smiled: “It’s a dead‑angle seat—if there’s a sniper outside, too many obstructions for a shot. But your view outward is wide—you can see the whole room, respond to front or back entrances.”

He added, “Back in the unit, this spot was reserved for the on‑scene commander.”

Li Shang hadn’t thought of that. He noticed He Lin was sitting with his back to the hall and said, “Let’s swap.”

“Swap what? I’m kidding.” He Lin grabbed a handful of seeds by the table, with no intention to move. “We’re beside the bureau—half the room are cops. Anyone looking for trouble would be crazy. It’s just a meal—no need to be so on edge.”

A server set down a printed order.

“I took the liberty of ordering house specials,” He Lin said. “Add or change anything you want.”

“You pick; it’s fine.” Li Shang closed the menu without looking. “I don’t eat much; no need to add.”

“Alright, that’s it then.”

While they waited, He Lin said, “Let’s talk shop while the food’s coming.”

Hearing “shop,” Li Shang, previously indifferent to eating, straightened up.

“I want to share a private trick.”

Li Shang glanced around at the noisy room: “Here?”

Bone‑deep vigilance made him habitually scan.

He Lin was relaxed, unafraid of “eavesdroppers”: “It’s fine—most people can’t learn it. And won’t need it.”

Li Shang relaxed, but still asked, “Have you taught the others?”

“They don’t need it. Old Wu has his own veteran system; Fang Jue’s intuition’s a bit weak; Cheng’s mainly online intel.” He Lin turned to Li Shang, earnest. “Only teaching you.”

“Alright—let’s hear it.”

He Lin put the seeds down. “Investigating missing persons is unlike any other case.”

He continued: “In conventional criminal cases, there’s a scene first—body, forensic evidence, witnesses—you follow the trail and can always find something. What’s the defining feature of missing persons?”

Li Shang tapped the table twice, then answered: “No body.”

Neither living nor dead in sight—hence “missing.”

“Right.” He Lin’s gaze deepened. “At the crime’s first moment, the corpse, the victim, the killer—that’s a homicide’s origin point. We don’t have that. We face boundless fog; it could be anything. That’s why missing‑person cases are the hardest.”

Li Shang finally looked intrigued. “So how to crack it?”

“I use a method: outcome‑orientation,” He Lin said. “Like your summary in the meeting—but more granular. Write out all possible outcomes. That categorization often breaks stalemates faster.”

Li Shang thought for a beat, eyes narrowing slightly, then grasped it: “Regardless of life or death, the missing person has a present state. The idea is to enumerate all current plausible states, test and eliminate them one by one, narrow the scope, find the endpoint—then reverse‑trace back to the origin.”

With the logic clear, Li Shang felt a sudden clarity. His gaze at He Lin shifted, carrying something new.

This pure mental reasoning differed from his past investigative and operational work—fewer objective anchors or data supports, but a broader frame for thinking and angles of analysis.

He had to admit—his pulse quickened with an old, surging heat.

Enjoying the rapport, He Lin patted Li Shang’s shoulder. “Smart—knew you’d have the knack.”

Li Shang didn’t respond, subtly moving the shoulder He Lin had patted. “Even the theory alone helps. Thanks for the guidance, Captain.”

He Lin, flattered, grinned: “That’s just one tool. There are others—we’ll tailor them when a case calls for it.”

Food arrived quickly; after a few bites, He Lin put down his chopsticks and asked seriously, “By the way—did you help Xiaocheng with files last night?”

Li Shang’s chopsticks paused mid‑air, silent—perhaps puzzling out how He Lin noticed.

“She didn’t tell me—I guessed,” He Lin said. “I know her pace—those would’ve taken a day and a half. You brought the car back and suddenly she’d finished early. In the morning briefing, she glanced at you. I got it.”

Li Shang, not good at explaining, finally said: “I only…”

“It’s fine—teamwork is right,” He Lin cut in, fully understanding.

Li Shang finished anyway: “No other meaning. She’s excellent and meticulous, but her method was suboptimal—efficiency suffered—so I took a look.”

He Lin: “…”

He hadn’t expected such bluntness.

The dishes came fast: chive‑fragrant pork kidneys, sizzling beef, stir‑fried greens, rice, a plate of dumplings, and a dark stew in a clay pot.

Li Shang’s eyes went to the last—mushroom aroma rising.

“Mushroom pot,” He Lin introduced. “Wild plateau mushrooms stewed with minced meat—great over rice.” He pointed at the dumplings. “These are good—taste like my mom’s old recipe.”

He ladled a spoonful into Li Shang’s bowl with friendly warmth.

Li Shang sniffed the mushrooms, hesitating. “Is this the house specialty?”

“I actually taught the owner this dish,” He Lin said, smiling. “Used to be my favorite way to eat—too busy to cook—mentioned it once, and she recreated it. Try—really good.”

Li Shang began to eat.

Yesterday, chatting over cafeteria food, it hadn’t stood out.

Today, dining alone with him, He Lin noticed Li Shang ate slowly, carefully—no phone, just focused on the food, but at a measured pace.

He Lin was on his second bowl while Li Shang had eaten only a third.

A grown man—how could his throat be so…delicate about food?

He Lin mused aloud: “Back in special ops, we did field training with strict rationing—one bottle of water, one big compressed biscuit—one minute per meal. Want more calories? Wait six hours.”

“Blue Sparrow didn’t do that—sounds rough,” Li Shang replied softly.

“Water had to be squeezed, biscuits shoved down—otherwise you’d faint before a few hours’ drills,” He Lin teased. “At your speed, you’d starve.”

“That’s training’s special demand. Eating too fast isn’t healthy ordinarily,” Li Shang said.

He Lin scoffed lightly: “Rules are made by people. Most teams cut slack. Only our old captain was notorious—strict to the point of sadistic.”

Li Shang looked up. “Did he treat you badly?”

The question stopped He Lin. He frowned: “He…to me…”

He tried to pull up examples, but his mind fogged. The room’s noise fell away. Heat surged from chest to throat; images tangled like threads.

A spike of pain shot through his head—metallic tang in his mouth.

It had been a long time since a spell this severe. Earlier, when wounds hadn’t healed, he had even vomited blood.

Then it was as if he passed through a mist; two seconds later, the sounds returned—he came out of it.

The discomfort ebbed.

In that brief gap, Li Shang looked shaken—face pale, staring at He Lin; his hand tightened around his chopsticks, waiting.

“I don’t remember the rest,” He Lin said at last, regretting the topic. “Let’s drop it.”

He nudged the dumplings toward him. “Eat before they go cold.”

Li Shang picked one up. With the first bite, he choked before swallowing, hand to his mouth, eyes watering. He Lin quickly poured water and moved closer to pat his back.

After a few coughs and sips, the food slid down.

His eyes were red, as if he’d cried.

He Lin didn’t dare rush him now. “No hurry, take your time—I’ll wait.”

Li Shang seemed to lose his appetite; he lowered his head and slowed even more, pecking two or three grains of rice at a time like a bird.

He Lin went to pay. When he returned, Li Shang was waiting by the door.

He Lin tossed him a car key. “Let’s go—straight to the 827 bus stop. You know where it is?”

“I do,” Li Shang said.

He Lin hadn’t ridden as a passenger in half a month. Normally Fang, the chatterbox, filled the car with noise. With Li Shang driving, it was quiet.

The driving was fast and steady. He Lin relaxed quickly, leaned back, and dozed under warm sunlight—his injured head needing rest after the earlier episode.

He felt the car stop.

On instinct sharpened by special ops, he snapped awake—sensing eyes on him. The car was at a red light; Li Shang had turned to watch him, likely checking whether he was asleep. When He Lin opened his eyes, Li Shang calmly looked away.

“Eyes on the road,” He Lin said, adjusting his jacket—sleep gone.

They parked by the 827 terminal.

They were a bit early, so they took in the surroundings.

Though near the suburbs, this terminal at the junction of two districts and a neighboring county bustled with foot traffic.

Soon Wu and Fang arrived.

“How’s it look?” He Lin asked.

“That man is scum!” Fang burst out. “I thought good education and jobs meant less abuse—turns out he’s a domestic abuser too, and the covert PUA‑type! So much for childhood sweethearts and campus romance!”

He Lin turned to Old Wu. “Tell me.”

Wu lit a cigarette. “We saw Liu Yushu’s husband, Li Jiahe, first—met in college, a top university. He swore he never abused her, says he’s been searching all along. But he was uncooperative, claimed a meeting, and shooed us off.”

“Then we spoke to her family,” Wu continued. “Totally different. After marriage, they lived in fear. Late‑night SOS texts from the daughter—three times before her disappearance.”

“Why not divorce?” He Lin asked.

“Parents said the man’s a lunatic—strips during fights, cuts himself with a knife, once danced naked in the hallway, several times threatened to jump,” Wu said. “He threatened to kill her entire family if she divorced. She lived in terror, thinking endurance would pass.”

“Similar to Tang Ailian,” He Lin noted.

Liu’s last known point was nearby. Li Shang produced the printed photos, and they canvassed again.

Shops lined both sides. Fang and Wu started west; He Lin and Li Shang started east, planning to meet midway.

Years had passed since both cases; few locals remembered much.

After a while, He Lin spotted a small shop where an old man dozed at the counter. He woke him and showed photos of Guo Mucun, Tang Ailian, and Liu Yushu.

The old man peered, said he hadn’t seen Guo, then pointed at the other two: “I remember these two women went missing—police have asked before. Still not found?”

Li Shang, a little disappointed, gathered the photos.

He Lin kept chatting, buying a few bottles of water, passing one to Li Shang, and asked how long the shop had been open, how business was.

After a bit, He Lin asked, almost casually: “Is there someone called Hong‑jie around here?”

He hadn’t expected much—but the old man reacted.

“Hong‑jie?” His brow smoothed. “That Hong‑jie? Everyone around here knows her.”

“What does she do?” He Lin asked quickly.

“Everything—always ready to help. Back when she was young, a real social butterfly around here.” He stepped outside and pointed across the road. “That’s her place.”

He Lin and Li Shang looked up. Across the street, a small storefront sign read: Wan’an Labor Placement Agency.