TTB C24

Chapter 24 

01 “Missing persons case…”

All outcomes arise from causes; all retributions arise from deeds.

— Avatamsaka Sutra

—

Another Monday dawned; as sunlight spread across the land, the whole of Yun City stirred awake.

Upon arriving, He Lin opened the work inbox and saw a meeting notice: team leads without active cases to assemble in the main conference room, with team members permitted to sit in.

Glancing around, he called to Li Shang and Fang Jue, who were already in: “Come along—morning briefing.”

Li picked up pen and paper and followed, with Fang behind them. “What’s up, Captain?”

“Not sure—likely something big,” He Lin said, scanning the CC list as they walked. He clicked his tongue softly. “Several Criminal Investigation division captains are attending…”

Catching the nuance, Li asked, “Relations with them not great?”

He had noticed the Missing Persons Unit collaborated with other departments, but rarely interfaced with Criminal Investigation.

Fang snorted. “Originally, missing persons was under Criminal Investigation; later it spun off, so things are a bit delicate. Plus, early last year CI cracked a few big cases and everyone assumed they’d take Department of the Year. But our clearance rate surged in the second half, and the per‑capita 300‑yuan bonus slipped away from them. Some folks still hold that grudge—seizing chances to throw wrenches in the works.”

Chatting idly, they reached the main building.

Inside the conference room, several had already arrived.

He Lin scanned faces, quietly naming a few to Li.

He Lin sat beside a captain around his age.

Li and Fang drew up two stools behind and to the side, took out their pads, and prepared to take notes.

Recalling He Lin’s comment, Li matched a face to the description: this neighbor should be Lin Hui, deputy captain of CI Team One—mild in manner and easiest to deal with. He Lin had added, “Without Lin Hui, CI Team One would come apart at the seams.”

Curious, Li studied him. Lin wore gold‑rimmed glasses, scholarly on the surface, but behind the lenses lay foxlike eyes with faintly upturned tails.

Roughly twenty people milled about; the start time hadn’t arrived, and some were still missing. Small talk percolated.

After greetings, He Lin noted Lin’s fatigue and asked, “What’s on the agenda?”

Pressing fingers to his temples over dark circles, Lin said, “Missing persons… Four students from Yun City International High vanished yesterday afternoon. We called up the team by eight and investigated straight through the night. After an all‑night search, still no trace.”

“Yesterday?” Fang murmured behind them. “How did we not hear?”

An innocent question—but to CI officers bleary from an all‑nighter, it felt like salt in the wound.

On Lin’s other side sat his division captain, Jin Tingrui—towering over 1.9 meters, dark‑skinned, heavily muscled; few could match his fitness in the bureau. Known for a fiery temper, subordinates dreaded crossing him.

Hearing Fang, Jin snapped, “This is precisely your Missing Persons job! And you were at home asleep.”

He Lin wouldn’t let his subordinate take flak. Half‑joking, he countered, “Captain Jin, expecting five people to handle an emergency of this scale?”

This was CI’s turf; someone muttered below, “Calling them in now is just a time waste.”

Another, acid sweet, fanned the flames. “Their unit’s clearance rate is high and speed isn’t bad. Let the capable do more—maybe if they’d been called last night, the kids would be home now.”

Straightforward and quick‑tempered, Jin took the bait: “He Lin—care to wager which side finds them first?”

Behind He Lin, Li’s lashes lowered as he sighed quietly, helpless. Such schoolyard antics baffled him. Grown, battle‑tested captains—why bicker instead of solving the problem—and even talk wagers?

He Lin glanced up; CI had twenty‑odd people present. He shook his head. “No bet. With these numbers, winning wouldn’t be honorable.”

Jin’s expression slid into an I‑knew‑you’d‑chicken‑out look.

He Lin finished, unhurriedly. “And if we still beat you—where would that leave your faces?”

That landed; expressions shifted.

Before anyone spoke, He Lin sobered. “More importantly—four students are missing; lives are in the balance. Parents are frantic. Safeguarding life is our job and duty. Turning this into a wager is really not appropriate.”

Silence followed.

Realizing his misstep, Jin backed off, embarrassed. “Trying to cut tension—just a joke. Haven’t slept—mouth ahead of mind.”

Lin smoothed things further. “No bad intent—just to spur urgency. With Captain He’s help, we’ll move faster.”

“Less bickering at dawn—save the breath for finding the kids,” came a firm, slightly aged voice from behind. Everyone turned; it was Director Chen himself, with Deputy Director Xie, who oversaw Criminal Investigation.

Chen continued, “We called you together to pool expertise across teams.”

People nodded greetings.

“Director Chen. Deputy Director Xie,” He Lin said.

The meeting formally began.

The bar was high: Deputy Director Xie Sainan personally presided, and Director Chen sat in support.

Secretary Liu handed out freshly printed packets—warm to Li’s touch.

Xie, the youngest of the deputy directors, trim and direct, began once Chen settled.

“Some of you may have heard; here are details. Yesterday afternoon, near South Three District, four students went missing. They agreed to go out together; by 8 p.m. they hadn’t returned, and parents called it in. All are in Class 2–3 at Yun City International: two male, two female. Details are in your packets.”

“Upon report, CI assembled and launched a preliminary investigation. No messages were left; they didn’t carry much money. We checked phone locations immediately—no signals. No tickets at airports or train stations; no bus station entries or exits.”

“We interviewed parents, homeroom, subject teachers, and some classmates to trace their route. As of now, they remain missing—hence this morning’s meeting.”

He paused, gaze cool as it swept the room. “Please coordinate and prioritize the students’ safety. The first 24 hours are critical—find them quickly. We’ll set up a temporary command post here at HQ and an on-campus interview and workroom to keep everyone updated.”

Chen asked, “And the media?”

“Concerned about panic, we haven’t…” Xie began.

“We’re past that,” Chen cut in. “Issue a public notice and request tips. Offer rewards for effective information.”

“I’ll personally oversee; Deputy Director Xie is chief commander. Precinct Six and the school will fully support. If you need anything, come to me—I’ll coordinate within my power.”

“Time is life. Move,” Chen concluded.

Once adjourned, teams launched into motion.

Unlike the three CI divisions needing close coordination, Missing Persons spun up independently.

Back in Building Seven, He Lin had Li make multiple copies of the packet and distribute them.

They wiped the last case’s board and pinned up new photos.

CI had already compiled basic data.

Li affixed the students’ photos—four one‑inch ID portraits enlarged and printed, plus full‑body group shots; youthful faces in crisp autumn uniforms.

They’d also pulled personal photos and, from parents, descriptions of what the kids wore that day.

Li quickly annotated the board.

For clarity, he numbered the missing.

Subject One, Wu Yingying: long‑haired girl, 16, strikingly pretty, from a very affluent family.

Subject Two, Wen Shang: short‑haired girl, also 16; Wu’s best friend and class arts monitor.

Subject Three, Zhang Yan: wears glasses, scholarly look, 16; class monitor.

Subject Four, Li Weiyang: male, 17; athletic specialty, excellent fitness; Zhang’s good friend and class sports monitor.

The board also listed height, weight, and family composition.

The first three families were well‑off; Li Weiyang’s was middle‑class, with house and car.

They pored over statements from parents and faculty.

All four had lied about plans: the girls said shopping; the boys said basketball. Only when parents couldn’t reach their children and asked in the parent group did they realize the four were together.

But where they went—no one knew—and other faculty and classmates had little to offer.

He Lin didn’t rush to send people out; as always, analysis came first.

“CI will handle basic canvassing. Our job is to fill gaps. We’re still within the 24‑hour window. Let’s brainstorm—rule out possibilities and highlight priorities.”

Wu Yunsheng frowned at the parents’ “no idea” statements and sighed. “Feels like a runaway. At this age, if they want to flee or do something big, the first instinct is to hide it from parents.”

Cheng Xiaoyi said, “Four‑person missing cases are rare—especially at this age. What I can recall are the five‑teen missing in Country H, and a university mountaineering disappearance.”

Fang picked it up. “And there was a chain drowning—one child fell in, others tried to save, and none surfaced. Similarly, methane pit cases—one faints, others go down to help, multiple are trapped.”

Wu shook his head. “They’re older—less likely to risk like that.”

“Kidnapping?” Fang offered.

Wu shook his head again. “Few kidnappers can control four kids at once—especially with two boys. Very hard.”

“What if the girls were taken first, and used to threaten the boys?” Cheng asked.

“Too risky,” Wu said. “Hard to avoid witnesses, and guarding four captives is a huge problem—unless it’s premeditated with multiple offenders.”

After the exchange, He Lin said, “Let’s reverse from outcomes.”

He signaled Li to summarize.

This was a method He Lin had introduced before.

Li thought, then drew two branches on the board: one for Alive, one for Dead.

He branched Alive into: runaway, kidnapping, trapped/out of contact.

He branched Dead into: accidental death, homicide.

For rigor, he added “Other.”

Laid out this way, directions clarified.

Reality may vary, but few cases fall outside these six.

“What’s ‘Other’?” Fang asked.

“For example, one is killed; others flee and hide,” Li said. “Or in‑group conflict—one is killed and the killer runs.”

“Good—rigorous,” He Lin said. “Rare, but not impossible. Think further—any additions?”

Silence; minds turned.

Most angles had been touched; actionable ideas, however, were still thin.

Fang refused to give up, scratching his head until, at last, a far‑fetched thought. “Mass time‑travel…”

Everyone: “…”

“Alien abduction…”

Everyone: “…”

“Parallel worlds…”

As reliability dropped, Old Wu cleared his throat. “Better to say nothing than nonsense. And—less fiction.”

After a while, they had broad tracks but no concrete plan.

Eyes shifted to He Lin for direction.

Seeing the time was right, He Lin stood and walked to the board…