TTB C2

Chapter 2

“I once served in Dragon Flame.”

The Deputy Director’s office was in the main building, some distance from Building 7 where the Missing Persons Investigation Division was located.

Having successfully taken charge of the new recruit, He Lin no longer walked in the brisk, commanding stride he had used earlier. Instead, he and Li Shang strolled leisurely across the sun‑lit courtyard of the city police bureau, as though announcing his claim to ownership.

The two walked and conversed along the way. Though to call it a conversation was generous—most of the time it was He Lin doing the talking, while Li Shang listened in quiet attentiveness.

“In our division there were originally four investigators: myself; an experienced old officer, Wu Yunsheng; a young officer named Fang Jue; and a female officer primarily responsible for technical monitoring, Cheng Xiaoyi. Everyone has their role, and we cooperate with a fair degree of rhythm.”

After this brief outline, He Lin asked, “So why did you choose the Missing Persons Division?”

He didn’t believe Deputy Bai to be so benevolent. Li Shang’s choice must have been decisive, and He Lin’s curiosity pricked.

Li Shang, handsome and fine‑featured, had a natural air of aloofness—polished over years—giving the sense that he was not easily approachable.

Now, when asked, he lowered his head, hesitated briefly, then answered: “I thought the pressure here wouldn’t be too great.”

Lifting his gaze, he countered, “What about you, Captain? Why did you come here?”

He Lin reflected: “Strange story. When I transferred in, I had many options. But when the roster was given to me, the first thing that caught my eye was the Missing Persons Division. Perhaps, deep down, I had the urge to search for those who disappeared.”

Through the police system, he already had friends familiar with which posts offered better opportunities and quicker promotions. Yet he himself could not describe what he felt in that instant—like a mission had settled upon his shoulders. He even sometimes suspected he had promised someone, or sworn an oath. In that moment it was as though “possessed,” compelled without hesitation to come here.

“After joining, I found it quite suitable indeed.” He Lin added mildly, “This department is quiet. Cases spike around mid‑autumn, but generally it’s not too stressful—just as you said. And here there are fewer… annoyances.”

In simple terms: unlike Narcotics, constantly locked in deadly contests against drug traffickers; unlike Criminal Investigation, weighed down by endless pressure from all sides for results, truth, announcements; unlike the hot departments where leaders parachute in at will.

The division was small, but its authority not low. They could focus on cases wholeheartedly, without getting tangled in political infighting.

The two walked, talking further.

He Lin asked about Li Shang’s background.

Learning that Li Shang had come from Tianning Baseⁱ, He Lin was surprised: “I trained at Tianning as well. Which unit were you with?”

Li Shang replied calmly: “Blue Sparrow.”

Blue Sparrow was the most secretive and least numerous of Tianning’s four special ops teams. They specialized in intelligence and non‑violent yet critical missions: hacking, surveillance, drones, signal interference, cryptography, geographical reconnaissance.

The team included not only field officers but also civilian staff. Unlike other units that required only physical testing, Blue Sparrow required rigorous academic screening as well—demanding intellectual elites as well as strong bodies.

He Lin nodded: “That means this post should fit. You’ll adapt quickly.”

Li Shang asked in turn: “And you, Captain—what unit?”

With a hint of pride, He Lin answered: “I was once with Dragon Flame.”

That team was Tianning’s ace force, renowned in Yun City and across the nation.

Yun City sat near a portion of the national border. Just north lay Tianning Base, the largest and most professional special police training center.

Inside, thousands of officers could be housed. From there, elite forces for three provinces were born.

Four primary combat units resided there, selected from thousands of candidates by ruthless screening.

Dragon Flame was the most famous, entrusted with major missions both domestic and international.

Undercover operations, cross‑border arrests, hostage rescues—even joint missions with foreign police. Any matter critical but not escalated to military level belonged to Dragon Flame.

The other units were: Python, masters of mountainous terrain; Wolf Fang (Wolf Tooth), specialized in urban counterterrorism combat; and Blue Sparrow—the team Li Shang had named.

As they neared their building, He Lin asked: “Why did you retire?”

“Partly because of age, partly old injuries affecting my stamina.” Li Shang’s voice was calm, matter‑of‑fact. Leaving base had been his own rational decision. Though he had other purposes in coming to Yun City, such reasons sufficed for He Lin.

He Lin already sensed Li Shang’s frail health, but since he had passed entry tests and been approved, it mattered little. He offered comfort: “I too retired from injury. How’s your health—if it’s not too private?”

His question carried no disdain—merely for future care.

“Anemia, some old wounds. They rarely flare, won’t affect work.”

He Lin understood. “Not fit for special ops, true. But for police service, manageable. Here, most tasks require little physical pursuit—I’ll assign you more clerical work.”

After a pause, Li Shang added: “There’s still something you should know. Though retired, if base recalls me for a mission, I must return.”

He Lin accepted easily; he’d heard of this recall mechanism for rare talents: “If base needs you, I’ll cooperate.”

Inside the office, He Lin introduced him to the team.

Wu Yunsheng was the eldest, around forty, yellow‑skinned with crow‑feet at the eyes, genial smile—typical veteran cop. “I started in narcotics. Later, when I married, the leaders took pity and transferred me to criminal investigation. Then when children came, shifts were too harsh, and I moved here. I know most departments—later I’ll introduce you around.”

He Lin said: “Old Wu is our anchor. With him, I needn’t worry about daily affairs.”

Next—youthful Fang Jue, short‑haired, sun‑bright smile. Meeting Li Shang, he sprang upright like a class monitor greeting a transfer student. “I’m Fang Jue, joined a year ahead. Old Wu is my master. Besides investigations, I drive—outside tasks I’m usually chauffeur.”

Then the woman, Cheng Xiaoyi, only just tied her messy ponytail, embarrassed before the newcomer. “I’m Cheng Xiaoyi, graduate in audiovisual investigative tech. I handle online data and video analysis. Any database needed—ask me.”

After introductions, He Lin gave Li Shang a tour. Entire third floor was theirs: offices, meeting room, pantry, showers, a bunk room, and the largest—an archive chamber. Air‑dried, ventilated, fingerprint‑locked.

Li Shang entered, looked up. Shelves towered, rows of files stacked in chronology.

Each folder: at least one disappearance, spanning decades. No bones in sight, yet an equally stark reminder of mortality.

He Lin gestured: “These hold Yun City’s most complete archive. Marked in red—solved, person found, case closed. The unmarked—still unresolved.”

Li Shang gently pulled one tired dossier—the missing elder would now be eighty‑seven, perhaps already gone, perhaps family long since departed. A thin booklet—yet proof he had walked this earth.

So long as it remained, hope remained.

Replacing it, Li Shang reflected: maybe years later, they would finally find him, add the red mark—bringing closure.

He Lin explained his duties: “File archiving, indexing, scanning, digital entry. Know locations for quick retrieval. Update progress with markings. Otherwise—ride with me on investigations, assist, record statements, draft reports.”

Clerical, yet requiring endless patience.

He Lin worried about his suitability—but Li Shang simply answered: “Alright.”

In that somber archive, his eyes shone, seemingly content.

He Lin added: “Now we can split into two field teams—easier for investigations.”

Li Shang said: “I can drive too.”

Then to the auxiliary police center—they co‑shared twenty assistants with other divisions.

Returning, He Lin set Li Shang’s desk beside Fang Jue’s. Fang bustled, assembling his computer; Cheng logged him into police systems; offered him a manual of procedures—everything digital now, with online requests needed for warrants, etc.

Li Shang bent over the manual attentively.

The division had high clearance: phone locations, call logs, bank transactions, travel tickets, CCTV, DNA matches.

Silently, he memorized it all.

Fang leaned over cheerfully: “Anything unclear, just ask. So much easier than before.”

Wu Yunsheng, sober: “Yet remember—even with all this, many will never be found.”

Li Shang, hearing, gazed sideways at He Lin’s profile.

Soon—his desk neatened, sticky notes lined the monitor, handwriting delicate.

He Lin handed him new case files—Li Shang finished within two hours, catching omissions besides.

He Lin was impressed: “Have you done similar work before?”

Li Shang: “First time.”

His crisp, clear answers made He Lin nod again and again. So adept, so careful—it hardly fit “novice.”

The thought—perhaps this could be a protégé—but quickly he dismissed it. Li Shang was older; it would be awkward to call him “Master.”

By noon, the team ate in the small cafeteria.

Fang guided Li Shang: “Never order braised chicken—freezer meat, tastes like corpse. Get Yangzhou fried rice—authentic. And try the salt‑pepper ribs—fresh, crispy outside, tender inside.”

All sat in one table. Fang exchanged gossip with Cheng; He Lin and Wu spoke of prior cases.

Halfway through, Fang paused, noticing Li Shang remained silent. “You don’t talk much, do you.”

Cheng teased: “So ethereal, unworldly—like an immortal, with an aura that says: keep your distance.”

He Lin felt the same: a naturally frosted demeanor, faint smiles were already vivid—an ice block, refusing to melt.

Li Shang lowered his gaze: “I’m a little… socially anxious.”

Cheng brightened: “Ah! So you’re an I‑person. Have you done the full MBTI² test?”

“INTP,” Li Shang answered, steady.

Cheng exclaimed: “The Logician! Curious, gentle, loves learning, prefers solitude. I’m INFP—the butterfly.” She turned to He Lin: “What about you, Captain?”

He Lin thought: “Took it once… forget the code… but something like the ‘Protagonist.’”

Cheng stirred her soup with a spoon, laughing: “ENFJ—the legendary great sword. Strong confidence, clear goals, altruistic warmth. Fits you perfectly, Captain.”

Wu Yunsheng blinked, lost—these youngsters’ games beyond him. Curious, he asked what the letters meant; Cheng patiently explained, even recommending a link for him to test.

Fang, half listening, interrupted: “I’m an I‑person too.”

Cheng rolled her eyes: “No way—you’re clearly an E. I’d bet ENFP.”

Spark lit Fang’s face: “Is that the best?”

Cheng smirked: “You’re the classic happy puppy. Optimistic even when the world’s on fire, zero self‑control, three hours alone and you crack. That’s ENFP.”

She nailed it. Fang scratched his chin sheepishly: “Fair, true partly. But I feel introverted—after work, I can’t be bothered with chores. Just lie there and sleep.”

“Would you rather play games or sleep alone?” Cheng pressed.

He thought: “Games.”

“If treated to dinner—go or stay home?”

“Of course go.”

Cheng closed the case ruthlessly: “See? Not introvert, just lazy.”

Everyone laughed. Fang fell silent, tail tucked.

Wu, having finished his meal, studied Li Shang quietly, finally asking: “How old are you?”

“Thirty.” Li Shang calmly picked food.

All at the table froze—except He Lin and Wu, already aware. Fang and Cheng’s expressions erupted in shock.

Sensing their reaction, Li Shang explained: “I lack much investigative experience—essentially a novice.”

“That’s not the point…” Fang gaped, bitter. “You look so young—I thought at last I’d stop being the baby of the team…”

Cheng, twenty‑six, fresh from police school but already junior elder, sighed: “I thought twenty‑five at most—could pass as still in college!” She turned to Wu: “How did you guess?”

“His eyes.” Wu smiled knowingly. “Looks youthful, yes. But the eyes—they’re not what they seem.”

Years in investigation made Wu sharp. Instinct rarely wrong.

After the meal, trays were returned.

Cheng cornered Li Shang: “How do you maintain? Teach me.”

Li Shang: “…”

But Fang cut in: “Some are just baby‑faced—you can’t copy that.”

The remark skewered Cheng, who chased Fang all the way back—ignoring whether such roughhousing might trigger appendicitis.

Li Shang and He Lin walked side by side from the cafeteria.

Behind them, Wu Yunsheng frowned over his phone, muttering like a baffled elder on a subway, “This ESFJ ‘male‑mom’—what on earth is that?”

Footnotes

ⁱ Tianning Base (天寧基地): Fictional elite police special operations training base, considered semi‑military, producing China’s top special police teams.

² MBTI: Myers‑Briggs Type Indicator; a widely popular personality system dividing people into 16 types (e.g., INTP “Logician,” ENFJ “Protagonist,” etc.), often referenced in modern Chinese youth culture.