TTB C8

Chapter 8

5  “I heard Captain He was also in special operations before…”

Night had fully fallen, and a bright moon hung in the sky.

Most of the lights were still on in the city bureau offices, including the one in the Missing Persons Investigation Division.

After Li Shang came upstairs, Cheng Xiaoyi was still there with a steaming takeout bowl of rice noodles in front of her, just about to eat.

Seeing someone return, Cheng blinked in surprise: “Why did only you come back?”

Li Shang showed her the car keys: “It’s closer to Fang Jue’s place over there, and the others headed straight home. I drove the car back and came to pick up the office laptop issued today.” After grabbing his things, he asked, “Why haven’t you gone home?”

Cheng pointed at the files on the desk: “There’s still a lot I haven’t gone through, and I don’t want to slow the team down. I rent alone anyway; going home is boring. May as well keep busy.”

“Need a hand?” Li Shang asked.

“Sure. My eyes are a little blurry from reading all day.” Cheng didn’t refuse the new colleague’s offer and handed him several of the remaining files.

Li Shang took them and began with the first one.

Cheng’s desk sat slightly forward and to the side of Li Shang’s. When he walked in earlier in the day, he had immediately caught her eye—but given he was a male colleague and the office was full, she hadn’t stared.

Now, at night, only the two of them were in the office. Cool white light fell over Li Shang’s face, and Cheng found herself a little dazed.

Li Shang’s skin was that cool, fair kind—strikingly distinct in a bureau full of rough men.

His features were fine, his brows naturally soft like distant mountains without any grooming, and lashes like crow feathers. When silent, he carried a cool aloofness—truly pleasing to look at.

With a handsome face to accompany her meal, Cheng took two bites and asked: “Want to order something?”

“No need, I’ll eat when I get back.” Li Shang declined without hesitation, still looking down, fully focused. “This batch should take about half an hour.”

“Half an hour?!” Cheng exclaimed. “How is that possible? I’ve spent all afternoon and only finished a third.”

For Cheng, finishing the rest would take five to six hours at least.

“Now there are two of us, and I read quickly,” Li Shang said, as if stating something trivial and easy. In the blink of an eye, he set aside the file he’d just finished.

“Did you really read carefully?” Cheng felt he hadn’t grasped the weight of the task. “We can’t afford errors. If we miss a linked case, not only does it make solving harder, it could have severe consequences…”

She gave an example: “There was once a serial missing persons case. The officer screening files failed to find a related case from years earlier. It was Captain He who, while combing old files, noticed a peculiar knot in a shoe at the victim’s home—only then the link wasn’t missed. Many cases hide connections; photocopies even obscure details. That’s why for comparisons, we insist on paper files and manual review instead of relying on digital copies…”

Li Shang didn’t explain; he handed her the file he’d just read: “Ask me.”

Cheng set the noodles aside, took the file skeptically: “Alright then—what’s the incident time?”

The question was simple. Li Shang proceeded to recite time and place, the missing person’s name, ID number—one by one.

Cheng’s eyes widened…

“The missing person’s home address is Unit 4‑302, Building 4, No. 543 Bailonggang Road; license plate YB2783…” Beyond such details, Li Shang succinctly outlined the disappearance process and even noted a small line of fine print flagged in the document.

Cheng’s mouth fell open; when he finished, she finally came back to herself, marveling incredulously: “Your memory is incredible.”

More than incredible—near photographic.

Revived in spirits, Cheng quickly finished dinner and resumed screening. With Li Shang helping, their pace increased dramatically.

Li Shang poured himself a cup of hot water and, like a seasoned old cadre, got to work.

He taught Cheng several simple screening techniques. The two first skimmed all files quickly, categorized them, then pulled a few for focused review.

Before long, they narrowed it down to three files. Li Shang passed them to Cheng: “These need to be copied.”

“Okay.” Cheng stood up, and as she reached the copier, she realized something felt off—why was she so readily doing exactly as Li Shang said?

She mentally replayed their workflow.

At first, they discussed together. But unlike how quietly compliant Li Shang had been behind He Lin earlier in the day, he now showed strong opinions and initiative. Polite and gentle in manner, yet his plans were rational and efficient—truly better solutions.

He had also taught her many clean, streamlined methods.

Unconsciously, Li Shang had gradually taken the lead… and it had all happened so naturally.

Once she understood, Cheng felt at ease.

She wasn’t the type to fuss—whoever is more capable should take charge. If the sky falls, the taller one will hold it up. They only needed to finish the job; she was happy to cooperate.

Besides, Li Shang was more than competent. Without his help, she might have worked very late and still not finished by tomorrow.

She genuinely appreciated his help.

Aside from the copier’s soft whirring, the office fell quiet. While Li Shang took a brief rest, Cheng casually asked: “By the way, what did you do before?”

Li Shang seemed to hesitate, but answered: “Special operations.”

“Special ops?” Cheng was a little startled. “Were you in a desk role?”

“No.” Li Shang denied it and left it there.

Cheng’s curiosity grew.

Li Shang’s scholarly air didn’t quite match her image of special ops.

Cheng added: “I heard Captain He was also in special operations.”

“Mhm,” Li Shang murmured.

Compared to Li Shang, He Lin was taller—fully 1.87 meters. His frame was more robust, legs long, movements crisp with no hint of drag—much closer to Cheng’s mental picture of special ops.

From the first moment she met Captain He, she felt a heat—he was like the fire of justice, a controlled flame that brought people light and warmth. Li Shang, by contrast, was refined and quiet—like a piece of cool ice.

Cheng asked: “Did you know him before?”

Li Shang paused slightly, then didn’t answer directly: “He’s very capable.”

It seemed they might have worked in adjacent departments.

Just then the copier clicked; Cheng brought over the fresh copies and handed them to Li Shang.

Li Shang passed her a sticky note: “These questions need checking.”

Cheng sat at the computer, compiled the materials, printed, and obediently did the secretary’s work.

After a moment more, Li Shang pulled out three case files: “One might be connected. The other two can’t be ruled out.”

Cheng glanced at the time—it had taken thirty‑eight minutes total; indeed, just over the half hour Li Shang had promised.

She read through the file Li Shang had ultimately selected as linked—a missing person’s file from the Second Sub‑Bureau.

The missing person was a twenty‑six‑year‑old woman named Liu Yushu, reported missing by family.

Cheng frowned: “The commonality between these is…”

Compared to Tang Ailian, Liu Yushu was younger, more beautiful, and more educated.

Their situations differed widely—age gap significant, different neighborhoods.

It was hard to imagine what connection could exist between the two disappearances.

Li Shang pointed out: “Both were reported by husbands, both husbands suspected of domestic violence, similar family dynamics—and most crucially, disappearance location and time.”

He opened the Yun City map on his phone and zoomed to show Cheng the drop‑off for Liu Yushu’s last ride.

Cheng was startled: “Only one intersection from Bus 827’s stop—a few minutes on foot…”

And because of the odd positioning of that intersection, the two sides belonged to different administrative districts, so the case fell under the Second Sub‑Bureau.

Two months apart, in nearly the same location—indeed a critical red flag.

Li Shang said: “We’ll let Captain He judge it tomorrow.”

They tidied the office, Cheng switched off the lights, and they stepped into the corridor.

Cheng walked ahead, holding back a question until she finally asked it.

“Li Shang, this afternoon when Captain He asked for your analysis, you’d clearly written more on the paper. You even circled Bus 827—why didn’t you say it first, and only spoke after Captain He summarized?”

He Lin hadn’t noticed it, but from Cheng’s angle, she had seen it clearly.

Most newcomers are eager to perform and earn the leader’s favor. Li Shang’s behavior puzzled her.

Cheng turned back, waiting for his answer.

Li Shang looked up—and at that moment, a sharp pop sounded from below, followed by a car alarm blaring in the quiet courtyard.

In that instant, under the dim corridor lights, Li Shang’s eyes sharpened and his body tensed slightly. He half‑pivoted, searching for the source of the sound—his entire demeanor changed.

Cheng, turning back, was startled by the noise, misstepped, nearly twisting her ankle, her balance faltering.

Li Shang didn’t move his stance, but his hand flashed up, steadying her arm and pulling her upright.

Cheng felt the firmness in his grip—his expression and bearing pressed a subtle, palpable force upon her.

Then Li Shang looked across the road—there stood a balloon vendor, with a car flashing nearby.

He quickly confirmed the source: the vendor had popped a balloon, bumped the car alarm in his fluster, and walked off cursing.

The alarm faded, and the tension dissipated.

Only then did Li Shang turn back and explain: “When Captain He asks, I answer. If he doesn’t ask, I fill the gaps. As for those points—you can be sure he’ll think of them. No need for me to say it.”

Cheng lowered her head in thought. Put that way, it sounded like Li Shang was deliberately hiding his excellence—leaving face and room for He Lin to lead.

Li Shang added: “Also, don’t mention I helped you tonight.”

“Oh—okay.” Cheng nodded quickly, finding her new colleague even more mysterious. “Thanks.”

On the bus home, Cheng kept recalling that look in Li Shang’s eyes.

She no longer doubted his special ops background—sharp, vigilant, carrying a heavy sense of pressure, like a beast coiled to strike.

Then another thought struck her.

Was Li Shang really INTP?

Could he be… INTJ?

A jolt ran through her—if so, all her confusions suddenly had answers.

So when he told her earlier, had he remembered wrong? Or mis‑tested?

But for a rigorously logical INTJ, such an error would be unlikely.

Only one possibility remained: he did it on purpose—perhaps hiding something, or simply acting.

It was just a trivial mask—when no one important was watching, he tore it off without a second thought.