Miss Forensics – Chapter 3

by Little Panda

Part One

The Past

Was it a case of great minds thinking alike, or were they destined to be nemeses?

Lin Yan changed her clothes and appeared in a high-end private club in the city center. Night had just fallen, and the crowd was still sparse. The lighting was kept intentionally dim, and in the dining area, a young man in a tuxedo was playing a melodious, enchanting tune on the violin.

She followed the waiter through several winding corridors, her high heels completely silent against the soft carpet.

When they finally paused before a set of doors, the waiter bowed low. “Miss Lin, please.”

Lin Yan pushed the doors open and walked in. A man was just swinging a golf club. The ball missed the hole. Hearing the noise, he turned, and a natural smile surfaced on his face when he saw her.

He was neither overly enthusiastic nor too distant.

“You’re here.”

He wiped the sweat from his face with a towel and gestured for her to sit.

The waiter, having brought her to the door, quietly slipped away. It was a small indoor golf course, and Lin Yan made herself entirely at home. Tea and pastries were already laid out on the table—as if he had known exactly when she would arrive.

Her fingertips picked up a piece of candied fruit and brought it to her lips. Her brows knit together slightly. It was too sweet.

She wiped her hands with a napkin and didn’t touch anything else.

The man was in his early forties, of medium build with a fair complexion, wearing an inconspicuous, plain T-shirt. Panting slightly after his round of golf, he sat down across from her.

“How was it? Did the trial go smoothly today?”

Lin Yan had never been one to sit or stand properly. She slouched back in her chair, her long, pale legs gently crossed, the thin straps of her red high heels hanging off her snow-white ankles.

She was dressed a bit sexier than she had been during the day, wearing a perfectly tailored, sleeveless black dress. The deep V-neck left her collarbones and cleavage exposed.

The color and cut were exceedingly alluring, but on her, they carried no hint of cheapness—only an exquisite, perfectly measured glamour.

Large earrings dangled from her earlobes, and her wavy hair was pinned up, leaving a few loose strands framing her forehead and cheeks. Her skin was incredibly fair, yet she favored dark lipstick, deliberately cultivating a look of cold, sharp beauty.

A woman like this was a stunner; to men, she was prey.

Lin Yan smiled. “Mhm. Smoothly.”

As if responding to her words, the phone on the table lit up. A bank transfer notification flashed across the screen—a massive sum, remitted by Xinye Company.

The man raised his glass. “Congratulations on making another fortune, Miss Lin.”

“Not at all. I should be thanking you for giving me this opportunity.”

The crystal goblets clinked together softly, and the two shared a smile of mutual understanding.

By the time she set her glass down, the smile had faded from Lin Yan’s lips. “So, according to our agreement…”

“Don’t worry. The information you asked me to find—I’ve already had someone check the public security intranet…”

Lin Yan’s pupils shrank slightly. “And?”

The man shook his head and took another sip of champagne. “Difficult. The case from back then is ancient history now. There were only fragmented records left on the intranet. I copied them down, but I don’t think they’ll be of much help to you.”

The lips of the woman across from him trembled for a fraction of a second before quickly smoothing back into calm. “For such a major criminal case, the public security bureau should have kept paper archives, shouldn’t they?”

The man nodded bluntly. “They should have. But strangely enough, when we relocated the archive room last month, an entire batch of old case files caught fire. Not even ashes were left.”

A fire in the archive room was no small matter. The higher-ups had come down to investigate and handed out several dereliction of duty charges. But because the files belonged to old, closed cases that were practically ancient history, no one dug any deeper, and the matter was ultimately left unresolved.

“There’s another place that would have them,” he added.

“The Procuratorate,” Lin Yan said.

By convention, as the supervisory organ over the police force, all evidence had to be submitted to the Procuratorate before being transferred to the court. Therefore, they should possess backups.

But it had always been the Procuratorate requisitioning files from the public security bureau; it was entirely unheard of for the police to ask the Procuratorate for files. Wouldn’t that be a roundabout way of admitting their own dereliction of duty?

Not to mention, this was a shady, under-the-table inquiry. It couldn’t go through normal official channels.

Lin Yan, of course, understood the stakes. Though she said nothing, her fingers tightened around the slender stem of her champagne glass. Her knuckles were as pale as jade, gripping with such force that the glass seemed ready to snap at any moment.

The man shook his head. “No. Jiangcheng City Public Security Bureau. As the jurisdiction where the incident occurred, they definitely have backups. But if even they don’t have it…”

He looked up, a dark, indiscernible light flickering in his eyes. “Lin Yan, you cannot investigate this case anymore.”

Binhai Province was situated on the southwestern coastal border, prone to typhoons and violent rainstorms in the summer.

Gale-force winds shook the branches outside, driving rain into the room along with the violently flapping curtains.

A woman stood barefoot on the floor.

You cannot investigate this case anymore.

Merely chewing on that sentence ground a chest full of bitter hatred to dust. She raised her hand and viciously drove a knife into the wall.

A streak of lightning tore across the sky, briefly illuminating the room. The wall was covered in red paint marker, smeared with “X”s of all sizes, their long tails dragging downward like dried, creeping bloodstains.

Above the bloodstains, a collection of yellowed photographs and old newspapers were pinned to the plaster with thumbtacks. The room wasn’t large, and the macabre display sprawled extravagantly over more than half the wall.

The photographs of human bones and fragmented pieces of flesh had not faded with the mottled passage of time, nor had the mold creeping along the edges of the paper dulled them. Even across the distance of time and space, one could almost smell the metallic stench of blood.

The girl in the photos was clustered in the middle of it all, quietly looking back at her and smiling. Against such a gruesome backdrop, her originally delicate, pretty features were rendered utterly eerie.

Another flash of lightning ripped through the heavens, illuminating the woman’s somewhat gloomy, shadowed face.

Her throat worked slightly as she tilted her head back, downing the liquid in the wine glass in one gulp.

Her arm dropped. The remaining droplets on the rim of the glass smashed against the floorboards one by one, like blood splattering at her feet.

The news broadcast happened to be showing the segment where Lin Yan was surrounded and intercepted by reporters. Song Yuhang held a teacup in both hands, listening intently. Unexpectedly, the office door was pushed open.

She quickly set the teacup down and stood up. “Hello, Director Zhao.”

Almost instinctively, she raised her hand in a crisp salute. The woman wore a spring-and-autumn uniform jacket over a light blue regulation shirt, her tie knotted with meticulous precision. Her free hand rested perfectly straight against the seam of her trousers. Her brimmed police cap sat quietly on the left side of the desk, exactly according to regulations.

Seeing her standing so formally, Director Zhao couldn’t help but smile. “There aren’t that many rules here with me. Sit.”

“Understood.”

Only then did Song Yuhang sit back down, though her posture remained perfectly upright and respectful, her spine straight as a ramrod.

“How have you been recently, sir?”

“Not bad. Just high blood pressure—an old problem. But with Mrs. Zhao reminding me to take my medicine every day to control it, it’s nothing major.”

Director Zhao was in his early fifties, slightly stout, with a dusting of white hair at his temples, though he was still quite robust and full of energy.

Back when she was still studying at the Public Security University, he had been a Senior Police Supervisor in the Criminal Investigation General Detachment of the Binhai Provincial Public Security Department, and he frequently came to the academy to give lectures. He could be considered half a mentor to Song Yuhang. When she wanted to return to the Jiangcheng City Public Security Bureau for work after graduation, he had been the one to mediate and make the arrangements.

She kept all of this in her heart with deep gratitude. Taking advantage of her trip to the provincial department for a meeting, she had carved out some free time to visit her former teacher.

Unexpectedly, both of them were entangled in a mountain of trivial matters, and the only time they had to meet was right here in his office.

But this was enough. Zhao Junfeng was one of the few people who treated her exceptionally well.

“You still need to take care of your health, sir. Take your medicine on time; don’t always make Mrs. Zhao remind you… These are some health supplements for you.”

She wasn’t a talkative person by nature, and any further words of concern were blocked up in her chest, unable to find their way out.

He glanced at the colorful gift boxes piled by her feet. There was some Golden Partner¹ that always played on TV commercials, along with dairy products, bird’s nest, and other such things.

He seemed caught between laughing and sighing. “Oh, you child. You’re already here, why buy all this? If Mrs. Zhao sees this, she’ll scold you again. Besides, carrying all these boxes in and out of the police station—what does that look like to people!”

Despite his complaints, it was obvious he was genuinely pleased.

The corners of Song Yuhang’s lips curved upward slightly, but she didn’t say anything more.

As Zhao Junfeng processed the official documents on his desk, they chatted about everyday matters. He even planned to have a few drinks with his former student after work today. But unexpectedly, his internal office phone rang, and the old director’s brows knitted together.

“What’s wrong?”

“Reporter interviews.”

Zhao Junfeng had worked in criminal investigation his entire life, steadily climbing the ranks one step at a time. He had braved life and death more times than he could count, practically licking blood off the edge of a blade. What he feared most wasn’t those vicious, extreme criminals, but the intellectuals who were accustomed to condemning people with their pens and microphones.

Zhao Junfeng hung up the phone, suddenly looking a bit helpless. “As you know, the 4.18 case has been overturned again. The Procuratorate is sending people over to supervise us every few days, and the court is breathing down our necks to supplement new evidence. The internet is in an uproar, and there are even people saying we extorted confessions through torture! The brothers in the general detachment haven’t slept in days, but how can a suspect be that easy to catch?”

Binhai Province was densely populated, and over a third of its residents were migrant workers. The good and the bad were inextricably mixed, making sweeping investigations incredibly laborious.

Song Yuhang considered the situation. “I have a rough understanding of that case. My suggestion is that the direction of the investigation should still be focused on the people who had close contact with the deceased. After all, not many people knew the victim suffered from a heart condition. Those who interacted with her, and those who entered the KTV on the night of the incident—they should be the primary targets for screening.”

“The victim worked in a KTV. Her interpersonal relationships were complicated.” He picked up his teacup and took a sip, his brows furrowed in deep distress.

Because of this mess, the men in the detachment had pulled several consecutive all-nighters. Though as a leader he didn’t have to personally conduct door-to-door interviews, the burden on his shoulders was heavy, and he hadn’t slept soundly for days.

Song Yuhang pondered for a moment. Whenever she was deep in thought, her thumb would unconsciously rub gently against her index finger.

Even so, there were scarcely any emotional fluctuations visible on her face.

“Investigate Jin Weixin at the same time. Once the source of the drugs is clarified, you won’t be far from the truth.”

“You read the autopsy report?” Zhao Junfeng didn’t bother hiding it; the document was sitting right there on his desk.

“I did. Since the murderer was able to administer the poison and leave the victim completely off guard, it proves he and the victim shared a very close relationship. The autopsy report notes that the victim suffered massive bleeding because she was stabbed in the chest with a fruit knife shortly after death. Focus the surveillance screening on that specific time window to see who entered and exited the private room.”

Zhao Junfeng held his teacup. The rising steam dampened the lenses of his reading glasses. He gently stroked the ceramic wall of the cup, his expression suddenly seeming profound and unfathomable.

“If the victim was already dead, why go back and stab her again?”

“To confuse the police investigation. Or… to frame someone else.”

She lightly pursed her lips. “Or perhaps, simply out of fear that the victim wasn’t truly dead, so they added another strike to be sure.”

Scientific criminal psychological profiling was built on crime analysis, victimology, and logical evidence—not on mystical, obscure fortune-telling.

Because she hadn’t investigated the scene herself or seen the body with her own eyes, what she could offer were only suggestions.

“The murderer had close contact with both the victim and Jin Weixin. They might even have a grudge against one of them.”

“They might have been present in the KTV that night.”

“The possibility of a female perpetrator cannot be ruled out.”

With too little information, these were the only concrete conclusions.

When she finished speaking, Zhao Junfeng chuckled lightly, as if he had a well-thought-out plan in mind, or perhaps as if her words were exactly what he had expected.

It was already dusk. The evening sun cast its golden rays through the blinds, leaving a patch of light on his desk.

The breeze lifted a corner of the autopsy report, revealing the name of the primary forensic medical examiner: Lin Yan.

At this moment, Song Yuhang did not yet understand what that smile meant. She would only learn later that the exact same analysis she had just provided had already been spoken to him by someone else a few days ago.

Was it a case of great minds thinking alike, or were they destined to be nemeses?

At that time, Song Yuhang had already passed the age of thirty. She thought she had already completed a third of her life’s journey, and due to her profession and training, she believed she thoroughly understood the ways of the world and the human heart. Yet she did not know that destiny was a chaotic net woven from a thousand inextricably linked threads.

She and Lin Yan were merely two insignificant stars caught within the sweeping tide of this era.

“Miss, dinner is ready.” The butler gently knocked on the study door.

Lin Yan dropped the folded paper crane into a transparent glass bottle, sealed the lid tight, and locked it away inside the display cabinet.

“Bring it up.”

“Come, Xiao Song. It’s rare for you to visit. Eat more.”

That evening, Mrs. Zhao had prepared a family feast, covering the table with hot dishes—fish, shrimp, crab, and meat. Everything one could possibly wish for was there.

Seeing her rice bowl already piled into a small mountain, Song Yuhang had no choice but to start stuffing food into her mouth while reaching out a hand to stop the older woman.

“Enough, Mrs. Zhao. I still have food in my bowl. You should eat too.”

“Alright, alright. You two sit down first, I still have soup simmering in the pot.”

Saying this, she hurried back into the kitchen to fetch the soup.

Zhao Junfeng opened a bottle of Wuliangye², filled his own glass, and poured a small half-glass for her.

The two plastic cups clinked together. Song Yuhang took a sip, and her face immediately burned bright red.

Zhao Junfeng laughed heartily. “Still as bad at drinking as ever.”

“Cough, cough…” She set the cup down just as Mrs. Zhao returned with the soup and served her a small bowl.

“I’ve made a fool of myself in front of you.”

“Oh my, why are you egging her on to drink again? If Xiao Song can’t drink, she shouldn’t drink. Don’t listen to him. Come, drink the soup.”

Song Yuhang quickly stood up to accept the bowl with both hands. “Thank you, Mrs. Zhao.”

“What are you thanking me for, child? We don’t have visitors for half a month at a time. I’m just happy in my heart that you came.”

Zhao Junfeng had worked his way up from a beat cop all the way to his current position as the Deputy Director of the Binhai Provincial Public Security Department exclusively in charge of criminal investigation. Along the way, it could truly be said he had waded through storms of blood and gore. Yet even into his twilight years, he had no children by his knees. His only son had been murdered many years ago in an act of revenge by a criminal.

If the boy had been able to grow up safely, he would be at the age to marry and establish a career by now.

Even though the case was ultimately solved, it had left an indelible scar on the old couple’s hearts, and they had never tried for another child.

Because of this, no matter when someone visited, the Zhao household was always somewhat quiet and desolate.

Zhao Junfeng refilled his glass. “Let’s not talk about that. I heard you’re dating someone? What’s the man’s age, family background, and profession? How’s his personality? Does he hit his wife?”

A criminal investigator’s first reaction was always to interrogate the background.

Song Yuhang didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I can’t hide anything from you, sir. We aren’t dating yet. I just listened to my mom and went on a blind date, that’s all.”

Zhao Junfeng knew her well. If there wasn’t even a shadow of a start³ to the relationship, she wouldn’t have brought it up. It was eighty percent likely they had caught each other’s eye.

“We’ve interacted a few times, and he’s alright. He’s a few years older than me, just under forty, single and never married, and has no bad habits like smoking or drinking. His family is local to Jiangcheng, and he holds a medical doctorate.”

Mrs. Zhao, listening from the side, agreed that these were excellent conditions, but she was still a bit puzzled. “Still a first marriage at that age? Could he have some unmentionable problem? You still need to keep your guard up and observe him carefully.”

Song Yuhang understood her concern. “Mm, you’re right. We’ve just met a few times and shared a few meals. We’re interacting as friends; I haven’t thought deeply about anything further just yet.”

“Yes, that’s exactly the right approach. Marriage is a major life event and cannot be rushed. With our Xiao Song’s excellent qualifications, you won’t ever have to worry about not finding a good family.”

Zhao Junfeng glared at his wife anxiously. “What do you know? It’s already hard enough for criminal police to find partners, and women in this line of work are as rare as phoenix feathers⁴! If she doesn’t hurry up and marry someone she likes while she’s still young, as she gets older, she’ll go from being the one picking to the one being picked!”

Those words were exactly the same as what her mother always said.

Song Yuhang massaged her forehead. “Director Zhao…”

Mrs. Zhao instantly started bickering with him over the matter. “Then shouldn’t you be grateful I took a fancy to you? You must have cultivated blessings for eight lifetimes to get me!”

“You old woman, I swear the older you get, the less forgiving your mouth is…”

Though Zhao Junfeng complained, the warm smile in his eyes remained entirely unchanged, and everyone in the room burst into laughter.

Outside, the city lights flickered to life one after another, and traffic shuttled endlessly across the overpasses. Inside, the house was filled with the rich aroma of a home-cooked meal. For thousands upon thousands of people, this was just an ordinary, common weekend.

For Song Yuhang, even many years later, she would still vividly remember the alcohol-flushed redness on her mentor’s face, Mrs. Zhao’s teasing laughter, and this table laden with all her favorite dishes.

It was a beautiful time she could never return to.

The author has something to say:

Thank you for reading.

Regarding the character Song Yuhang—at first glance, she might not seem as dazzling as Lin Yan. But actually, what I wanted to write this time is an ordinary person. An ordinary personality, an ordinary job, an ordinary family, yet an extraordinary mission.

A while ago, I don’t know if everyone saw the news about the SWAT officer who shot and killed a knife-wielding criminal holding a girl hostage in a Nanning subway station. He was a slightly chubby middle-aged uncle who showed up wearing an undershirt, shorts, and flip-flops. At first glance, you wouldn’t even be able to pick him out of a crowd.

Going further back, the female police officer who shot a hostage-taking criminal in Guangzhou that year was also dressed in plain clothes, her hair pinned up, a purse hanging from her arm. She looked no different from any ordinary woman taking a stroll down the street. Taking advantage of the brief moment the criminal looked down to pick up a bottle of water, she raised her hand and fired three precise shots, successfully rescuing the hostage.

Having grown up in a government compound, the street I lived on was called “Judicature Road.” As the name suggests, that entire street was lined with public security bureaus and government departments. Because of this, I have seen too many of these seemingly ordinary but not truly “ordinary” heroes—including my grandfather. He started working at seventeen, moving from being a frontline criminal investigator to retreating to desk duty due to an injury. He cracked many major, serious cases in our local area, and his medals and certificates of honor could fill an entire drawer. But once he took off his uniform, he was just an ordinary old man who loved fishing, practiced Tai Chi every morning, and would argue until his face turned red with vendors at the wet market over three cents.

《Life Is Like a Journey Against the Current》 was dedicated to all doctors and firefighters; this time, I pay tribute to all the ordinary people holding fast to their posts.

Thank you everyone. I am Gu Huaijiu, and I love this world.

Footnotes

Huángjīn Dādàng (Golden Partner) — a popular brand of Chinese health supplements famously heavily advertised on television, often bought as gifts for elders.
Wǔliángyè — a famous, premium brand of Chinese baijiu (a strong, clear distilled spirit) often brought out for honored guests or special occasions.
Bāzì méi yī piě — an idiom meaning things haven't even begun to take shape. It literally translates to 'not even the first stroke of the character eight (八) has been written.'
Fèngmáo línjiǎo — a Chinese idiom (chengyu) literally meaning 'phoenix feathers and unicorn horns,' used to describe something extremely rare and precious.

3 Comments

vira

Mar 29, '26 at 3:07 PM

Not liking the MC so far. Seems like an entitled bitchy hoe. But I’m sure there is reasons for all that so I’m interested to see when this goes.

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sleepy_ninja

Sep 2, '24 at 6:45 AM

it's just the start and it's already so dark ಠ⁠﹏⁠ಠ

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1. lona2c
  
  @sleepy_ninja • Sep 8, '24 at 3:00 PM
  
  Fr lol. That last sentence is so ominous
  
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