My Dear Forensic Scientist (GL) - Chapter 3

Lin Yan changed into a different outfit and appeared at a high-end club in the city center. It was just after nightfall, the place wasn’t crowded yet, the lighting was dim, and in the restaurant a young man in a tailcoat was playing the violin—soft and melodious.

She followed the waiter around a few turns, her high heels landing soundlessly on the thick carpet.

They finally stopped in front of a door. The waiter bent over in a bow.
“Miss Lin, please.”

Lin Yan pushed the door open and entered. A man was swinging a golf club, the ball missing the hole. Hearing the sound, he turned around and saw her. His face naturally revealed a faint smile.

Not overly warm, not cold either.

“You’re here.”

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

The waiter quietly withdrew after bringing her in. It was a small indoor golf course. Lin Yan wasn’t reserved—on the table, refreshments had already been prepared, as if he knew she would come.

She picked up a candied fruit with her fingertips, put it in her mouth, and her brows furrowed slightly—it was too sweet.

She wiped her fingers with a napkin and did nothing more.

The man was in his early forties, of medium build, with a pale face. He wore an ordinary T-shirt, and after a round of golf, he was slightly out of breath. Sitting across from her, he said:

“How was it? Court today went smoothly?”

Lin Yan never sat properly; she leaned against the chair, her two fair, slender legs lightly crossed, the straps of her red high heels hanging around her white ankles.

Compared with daytime, she was dressed more seductively: a perfectly tailored sleeveless black dress, with a deep V neckline, exposing her collarbone and curves.

The style was sultry, yet on her it wasn’t vulgar at all—just the right touch of allure.

Her earlobes bore a pair of oversized earrings, her wavy curls pinned up, with a few stray strands left around her face. Her skin was pale, but she loved to wear dark lipstick, forcing out a kind of cold beauty.

Such a woman was a temptress, a prey in men’s eyes.

Lin Yan smiled. “Mm, it went smoothly.”

As if in response to her words, her phone on the table lit up—
a bank transfer notification appeared. The amount was enormous. The sender: Xinye Corporation.

The man lifted his glass.
“Congratulations, Miss Lin, on another big fortune.”

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

The rims of their glasses touched softly. They exchanged a knowing smile.

But as she set down her glass, Lin Yan’s smile had already faded.
“Then, according to our agreement…”

“Rest assured. I had people search the police internal system for the information you wanted…”

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

The man shook his head and sipped his champagne.
“Difficult. The case is too old. The intranet only has scraps here and there. I copied them out, but I don’t think they’ll be of much use to you.”

The woman’s lips trembled slightly, then quickly steadied.
“Such a major case, the Public Security Bureau should have paper archives.”

He nodded bluntly.
“Yes, but strangely, last month when we moved the archive room, a batch of old case files was destroyed by water. Nothing left but ashes.”

A fire in the archives was no small matter. Higher-ups had investigated and convicted a few for dereliction of duty. But since these were old closed cases, no one dug deeper, and it ended inconclusively.

“There’s still one other place.”

“The Procuratorate.”

By regulation, as the supervisory body over the police, all evidence would be submitted to the Procuratorate before being passed to court, so there should be backups.

But usually, it was the Procuratorate requesting files from the police, never the other way around. That would be tantamount to admitting negligence.

And more importantly, this was a matter that couldn’t see the light of day. There was no official channel.

Lin Yan understood perfectly. She said nothing, but her grip tightened around the slender stem of her glass, her pale fingers straining so hard it seemed the glass might snap at any moment.

The man shook his head.
“No. Jiangcheng Public Security Bureau—as the place where the case happened—they must have backups. But if they don’t…”

He looked up, his eyes gleaming with an obscure light.
“Lin Yan, this case… you cannot keep digging.”

Binhai Province, in the southwest by the sea, had many typhoons and storms in summer.

The wind whipped the branches; rain and curtains were blown inside.

A woman stood barefoot on the floor.

“You cannot keep digging this case.”

Just chewing over that sentence, she chewed up all her hatred. She raised her hand and plunged a knife deep into the wall.

A bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, briefly illuminating the room.

On the walls, painted in red marker, countless large “X”s trailed long dripping tails, like dried bl00d.

Above the “bloodstains,” yellowed photos and old newspapers were pinned. The room wasn’t large, but one wall was entirely covered.

The photos—human bones, chunks of flesh—despite the mold and age, hadn’t faded. Even across time and distance, one seemed to smell the stench of bl00d.

A young girl was at the center, surrounded by them, quietly smiling. Her once delicate face now looked eerie in such a background.

Another flash of lightning lit the woman’s shadowed face.

Her throat moved; she raised her glass and downed it in one go.

Her arm fell. Droplets of wine dripped onto the floor, like bl00d splattering at her feet.

On the news, the broadcast just happened to show Lin Yan being besieged by reporters.

Song Yuhang, holding a teacup, was listening intently when suddenly the office door was pushed open.

She quickly put the cup down and stood.
“Good day, Director Zhao.”

Almost instinctively, she raised her hand in salute.

The woman wore the spring-autumn police uniform: a pale blue shirt, tie neatly knotted, her posture straight with one hand at her trouser seam, her peaked cap placed quietly to the left of the desk.

Seeing her so formal, Director Zhao laughed.
“With me, no need for so many rules. Sit.”

“Yes.”

Song Yuhang sat again, still upright, back straight.

“How have you been?”

“Not bad. Just hypertension, old problem. But your teacher’s wife makes sure I take my pills every day, so it’s under control.”

Zhao Junfeng was just past fifty, a bit stout, graying at the temples, but still healthy and spirited.

Back when she was at the Police University, he was already a senior inspector in the Criminal Division of the provincial department, often lecturing there. He was half a teacher to her. After she graduated, wanting to work in Jiangcheng’s Public Security Bureau, it was he who pulled strings and mediated for her.

She always remembered this kindness. Taking advantage of a meeting at the provincial department, she made time to visit him.

But both were busy, and the only time they could meet was in his office.

Even so, it was enough. Zhao Junfeng was one of the very few who had treated her truly well.

“You must take care of your health, remember your meds. Don’t always let my teacher’s wife nag you… These are some supplements for you.”

She wasn’t talkative by nature. Anything more got stuck in her throat.

At her feet were brightly colored gift boxes: milk products, bird’s nest, even that health product always advertised on TV.

He looked half exasperated, half amused.
“Ah, you child. Coming is enough, why buy these? If your teacher’s wife sees, she’ll scold you. And carrying these into the station—what does it look like!”

His words said otherwise, but clearly he was pleased.

Song Yuhang curved her lips slightly, saying nothing.

While he worked through some papers, they chatted casually. He had planned to have drinks with her after work. Unexpectedly, an internal call came through, and his brows furrowed.

“What’s the matter?”

“Reporters.”

A lifetime in criminal investigations, countless brushes with death—what Zhao Junfeng feared most wasn’t vicious criminals, but sharp-tongued intellectuals.

He hung up the phone, helpless.
“You know—the April 18th case resurfaced. The Procuratorate sends people every other day to supervise, the court is urging us for new evidence, the internet is in an uproar, and some even accuse us of torture! The guys in the squad haven’t slept in days, but suspects don’t catch themselves.”

Binhai was a populous province, a third of its people migrant workers, chaotic and hard to investigate.

Song Yuhang thought carefully.
“I’ve read about the case. I suggest focusing the investigation on those who had close contact with the victim. After all, very few knew she had heart disease. Especially anyone who was at the KTV that night—screen them carefully.”

“The victim worked in a KTV. Her social ties were complicated.” He sipped tea, frowning.

His men had been working nonstop for nights. As leader, though he didn’t need to personally knock on doors, the weight on his shoulders kept him from sleeping.

Song Yuhang hesitated. She had a habit of rubbing her thumb against her finger when deep in thought. Her face showed little emotion.

“Also investigate Jin Weixin. Once the source of the drug is clear, the truth won’t be far.”

“You read the autopsy report?” He didn’t hide it; the file lay on his desk.

“Yes. Since the killer could poison her without her guard up, it means they were very close. The report says she was stabbed in the chest shortly after death, causing massive bleeding. Focus on surveillance in that window—who entered or left the box?”

He rubbed his cup, steam fogging his glasses, looking pensive.
“Why stab her again if she was already dead?”

“To mislead the police, or… to frame someone else.”

She pressed her lips.
“Or simply out of fear she wasn’t dead—so, a finishing blow.”

A scientific criminal profile had to be based on analysis, victim info, and evidence—not vague mysticism.

Without visiting the scene or seeing the body, she could only offer suggestions.

“The killer had intimate contact with both the victim and Jin Weixin, maybe even grudges.”

“They may have been at the KTV that night.”

“And don’t rule out a female suspect.”

Too little information—those were all the conclusions.

When she finished, Zhao Junfeng chuckled faintly, as if unsurprised.

By now it was dusk. Sunset streamed through the blinds, casting patterns on his desk.

The autopsy report fluttered, revealing the examiner’s name: Lin Yan.

Song Yuhang did not yet understand what his smile meant. Later, she would. She hadn’t known her words had already been echoed to him days earlier.

Was it simply great minds thinking alike—or the mark of destined adversaries?

At that time, Song Yuhang was just past thirty, thinking she’d lived a third of her life. With her profession, she thought she understood people. But fate was a tangled, messy web.

She and Lin Yan were nothing more than two tiny stars in the vast tide of their era.

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

Lin Yan placed the folded paper crane into a glass jar, sealed it, and locked it in the cabinet.

“Bring it up.”

“Here, Xiao Song, since you came, eat more.”

That evening, the teacher’s wife prepared a feast: fish, shrimp, crab, meat—everything.

Seeing her bowl piled into a small mountain, Song Yuhang had no choice but to keep eating, even as she tried to stop her.
“Enough, ma’am, I still have plenty. You eat too.”

“Alright, alright. You two sit, I still have soup on the stove.”

She bustled into the kitchen again.

Zhao Junfeng opened a bottle of Wuliangye, poured himself a full cup, and only half-filled hers.

Plastic cups clinked together. Song Yuhang took a sip, her face instantly flushing red.

He laughed heartily.
“Still such a lightweight!”

She coughed, putting down the glass. The teacher’s wife came back with soup, ladled her a small bowl.

“Forgive me for the poor sight.”

“Why are you pushing her to drink? If Xiao Song can’t, then she can’t. Don’t listen to him. Here, have soup.”

Song Yuhang quickly stood and accepted it.
“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Thank you for what? We hardly get visitors. You coming makes me happy.”

Zhao Junfeng had worked from a beat cop up to Deputy Director of the provincial Criminal Division. A lifetime through storms and bl00d. But in old age, he had no son; their only boy had been killed years ago by criminals’ revenge.

Had he lived, he would now be a grown man.

Even though the case had been solved, the couple’s hearts bore scars. They never had another child.

So the Zhao home was always quiet.

He refilled his cup.
“Enough of that. I hear you’re seeing someone? Age, background, job? Character? Does he beat women?”

A criminal cop’s instinct.

Song Yuhang chuckled helplessly.
“Nothing escapes you. Not really dating—just my mom urging me into blind dates.”

He knew her well. If it weren’t something, she wouldn’t mention it. Likely she’d met someone she didn’t dislike.

“Met a few times, not bad. Older than me, late thirties, single, never married, no bad habits, local from Jiangcheng, PhD in medicine.”

The teacher’s wife thought the conditions good, but also worried.
“That age, still never married—could there be something hidden? Better keep an eye out.”

Song nodded.
“Yes, you’re right. Just a few meals, as friends. Nothing more for now.”

“Exactly. Marriage can’t be rushed. With your conditions, you won’t lack choices.”

Zhao glared at her.
“What do you know? It’s already hard for cops to find partners, especially women in the field! If you don’t settle while young, the older you get, the fewer options—you’ll be picking, but so will they!”

That was exactly what her mother always said.

Song Yuhang rubbed her forehead.
“Director Zhao…”

The wife scolded him.
“And you should be grateful I married you! Took eight lifetimes of luck!”

“You old woman, the older you get the sharper your tongue…”

Though he grumbled, his eyes still laughed. The whole room burst into laughter.

City lights one by one flickered on, traffic flowed over the viaducts. Inside, the food smelled rich and warm. To most people, it was just another ordinary weekend.

To Song Yuhang, even years later, she would still remember: the red flush on her master’s face from drink, the teacher’s wife laughing and scolding, and a table full of her favorite dishes.

A time of happiness she would never return to.