A deep, lonely sadness wrapped around Zhen Nuan, suffocating her like a tide she could neither escape nor cry against.
This time, guilt gnawed at her from the very core. She felt the silent sorrow of the deceased; they were gone, their grievances unheard by anyone. Her guilt extended toward them, but it weighed even heavier on herself.
Guan Xiaoyu frowned, her concern evident. Usually carefree, she mingled with men constantly. Among the women in the bureau, only a few were present, all rough-edged and untrained in comforting others. Yet, Zhen Nuan wiped her tears in an instant, her face now firm, serious.
“Xiao Yu,” she said, her voice resolute, “accompany me to the scene.”
…
She recalled Yan Han mentioning the need to connect the scene with the autopsy. Some mysteries could not be solved in the lab alone; she needed the scene to complete the picture.
…
The rooftop of the hotel was cold, wind cutting sharply across the surface. Zhen Nuan and Guan Xiaoyu crouched low, magnifying glass in hand, meticulously scanning each corner. The wind stung their faces, numbing their fingers, but neither complained nor faltered.
Hours passed, methodical and painstaking, until finally—a faint bloodstain!
On a small thorn at the base of a dead plant.
Overjoyed, Zhen Nuan called out, “Guan Xiaoyu! If this was left by the murderer, it could be crucial!”
“Nuannuan, beautiful lady, not bad,” Guan Xiaoyu said with a thumb-up and a mischievous smirk. “I’m in trouble. The captain will scold me for missing this detail last time. But I’m happy—we solved it together. I’m not afraid of being scolded.”
Zhen Nuan grinned, the mist from her smile dissipating into the cold air. She pulled out her camera to document the evidence.
“Wait,” Guan Xiaoyu interjected, pressing down on her camera and handing her a ruler. “Criminal photography isn’t art. Angles and composition don’t matter. Be objective. Comprehensive. And a ruler is essential.”
Zhen Nuan sighed, realizing she had much to learn. With Guan Xiaoyu’s guidance, she photographed, dissected, and bagged the blood-stained plant with meticulous care.
Even on a freezing day, her heart felt warm, buoyed by the significance of the discovery.
Back at the office, she stepped out of the car and saw Yan Han by the flower bed, smoking.
He wore a long blue-black trench coat, unbuttoned, with a dark sweater beneath, white shirt collar peeking out. Tall, commanding, and impossibly stylish, he exuded an icy elegance.
Guan Xiaoyu sighed, “Beauty.”
Zhen Nuan merely frowned. “Beauty” seemed inadequate; he was more like a mountain pine—handsome, sharp, unyielding. His smile concealed a dagger of intellect and caution; “gentle” was never in his vocabulary.
The cold gnawed at her, her bones aching. She envied his seemingly impervious warmth.
As they approached, Yan Han extinguished his cigarette and tossed it into the trash. Guan Xiaoyu stepped forward, greeting him cheerfully: “Captain!”
Zhen Nuan mumbled her own greeting, hiding her face in her scarf.
Yan Han tilted his head slightly. “Where did you go?”
“You were looking for criticism,” Guan Xiaoyu answered boldly. “We found a bloodstain missed last time. Thanks to the beautiful Nuan Nuan, she insisted I come.”
Zhen Nuan flushed at being called “beautiful” in front of him. Yan Han’s gaze shifted to her. “Why did you return to the scene?”
She hesitated, her tone tinged with anger and embarrassment. “Didn't you say that?”
He raised a single eyebrow, a faint, lazy smile tugging at his lips, observing her as though she were a petulant child.
Guan Xiaoyu, ever blunt, interjected: “Captain, you even scolded her to tears. How can you ask such things?”
“No! You’re exaggerating,” Zhen Nuan protested, red-faced. Her gaze darted to Yan Han, then quickly downcast.
He smirked lazily. “When did I scold her?”
Guan Xiaoyu scowled. “Your tone is so subtle, it might as well be direct scolding!”
Zhen Nuan buried deeper into her scarf, mortified.
Yan Han continued with a sly ease, “You said I shouldn’t scold you, yet asked me to do so. Truly hard to please.”
Relief washed over Zhen Nuan, though she grumbled silently: Captain Yan, you’re the difficult one here.
A car drove in, and Shen Zetian and Dong Sisi arrived for blood testing. Zhen Nuan and Guan Xiaoyu returned to work.
Back upstairs, Zhen Nuan examined the tiny thorn in the evidence bag. “There’s too little blood for analysis.”
“Just replicate the DNA,” Guan Xiaoyu advised.
She bade him goodbye and returned to the autopsy room. She acknowledged Yan Han’s wisdom: a forensic pathologist’s work extends beyond the lab; the scene provides irreplaceable insights.
Examining Jiang Xiao again, she found no wound corresponding to the thorn. The bloodstain belonged to another, likely the person who had fought Jiang Xiao in the flower garden.
…
Later, Zhen Nuan visited the biology lab. DNA replication was complete, electrophoresis underway. Gel containers emitted red light under ultraviolet, fragments moving toward the positive electrode. Yet, nothing appeared on the X-ray film.
Guan Xiaoyu found her afterward with Qin Shu. “Nuannuan, buffet coupons! Want to go?”
Zhen Nuan shook her head. “I have an appointment tonight.”
Guan Xiaoyu groaned. “Only four women in C-Lab. Qin Shu wants to date. You have an appointment too. Am I to dine with Teacher Huamei?” She shuddered at the thought.
“Love?” Qin Shu muttered, dismissive. “I’m grabbing a quick bite. Fingerprints await tonight.”
Guan Xiaoyu grinned. “With someone by my side, everything tastes delicious.”
“Really? No, just go ahead.” Zhen Nuan shook her head.
Evening brought bitter cold. As she left the lobby, a familiar tall figure awaited—Shen Yi. She dashed down the stairs, joyful.
“Shen Yi!”
The north wind teased his hair, his handsome face sharp beneath black strands. His calm gaze froze even the wind in place.
He wrapped her in a cotton-padded jacket, buttoning it meticulously. “It’s cold. I’m afraid you’ll feel pain,” he murmured.
Her hand slipped into his, fingers finding warmth. “Do you like this job?”
“I do. Everyone is great, and I learn something every day,” she replied. Cold air flowed into her lungs, sweet as new purpose. This work gave her a sense of identity and belonging she had never known.
Halfway down the path, Yan Han and Qin Shu emerged from the building. Subconsciously, Zhen Nuan tried to pull her hand away from Shen Yi, but he held it firmly, and her cheeks burned.
Yan Han and Shen Yi’s black eyes met briefly, cold and calculating. Zhen Nuan greeted him softly: “Captain.”
Yan Han nodded, leaving quietly.
Qin Shu glanced at Zhen Nuan entering the car. “Is that Shen Yi?”
“Hmm,” Yan Han replied, indifferent.
Could Zhen Nuan truly belong to Shen Yi? Qin Shu recalled the C-Lab interview—the selection process, harsh conditions, and the challenges women faced in the field. He looked at Yan Han’s retreating figure in the gray winter, wondering: what does he truly intend?
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