Arrest (2)

At 8:00 PM, the decaying tube building descended into a rare state of clamor. The rented room at the end of the third floor, near the washrooms, was ablaze with light. A row of police flashlights sat face-up on the floor, their beams reflecting off the ceiling and turning the cramped, dingy space into a makeshift operating theater of harsh white light.

“Stand up! Hands behind your heads! Squat down!”

Qin Song’s voice was the loudest. Standing there in his heavy police boots, he radiated an authority that immediately silenced the posturing men in the room.

To avoid tipping off the suspect, Chen Doudou and Brother Zhong had gone to clear the adjacent rooms in pairs. The ones entering this specific room were Zhao Yu and Qin Song.

The hulking man from the morning flashed a fawning, nervous smile. “Heh, uh, Officer… no one here has done anything wrong. We’re all honest workers.”

Qin Song remained expressionless. “Routine investigation. If you’ve done nothing wrong, we won’t give you any trouble.”

“Right, right… so, what case are you looking into?”

“What? Do I need to give you a briefing?”

“No, no! Of course not!”

Zhao Yu swept her flashlight around the room and offered a brief explanation:

“There’s no harm in telling you. A few days ago, there was a severe arson case at Greenlight Kindergarten. Any of you hear anything?”

“Arson?” The men exchanged looks. “No.”

“Anyone who assists in solving the case is eligible for a ‘Good Citizen’ award. There’s a 20,000-yuan bounty.”

Twenty thousand. To a day laborer making barely two thousand a month, this was a fortune. The room erupted into chatter. Some accused people in other units; some suggested oil stolen from their factory might have been used; others pointed fingers at suspicious neighbors.

Only Jiang Feng remained silent. When Zhao Yu spoke the word “arson,” he reached up and tugged at his collar.

When a person is under extreme stress, their blood pressure spikes briefly, sending a signal to the brain that they are suffocating. This leads many to instinctively tug at their collars or loosen their ties.

Observing this, Liu Huisheng felt a surge of certainty. She took a step forward.

“Everyone stand up. Move to the center of the room.”

Standing makes it easier to read their full-body micro-expressions.

The men looked at each other, then at Zhao Yu. Why was this “prostitute” giving orders in front of the police?

To their shock, Zhao Yu’s cold face showed no surprise. “The officer told you to stand up. Do it.”

“Holy crap…”

The realization hit them like a physical blow—Liu Huisheng was an undercover agent. One of the men couldn’t help but let out a gasp of shock.

Liu Huisheng used a hair tie to pull her long hair back. In an instant, the “working girl” persona evaporated, replaced by a razor-sharp professionalism that radiated from her very bones.

“My apologies, gentlemen. I am with the police.” Her gaze was like a blade. “We are searching this room because we have reliable information that the Greenlight arsonist is among you. Furthermore, the tools used in the crime are hidden in this very room.”

“What?”

“No way!”

“You’ve got the wrong guys!”

The protests were loud and frantic. Only Jiang Feng, for a fraction of a second, shot a look at Liu Huisheng before pressing his lips into a tight, white line.

The “tools” were likely gasoline. A serial arsonist’s addiction only grows; after destroying Greenlight, Jiang Feng would definitely be preparing for the next strike. The rubber boots and gloves used for climbing the water pipes would also be here. Jiang Feng’s reaction confirmed she was right.

The room was small but cluttered. Finding a small bottle of gasoline would take time—unless you knew how to look.

“This room is quite messy. Hard to find things,” Huisheng said, walking toward the wardrobe. Jiang Feng’s expression didn’t change; he remained defensive and watchful.

Target not in the wardrobe.

A skilled micro-expression analyst can determine the location of an object by watching the subject’s face. Huisheng had analyzed over ten thousand faces while traveling with experts from Texas to California. She moved through the tiny space with an elegant, mysterious rhythm, like a goddess revolving in a music box. Each step was a probe into the dark corners of a guilty heart.

She walked toward the luggage rack, where seven or eight suitcases and duffel bags were piled high.

Jiang Feng remained unchanged.

Target not in the luggage.

She moved to the long table. The surface was a mess of junk; cardboard boxes were stacked underneath. Two of the twelve drawers were locked. She flicked the locks.

Target not at the table.

Finally, she approached the bunks. Three sets of bunk beds leaned against the wall. No curtains, no fancy bedding—just straw mats over palm mattresses. Jiang Feng’s lips pressed even tighter.

Liu Huisheng caught it instantly. “It’s hidden here.”

Zhao Yu stepped forward and flipped the mats. Nothing but the bare wooden slats. “It’s not here.”

Huisheng kept her eyes on Jiang Feng and slowly crouched down. Jiang Feng’s upper eyelids retracted, his nostrils flared, and his thumbs pressed hard against the backs of his hands.

“It’s underneath.”

Zhao Yu and Qin Song moved the heavy bed frame. Beneath it was a graveyard of old shoes, plastic bags, and half-eaten trash. They tore through the bags. Still nothing.

Qin Song’s face turned grim as he glared at Liu Huisheng. “You sure about this?”

Huisheng paused for two seconds. “I am.”

Zhao Yu crouched on the floor, scanning the trash from left to right, then right to left. No gasoline, no boots, no gloves. But years of experience told her that criminals love to hide their “treasures” in the filth. She took a broom and swept the trash aside, then walked across the floorboards.

Clack!

Near the head of the bed, a single floorboard felt loose under her thin sole. She crouched and rapped on the tile with her knuckle.

Thud, thud. It was hollow.

Liu Huisheng caught Zhao Yu’s eye and scanned the table again. In the corner, a steel ruler sat polished to a mirror-bright shine—completely out of place in this filthy room.

Serial offenders often treat their tools as sacred treasures, cleaning them repeatedly to prepare for the next act.

Jiang Feng must have used that ruler to pry up the floorboard in the dead of night while his roommates slept. Huisheng reached for the ruler to hand it to Zhao Yu.

Suddenly, a violent force hit her from behind.

“Ah!”

Liu Huisheng lost her balance and pitched forward. Her forehead slammed into the bed frame. A high-pitched ringing erupted in her ears, and her vision turned white.

Eeeeeeeee—

The piercing tinnitus felt like a needle through her brain. The room dissolved into a chaos of shouting. Someone’s hands caught her, stabilizing her. A second later, the sound of breaking glass cut through the noise, followed by a sudden, terrifying silence.

She tried to look toward the sound, but everything was a blur. Above her, she heard Zhao Yu’s roar:

“Jiang Feng! Put that down!”

Qin Song’s voice followed:

“Drop the lighter! Don’t be stupid! You do this and there’s no going back!”

Lighter?

Huisheng shook her head violently, her vision clearing just enough to see a silhouette by the window. Before she could focus, a wall of flame erupted in front of her.

WHOOSH—

The gasoline on the floor ignited instantly. The heat was a physical blow. A curtain of fire rose between the police and Jiang Feng. Through the flickering orange tongues, she saw Jiang Feng leap from the third-story window.

This was a nightmare. This was the riverfront district; the terrain was a labyrinth. If Jiang Feng had scouted his escape, he’d be gone before they could even get down the stairs.

Suddenly, a shadow blurred past her eyes—faster than she could track. The door burst open, and by the time she looked up, the person was gone.

“Zhao Yu!”

“Aaaaaah!”

A woman’s scream pierced the air from the washroom next door. Huisheng stumbled toward the sound to find two laundry women cowering against the wall. They pointed trembling fingers at the wide-open washroom window.

Zhao Yu had jumped.

Huisheng’s mind went blank. She lunged for the windowsill, her voice a raw scream:

“ZHAO YU—!”

Qin Song arrived a second later, punched the wall in frustration, and sprinted for the stairs. The ringing in his ears seemed to echo a question from years ago:

Who is that Zhao girl? She’ll throw her life away just to catch a mugger.