Anti-gang campaign: Female bureau chief

Everyone present fell silent.

No forensic examination was needed; anyone with criminal investigation experience present at the scene knew what that aura meant.

At the bottom of the pit was a skeleton wrapped in an old blanket.

The blanket had mostly rotted away, revealing the stark white bones beneath. The remains were lying supine, with his hands folded over his chest, in an unusually peaceful posture—as if someone had carefully arranged him in this position after his death.

But this "peace" was shattered by a detail: all ten fingers of the deceased's hands were broken, and each finger was bent at an unnatural angle in the opposite direction.

Jiang Ruolan squatted by the pit, looking at the skeleton that had been buried underground for thirteen years. She remembered what the forensic doctor, Lao Zheng, had said when examining Sun Guangli's body: "There are bruises on the fingernails, which are traces of being pinched or pressed by something before death."

The bruises on Sun Guangli's fingers and his broken nails were exactly the same as the way Meng Zhaoyang was tortured thirteen years ago.

Before killing Sun Guangli, Tang Yuanqing interrogated him—perhaps wanting to know how much he had seen back then, whether he had told anyone, and whether he had left any evidence.

The methods used were exactly the same as when Shen Wangshan interrogated Meng Zhaoyang thirteen years ago.

The same form of torture, thirteen years apart, was inflicted on two different people.

One was buried under a stone slab on the back mountain of Qingshipu thirteen years ago, and the other was thrown into the reeds of Qinglong River thirteen years later.

Tang Yuanqing, who carried out all of this, is still at large.

"Notify the forensic pathologist to conduct a DNA comparison."

Jiang Ruolan stood up, not brushing the dirt off her knees. Her voice was steady, but every word carried an extreme coldness. "Also, visit all the villagers in Qingshipu Village and the three surrounding villages, especially the elderly. Thirteen years have passed; surely someone will remember something."

At 8:00 AM, the DNA comparison results came out.

The DNA of the remains matched the blood sample of Meng Zhaoyang's mother, confirming that the deceased was Meng Zhaoyang, the accountant of Fengmao Group who went missing in 2012.

When the news reached the provincial department's special task force, Zhou Pei remained silent for a while before saying that he would personally go and tell Meng Zhaoyang's mother the news.

The old woman is seventy-one years old this year. She waited for her son for thirteen years in her hometown in Sichuan, only to be met with a skeleton with all ten fingers broken.

Jiang Ruolan did not participate in the subsequent notification of family members.

She put her phone in her pocket and took Lu Zheng to Qingshipu Village.

This village is not big, with only about seventy or eighty households. Most of the young people have gone out to work, leaving mostly the elderly and children.

At the entrance of the village stood an old camphor tree so thick that it would take three people to encircle it. Several elderly men and women were sitting under the tree, basking in the sun. When they saw the people in police uniforms approaching, they all fell silent.

Jiang Ruolan squatted down under the tree and greeted the oldest man there.

The old man's surname is Ding. He is eighty-six years old this year. He is very hard of hearing, but his mind is still clear.

Jiang Ruolan showed him Meng Zhaoyang's photo and asked him if he remembered seeing this person in the village thirteen years ago.

Grandpa Ding held the photo up to his eyes and examined it for a long time before shaking his head.

"I can't remember, I'm getting old, my eyesight isn't good anymore."

But an elderly woman in her seventies next to him took the photo and looked at it for a while, and her expression suddenly changed.

She returned the photo to Jiang Ruolan, lowered her head, and kept rubbing the hem of her clothes with both hands.

"Ma'am, do you know this person?"

Jiang Ruolan spoke very softly.

The old lady remained silent for a long while before lowering her voice and saying:

"I don't know him, but I remember that summer, a black car drove onto the road behind the mountain. Nobody usually travels on that road; it ends at the quarry in the mountains."

I happened to be herding sheep on the mountain that day when I saw that car drive by, followed by two men who were escorting a man wearing glasses. The man was walking with a limp, as if he had injured his leg. I didn't dare linger, so I led the sheep away.

She paused here, her voice lowering, "Later, when I was coming down the mountain, I heard several shouts coming from the back of the mountain, like someone was calling for help, but they stopped after a few shouts. I didn't dare tell anyone, afraid of getting into trouble."

Do you remember the license plate of that car?

"I can't remember, but there was a red, round sign on the front of the car with some kind of word inside."

The old lady frowned and thought for a long time before suddenly saying, "That's right, it's the character '丰' (Feng). Someone from our village worked for that company and told us about it when they came back. They said the logo belongs to the Fengmao Group."

Jiang Ruolan wrote this information down in her notebook.

She closed the notebook and thanked the old lady.

The old lady looked up at her, her lips moved as if she wanted to say something but then swallowed it back. In the end, she just waved her hand, got up, and walked away with her cane.

She walked slowly, her hunched back appearing particularly small in the morning light.

Jiang Ruolan watched her retreating figure, a feeling she couldn't quite describe welling up inside her—this old woman had kept this matter hidden in her heart for thirteen years, perhaps recalling those screams coming from the back mountain every sleepless night, but she dared not speak of it, because Fengmao's mark meant an existence that could not be provoked in Yi'an.

Now she's finally said it.

But the price of this silence was that a young man lay underground for thirteen years.

After leaving Qingshipu Village, Jiang Ruolan received a call from Zhou Pei.

"Ruolan, the provincial intelligence center just found a clue—although Tang Yuanqing's cell phone is switched off, he made a call to his ex-wife yesterday afternoon using a newly issued phone card."

The call location was pinpointed to Shiqiao County, under the jurisdiction of Yi'an City, specifically near a national highway service area in Chengguan Town, Shiqiao County. I have already notified the Shiqiao County Public Security Bureau to assist in setting up a surveillance operation, but their police force is limited. Could you send some officers over there?

"I'll personally lead the team there."

Jiang Ruolan said.

Shiqiao County is the most remote county in Yi'an, and it is also the starting point for Shen Wangshan's rise to power.

Thirty years ago, his first demolition project was in Shiqiao. For more than ten years, Fengmao has been forcibly occupying mines and illegally mining sand and gravel, leaving the mountains of Shiqiao riddled with holes.

Chen Yonggui is from Shiqiao—the sand and gravel plant owner who was splashed with sulfuric acid by Fengmao's men, and he is still lying in the burn ward of the Provincial People's Hospital.

Although Shen Wangshan has fallen, Fengmao's influence in Shiqiao, which he had cultivated for so many years, could not have vanished overnight. Tang Yuanqing's choice to flee to Shiqiao indicates that he still had a hiding place and people there to meet him.

Jiang Ruolan, along with Lu Zheng and six special police officers, drove to Shiqiao.

The car sped along the national highway, and the scenery on both sides gradually changed from city buildings to rolling hills and scattered villages.

After entering Shiqiao County, the roadside scenery was noticeably more dilapidated than that of Yi'an City—abandoned quarries and sand and gravel processing plants were everywhere, and the mountainsides had been excavated, revealing bare, white rock faces like unhealed scars...

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