Anti-gang campaign: Female bureau chief

In the evening, Jiang Ruolan got two dishes from the canteen—braised pork ribs and stir-fried bok choy—and sat in her office eating while reviewing the new year's criminal investigation work plan for Shiqiao County Bureau that Zhao Rui had just submitted.

The plan mentions that Shiqiao County still has a prominent public security problem: after the accomplices in the Shen Wangshan case who were given suspended sentences or exempted from criminal punishment were released from prison, some of them returned to Shiqiao and moved around the mining area. Although no obvious criminal behavior was found, the local people were afraid of them and dared not deal with the police.

Zhao Rui wrote a sentence in the report that left a deep impression on her: "The very existence of these people is a threat. Even if they do nothing but stand on a street corner smoking a cigarette, people who have been bullied by them in the past will avoid them."

She put down her chopsticks and wrote a line on the report:

"Agreed. It is recommended that dynamic management and social assistance for released prisoners be carried out simultaneously, and that the civil affairs and human resources departments be coordinated to provide employment training and resettlement services. We cannot rely solely on the public security department."

By the time the report was approved, it was completely dark.

She stood up, walked to the window, and opened it to let the cold air in.

The night in Yi'an was quiet and deep, with one or two car horns coming from the distant streets, which were quickly dispersed by the night wind.

After more than two years of radical reform, the city is slowly growing back to its former glory—the excavated ruins have been filled in, new buildings are rising from the ground, people who have been silent in the darkness for thirty years are beginning to believe that calling the police is really useful, and those once arrogant thugs are either serving time in prison or keeping a low profile after their release.

But this city also bears scars that will never heal—thirty-seven lives, thirty-seven families, the remains found in the back hills of Qingshipu, the construction site in the east of the city, the old site of the phosphate fertilizer plant, and the Chenjiagou mine, as well as secrets that may never be found and still lie quietly under some cement ground.

She closed the window and sat back down at her desk.

The phone on the table lit up. Song Wanqing had sent a voice message, her voice filled with the satisfaction of having just finished dinner: "I made radish-filled buns today and froze a whole drawer full for you. Remember to take them with you next time you come back."

She picked up her phone, pressed the record button, and as she spoke, she suddenly remembered Su Nian—the girl whose head Ding Hai had wrapped in plastic wrap.

If she were alive, she would be a junior in college this year.

She remembered Chen Xiufang's gold ring that hadn't completely corroded, the police report form with a misspelled word written on it by Qin Guihua's husband, and the way Lin Xiaomei's son smiled at the camera in the photo.

She also recalled Sun Zhengyang's handcuffed hands as he sat in the interrogation chair, long and stiff, his knuckles trembling slightly. Those hands that had once signed the "deferred investigation" petition ultimately couldn't even grasp at a straw.

The record button was still lit. She brought the phone to her mouth and said, "Okay, I'll get it next time I go back."

Fine sleet began to fall outside the window, making a soft rustling sound as it hit the glass.

The sleet will stop before dawn, and then the sun will rise as usual, and the gears of the city will continue to turn.

The blank boxes in the notebook in front of her were waiting for her to fill them in one by one.

On the day Zhou Wenxuan was executed, Jiang Ruolan was attending the provincial public security system's semi-annual work conference in the provincial capital and did not witness the execution.

According to the execution record, Zhou Wenxuan's last words before being taken to the execution ground were to the police officer in charge: "Tell my sister that it's time to collect the eggs from the chicken coop."

His younger sister's name is Zhou Xiaoqin. She is from Qingshipu Village, Shiqiao County. She married into a neighboring town and raises more than a dozen chickens.

After Zhou Wenxuan's death sentence was handed down, she only visited him once. She picked up the intercom through the glass, called out "Brother" and then cried so hard she couldn't continue. For the remaining fifteen minutes, Zhou Wenxuan did all the talking—asking her if her back still hurt, how many points her son got on his final exams, and whether the old house was leaking. He didn't mention his own case at all.

The correctional officer later wrote a note in his duty log:

"Death row inmate Zhou Wenxuan was in a calm state before his execution and voluntarily handed over his personal belongings—a well-worn Xinhua Dictionary, a pair of gold-rimmed glasses, and an unmailed letter home—to the guards to be given to his sister. The contents of the letter home were reviewed in accordance with the law and found no illegal information, so the transfer was permitted."

The letter contained only one page, with neat handwriting, exactly the same as his accountant's. The last paragraph of the letter read:

"Xiaoqin, I've done a lot of bad things in my life and owe a lot of lives. You don't need to defend me, and you don't need to come to my grave."

"Just live your life well. Every year during Qingming Festival, just burn some paper money for your sister-in-law. Our parents passed away early, and I didn't take good care of you; I'll make it up to you in the next life."

Jiang Ruolan saw the copy of that letter in the case file six months later.

She read the letter twice from beginning to end, then tucked it back into the case file without making any annotations or comments.

After closing the file, he stood up, walked to the window, and stared blankly at the early summer sky of Yi'an for a long time.

It was June, and the sycamore trees in Yi'an were a vibrant green. Sunlight shone on the gray floor tiles of the municipal bureau compound, reflecting a dazzling white light.

She recalled that when she first arrived in Ngee Ann two years ago, the city was also in this season, with the red logo of the Fengmao Group and closed roller shutters everywhere under the gray sky.

Two years have passed, and Fengmao's logo has completely disappeared from the city, while the tightly closed roller shutters have been opened one by one.

But Zhou Wenxuan's words in his letter, "I owe many lives," pierced her heart like a fine needle—he had repaid the lives he owed, but the families destroyed and the life trajectories altered behind those lives could never be repaid.

She locked the file in the filing cabinet and turned to pick up a document from the table.

That was a notice sent by the provincial department yesterday—the Yi'an experience has been promoted throughout the province for half a year, and the provincial department is preparing to hold a provincial meeting in September to promote the normalization of the fight against organized crime. The notice requires the Yi'an Municipal Bureau to submit a detailed analysis of typical cases.

The materials should focus on the Shen Wangshan case as the main thread, connecting all derivative cases to form a complete "systematic source tracing" operation guide.

This document was the final draft of the more than two hundred pages of case report on her desk. She reviewed the report from beginning to end again, signed her name on the last page, and then called Lu Zheng in.

"Before sending this material to the provincial department, add an attachment. Compile all the technical plans, personnel allocation, and cross-departmental coordination processes for our two large-scale excavations at the Qingshipu back mountain and the Chengdong construction site into a separate volume."

This manual will be useful if similar backlog cases are encountered elsewhere in the future.

Lu Zheng took the report and weighed it in his hand. His gaze lingered on the bolded title on the cover: "Analysis of Typical Cases in Yi'an City's Special Campaign Against Organized Crime: 'Systematic Source Clearing'".

He looked up at Jiang Ruolan, hesitated for a moment, and then spoke:

"Director Jiang, once this report is submitted, Shen Wangshan's case will be officially closed. From the day you parachuted into Yi'an two years ago, you have led us through every step of this case from beginning to end."

Thirty-seven lives, forty-seven suspects, fifteen protectors—all brought to justice. Now the period is about to end, and you…have nothing to say?”

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