The orange evening light was being slowly devoured by the massive gray shadow of the city bureau building.

Heat from the cement ground had not yet fully dissipated, mixing with thin car exhaust fumes and the aroma of food wafting from the distant cafeteria, creating a stuffy atmosphere unique to government institutions at dusk. Most people had already finished work, or were preparing to leave, gathering in small groups in the courtyard, keeping their voices low, but unable to suppress their excitement, which buzzed in the sultry air.


Chen Mo remained oblivious to all of this.

He crouched beside a patch of greenery in the corner of the old office building, pushing a plastic bowl of cat food a bit further forward. A skinny orange tabby stood warily a few steps away, making tentative purring sounds from its throat. Chen Mo didn't rush it, instead gently stroking the back of a bolder calico cat with the back of his hand. This cat squinted contentedly, rubbing against his pant leg and leaving behind a few barely noticeable white hairs.

He was forty-eight years old, a police sergeant in the second squad of the Criminal Investigation Department approaching early retirement. His old jacket, washed so many times it had turned pale, stood in stark contrast to the crisp uniforms or smart casual clothes of his younger colleagues. His expression always seemed covered by a layer of dust, revealing no joy or anger, and he appeared separated from the surrounding discussions and whispers as if by a thick pane of glass.


"Have you heard? The highly educated talent sent down from the provincial level has been assigned directly to our unit."

"That's not all, his name is Li Xiaodong, he was the top student at the Police University, received full marks in combat and shooting, and it's said his thesis even won an award."


"Assigned to the Second Brigade right away, looks like the department intends to groom him specially."

The discussions buzzed into his ears like mosquitoes. Chen Mo didn't look up, but instead pulled out half a sausage from his pocket, slowly tore it into small pieces, and placed them at the edge of his bowl. The orange cat finally couldn't resist the temptation and carefully approached, quickly snatched a piece, and ran back into the shadows.

A young man wearing a brand new police uniform passed through the crowd, walking straight toward him. The young man stood tall with a sharp gaze, like a newly-honed knife. He was the center of the discussion, Li Xiaodong. He saw Chen Mo crouching on the ground, saw his casual attire that didn't match his age, and also saw the stray cat under his hand. A barely noticeable confusion flashed in Li Xiaodong's eyes, but he still politely stopped his steps, preparing to greet him.

Chen Mo, however, as if he had eyes on the back of his head, stood up just as Li Xiaodong was about to speak. He dusted off his hands and said softly to the calico cat: "Eat up, there will be more tomorrow."

Then, without even glancing at Li Xiaodong, he turned and walked toward the office building. His figure quickly merged into the shadows of the hallway, as if the man who had been feeding the cat was just a blurry illusion.

The prepared speech stuck in Li Xiaodong's throat. He watched Chen Mo's disappearing figure, then glanced at the cat happily eating on the ground, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly. Was this the senior officer from the files who had once solved many major cases before fading into obscurity? He felt as if he was punching into a cotton ball, his strength finding no target.

"Xiaodong, come here for a moment."

The voice of the brigade commander came from nearby, interrupting Li Xiaod's thoughts. He immediately composed himself, adjusted his collar, and turned to walk briskly toward the leader's office.

The brigade commander's office was filled with a rich aroma of tea and a faint smell of tobacco. The leader gestured for him to sit down, personally poured him a cup of water, with an attitude so cordial it was almost warm.

"How do you feel after being here for a day? Are you adapting well?" the leader asked with a smile.

"Thank you for your concern, sir. My colleagues have been taking good care of me. Everything is fine," Li Xiaodong replied impeccably, sitting with perfect posture.

The leader nodded with satisfaction, picked up his teacup, gently blew on the foam, but looked at him through the rising steam. "It's good that young people have enthusiasm and solid theoretical knowledge. You are the future of our police force. However, theory alone is not enough to handle cases; practical experience is more important."

"Yes, I will definitely learn more from the veterans in our team," Li Xiaodong immediately responded.

"Hmm," the leader took a sip of tea and placed the cup on the table with a soft sound. He pondered for a moment, then changed the subject, "Chen Mo from your Second Brigade, have you met him yet?"

Li Xiaodong's heart skipped a beat as he recalled the cold figure from earlier. "Yes, I've met him. Officer Chen was downstairs just now."

"Old Chen is a good comrade, his professional abilities are beyond reproach, and in his younger days, he was one of the best in our city bureau." The leader's tone became somewhat meaningful, "However, when people age and experience more things, their thinking inevitably experiences some... fluctuations. Especially recently, his state has been unstable, and as an organization, we need to show more care for our senior colleagues."

The air in the office seemed to freeze. The word "care" from the leader's mouth was pronounced with particular clarity, as if deliberately emphasized.

Li Xiaodong slowed his breathing. A graduate from the Police University, he was no stranger to the artful language of the system. What did "unstable ideological state" mean? Why would a police officer nearing retirement need "care" from a newcomer? He instantly understood the true meaning buried beneath those two words.

This wasn't care, it was surveillance.

"Sir, I understand." Li Xiaodong didn't ask any follow-up questions or show any hesitation. He simply looked at his superior calmly and expressed his obedience in the most concise way. "I will learn more from Officer Chen, seek his guidance, and also pay attention to his situation."

"That's good, that's good." The smile on the leader's face relaxed again. "You young people need to respect your seniors, but also maintain your own judgment. Go now, it's almost the end of the day, get some rest early."

Li Xiaodong stood up, saluted, and then turned to leave the office. Only when he walked out of the building and felt the evening breeze did he realize his back was covered with a thin layer of sweat. He looked back at the window of the Second Brigade office where Chen Mo worked; it was completely dark, obviously he had already left.

He wondered what secrets this veteran police officer named Chen Mo was hiding that would make the brigade commander specifically instruct a newcomer in such a subtle way?

At this moment, Chen Mo was walking through an alley in the old district.

The street lamps here were dim and yellow, their light barely illuminating the bluestone path beneath. The air was filled with a damp, moldy smell mingled with the aroma of home-cooked meals wafting from households, distinctly different from the orderly monotony of the police bureau compound. He skillfully turned into an even narrower alley, where a signless noodle shop was hidden at the end.

The noodle shop was small, with only four or five tables. The owner was a taciturn middle-aged man who, upon seeing Chen Mo enter, merely raised his eyes and nodded before turning toward the stove without needing to ask anything.

Chen Mo chose to sit in the farthest corner, a spot from which he could see the entire shop while not being immediately noticed by people who เข้ามา (came in). He enjoyed this feeling, being immersed in the atmosphere of everyday life while seemingly isolated from the world.

Soon, a steaming bowl of plain noodles was served. Without any meat, just a few perfectly blanched greens lying in the clear broth, with each noodle strand distinctly visible. Chen Mo picked up his chopsticks, slowly lifted a strand of noodle, blew on it gently, and put it into his mouth. The taste was exactly the same as when he first came here ten years ago—plain, yet substantial.

He ate slowly, as if performing some kind of ritual. The chatter of surrounding diners, the slurping sounds of noodles, the busy noises of the owner working in the kitchen, all became muffled background sounds. He was immersed in his own world, chewing on the food, and also chewing on that unspeakable past.

Just as he was about to finish, the chair across from him was gently pulled out, and a figure sat down.

Chen Mo's movements paused for a moment. He looked up and saw a quiet but haggard face. It was a woman, around thirty years old, wearing a simple dress, her hair tied back in a simple manner. Her eyes were large, but they carried a weariness and sadness accumulated over many years.

He recognized her, even though ten years had passed.

Song Wenqi. That girl who had cried until she fainted on that rainy night had grown up now.

Chen Mo didn't speak. He just put down his chopsticks and quietly looked at her. He knew that she hadn't come to find him just to reminisce about old times.

Song Wenqi also seemed a bit nervous. Her fingers were intertwined, her lips moved, but no sound came out. She took a deep breath, as if gathering enormous courage, then took out a square package wrapped tightly in brown paper from her cloth bag and gently pushed it in front of Chen Mo.

The package wasn't large, but it appeared to have some weight to it.

"Officer Chen." Her voice was soft, with a slight tremor, but in the noisy noodle shop, it reached Chen Mo's ears with remarkable clarity. "It's been ten years."

Chen Mo's heart felt as if it had been squeezed by an invisible hand. Ten years, this number spoken from her lips carried an immeasurable weight.

He didn't touch the package, his gaze still fixed on her face.

"I still believe my brother's death wasn't an accident." Song Wenqi's eyes immediately reddened, tears welling up, but she struggled to keep them from falling. There was no accusation in her tone, no agitation, only an almost stubborn calmness. "These are his last belongings, I've kept them all this time. I think you should see them."

Her gaze was as firm as two nails, firmly pinning Chen Mo in place.

Chen Mo finally reached out and touched the package. The kraft paper felt rough and cold. He didn't open it immediately, but instead ran his fingers over it. He could feel his fingertips trembling slightly.

He silently untied the thin string wrapped around the package and peeled away the kraft paper layer by layer.

Inside was a photo album and a very old candybar phone with physical buttons.

The cover of the photo album had already faded somewhat, and its corners were worn. Chen Mo opened the first page, and a sun-drenched face crashed into his vision. The young man in the photo was in his early twenties, wearing a white shirt, leaning against a large tree, smiling carefree. That was Song Wenjie, the young man who was defined in the case file ten years ago as having "accidentally fallen to his death while intoxicated."

Chen Mo's fingers lingered on the photograph, and the memory of that rainy night instantly broke through ten years of buried dust, sweeping in with bone-chilling coldness. The pouring rain, flashing police lights, elongated shadows beneath the police tape, and the cold conclusion on the forensic report. Every detail was crystal clear, as if it had happened just yesterday.

"There are... diaries my brother wrote in the phone," Song Wenqi's voice sounded again, pulling him back from his memories. "He had a habit of writing things using the notepad function on his phone. No one paid attention then, so I secretly kept it. I've been reading it for ten years, Officer Chen. I don't believe he committed suicide, and I certainly don't believe it was an accident."

Chen Mo picked up the old phone. It was heavy, its metal casing cold with the passage of time, like a small tombstone. He could imagine that locked inside were a young man's final thoughts, secrets, and... fears.

He looked at Song Wenjie's smiling face in the photo, then at Song Wenqi's eyes before him, tearful yet determined. He recalled ten years ago, when as a rookie who had just entered the profession, he raised questions about discrepancies in the case files, only to be shut down by his senior leader who said, "The evidence is conclusive, don't overthink it."
He remembered how he had been depressed for a long time afterward, and eventually learned to stay silent, learned to wrap himself in a layer of cynical armor.

He thought he had forgotten, had grown accustomed to it. But now, this package, this phone, like a key, easily pried open that rusty lock in the deepest part of his heart.


Chen Mo didn't make any promises like "I'll help you" or "I'll try my best." He knew that in the face of this case, any words would seem weightless.

He simply wrapped the photo album and phone in kraft paper again, then held them tightly in his hand. He looked up, meeting Song Wenqi's expectant gaze, and nodded solemnly and slowly.

This gesture was more powerful than any words.

Song Wenqi's tears finally fell as she covered her mouth to suppress her sobs, repeatedly nodding at Chen Mo, as if both thanking him and entrusting something to him.

Chen Mo placed the package into his messenger bag, stood up, took money from his pocket and put it on the table, then turned and walked out of the noodle shop. He didn't look at Song Wenqi again, his departing figure as resolute as someone heading to a battlefield ten years overdue.