Attending ex-girlfriend's wedding, arresting the groom's officer on the spot

His finger jabbed heavily at the abandoned factory. "According to the employee roster Yang Lin found, Zhou Qiang, who left in 2018, is highly suspected. However, the local police station where Zhou Qiang was registered replied that he died in a car accident in 2020, and the death certificate number is available."

Lu Chuan drew three concentric circles on the whiteboard, with the word "tattoo" written in the center. "Zhang Kai, what are the results of the pigment analysis for the deceased's tattoo?" he suddenly asked. Zhang Kai opened the test report: "It contains iron oxide red and carbon black, which is industrial-grade tattoo pigment, not the medical-grade pigment used in professional tattoo shops. It's speculated that the tattoo may have been done by an apprentice or in an unofficial location."

“This is the breakthrough.” Lu Chuan circled “illegal tattoos” in red pen. “Yang Lin, take the technical team to restore the tattoo details, especially the unique direction of the flame lines—every tattoo artist has their own brushstroke habits. Zhang Hui, visit all unlicensed tattoo stalls in the city, focusing on mobile stalls that operated between 2010 and 2015.” He turned to Wang Shuai, “Expand the investigation to freight companies in surrounding cities, retrieve driver attendance records for the past three months, and compare them with missing persons.”

“Zhang Kai,” Lu Chuan said, turning to the forensic doctor, “do another autopsy, focusing on the subcutaneous tissue for old injuries; take samples of the dental fillings for testing to determine the production batch, which might trace back to the dental clinic from back then.” He reconnected the red strings on the whiteboard, forming a complete chain from the tattoo to the factory, from the dental filling record to the truck driver. “Remember, the source of the body is the root of the case; only by finding the root can we follow the clues. After the meeting, each group should act immediately and summarize any new leads by 6 PM.”

The morning light had already spilled over the conference table, illuminating the red ink marks on Lu Chuan's fingertips. As Yang Lin closed his laptop, he noticed the lotus tattoo on the deceased's waist on the screen—the flame patterns appeared strangely jagged under the high-resolution image, like a deliberately hidden code. He suddenly remembered something and strode towards the technical department; perhaps those overlooked details of the brushstrokes held crucial information pointing to the deceased's identity.

Standing under the lights of the technical department, Yang Lin's fingertips traced the tattoo design magnified a hundredfold on the computer screen. The burning lotus pattern revealed subtle brushstroke tremors in the high-resolution image, and traces of titanium dioxide—a typical component of cheap tattoo ink—remained in the jagged lines along the petals. "Break down the pattern into 23 feature points," he told the technician in front of the plotter, "especially the forked angles of the flames; every tattoo artist's brushstroke habits are hidden in these details."

For three days, Yang Lin carried the restored tattoo design to tattoo shops all over the city. In "Ghost Hand Tattoo" at the end of an alley in the old town, the shop owner, who had a nose ring, stared at the design for a long time, cigarette ash falling on his arm covered with needle marks: "Nobody tattoos this kind of old-fashioned design anymore. Look at these crooked lines, it looks like an apprentice practicing, using an old-fashioned coil machine, so noisy it could wake up the neighbors." He pulled out a dusty photo album, the yellowed pages full of designs from ten years ago, "The most similar one is 'Old Eagle's' style, but he had a stroke three years ago, and his hands shake so much he can't even hold chopsticks."

Yang Sen then ventured into the mobile night market on the outskirts of the city. The late autumn evening breeze, carrying the smell of charcoal, brushed against his face as he held up a printed tattoo design, asking each stall owner for details. The woman selling grilled cold noodles cracked an egg onto the griddle: "I saw someone with a tattoo last week, a flower on his lower back, but it was a rose, not some lotus." The shoemaker pointed to a corner of the design with his awl: "This ink has too much alcohol mixed in. Look at how it's smudged; it probably got done in a construction site dormitory, they didn't even bother with disinfection."

The technical department's comparison results were even more frustrating. After inputting 23 feature points into the national tattoo artist database, the system only returned 7 fuzzy matches. Yang Lin contacted each of them to verify, only to find that they were either seasoned masters who had long since switched careers or newly graduated novices; no one could recognize the burning lotus flower. "The strangest thing is this," he said, zooming in on the tiny gap in the lower right corner of the design, "there are obvious traces of touch-up coloring here, indicating that the tattoo was later modified, most likely to cover up the original design."

Zhang Kai's supplementary analysis also brought bad news. The iron oxide component detected in the tattoo residue matched perfectly with the "Flying Tiger" brand ink that had been discontinued five years ago, but the manufacturer had long since gone bankrupt, and sales records were untraceable. "What's even more troublesome is that," Zhang Kai's voice came through the phone, "the deceased's skin at the tattoo site showed signs of long-term friction, as if he had frequently worn tight clothing, which had faded some of the tattoo lines."

At the case briefing in the evening, Yang Lin pushed a thick stack of investigation records onto the table. Records of visits to 27 tattoo shops, 11 pigment testing reports, and a list of 34 excluded tattoo artists gleamed coldly under the lights. "The only gain is determining the tattooing time," he said, pointing to a microscopic photograph of a skin tissue section. "The pigment particles have penetrated deep into the dermis, meaning it took at least eight years to form." Lu Chuan circled a tattoo on the whiteboard with a red pen: "Let's trace it backwards, starting with the discontinued pigments, and find the wholesalers who sold 'Flying Tiger' brand tattoos back then. Maybe we can find some clues."

As Yang Lin stepped out of the police station building, his phone suddenly vibrated. It was a photo sent by a shoe repairman at the night market. In the blurry image, a man who looked like a migrant worker was bending over to tie his shoelaces, revealing half of a faded tattoo on his lower back, the outline of a flame vaguely visible. "Chase him!" Yang Lin jumped into the police car, the flashing lights cutting through the twilight, but lost sight of his target at the labor market three kilometers away. In the crowd, countless figures in work clothes moved back and forth, each person's lower back hidden beneath the faded fabric, as if concealing countless untold secrets.

Back in the technical department, Yang Lin stared blankly at the tattoo design. The glare from the computer screen reflected in his bloodshot eyes. Suddenly, he noticed a turning point in the flame pattern—not a shaky hand movement, but a tiny, deliberately carved letter, almost illegible after being covered by layers of paint.

Meanwhile, a light autumn rain drizzled down in Haizhou. Zhang Hui and his team traversed the streets and alleys, the corners of their investigation materials dampened by the rain. Their target was all the tattoo shops in and around Haizhou, hoping to find a breakthrough from the mysterious burning lotus tattoo.

On the first morning, Zhang Hui divided his team into five groups, each carrying a technically enhanced photo of a tattoo, clearly showing details and labeled with various professional features. "Focus on established tattoo parlors that opened before 2015, and those mobile tattoo stalls," Zhang Hui instructed before they set off. "Don't overlook even the slightest similarity." (End of Chapter)