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

He stared at the deformed bars on the right side of the iron cage, where a semi-circular dent remained—the mark left by Zhang Baohua's shoulder blade when he was pushed in. "He was wearing glasses then," Zhao Gang pointed to the dent, "a piece of the lens shattered and embedded itself in his cheekbone; the blood dripping onto the back of my hand was much hotter than reservoir water."

The special police released his handcuffs, allowing him to demonstrate the cage-locking process. The moment Zhao Gang's hand touched the rusty lock, the burn scar on his wrist suddenly burned. Seven years ago, when the body was disposed of, the barbs on the edge of the iron cage had torn his skin, causing a bacterial infection that gave him a three-day fever. His dreams were filled with images of Zhang Baohua pounding on the cage. "You have to turn the lock three times clockwise," he mechanically turned the lock cylinder, the metallic grinding making his neck numb. "Then press down, and you'll hear a 'click,' like the cracking of frozen joints."

As Zhao Gang pointed out the location of the body, he suddenly froze, staring at the water's surface. Seven years ago, the moment he released the iron cage, in the beam of his flashlight, Zhang Baohua's pupils contracted sharply beneath the water, like two flames about to go out. Now, the water shimmered, each ripple seemingly reflecting that gradually blurring face. "Right here," he said, raising a trembling hand, his fingertips brushing the water's surface; the icy touch sent a chill down his spine. "Nine meters deep, with a depression at the bottom. When the iron cage got stuck in the depression, the bubbles rose to the surface and burst, like someone blowing soap bubbles underwater."

Memories flooded back, and Zhao Gang suddenly saw Zhang Baohua's wedding ring gleaming between the iron bars. He had thought the ring would be washed away by the water, but the forensic doctor had found it in the mud, now lying in an evidence bag, gleaming coldly in the sunlight. "When he struggled, the ring scraped against the iron bars," Zhao Gang pointed to the scratches on the inside of the cage door, "I heard a metallic scraping sound, like fingernails scraping a blackboard. Now that I think about it, that was the last sound he left for this world."

As the technician began measuring the angle at which the iron cage sank, Zhao Gang suddenly knelt on the embankment. Damp mud seeped into his trousers, mingling with his tears and leaving dark marks on the ground. "He begged me," Zhao Gang said, his head bowed, his voice muffled in the dirt, "saying his daughter was waiting for him to come home for her birthday, saying the bankbook password was Xiaomeng's student ID number. But Li Jing said that as long as he lived, Haozi would never get a share of the money."

The tissue Lu Chuan handed him was crumpled into a ball. Zhao Gang stared at the mud on his fingertips and suddenly laughed: "You know what? The moment before he sank, he stopped struggling. He just stared at me, his eyes full of water, clearer than the reservoir water." His fingers unconsciously picked at the moss on the embankment, as if digging for a truth buried by time. "Later, every time it rained, I dreamed that he climbed out of the water, the iron chains of the cage wrapped around my ankles, pulling me down, pulling me down."

As the identification process concluded, the setting sun peeked through the clouds, turning the reservoir's surface a blood-red hue. Just before being escorted to the vehicle, Zhao Gang suddenly broke free from the special police and rushed towards the iron cage. He pressed his face against the rusty bars, his breath condensing into white mist on the surface: "I'm sorry," he uttered, his words mingling with snot and tears, dripping onto the cage and startling the perched water birds.

On the way back in the police car, Zhao Gang gazed out the window at the receding reservoir. On the dam, a technician was photographing the iron cage. In the instant the flash went off, he seemed to see himself seven years ago, standing in the same spot, watching the cage slowly sink into darkness. The difference was that back then, he harbored a sense of侥幸 (a gambler's mentality), while now, all the secrets, along with the reappearance of the iron cage, were forever frozen in this late autumn evening.

As the police car rounded the bend, Zhao Gang suddenly noticed a rusty iron chain protruding from beneath the newly painted "Safety Production" slogan on the embankment—a spare chain that had broken during the dumping of the body years ago. Staring at the chain swaying in the wind, he suddenly felt that for the past seven years, his soul, along with Zhang Baohua's, had been forever trapped in that cold iron cage, subjected to the daily judgment of his conscience with the ebb and flow of the reservoir's tides.

Zhao Gang, less than five days after the first case, the Criminal Investigation Division received another report.

At three in the morning, the Beishan Logistics Park was shrouded in thick fog. The beam of a patrol car pierced through the white mist, illuminating the blue roller shutter door of "Warehouse No. 17, Area B". Security guard Lao Li slumped to the ground, his flashlight rolling to his feet. The beam swept haphazardly across the concrete ground in front of the warehouse, casting a fragmented and shattered shadow of his trembling figure.

"It's right inside... the smell is like rotten pork mixed with disinfectant." Old Li's safety helmet rolled to Lu Chuan's feet, the brim still stained with rust from the warehouse entrance. Dark sweat stains soaked the back of his uniform, and even in the cold autumn fog, beads of sweat on his forehead dripped down like broken beads.

The moment Lu Chuan pushed open the roller shutter door, a stench mixed with decay and chemical reagents hit him. Yang Lin and Yang Sen, wearing gas masks, were the first to step into the warehouse with their reconnaissance lights in hand—the space, about 300 square meters, was filled with discarded cardboard boxes. Under a blue waterproof tarpaulin in the center, a human-shaped outline was vaguely visible, and liquid was seeping from under the tarpaulin, forming dark red puddles on the cement floor.

“The doors and windows are intact, with no signs of forced entry.” Yang Sen scanned the roller shutter door lock cylinder with an ultraviolet light. The fluorescence reaction showed fresh metallic scratches inside the keyhole. “But this is not forced entry; it’s more like it was opened technically with a special tool.” He squatted down and picked up a small pinch of silvery-white powder from the crack in the door. “It’s aluminum-magnesium alloy shavings, commonly found on the wear marks of high-end decoders.”

Yang Lin lifted a corner of the tarpaulin, and the stench of decay instantly intensified. The body was lying face down, wearing a logistics park uniform, with a noticeable indentation at the back of its head. "The preliminary time of death is estimated to be over 72 hours," he said, gently touching the deceased's stiff elbow joint with a probe. "Rigoletto has spread throughout the body; the corneas are cloudy, but the pupils are still discernible." Most bizarrely, a dozen or so unopened electronic component boxes were scattered around the body, several of which were soaked in the deceased's blood, forming strange geometric patterns on the ground.

Yang Lin noticed a surveillance camera deep inside the warehouse. It was an old analog signal device, the lens sealed with black tape, with a few brown fibers stuck to the edge of the tape. "The technical department will come and remove the hard drive immediately," he said into the walkie-talkie, while collecting the tape in an evidence bag. "Look closely, there are air bubbles where the tape is glued on; it must have been put on about three days ago."

On the other side, Wang Shuai poured Old Li a cup of hot water in the duty room. The chipped rim of the enamel cup made the old man's fingers turn red. "When I patrolled to Zone B, I smelled something was wrong," Old Li's voice was still trembling, the hot water rippling in the cup. "This warehouse was rented out half a month ago, supposedly for storing electronic components, but I've never seen anyone come to pick up anything." He suddenly remembered something and grabbed Wang Shuai's arm. "Three days ago! I saw a white van parked at the door, and a man wearing a baseball cap carried large boxes inside. I thought he was a tenant, so I didn't ask any questions." (End of Chapter)