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

The owner of the black Tiguan was a middle school teacher surnamed Zhang, who wore gold-rimmed glasses and always liked to push up the temples of his glasses when he spoke. "On the 18th, I took my students to the southern suburbs for sketching," he said, his lesson plan still containing the sketches from that day, depicting a birch forest beside a firebreak. "We returned at 4 p.m., without going deep into the woods, and the students can all testify to that." Wang Shuai looked through the students' sketches, and indeed, there was no suspicious figure in dark blue overalls in the drawings. On the firebreak outlined in pencil, there was only a white CRV parked on the side of the road.

When the owner of the white CRV was found, he was having his car serviced at the dealership. The owner, surnamed Li, was a tea merchant, and wore a Rolex gold watch on his suit sleeve. "I went to the mountains to collect wild tea," he said, pointing to a bamboo basket in the trunk. "I stopped on the firebreak for half an hour on the afternoon of the 18th, drank a bottle of water, and left. I didn't see any men in work clothes." The dealership's maintenance records showed that his car was indeed at the shop on the evening of the 18th, and the tire tread patterns didn't match the tire tracks found at the scene—his tires were Michelin, while the tires at the scene were of an unknown brand.

Wang Shuai walked deeper into the firebreak, stopping every fifty meters to ask the farmers along the way for directions. Grandma Wang, who lived at the foot of the mountain, was drying green beans in her yard; the beans in the bamboo trays gleamed a vibrant green in the sunlight. “The night of the 18th? I heard a car engine,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “Around nine or ten o’clock, coming down from the mountain. It was quite loud, like a heavy truck.” Wang Shuai pressed for the type of vehicle, but she shook her head: “It was pitch black, how could I see anything? I only saw two headlights, so bright they made it hard to open my eyes.”

In the beekeeper's shed closest to where the body was found, Wang Shuai smelled a strong honey aroma. Old Zhang's fingers tapped rhythmically on the beehive board: "On the evening of the 18th, I saw a blue truck parked on the firebreak," he pointed to the pine trees outside the shed, "The driver was wearing dark blue overalls, carrying a black bag, and smoked two cigarettes under the tree. I thought he was on patrol and didn't pay any attention." Wang Shuai's eyes lit up: "What brand was the truck? Do you remember the license plate number?" Old Zhang scratched his head and laughed: "My eyesight is so bad, I can barely see the bees anymore, how could I remember the license plate? I just thought the truck was quite old, and the truck bed was covered with a tarpaulin, I don't know what it was carrying."

When investigating "Mountain Eagle's" gear, Wang Shuai first went to the Wolfskin Outdoor Club in the city. The manager, a young woman with a ponytail named Lin Wei, was wiping down the display cases with a soft cloth. "Our club doesn't have a member with the nickname 'Mountain Eagle'," she typed on her computer, the member list scrolling across the screen. "There are three IDs with 'Eagle' in them, but they're all verified with their real names, and they haven't been to the southern suburbs recently." Wang Shuai pointed to the private message records in Li Jianfeng's member profile: "This 'Mountain Eagle' who sent a private message saying there was fluorescent bacteria, the IP address shows it's in this city." Lin Wei frowned: "It's probably a guest account; there are no spending records, so we can't find any real information."

While visiting outdoor equipment stores throughout the city, Wang Shuai made a discovery at a long-established shop. The owner, Lao Zhou, was wrapping anti-slip tape around a trekking pole; dirt was still embedded in the scratches on the pole. "We sold three of this model of trekking pole last month," he said, flipping through a yellowed ledger. "The buyers were all regulars: a middle school teacher, a retired cadre, and a car repair shop owner surnamed Liu." Wang Shuai asked him to check the security footage. On the afternoon of July 15th, Mr. Liu, the car repair shop owner, did indeed buy the same model of trekking pole, along with a black backpack—the backpack had a side pocket for a wrench.

When they found Mr. Liu's auto repair shop, he was changing the oil under a car, the oil stains in the drain shimmering with iridescent colors. "I did buy hiking poles," Mr. Liu crawled out from under the car, his face covered in black oil, "but I worked overtime at the shop until midnight on the 18th, my apprentices can all testify to that." His black backpack hung on the wall, a wrench tucked into a side pocket. Wang Shuai shone a UV lamp on it and found only traces of oil on the bottom of the bag, no diesel fuel present at the scene. "I don't even know where the southern suburbs are," Mr. Liu shouted, "Don't wrong an innocent man!"

Wang Shuai went to the gas station Li Jianfeng frequented again. Cashier Xiao Zheng was changing the receipt paper on the gas pump. "Brother Feng comes to refuel every week," she said, her nails painted a bright pink. "On the 17th, he even said he'd bring me some persimmons from Xi'an next time he came back." Wang Shuai took out the IP address from "Shanying" (a mobile phone tracking system): "Was anyone texting at the gas station that day? Especially those wearing dark blue overalls?" Xiao Zheng thought for a moment: "There was a regular customer who drove a truck, surnamed Huang, always wearing dark blue overalls. On the afternoon of the 17th, he was topping up his phone at the convenience store, constantly smiling at his phone, I don't know what he was talking about."

When they found Mr. Huang's truck, he was loading goods at the entrance of the logistics park, with tall stacks of cardboard boxes piled up in the truck bed. "I did send a message to Li Jianfeng," Mr. Huang's phone screen was cracked, and the chat history stopped on July 17th, "asking him about the price of goods in Xi'an, but I didn't mention anything about fluorescent bacteria." His dark blue work clothes had diesel stains on the cuffs. Wang Shuai asked the technician to take a sample, and after comparing it with the diesel composition at the scene, they found that although the model was the same, the proportion of additives was different—Mr. Huang's truck was filled with fuel from a private gas station, while the fuel at the scene was from a state-owned gas station.

The investigation continued into its seventh day. Wang Shuai's notebook was filled with the names of 37 people, each testimony like a loose screw, unable to be screwed into the gears of the case. The tire tracks on the firebreak had become unclaimed marks, and "Mountain Eagle's" true identity was hidden in the virtual world of the internet. The figure in the dark blue overalls seemed to be just a phantom misperceived by the beekeeper, Old Zhang.

As he left the southern suburbs, Wang Shuai took one last look at the camphor tree grove, the setting sun painting the treetops a golden-red. He recalled what Old Zhang, the beekeeper, had said: "Things in the mountains are hard to explain. Maybe wild animals dragged something away; how can you blame everything on people?" But he knew that the trekking pole with diesel fuel, the size 44 work boot print, the missing cell phone and ID card, were all silently telling the truth—only the truth was temporarily hiding in the shadows of the grove, waiting for the next ray of light to pierce the fog.

While Wang Shuai was investigating the vehicle, Zhang Hui, following Lu Chuan's instructions, began investigating the deceased's interpersonal relationships.

When Zhang Hui's police car pulled up in front of Tongda Freight Company, the ivy climbing up the barbed wire fence was still visible on the walls, dewdrops glistening on its leaves in the morning light. The glass door to the dispatch room, adorned with a "Safety First" sign, was stained gray by truck exhaust fumes, and the doorknob was wrapped with a faded red rope, said to ward off evil spirits. (End of Chapter)