After breaking up with my boyfriend, I made a fortune and rose rapidly in my career.

Wei Liangjun did not leave the archives center with Cheng Yuan.

He stood in the reading room for about ten seconds, took off the temples of his gold-rimmed glasses, held them in his hand, and then put them back on his nose.

"Secretary Cheng, may I take a look at the contents of the report?"

Cheng Yuan didn't hand it over.

"We'll see when we get there."

Two dark-colored sedans were parked in front of the archives center, their engines still running. Cheng Yuan opened the back door and stepped aside to let Wei Liangjun get in first. As the door closed, Wei Liangjun glanced through the car window at the window on the second floor of the archives center; the curtains were completely still.

The car drove out of the west gate of the provincial government compound, turned onto Huancheng North Road, and headed towards the location of the Discipline Inspection Commission.

When the news reached Qingjiang, Chen Ping was on the fourth floor of the management committee building, reviewing a draft contract. Han Zhiming knocked on the door and showed him his phone screen.

"Director, Secretary Cheng has replied. The person has been brought in, and the initial talks have begun. Also, Secretary Cheng said there's something he needs you to provide."

"What is it?"

"A comparison table of fund flows in the Songhe account. Secretary Cheng's exact words: 'Whether the copy you have matches the original bank document determines which line of action to take next.'"

Chen Ping pushed the draft contract aside and pulled a kraft paper envelope from the bottom drawer of his desk. The envelope was sealed with two layers of transparent tape, and there was nothing written on it.

He handed the envelope to Han Zhiming.

"The information in Songhe's account is all in there. Last month, I had someone retrieve it from Jinjiang Microelectronics' financial outsourcing company. There are a total of 47 related transaction records, spanning six years. Each one is marked with the bank and account name of the counterparty account."

Han Zhiming took the envelope and weighed it in his hand.

"Forty-seven strokes?"

"Wei Liangjun did not handle the money directly; he used a shell company called 'Songhe Cultural Communication' as a conduit. This company was registered in Chengdu, and the legal representative was the wife of his college classmate, while he was the actual controller. Over six years, the Songhe account received eleven 'consulting service fees' from unknown sources, totaling more than eight million yuan. After these funds came in, they were broken down into small transfers and distributed to seven personal accounts before finally being deposited into three fixed-term deposits."

Han Zhiming's Adam's apple bobbed slightly.

"In whose name is the deposit certificate registered?"

"Two are registered under his ex-wife's name, and one is registered under his mother's name, Wei Shufen. His mother was Song Baiqing's wife. After Song Baiqing's incident, she remarried once, and her surname on her household registration was changed from Song to Wei."

Chen Ping stood up and walked to the window.

"The starting point of this financial chain can be traced directly to three special accounts of the Jiangsu Provincial Department of Construction before Ren Shaoting's case. The money was embezzled from fiscal appropriations, laundered through two layers of shell companies, and finally ended up in Songhe's account. Wei Liangjun kept the embezzled funds for Ren Shaoting's people and took a commission. This scheme is completely consistent with the 'three independent channels for money' written in my father's manuscript."

Han Zhiming tucked the envelope into his briefcase and zipped it all the way up.

"I'll send it over right now."

"Wait a moment."

Chen Ping took out a folded A4 sheet of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and handed it over.

"I'll bring this along with Secretary Cheng. It's a timeline I compiled—Wei Liangjun's job changes from the Gengchen year to now, the dates of each time he accessed internal documents, and the dates of every inflow and outflow from the Songhe account. When you look at these three lines together, the pattern is very clear: every time there's a personnel adjustment or disciplinary action, there's a fund movement in the Songhe account within a week before or after."

Han Zhiming scanned the paper, then looked up at Chen Pingfang.

"Director, when did you organize all this?"

"The night I returned from Sichuan. I spent three hours on the plane, and I didn't waste a single moment."

After Han Zhiming left, Chen Ping sat alone in his office, took his father's manuscript out of the safe, and turned to the last page.

That half-sentence is still there.

"Wei Liangjun, son of Song Baiqing, was the only 'fish that slipped through the net' in the Gengchen year."

The ink traces, barely two centimeters long, broke off on the paper. What was Father thinking when he wrote this? Did someone interrupt him, or did he stop on his own?

The nets that weren't fully hauled in twenty years ago should be hauled in today.

Chen Ping locked the manuscript back in the safe and turned the combination lock twice.

Four days later, the Provincial Commission for Discipline Inspection officially decided to suspend Wei Liangjun from his duties for investigation.

That same afternoon, Cheng Yuan called and said only one sentence: "Ping Fang, Wei Liangjun wants to see you."

Chen Ping didn't hesitate.

"I'll go over there."

The Provincial Commission for Discipline Inspection's interview room is located on the basement floor of Building No. 2 in the compound. The corridor is covered with gray rubber flooring, and fluorescent light tubes are embedded in the ceiling, giving it a cold, white appearance.

When Chen Ping opened the door, Wei Liangjun was sitting across from him at the conversation table. Having not seen the sun for four days, his cheeks were sunken, and his gold-rimmed glasses were still on, but the lenses were coated with an oily film, making them blurry.

There was a glass of plain water on the table, untouched.

Chen Ping pulled out a chair and sat down.

Wei Liangjun spoke first.

"Secretary Chen, when did you start investigating me?"

"The day you gave me the orchids."

Wei Liangjun's fingers curled slightly on the table.

What's wrong with the orchid?

"The flowers are fine. The purple clay pot from Qionglai Kiln is fine too. The problem is, what are you, a division-level cadre from the Sichuan Provincial Government Research Office, trying to give a gift to a retired old lady in Sujiang? If you really just wanted to conduct academic exchanges, an email would have been enough. Coming in person with a custom-made purple clay pot, and even hiding a listening device underneath—you're not here to make friends, you're here to probe."

Wei Liangjun did not respond.

Chen Ping leaned back in his chair.

"You want to know who my mother was talking to on the phone, what they talked about, and whether she mentioned your father, Song Baiqing's name. Because you're unsure how many manuscripts my father actually wrote, and you're unsure if my mother knows your true identity. So you have to listen first, and then decide on your next step."

Wei Liangjun's chin tightened.

"You found Songhe's account, also starting with orchids?"

"No. The Songhe account was traced through the underlying authorization application of Jinjiang Microelectronics. The payer for Jinjiang Microelectronics' technical service fees was Songhe Cultural Communication. I had someone go to the Industry and Commerce Bureau and found that the actual controller of Songhe was related to your college classmate. A civil servant at the level of a division chief, controlling a shell company with an annual turnover of over ten million yuan - this kind of thing can't stand up to scrutiny."

Wei Liangjun closed his eyes for three seconds, and when he opened them again, his eyes behind the lenses had lost their sparkle.

"How much of my story was written in your father's manuscripts?"

That's enough.

Chen Ping tapped his thumb on the edge of the table.

"Wei Liangjun, you've been hiding in Sichuan for twenty years, changing your surname, your province, and your career path. But you made a mistake—you shouldn't have touched my family. If you had stayed quietly in the research lab writing reference materials, no one would have bothered with your past. The case from the Gengchen year is long closed; your father's affairs have no direct connection to you, and the disciplinary inspection commission wouldn't proactively investigate a section-level cadre who changed his surname. But you insisted on reaching out. You laundered money for Ren Shaoting's people, you wiretapped my mother, you took my father's research report from the archives—every step was your own doing."

Wei Liangjun let out a low, crushing laugh.

"Chen Pingfang, do you think I'm the only one in this trap?"

"I don't think so. But you are the exposed thread."

Wei Liangjun leaned forward two inches and lowered his voice.

"Then I'll point you to a line."

Chen Ping didn't move.

"Did you count how many people came to your father's funeral? Did you look at the first name on the sign-in sheet?"

Chen Ping's thumb rested on the edge of the table.

Wei Liangjun stared at him, speaking slowly and deliberately.

"Chen Pingfang, you think you've won? The person at the top of your father's funeral bill is someone you can never touch."

The fluorescent lights in the interview room hummed, casting a white light on the untouched glass of water between the two people, leaving the surface perfectly still.