Xia Songluo was getting ready to leave.
"Wait, let's add each other on WeChat." Jin Zhan unlocked his phone and set it on the table. "Go home and think hard. List every man who's appeared in your life since childhood—the ones in the right age range, surnamed Jiang, named Hang. All of them."
Xia Songluo scanned the QR code: "Are you sure Jiang Hang is my boyfriend? Did it really say so clearly on the mailbox?"
Jin Zhan accepted her friend request, labeling her as "Troublemaker": "I guessed."
If a woman came to him with three feather stamps asking him to send a letter, he would only agree to send it to her herself, her parents, her husband, or her children.
Proof would have to be provided.
That way, the scope of influence was controllable, the time frame was controllable, and the odds of error were minimal.
"Otherwise," he said, "you pull some approximate birth date off the internet and want to send a letter to Qin Shi Huang, Emperor Wu of Han, Napoleon, or an Egyptian pharaoh—that would be chaos."
"The you from the future sent that letter. At that point, Jiang Hang might be your husband. The you today isn't married yet, so he can only be your boyfriend."
"I do have that much deductive ability."
"You can doubt my professionalism, but please don't doubt my superior intelligence."
Xia Songluo: "..."
She changed his contact name to "Chatterbox."
...
After leaving the law firm, Xia Songluo spotted Little Yellow Pigeon perched on a streetlamp at a glance.
The prickling sensation on her scalp from before was gone.
She waved at it, thanking it for the earlier warning.
Little Yellow Pigeon tilted its head and made a soft coo, as if not quite understanding her intent.
Xia Songluo thought: delivering letters is a responsibility etched into a carrier pigeon's bones. It wasn't there to help anyone in particular.
Too bad such a dedicated pigeon had ended up with such a slacker of a master.
Xia Songluo could tell: Jin Zhan was unreliable. If she wanted to find Jiang Hang quickly, she'd have to put in the work herself.
But first, she had to go home and catch up on sleep. She'd start thinking after she woke up.
She'd been so busy studying pigeons lately that she'd pulled several all-nighters in a row. She didn't even dare drive, afraid she'd nod off at the wheel.
Xia Songluo pulled up the Didi app on her phone, ready to hail a ride.
Just then a taxi pulled over: "Miss, need a ride?"
Xia Songluo asked first: "Are you going to East Outer Ring, Lanshan Villa District?"
Yesterday she'd tried to flag down a car on the roadside, and the driver had just waved her off as soon as he heard the destination.
Too remote—after dropping passengers off there, drivers usually headed back empty.
This driver, though, gave her a chance: "No meter, one hundred fifty. Deal?"
Not too outrageous. Xia Songluo didn't feel like waiting around, so she opened the door and got in.
Seeing how readily she agreed, the driver immediately felt he'd undersold and muttered, "Probably won't pick up anyone on the way back. Won't even cover gas."
Xia Songluo said, "Isn't this an electric car, though?"
The driver gave an awkward chuckle: "Just a figure of speech. Don't overthink it."
Xia Songluo didn't respond.
At a red light, the driver studied her in the rearview mirror a few times: "You live in Lanshan Estate?"
Xia Songluo stared out the window.
He took it as confirmation: "What are secondhand homes going for there now? Heard prices have dropped quite a bit."
Out in the world, you are who you say you are. Xia Songluo said, "I don't know. I tutor there."
The driver was surprised: "You take a taxi round-trip for tutoring? Does that even cover the fare?"
Xia Songluo nodded: "The student's parents reimburse me."
"Tsk. People in Lanshan Estate really are loaded." The driver regretted not asking for more and sighed, dropping the conversation.
Xia Songluo almost said that the truly wealthy had left Lanshan Estate long ago.
The homes were over twenty years old now. The Hong Kong developer that had originally built them had gone bankrupt. Property management was degrading by the year, their service more perfunctory than ever.
That was why, during the years the Yangtze River Delta real estate market soared, prices in Lanshan Estate stayed relatively stable. Otherwise, when father and daughter moved from Xi'an ten years ago, they wouldn't have been able to afford a secondhand unit there.
The taxi stopped outside the neighborhood gate, and the driver peered inside: "Can I drive in?"
"Right here is fine." Xia Songluo paid the fare and got out, walking the rest of the way home.
The neighborhood was built against a hill, densely landscaped—walking through it was like strolling through a park.
Although there was no separate pedestrian and vehicle lanes, she only passed one nanny out walking a kid the whole way to her front door.
Every house in Lanshan Estate had a large courtyard, two basement levels, and four floors above ground plus an attic.
Both she and her father were loners by nature, uncomfortable with outsiders in the house. They never hired live-in help. For maintenance and cleaning, they hired a housekeeping service to come in.
Once home, Xia Songluo went to the second floor to run a bath, then down to the first-floor kitchen to boil some instant rice noodles for dinner.
As she ate, she racked her brain for any memory of the name "Jiang Hang." She truly had no recollection.
She texted He Qi: Do you know anyone named Jiang Hang? A guy?
She and He Qi had met gaming. Maybe someone in their gaming circle actually went by that name.
He Qi: Yeah, a colleague of mine is called Jiang Hang. Pretty handsome.
Xia Songluo shot upright: Your colleague's named Jiang Hang? Someone at the TV station?
He Qi: A reporter for the finance channel. Also a senior from my media school.
She sent a screenshot—a still from a news interview. The reporter Jiang Hang in the picture looked to be in his mid-forties at least.
Xia Songluo went back to her noodles: Not this Jiang Hang.
He Qi: He's the only one I know. Which one do you mean?
Xia Songluo was about to type when a WeChat message from Jin Zhan popped up: Miss Xia, if you really can't recall a Jiang Hang, please make a list of all the men you've secretly crushed on, chased, or dated.
Xia Songluo: ?
She was genuinely speechless.
Did she look like someone with a rich romantic history?
Xia Songluo had no illusions about love or marriage.
Her parents had split up when she was very young, and their fight over custody had escalated to the point of involving the police.
Other people had famous paintings and classical poetry hanging in their living rooms.
Take a look at what hung in her living room.
Large calligraphy scrawled by her father after every business dinner, after he'd had a few too many:
"Kill the hopeless romantic, no worries for the rest of your life."
"Quit smoking, quit drinking, quit hanky-panky. Guard against fire, guard against theft, guard against deadbeat men."
"Trust the country, trust the Party. Believe in love, and you'll come to no good."
From her father, Xia Songluo had seen how much damage a failed marriage could do to a person.
What illusions was she supposed to have?
Xia Songluo replied: Lawyer Jin, I have a question.
Jin Zhan: What question?
Xia Songluo: You said you had no interest in courier history. Are you sure you didn't slack off when learning courier knowledge and misread a character? Maybe the recipient's name isn't Jiang Hang? Could it be Jiang Zhouji?
...
What?!
Jin Zhan read that, so annoyed he wanted to laugh.
For a courier, reading and writing characters is the basic trade skill, alright?
He could tell she was messing with him. He decided not to stoop to her level. He closed the web-based WeChat, grabbed the mouse, and went back to the documents on his laptop.
Originally, when he received the letter, he should've picked up the mailbox and followed Little Yellow Pigeon to find Jiang Hang.
But what era was this? In today's world of information overload, getting a single person's information should be effortless.
Turned out he'd been flat-footed.
He pulled every string he could through his network of connections, but there was no "Jiang Hang" matching all the recipient's characteristics to be found anywhere.
With no other option, Jin Zhan fell back on tradition and used a homing pigeon to lead the way.
He took leave from work, packed his luggage, and loaded up the SUV. Everything was ready, but the little yellow pigeon kept circling in place, unable to confirm a direction.
In a situation like this, Jiang Hang was most likely already dead.
According to the courier guild's ancestral code, unless it was confirmed that the recipient had died or the recipient had refused the letter, they were not allowed to go back to the sender to return it.
Jin Zhan could only investigate Xia Songluo quietly, hoping to get more information from her end.
But even digging through her social circle, he couldn't find a "Jiang Hang" who fit the description.
What the hell was going on?
"Ding-dong."
His phone buzzed.
Xia Songluo: You said Jiang Hang is a cop, but there's no trace of him at the police station. Could he be an undercover agent? If he is, can your "connections" dig up anything?
Jin Zhan wanted to roll his eyes. He quickly typed out a line: Miss Xia, you don't just enjoy fantasy dramas—you're into cop thrillers too?
After sending it, Jin Zhan paused for a moment.
Actually, now that she mentioned it... it was possible, wasn't it?
He frowned. If she'd really hit the nail on the head, things would get tricky.
He couldn't break the law himself, digging into things he wasn't supposed to.
What should he do?
It was already pitch dark outside, and the office lights were off. Jin Zhan stared at the soft glow of his computer screen, caught in a loop of hesitation and indecision.
Finally, he gritted his teeth and pulled up a URL from his notes, contacting a top-tier hacker organization.
He didn't say much—just gave them Jiang Hang's name, date of birth, and the word "law"—and paid a hefty fee.
As someone working in the legal profession, if he wanted to keep his career intact, this was as far as he could go.
Closing his laptop, Jin Zhan checked the time. It was nearly 8:30 p.m.
He stood up, slipped on his suit jacket, and got ready to head to the airport to personally pick up an important client.
As night fell, that was when the city unveiled its calm veil and showed off its true charm.
During the day, the business district was packed with white-collar workers; at night, it was crowded with tourists snapping photos against the neon lights of the skyscrapers.
Tourists aside, Jin Zhan had come to this city for university and had been here ever since, yet he still hadn't grown tired of the view.
The company car rolled out of the city center and was about to merge onto the airport expressway.
Jin Zhan was resting his eyes when his phone stirred.
He'd definitely switched it to silent mode before leaving. Anything coming through could only be from the hacker organization.
He pulled out his phone and saw an email with the subject line "The target individual has been located."
No way?
It had only been thirty minutes since he placed the order.
Even for a rush job—he'd spent days searching and come up empty-handed. How did they find it in half an hour?
Puzzled, Jin Zhan opened the email.
A jarring image loaded instantly.
A dim room, dark red blood splattered everywhere, and several horrific corpses that looked straight out of a horror movie poster.
Jin Zhan wasn't a criminal lawyer, and the gruesome scene made him flinch.
He didn't dare look closely at the bodies. He barely glanced at the decor—a standard Southeast Asian style.
Scrolling down, an official form popped up.
That was when Jin Zhan finally understood why he hadn't been able to find Jiang Hang.
That kid's nationality wasn't domestic anymore. Jin Zhan had only searched within the country—how could he have found him?
Jiang Hang had been born in Hong Kong. His parents were in real estate, which was a wildly profitable business back in those days. He was practically born with a silver spoon in his mouth.
At age five, his parents may have hit some kind of crisis. They suddenly liquidated most of their assets and immigrated with him to Malaysia, settling in Kuala Lumpur to run a hotel business.
Not as glamorous as before, but they still had deep pockets, and life was comfortable.
From the email attachments, Jin Zhan saw photos of Jiang Hang at age ten, speaking at school as a grade representative, as well as a short clip of him competing in a Chinese calligraphy contest at a Chinese chamber of commerce.
You could tell that Jiang Hang had been carefully nurtured by his parents in his youth—outgoing personality, confident smile, a bright future ahead.
But just a year later, at eleven years old, Jiang Hang had brutally killed his parents, his own uncle, and two household servants with a sharp blade.
When the police caught him, Jiang Hang refused to confess.
He insisted that the killer was a man in his thirties, claiming the man had tried to kill him, and that Jiang Hang had wrestled the knife away and stabbed him back over a dozen times.
But the killer had still gotten away.
Emotionally agitated, he demanded the police launch an immediate manhunt.
The police did find evidence at the scene suggesting a third person had been present.
However, DNA testing on the weapon—the only murder weapon, that blade—came back with traces only from the deceased. No third party's DNA was found anywhere on it.
The handle, however, only had Jiang Hang's fingerprints.
The police reasonably suspected that Jiang Hang might have been suffering from severe schizophrenia with hallucinations.
The scenes he remembered of stabbing the attacker had actually been him stabbing the victims.
Because Jiang Hang was only eleven at the time, per the law, he was sent to a juvenile detention shelter. The police petitioned the court for a psychiatric evaluation.
He was then transferred from the shelter to a mental hospital.
But before the evaluation could be completed, Jiang Hang escaped.
The official police file didn't state how he got away.
It only noted that he was meticulous in his thinking, thorough in his planning, swift in his actions, and possessed exceptionally strong counter-surveillance skills.
This led them to conclude that the massacre was premeditated murder, and that Jiang Hang had no mental issues.
Under local law, children between ten and twelve years old could be held criminally responsible if it was determined that they understood the nature and consequences of killing.
The police listed him as a wanted fugitive of extremely high danger.
Fifteen years had passed. He was still at large.
Jin Zhan finished reading the file, his face dark, his lips pressed tighter and tighter.
He now suspected that the letter Xia Songluo had sent might have been deliberately aimed at him.
Had he somehow offended her in the future?
This woman deliberately wrote a letter addressed to a murderer, a fugitive, and claimed he was a cop.
Even if he survived the delivery without being killed by Jiang Hang, a lawyer meeting a wanted killer and handing over a letter?
If anyone snapped a photo of that, he wouldn't be able to explain it even with ten mouths.
His career would be destroyed.
"Stop the car!"
Assistant Chen, who was driving, was startled, quickly pulled over, and turned on the hazard lights: "Boss, what's wrong?"
Jin Zhan closed the email and called Xia Songluo on WeChat.
It rang several times before she picked up, sounding groggy, as if she'd just woken up: "Lawyer Jin, any news? Did you find him?"
The words "Are you trying to set me up?" got stuck in his throat. He swallowed them down: "Where are you?"
Xia Songluo said, "At home."
Jin Zhan said, "Is it okay if I come by now?" He paused. "Even if it's not, I have to come. I need to talk to you."
Xia Songluo said, "Sure, come over. I live at Lanshan Residences, Building 32. You probably know the place, right?"
Jin Zhan hung up the phone and instructed Assistant Chen, "I have something urgent to deal with. You'll have to go pick up Mr. Zheng yourself."
Assistant Chen had overheard the call: "B-But is that okay? Mr. Zheng is a connection you spent a lot of effort building..."
Jin Zhan didn't even listen: "Nothing is more important than seeing Miss Xia right now."
Assistant Chen looked at him in disbelief: "Boss? You're not falling for her, are you?"
Not long ago, when his boss asked him to investigate Xia Songluo, he had already found it strange.
Jin Zhan had no time to worry about whatever wild thoughts were going through his head. Right now, the most urgent matter was to explain things clearly to Xia Songluo and return that letter.
From now on, he had to firmly refuse anything related to the letter messenger. If that meddlesome bird caused any more trouble, he would stew it!
Getting out of the car, Jin Zhan hailed a taxi on the roadside: "To Lanshan Jing."
...
Xia Songluo hung up the phone and let out a yawn first.
She was so sleepy—she had fallen asleep in the bath. If it hadn't been for Jin Zhan's call, she probably would have slept even longer.
Climbing out of the bathtub, she walked over to the showerhead and rinsed off the foam.
Just as she turned off the valve, for some reason, with a loud "bang," the bathroom pipe joint burst, shooting water everywhere.
Xia Songluo quickly wrapped a towel around herself and ran out of the bathroom, shutting off the water main, then notified the property management to contact the maintenance department.
The property staff on duty was a woman who, hearing that she was home alone, asked, "All our maintenance workers are men—is that alright?"
There was nothing not alright about it. The last drunk who had tried to get handsy with her had ended up with a broken leg from her kick, though she'd had to pay compensation for it, which had annoyed her for a long time.
She said, "Have the maintenance team come in half an hour. I happen to have a lawyer friend arriving soon."
The property staff said, "Alright."
Xia Songluo changed into loungewear, dried and tied up her hair, then waited for Jin Zhan and the maintenance worker to show up.
Though they called it a maintenance department, there were only five people in total—three older ones on the day shift, two younger ones on the night shift, one of whom was mute.
She had seen them all before.
Half an hour later, the doorbell finally rang.
On the video screen, a man stood outside the courtyard gate, wearing an old baseball cap, head slightly lowered, so the camera could only see his chin.
He wore the maintenance department's blue work uniform, with a green toolbox slung over one shoulder.
He didn't speak, only showed his work ID to the camera.
It was the mute one. Xia Songluo pressed the unlock button.
The gate swung open, and he walked into the courtyard. Xia Songluo had already opened the front door and handed him a pair of hotel slippers: "Sorry to trouble you so late at night."
