Chapter One: The Fall of Hope

Another graduation season had arrived. Under the brilliant sunlight, laughter and joy filled the entire campus. Everywhere, students in academic gowns posed for photos, the air thick with the scent of youth.

A black Volkswagen sedan approached the school gate from afar. Inside sat two middle-aged people with beaming smiles, Qiu Zhiyong and his wife, Zhao Lu. When Zhao Lu spotted the four bold characters of Jinghua University ahead, her eyes lit up. She gently tapped Qiu Zhiyong, exclaiming, “We’re here, we’re here! Fengfeng’s school is here. Drive faster, don’t keep him waiting.”

Qiu Zhiyong gripped the steering wheel, glanced at his wife, and chuckled, “You’ve been urging me the whole way. We’re already here, what’s the rush? We’ll attend Fengfeng’s graduation ceremony first and then pack up his things. It won’t make a difference.”

“You’re not here to pick up our son at all, you just want to attend the ceremony. You don’t worry about him in the slightest, and you’re even wearing a suit—so formal! You never wear one usually. Do you think it’s your own graduation?” Zhao Lu scolded him playfully.

“I’m just fulfilling my dream too. Even though I never studied at Jinghua University, at least I can say I’ve attended a graduation ceremony here!” Qiu Zhiyong offered what he thought was a perfect retort.

Jinghua University was a renowned institution, coveted by countless students across the country. Yet, it was never Qiu Feng’s dream. When Qiu Feng sat for the college entrance exams, his mind was set entirely on attending an Ivy League school. He had never considered a domestic university, nor planned to take the exam at all.

Qiu Zhiyong, however, did not share his son’s ambitions. He didn’t want his son to study abroad; in his eyes, foreign universities were not necessarily superior, and once his son left, he would no longer be able to help him. It was better for Qiu Feng to study at home, where he could look after him if needed and help him find a job after graduation. Moreover, Qiu Zhiyong was on the brink of a promotion and did not want his son’s schooling to affect his career prospects.

On this issue, Zhao Lu happened to agree with her husband. She cared little for political advancement, but she did not want her son too far from her. Even if he studied somewhere distant within the country, it would still be easier to visit him. Going abroad would make things much more troublesome.

In the end, Qiu Zhiyong asserted his parental authority, dashing Qiu Feng’s hopes of studying overseas.

Unable to defy his parents, Qiu Feng settled for this prestigious domestic university, and his parents basked in the glory of his achievement for quite some time.

Following Zhao Lu’s directions, Qiu Zhiyong drove toward Qiu Feng’s dormitory. The two chatted and laughed along the way. Qiu Zhiyong realized it had been a long time since he’d talked this much with his wife, or spent so much time alone with her, or seen her so happy.

In his career, Qiu Zhiyong considered himself beyond reproach. He had risen from the lowest ranks to become deputy director-general—a rare accomplishment in the provincial police department. Over the years, he’d lost count of the major cases he’d solved, the honors he’d received, and the medals now decorating a cabinet at home.

Yet he felt a lingering guilt toward his family, especially his wife. The time he’d spent with them over the years could be counted on one hand. In his youth, he was perpetually away on cases, leaving all domestic matters to Zhao Lu. When he was promoted, he was constantly entertaining and networking. He was hardly ever home.

At first, his wife didn’t understand why he was always so busy. Later, she grew accustomed and stopped asking whether he was working or socializing, simply tending to their son and the household herself.

When his own younger sister was arrested for fraud in her business and came to him for help, Qiu Zhiyong rebuked her harshly, and Zhao Lu never expected his help again.

Whether it was their son’s schooling or caring for ill parents, Zhao Lu handled it all. Qiu Zhiyong was never there. In Zhao Lu’s eyes, his only contribution to the family was his reputation in government circles, which spared her some indignity when dealing with officials. Everything else she managed on her own; he was not someone she could rely on.

What comforted Zhao Lu was that their son was exceptionally talented: diligent in his studies, well-behaved, and obedient. While parent-teacher meetings were nightmares for some, for Zhao Lu, they were occasions to receive awards.

Qiu Zhiyong, too, grew spirited when speaking of his son. Though he’d been largely absent from Qiu Feng’s upbringing, he took pride in his contribution—at the very least, half of his son’s outstanding genes came from him.

As he drove, a sudden, deafening crash erupted to his left. Startled, Qiu Zhiyong slammed on the brakes and turned. He saw a delicate, youthful face lying in a pool of blood, the boy’s eyes fixed in his direction.

For a moment, Qiu Zhiyong’s mind went blank, his head buzzing. He sat there, stunned, until a piercing scream snapped him out of his stupor.

“Guanguan!”

He saw a plainly dressed woman rush toward the young man. Her body struggled to keep pace with her mind; the stone path beneath her feet tripped her. She fell but scrambled up, stumbling until she reached the boy’s side.

She knelt and gently patted the young man’s back. “Guanguan? Guanguan!” she called softly, hoping for a reply, but none came.

Qiu Zhiyong opened the car door and rushed over. Kneeling by the boy, he suddenly remembered something, fumbled in his pocket for his phone, called an ambulance, and notified his wife to pick up their son herself.

The loud commotion drew a crowd. Soon, ambulances and police cars arrived, shattering the peace of the academic building. Qiu Zhiyong helped the numbed woman to her feet, and together they went to the hospital.

In the ambulance, Qiu Zhiyong studied the woman. She was about his age, wearing a blue chiffon dress, her gaze locked on the young man before her. Qiu Zhiyong knew she hadn’t recognized him, but he knew her well.

Her name was Xu Ting, widow of a fallen hero. Her husband, Huang Jifeng, once a soldier, had transferred to the local police department after his service. During a raid on a drug ring, he was killed while saving a subordinate.

After his death, Xu Ting was left with a young son. She never remarried; from that day on, she raised her son, Huang Guan, alone, enduring hardship without complaint. Fortunately, her son was sensible and ambitious, giving her comfort.

Qiu Zhiyong had worked with Huang Jifeng. After the tragedy, he had tried to help Xu Ting, but she politely refused, determined to stand on her own and not tarnish her husband’s legacy. Though he couldn’t do much for her, he kept an eye on the family. When he heard Huang Guan had been admitted to Jinghua University, he was more excited than when his own son made it in.

By the time Qiu Zhiyong came to his senses, they were at the hospital. A young man in green scrubs approached him and Xu Ting. “Please accept our condolences…”

Xu Ting stared at the doctor, her finger pointing at the operating room. “Go in. Save my son.”

The doctor hesitated. Xu Ting seized his collar, shouting, “I told you to go in and save my son! Do you hear me?”

Tears streamed down her face. She released her grip and nearly knelt before the doctor. Qiu Zhiyong and the doctor hurried to prevent her. Choking with emotion, Xu Ting pleaded, “Doctor, please, save my son. I beg you, save him!”

But Huang Guan could not be saved. Xu Ting was forced to confront the reality of losing her son.

After returning to Mingcheng from Jinghua, Qiu Zhiyong did not go home for a week. He locked himself in his office, refusing to see anyone but his secretary.

A week later, seated at his desk, Qiu Zhiyong stared at the file before him but thought only of Huang Guan’s last letter:

“Mom, I’m sorry. By the time you read this, I may already be gone. I told you before—my girlfriend I met online deceived me. I can’t even graduate now; she ignores me. I don’t know how I became like this. I don’t know how to face you. I’m in so much pain, so tired. I just want to rest. In this life, I can’t repay your love, but in the next, I will.”

He recalled what his colleagues in Jinghua had told him: “Director Qiu, we’ve interviewed Huang Guan’s teachers and classmates. The facts are clear. A year ago, he met a girlfriend through an online game. Over the year, she found various reasons to ask him for money, and he borrowed from many friends to give it to her. Because of this relationship, his studies suffered; he failed to submit his thesis on time. He couldn’t graduate, and the girlfriend vanished. All these pressures led to his suicide.”

A knock at the door interrupted his reverie.

“Come in!” Qiu Zhiyong called.

A middle-aged man in uniform entered and sat before him. “You wanted to see me?”

Qiu Zhiyong studied him: of average build, his police uniform hung a little loosely on his lean frame. His weathered face had lost its youthful luster; the bronze cheeks spoke of years of service. His gaze was sharp, almost intimidating.

“I read your research proposal,” Qiu Zhiyong said. “It’s a good idea, but not very realistic. It’s typical of you—using extreme measures to combat cybercrime. Bold, even reckless. No wonder your superiors think you’re crazy.”

“It’s not madness. The way we work now is no longer effective against cybercrime. If we don’t change, the criminal world will spiral out of control. I’m not the crazy one—they’re just timid and stuck in their ways, only caring about their promotions and wealth, unwilling to make any real effort.”

Qiu Zhiyong waved him off. “You’ve never fit in, that’s nothing new. It’s not your place to criticize whether others are dedicated or not, or call them greedy. Your father was my old mentor. You were made a squad leader at twenty-eight. If it weren’t for your bluntness and inability to get along, you wouldn’t still be stuck at the same rank after all these years.”

“It’s not about me. Once my father retired, all those who fawned over him started giving me the cold shoulder. They only care about advancement—none of them actually do the work. No wonder they dislike me.”

Zhiyong motioned for him to stop. “Haifeng, I didn’t call you here to listen to complaints.” He paused. “You want a special task force? You pick the members. You’re the leader. I’ll handle the rest. You wanted a war? Then fight with everything you have.”

“A special task force? I choose the people? Across divisions and ranks? I really get free rein? Will the higher-ups approve?” Haifeng asked.

“I’ve already transferred you. Officially, you’re in the Communications Department, not under the city bureau’s control. The paperwork is on its way. The task force is confidential—only you and I know about it, aside from the director. Pick whoever you want, regardless of whether they’re police officers. I have only one condition: one specific person must be on the team and cooperate with you. Otherwise, it’s all up to you.”

Haifeng looked at his old mentor, sensing something different about him today, though he couldn’t say what. Meeting Zhiyong’s resolute gaze, Haifeng nodded. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

Zhiyong nodded back, sliding the file toward Haifeng. “Consider this your first case.”

Haifeng took the file and opened it. When he saw the photo inside, he jumped from his chair. “Huang Guan? What happened?”

“He took his own life,” Zhiyong said, forcing himself to remain composed. “But I don’t believe it was suicide. I think he was driven to his death. Your mission is to find the real culprit and avenge him.”

Seeing his old mentor grit his teeth in anger, Haifeng finally understood what was different. He stared at the file, remembering the boy who always smiled and showed kindness to others. Closing the file, he walked toward the door. At the threshold, he turned and said, “Rest assured, I will complete this mission. I will make those who hurt Huang Guan pay the price.” With that, he left without looking back.

Once more, Zhiyong was alone in his office, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The image of Huang Jifeng, his old comrade, came to mind—his voice, his smile, still vivid. Pain welled up inside Zhiyong as he murmured, “Jifeng, I’m sorry. I failed to protect your family. I’m sorry I let you down. But I swear, I will make those who hurt your family pay…”