Chapter Four: The Disheartened Souls in the Police Station

Haifeng arrived at the Mingtan Sub-Bureau. Here, there was one person—someone who had come to mind immediately when he received Qiu Zhiyong’s order to form a special team—a sharp mind and a diligent worker.

When Haifeng saw Zhao Zhijie, he had just returned from outside, carrying his standard-issue police gear. His hair was a tangled mess, resembling a bird's nest; sweat stains clung to his uniform, dust streaked his trousers, and he looked utterly dejected, like a defeated soldier in retreat.

Haifeng could scarcely believe the young man before him was Zhao Zhijie. Afraid he might have mistaken him for someone else, he asked tentatively, “Zhao Zhijie?”

Hearing his name, Zhao Zhijie looked up, somewhat embarrassed upon seeing Haifeng. “Captain Hai, what brings you here? Sorry, I was on duty today and just got back. I hope you haven’t waited long. Please, have a seat, I’ll get you some water.”

Watching Zhao Zhijie hurriedly set his gear down and rush out, Haifeng recalled their first meeting. Back then, he was still with the Criminal Investigation Unit—a special operation targeting organized crime. Haifeng had been the field team leader, and Zhao Zhijie, a technical support officer, had participated in the mission.

At their first encounter, Zhao Zhijie looked a little green, lugging a large toolbox that made him seem even more slender. During the operation, no one paid much attention to this police rookie. For seasoned detectives used to the front lines, Zhao Zhijie’s reactions seemed slow—everyone had already darted out to arrest suspects while he was still climbing out of the car. When they regrouped to move to a new location, he had just stepped out and had to dash back in.

Haifeng was far from satisfied with the newcomer assigned by Mingtan Sub-Bureau. He felt as if they’d deliberately given him trouble—the smallest team, now burdened with someone he’d have to protect, on top of capturing suspects. It was more than a little vexing.

The first day’s arrests went poorly. Despite the task force’s net, many suspects slipped away, vanishing without a trace—half of whom Haifeng’s team was supposed to apprehend. As Haifeng brooded over their lack of progress, the young man knocked on his door.

“Leader Hai, I’ve processed all the suspects’ belongings and analyzed their files. I found a few leads. There’s another concealed location where I believe they’re hiding.”

Haifeng looked at the rookie before him—red-eyed, voice still boyish, but his words carried a quiet conviction.

He asked the young man to present his analysis. As he listened to Zhao Zhijie’s articulate reasoning and saw the spark of intelligence in his eyes, Haifeng realized he’d been wrong; this young man would not be a burden, but might become a powerful ally.

After the explanation, Haifeng immediately called the team together. He grabbed a jacket from the rack and headed out. At the door, he turned and saw the rookie following closely.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“My name is Zhao Zhijie.”

“You haven’t slept all night, have you? Go get some rest. Leave the rest to us.”

No one expected that Haifeng’s team—short on manpower yet saddled with the heaviest tasks—would be the most successful in the operation. The fugitives they’d failed to catch earlier were rounded up, thanks in large part to the team’s performance. The operation went smoothly because of their efforts.

Of course, Haifeng never took credit or sought awards, nor did he care. He just went on with his work. But the fearless rookie left a deep impression on him. In the years that followed, Haifeng transferred several times and never saw the young man again, but he never forgot the rookie skilled in forensic analysis.

Yet now, Zhao Zhijie was nothing like his former self; his vigor had faded, replaced by a look of utter defeat.

“It’s about time to get off work,” Haifeng said. “Are you free tonight? Let’s have dinner together.”

Zhao Zhijie considered for a moment. “Please wait a moment while I change.”

They sat together in a barbecue restaurant. Zhao Zhijie, head down, ate like a wronged kitten, bullied and aggrieved. Haifeng wondered what had happened at Mingtan Sub-Bureau to leave such a promising young man so dispirited.

They ate and drank in silence, the clamor around them unable to disturb their little world. No one knew how much they drank; the baijiu on the table was nothing but empty bottles, and beer bottles littered the floor. Zhao Zhijie’s face was flushed as he finally spoke of his grievances.

“Leader Hai, I’m not sure about your current position, but I’ll call you Leader Hai as before. I was surprised you came to see me. We haven’t met since that operation.”

“How have you been these years?” Haifeng asked, sipping his drink as if casually.

“Not well. I’m about to resign. I’ve been job hunting for some time, but with little luck. I majored in computer science and thought the internet industry was booming, that jobs would be easy to find. But overnight, the whole sector started laying off people. I’d even passed an interview with a company—just waiting to sign the contract—when suddenly they went silent.”

He paused, then added, “Maybe it’s because I’ve been a cop too long and lost touch with my field. No one wants me anymore. Seven or eight years have passed in the blink of an eye. I’m in my thirties now, and the world belongs to the young. Maybe all I can do is muddle along here, waiting for the days to pass.”

He took another drink and continued, “I used to have great aspirations for the police force. My first job was as a technician at the Police Department. I had a good boss, harmonious colleagues, and a positive work atmosphere. I wanted to make my mark. Later, the Ming City Bureau recruited officers, and I applied. I did well on the exams and got in. My family was thrilled—I’d achieved my dream, and they were proud.”

Choked with emotion, he went on, “I thought I’d get to use my skills in the technical division. But somehow, I was assigned to Mingtan Sub-Bureau.”

After a pause, he said, “When I arrived, they sent me to a police station on the city’s outskirts. Every day was a jumble of neighborhood squabbles—nothing but petty disputes, and my technical expertise wasted. The station chief, knowing my computer background, joked that since there was nothing else for me to do, I could fix their TVs.”

With a bitter laugh, he continued, “I worked there for three years—day and night. But without connections, even when I applied to join the Party, my application vanished and became someone else’s. I almost quit. Then I was transferred to the forensic analysis division—that’s where I got to work with you.”

He glanced at Haifeng, then went on, “Back then, the department head valued our work, understanding that without cybersecurity, there could be no national security. He regularly came to inspect our progress. I was in charge of cyber forensics and did pretty well—we often ranked first in the city and handled some major cases. We weren’t as advanced as the southern units, but in Ming City, we were among the best.”

He took another swig. “Then that leader was transferred. His successor cared nothing for cybersecurity—rarely visited, maybe once or twice a year. But that’s normal; each leader has their own style. It made little difference to me—I still worked hard, doing tasks overtime.”

Staring at his empty glass, Zhao Zhijie murmured, “But none of it mattered to the new leader. He didn’t care. To him, cybersecurity was just another box to check, nothing important.”

He paused, then said, “Since he came, our division hasn’t had a single equipment upgrade. I’d be so busy I wouldn’t see home for weeks, toiling into the early hours every night. I applied for more staff, but every time I was told there was a shortage. All these years, not a single new person.”

“Once, I got into a traffic accident delivering case files to the city bureau. Our office car only had basic insurance—completely inadequate. I reported it, but my supervisor told me not to bring trouble to the unit and to handle it myself. It cost me tens of thousands—half a year’s salary, gone just like that. But what could I do? You have to bow your head under a low roof.”

He shook his head in resignation.

Picking up a skewer, Zhao Zhijie took a bite, looked at Haifeng, and seeing him still silent, continued, “Two years ago, I got divorced. My ex-wife has custody of our child—we split amicably. I don’t blame her; it was my own fault. During the crackdown on organized crime, I was with the special task force and didn’t go home for over two months. Our child developed jaundice—my wife was alone, overwhelmed, and called me in tears, begging me to come home, saying our child was on the brink and asking what use my job was. But at that moment, we were about to move in—the guys had worked so hard for so long, how could I just leave? When the operation ended and I rushed home, the house was empty.”

“Luckily, the child pulled through, but my wife was resolved to divorce. So be it—she’d suffered enough with me, never had an easy day. Colleagues used to joke that I hadn’t made money nor gone home, and my wife was living like a widow, except she still had to support me. I really wronged her. If divorce means a better life for her, so be it. I miss my child, though. She never kept me from seeing him—agreed to one day a week—but with work occupying weekends, I sometimes wouldn’t see him for a month.”

Haifeng poured Zhao Zhijie another drink.

Tears glistened in Zhao Zhijie’s eyes. He tilted his head back and downed his glass, continuing, “Recently, when the unit reshuffled, several of my colleagues were promoted—but not me. Friends asked why I didn’t network, saying you can’t get ahead without pulling strings. I just don’t get it—does promotion really depend only on connections? Do work results mean nothing?”

“My boss told me, ‘If you don’t talk to the leaders, who knows you want a promotion? If you work hard but don’t want to move up, why exhaust yourself? Don’t you get it? Achievements are only part of it; social skills are just as important. Your overall ability isn’t up to standard.’”

“What does ‘overall ability’ mean? Is networking and gift-giving now the standard? Does no one value solid work? I thought if I just did my best, my efforts would be recognized. But in the end, I was the only one left behind.”

Clearly drunk, Zhao Zhijie lowered his head, staring at his glass, his voice choked. “Leader Hai, what am I supposed to do? I’m utterly disheartened—been job hunting, but found nothing. I have to stay, at least to feed myself. I’m too old to quit outright or rely on my parents.”

Haifeng, seeing Zhao Zhijie so lost and broken, felt a pang in his own heart. He couldn’t help but lament how difficult it was for a policeman without connections in Ming City.

Haifeng asked the owner for a piece of paper and a pen, then bent his head and scribbled something. When he finished, he folded the paper and handed it to Zhao Zhijie. “Take the day off tomorrow and meet me here the day after, if you’re willing. I hope you’ll work with me. I’ll handle things with your unit.”

Zhao Zhijie, muddled by drink, took the note, looked at Haifeng, and nodded fiercely. “Sorry for making a scene. I drank too much and just complained at you. But I’d be honored to work with you. Don’t worry—I’ll report to you on time the day after tomorrow.” With that, he tucked the note into his pocket and staggered to his feet.

Haifeng saw he was unsteady and quickly supported him. He called the owner to settle the bill, then helped Zhao Zhijie out of the restaurant.

He took Zhao Zhijie, now dead drunk, home, and then walked alone down the empty street. The night breeze brought a chill, sobering him up.

“I can’t let him stay in Mingtan any longer. Qiu Zhiyong, your decision may change this young man’s life—it might just be a good deed after all.”

Thinking this, Haifeng made his way home.