Meng Jin rushed to the city bureau after receiving a call from Zhao Yunzhi, who had teased him with good news about the Red Maple Tree before hanging up.
As soon as he entered the office, he saw Zhao Yunzhi chatting with some officers. Meng Jin called out his name, eager to learn about the Red Maple Tree, but Zhao, seeming wary of being overheard, gestured with a wink and pulled Meng Jin into his office.
Zhao closed the door with a mysterious air, confessing that he had determined the age of the Red Maple Tree using unconventional means that mustn’t be revealed to a third party. It turned out that the park officials were strongly against dating the tree. So, under cover of darkness the previous night, Zhao had sneaked into the park, drilled a sample from the base of the trunk, dated the tree, and then, somewhat guiltily, stuffed the sample back and sealed it with glue to hide his tracks.
Zhao’s daring was unexpected given his usual timid nature, Meng Jin thought.
“How old is the tree?” Meng Jin asked.
Zhao held up two fingers. “20 years. This means the tree was planted after Lin Kun’s murder, and there’s a fifty percent chance that the second murderer did it.”
Zhao marveled at the idea, “The second murderer is incredible, planting a tree to exact revenge, waiting a whole 20 years. I think the tree also serves to remind him not to forget his vengeance.”
Meng Jin nodded appreciatively at Zhao’s efforts.
Zhao, feigning modesty, continued, “The tree was planted in 2003. I had the gardening department check their records for that year. Planting was outsourced to a third party, who used temporary laborers paid through a foreman without keeping any records, making it impossible to trace.”
“Does that mean all the surrounding trees were also planted in 2003?” Meng Jin pondered.
If the Red Maple was planted alongside other trees, how would the second murderer know that the gardening department planned to plant there? Was it just a coincidence? Or was the murderer among the temp workers who happened to have a Red Maple sapling? It seemed too coincidental.
Zhao chimed in, “Oh, and about the Red Maple, there are two ways to propagate it: direct seeding, which is best done from March to April for higher germination and survival rates, and the environment needs to be moist but can withstand drought and cold. The soil must stay moist, or the tree won’t survive.”
Zhao seemed to stall as he checked his phone, then added, “Before seeding, the ground must be watered. If all goes well, it sprouts in about half a month. The saplings grow slowly and need regular misting to maintain moisture. The other methods, cuttings and grafting, assume you already have a Red Maple.”
“I think we can rule out the last two methods,” Zhao concluded. “Because cuttings need branches older than a year, and it takes a month for roots to form. The same soil conditions are required, and these methods are geographically restricted to near the original tree for easy repetition of the process if initially unsuccessful.”
Meng Jin’s thoughts brightened. Lin Jiancai worked in a lumberyard and could have had access to wood and seeds from all over, making it easy for him to obtain Red Maple seeds if he knew which cities cultivated them.
Zhao seemed to read his mind and handed him his phone, displaying an image of Red Maple seeds. “Look, the seeds look like leaves, hidden within them. Lin Jiancai knew which city had them, either visiting himself to obtain the seeds or the trees might have been sent to the lumberyard with seeds still attached.”
Meng Jin immediately called the chief of the local police station in Yaocheng to investigate the lumberyard.
After hanging up, Meng Jin eyed Zhao, who was distracted by his phone, oblivious to Meng Jin’s scrutiny.
“Who are you chatting with?”
“Andy,” Zhao replied reflexively.
Of course.
Overnight, Zhao had transformed into a detective, his in-depth investigation clearly guided by an expert.
Meng Jin felt elated. Why would Long De help Zhao? He could only think of one reason: Long De was engaging in a contest, and Zhao was merely his proxy.
It appeared that Long De didn’t ignore him but considered him a worthy competitor.
Meng Jin relished the joy of being respected by an opponent, his spirits lifted as if a strong wind had cleared away fog.
At dusk, the chief from Yaocheng reported back: the lumberyard did indeed handle Red Maple, which had been common over twenty years ago, mostly coming from Xi Hong City—a famous tourist destination known for its landscape trees. Unfit for sale as ornamentals, these trees ended up as lumber, often arriving at mills with branches and seeds intact.
Lin Jiancai was a prime suspect now, but no one had seen him recently. After twenty years, his appearance had surely changed.
Meng Jin asked the chief to find photos of Lin Jiancai from twenty years ago and use technology to sketch his current appearance as a reference.
If Lin Jiancai was the second murderer, then Liu Tianshi, who had been in the US the year Lin Kun was killed, must be the first murderer, even if he wasn’t directly involved.
Jennie Yang had accompanied Liu Tianshi to the US. Did she really know nothing about her husband’s whereabouts?
She must have hidden something.
“Hasn’t the express delivery from the US arrived yet? Didn’t you say we could see it once we got back to B City?” Meng Jin was eager to get his hands on the blood sample, wondering if the blood behind Lin Kun’s ear could be Jennie Yang’s.
Zhao complained, “Your old classmate is really weird. I asked him to send me the tracking link so I could check it myself, but he refused, telling me to ask him directly whenever I needed to, saying it wasn’t a bother.”
While chatting, Zhao contacted Long De on WeChat, who quickly replied that the package was “on its way,” thoughtfully including the courier’s phone number.
Zhao called the courier, who explained he was delivering in another area and had to follow his route.
Impatient, Meng Jin instructed Zhao to meet the courier himself. After figuring out the location and considering traffic, it turned out going there would take about as long as waiting for the delivery.
Meng Jin insisted Zhao go, who reluctantly obeyed, inwardly cursing Meng Jin.
An hour later, the sample arrived in the forensic lab.
Meng Jin anxiously awaited the results, urging Dr. Jin to stay overnight in the lab as he couldn’t bear to wait any longer.
At three in the morning, the results were ready.
The blood sample did not match Liu Tianshi.
But it matched Jennie Yang.
Meng Jin was thrilled; Lin Kun’s death was indeed connected to Jennie Yang, if not directly, then as an accomplice.
But how had Lin Jiancai known that Liu Tianshi was behind Lin Kun’s murder?
Lin Jiancai’s cousin’s daughter had seen Lin Kun enter a hotel with a man, both entering the same room.
If that man was Liu Tianshi, could Lin Jiancai have figured out their relationship and thus identified Liu as Lin Kun’s killer?
As soon as Zhao got to work, Meng Jin had him contact Jennie Yang to arrange a meeting urgently.
Jennie’s secretary asked what it was about.
Meng Jin signaled Zhao to keep it vague, just saying it was related to the case.
That wasn’t very informative.
Unsatisfied with such an evasive answer, the secretary didn’t arrange a private meeting but mentioned that Jennie Yang was attending an event at the Little Angel Foundation. If they were in a hurry, they could meet her there.
Meng Jin and Zhao arrived at the event held at the Fang Zheng Group’s rehabilitation center, a place they had visited before.
Stepping out of the car, they saw a crowd at the entrance—parents of missing children, some holding signs, others banners, and some wearing shirts with photos and missing persons’ info.
Secretary Huang was waiting at the door, leading Meng Jin and Zhao down an alternative path to avoid the reporters and live streamers, explaining she didn’t want the police’s presence to spark unnecessary speculation.
Meng Jin followed obediently, but he was curious about the event itself, feeling it might help them learn more about Jennie Yang and possibly aid their investigation.
Secretary Huang settled them in the same lounge as before, mentioning Jennie Yang would be there in about half an hour, twenty minutes if they were lucky.
Meng Jin told Secretary Huang to go ahead with her tasks, “We’ll wait here, not going anywhere.”
After she mentioned that someone next door was watching and could assist if needed, she left.
Zhao watched her departing figure, muttering, “Why does it feel like she’s guarding against us? The person next door seems like they’re surveilling us.”
Meng Jin approached the window, trying it out; it wasn’t locked. He looked down—it was the second floor, not too high, and there were no obstacles below.
“I’ll check out the event, you stay here,” he said.
Without giving Zhao a chance to object, Meng Jin climbed onto the window sill and jumped, landing safely thanks to his solid police academy training.
The event was a reunion ceremony held in the small auditorium, where three children, kidnapped or lost when young, were reunited with their biological parents through the help of the Little Angel Foundation.
What was meant to be an inspiring and touching event was unexpectedly marred by chaos.
