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    “Ding ling ling,” a crisp sound rang out as the glass door of the coffee shop opened. A pretty girl walked in, wearing a white shirt and jeans, with a long pink cardigan over them. She had shoulder-length curly hair that partially obscured her fair, round face. Perhaps due to lack of sleep, her beautiful eyes were somewhat sunken in their sockets. Although the corners of her mouth were always slightly upturned in a cute way, the unintentional furrowing of her brows gave her smile a hint of sadness.

    The coffee shop was empty at ten in the morning. She scanned the shop and quickly spotted the person leaning back in a chair reading a book. She walked over and sat down opposite her.

    The person reading the book noticed that the person she was waiting for had arrived. She put down her book: “Xiao Guo, long time no see!”

    “Long time no see, Simiao,” Guo Xiaofen said with a smile. “How have you been?”

    “That’s a question I should be asking you,” Liu Simiao said.

    They were an unusual pair of friends: one a promising young criminal case expert, the other a renowned journalist. In the past, they had a somewhat adversarial working relationship, like newspaper reporters and public sector interviewees—one striving to uncover exclusive scoops, the other meticulously guarding against leaks. They argued frequently about work, and complaining to each other’s superiors was commonplace. But as time passed and they grew older, they finally realized that, fundamentally, they were both doctors yearning to cure the ills of society, just with different specialties. Gradually, they overlooked the differences stemming purely from personality and lifestyle and began to understand and cooperate… They remained two different people, one on the boat and one on land, but moving in the same direction, and when stranded, they would lend each other a hand.

    “I’m fine.” Guo Xiaofen touched her face. “Resigning is like a breakup; it’s always easy at first. I spend my days on the sofa, eating potato chips and watching online dramas, feeling like a bean soaking in water, gaining weight… Simiao, you’ve lost a lot of weight. Is it because of the Sweeping Mouse Ridge case? I heard you left the Special Task Force team after solving it.”

    “So, you’re just sitting at home, and news falls from the sky,” Liu Simiao said with a smile, then waved towards the counter. A waiter came over and asked what they would like to drink. Liu Simiao ordered herself a tangerine pear tea, and Guo Xiaofen ordered a latte. After paying, the waiter placed a small reindeer plush toy on their table as proof of their order. Guo Xiaofen grabbed it, ruffled it a few times, and casually remarked, “Because of—Xiangming—?”

    ~

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    Liu Simiao paused, her gaze lingering on a crack in the wooden tabletop—whether cut by a knife or naturally occurring—unmoving for a long time.

    A Korean song, its title unknown, drifted softly through the coffee shop. The clinking of cups, the hum of coffee bean grinders, and the gurgling of milk frothers filled the air from the counter—all gentle and melodious, almost imperceptible, as if reminiscing about an unforgettable old dream.

    Guo Xiaofen knew she was right. She had learned of the Sweeping Mouse Ridge Case immediately after it happened, and soon saw the city police’s announcement on Weibo: the major suspect, Zhou Liping, had been arrested. As a journalist who had long covered legal news, she had a relatively deep understanding of the “Western Suburbs Serial Murders” incident that occurred ten years ago. Her first thought at the time was, “Oh no, this might implicate Simiao.” Firstly, from the perspective of the media and the public, the recidivism of a former serial killer would inevitably lead to an investigation into why he was so easily let off the hook initially, which would certainly uncover Lin Xiangming’s past actions of letting him go. Secondly, the entire Municipal Public Security Bureau knew about Liu Simiao’s feelings for Lin Xiangming; under these circumstances, from either perspective, she would definitely have to recuse herself from the case.

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    After a long silence, Liu Simiao slowly spoke: “The higher-ups have a more comprehensive consideration. Ten years ago, I participated in some of the investigation of the ‘Western Suburbs Serial Murders’ case. Xiangming believed that Zhou Liping did indeed kill Fang Zhifeng, but it was unrelated to the deaths of the other three women. I agree with this conclusion; at least so far, no new evidence has been found to overturn it.”

    “But the public won’t see it that way,” Guo Xiaofen said. “In the public’s eyes, a released convict committing another crime only further confirms his previous offenses.”

    “Criminal investigation work has certain special characteristics; it cannot be based on emotions, nor can speculation replace the truth. All conclusions must be based on scientific evidence and rigorous logic,” Liu Simiao said. “The public can question but has no right to interfere.”

    “But you yourself are questioning it now—am I right?” Guo Xiaofen suddenly said.

    This was a stab from the side! Steady, accurate, ruthless, and incredibly fast!

    Anyone else would have immediately opened up, but Liu Simiao only smiled and brushed it off: “Tell me about yourself. Why did you resign? I saw Zhang Wei at Sweeping Mouse Ridge the other day, and he said your articles were getting rejected repeatedly… You’re a veteran reporter covering the front lines. How could this happen?”

    Perhaps it was the disappointment of missing her target; Guo Xiaofen felt a little melancholy. Just then, the waiter brought over the tangerine pear tea and latte, each emitting a fragrant aroma. Liu Simiao picked up her teacup, gently blew on it, and took two sips along the rim. Guo Xiaofen slowly stirred her coffee with a small spoon, watching the heart-shaped latte art turn into a messy mass of foam, and suddenly said, “Maybe it’s because I only like to drink brewed coffee…”

    Liu Simiao didn’t understand what she meant.

    “Everything, in essence, can be divided into two categories: formal and informal, from clothing to professions to education to catering… Media work is the same. Formal is called a press release; informal is called news. A press release is like instant coffee: water, coffee powder, and creamer are all pre-mixed; you just drink it as is. Maybe the brand is different, maybe the taste is different, but ultimately it’s all passive acceptance. Real news should be like brewing coffee: journalists analyze, organize, process, and write based on the materials they’ve gathered, restoring parts of the truth of an event from different angles. That’s what’s valuable and meaningful,” said Guo Xiaofen. “But now, our newspaper’s editor-in-chief only allows us to sell instant coffee. I think this is an insult to real baristas—of course, most customers don’t care.”

    “Maybe your editor-in-chief is worried about hygiene issues with artificially brewed coffee,” said Liu Simiao.

    “Facts have shown that large-scale public health events always only occur with formal coffee, especially when coffee is monopolized by companies and the recipe is kept secret,” said Guo Xiaofen.

    “Looks like I didn’t choose the wrong person.” Liu Simiao took another sip of her tangerine and pear tea. “You’ve left the journalism industry, but you haven’t left your journalistic ideals. And what I want to do requires a journalist who, even after resigning, still retains their journalistic ideals.”

    The long journey had come to an end. Guo Xiaofen’s eyes widened: “Finally, let’s get to the point. What exactly do you want me to do today?”

    Liu Simiao looked at Guo Xiaofen and said, “I want you to assist in the investigation of the Sweeping Mouse Ridge Case.”

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