Siheyuan came through and sent Jia Zhang to prison

Chapter 652 is a bit difficult.

Ma Xin's fingertips traced delicate lines on the yellowed, brittle pages, her fingertips brushing against the ink-stained words, as if she could touch the hidden secrets between the lines. She would pause occasionally, her brow furrowing slightly, as she quickly jotted something down in the notebook open beside her. The soft scratching of her pen on the paper, like a silkworm nibbling on mulberry leaves, was exceptionally clear in the quiet night, illuminated only by the desk lamp.

"Ma Xin, how's the collection going?" He Feng's voice came from the doorway. He deliberately lowered his voice and walked very slowly, afraid of disturbing the focused atmosphere.

Hearing the sound, Ma Xin looked up, her eyes bloodshot, as if streaked with sparks, and the dark circles under her eyes were thick and blurred like ink, clearly indicating she hadn't stayed up all night. She picked up the half-empty enamel mug on the corner of the table, unscrewed the thermos next to her, added some cold water, and gulped down several mouthfuls. The icy liquid sliding down her throat barely dispelled some of her weariness. She smiled wryly and waved the account book in her hand: "He Feng, look at these—"

She pushed the ledger in front of him, pointing to one of the pages: "This is a detailed record of the deductions from miners' wages, from March of last year to May of this year, every single one is recorded, even down to who was deducted how much and under what pretext; and this," she turned to another page, "the record of illegal mining, even the specific dates, the coordinates of the mining area, and even the train numbers for the ore that were secretly transported out."

“We’ve found a lot of evidence,” Ma Xin sighed, tapping her fingertips lightly on the pages, “but most of it is circumstantial evidence, not enough to directly convict Jiang Hu. His men are very tight-lipped. When asked about those who are backing him, he insists he doesn’t know them, only vaguely saying they are ‘big shots above,’ refusing to utter a single word more. This matter is really tricky.”

She paused, leaned forward slightly, and lowered her voice, almost touching the table: "I went through those financial records, and the destinations of several transactions were particularly suspicious—large amounts, all transferred late at night, and the recipients' names were untraceable. Following the trail, it vaguely points to some old forces... perhaps, the remnants of the reactionaries."

She paused, her fingertips unconsciously picking at the edge of her notebook, a hint of worry flashing in her eyes: "But this matter is too sensitive. Without solid evidence, how can I dare to draw any conclusions? If those people are really involved, their connections are so deep that it's not something a mere technical officer like me can handle. One wrong step and it's an abyss."

After listening, He Feng remained silent for a moment, his fingertips tapping lightly on the table, making a rhythmic sound. After a while, he nodded, his tone calm and reassuring: "Don't worry, those mine bosses who colluded with Jiang Hu, as well as his core henchmen with blood on their hands, have all been apprehended. None of them will escape. Jiang Hu himself has been locked up in the interrogation room, under 24-hour surveillance; he has no way to escape."

He stepped forward and gently closed the ledger spread out in front of Ma Xin, his movements tender and careful: "Don't think about it now. Go to the cafeteria and see if there's any hot porridge or steamed buns left to fill your stomach. Come back and rest well, at least three hours of sleep. We'll discuss it together again tomorrow morning. Health is the most important thing. If you really break down, you won't be able to handle anything else."

Looking into his undisguised concern, Ma Xin felt a warm glow spread through her heart, like ripples on a small lake after a pebble had been thrown in. Her long-tense nerves finally relaxed a little. She nodded, her voice slightly hoarse with laughter: "Okay, I'll listen to you."

She stood up, stretched languidly, and a slight "crack" sound came from her bones, as if the fatigue accumulated throughout the day dissipated with the sound. The light from the desk lamp fell on her face, revealing the bloodshot veins in her eyes, but also a tenacious spirit that refused to admit defeat.

Afterwards, Ma Xin followed He Feng to Uncle Luo's small restaurant. Night had fallen deeply, the dark blue sky dotted with a few scattered stars. Most of the shops on the street had their heavy shutters drawn, only the streetlights casting dim yellow halos on the ground, making their shadows appear longer and shorter. At this hour, most restaurants would have already turned off their lights and locked up, but Uncle Luo's "Luo's Snacks," a long-established business, always kept a warm yellow light on for its regular customers returning late, like a signpost in the darkness.

Pushing open the wooden door with the faded "Luo's Snacks" sign, the brass bell on the lintel jingled, its clear sound particularly distinct in the quiet night. Uncle Luo was sitting behind the bar, slowly wiping glasses with a snow-white rag. The light shone softly on his white hair at the temples. Seeing them, the old man immediately put down his work and stood up, a kind smile spreading across his face, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes smoothing out: "Why are you so busy again today?" He muttered as he walked towards the kitchen, "Come earlier next time, don't always stay up until the wee hours. You're young now, you don't get much sleep, you're showing off, but you'll know what's what when you get old. Your back and legs will come after you, and you'll be in so much pain you won't be able to sleep at night!"

Uncle Luo spoke as if he were lecturing his own child who was coming home late, with the characteristic nagging of an elder, the slight rise in his voice at the end, yet it warmed the heart and dispelled much of the night's chill. After all, Uncle Luo was almost sixty years old and had run a restaurant on this street for thirty years. He had witnessed He Feng's transformation from a greenhorn when he first joined the force to a composed and capable criminal investigation captain, and had long regarded these two young men who frequented the restaurant as his juniors.

He Feng smiled and replied, "Uncle Luo, the bureau has been dealing with a case lately, and there are so many things to work on that I haven't been able to get away. That's why I'm a little late." He pulled over two plastic chairs against the wall and sat down, the chair legs making a slight rustling sound as they scraped against the cement floor. "You don't need to go to so much trouble. Just cook a couple of simple home-style dishes. We're starving. The smell of your restaurant is making our stomachs rumble."

Uncle Luo gave a soft "Hey," his eyes scanning the two men's faces. He noticed the weariness etched on their brows, the faint dark circles under their eyes, and the tension emanating from their work. He knew they were about to discuss work during their meal. The old man didn't ask further, simply waving his hand. "I know, I know. You two sit down and rest for a bit, have some hot tea to warm yourselves up. The food will be ready soon." He turned and went into the kitchen. Soon, the sounds of chopping vegetables filled the air, followed by the sizzling of oil in the pan. A tempting aroma of cooking oil wafted out from under the kitchen door—a truly enticing scent.