Tan Xizhe · Chat

You stand before the half-open door of the Criminal Investigation Division office, fingertips clutching a transfer order stamped with the bright red seal of the Municipal Bureau. In the enclosed air of the corridor, the bitterness of overnight cold brew coffee mingles with the scent of printer toner. Warm yellow overhead lights spill through the gap in the door, accompanied by the low, tense sounds of a case debriefing. Your phone still holds the raspy instructions from the Captain, heavy with the fatigue of an all-nighter: "Just head straight in once you arrive. No need to knock. All four of them are there." You raise your hand and gently push open the door. The sudden cessation of fragmented voices and keyboard clicks leaves the air momentarily stagnant. The four men inside are in various postures, but in that same instant, four completely different gazes land squarely on you at the entrance. Standing directly in front of the whiteboard is Tan Xizhe. His slender fingers grip a black marker, the tip suspended in mid-air before the whiteboard, the ink of his unfinished case notes still fresh. His pale, almost translucent profile is masked in a layer of deep coldness. Those narrow phoenix eyes sweep over the transfer order in your hand with a sharp intensity, as if examining a crime scene. After a pause of less than half a second, he briskly lowers his hand. His voice is low and flat, devoid of emotion, merely confirming the established fact: "The newcomer?" The second hand of the worn, dark tactical watch on his left wrist ticks at a steady pace—the only sound in the deathly silence, steady and restrained. At a nearby workstation, Pei Shu sits upright, the desk before him cluttered with neatly stacked case files. The half-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, repaired with black tape, make his features appear even more cold and indifferent. His grayish-brown pupils do not offer a direct appraisal but act more like a high-speed processor, instantly capturing and reading every detail of your posture and demeanor. After his gaze lingers for two seconds, he returns his eyes to the pages as if nothing happened, continuing to flip through the files. An unlit cigarette is clamped between his lips, marked by neat teeth indentations. He habitually holds a black gel pen between his fingers, exuding the calm detachment unique to a profiler. Across the conference table, Jiang Shiyuan is sprawled haphazardly in his chair, long legs crossed casually over the edge of the table in a defiant, unrestrained posture. He shifts a cigarette from the left corner of his mouth to the right. The faint mole on his brow bone twitches slightly as he raises an eyebrow, his eyes filled with youthful lethargy and a hint of playful curiosity. His tone is loose and smiling, nonchalantly breaking the silence: "Oh, so a rookie really did parachute in." Beneath the relaxed exterior lies the sharp alertness of a criminal investigator. In the shadows by the window, Zhou Xiaozhen leans against the cold frame. His fingertips repeatedly flick open and shut a vintage silver lighter, the crisp *click-clack* sounding exceptionally clear in the silent office. A pair of black half-rimmed sunglasses is pushed up against his forehead, obscuring the emotions in his eyes and revealing only his sharp, clean jawline. He gives you a fleeting glance, tilts his head to check the sky outside, and then slowly retracts his gaze. A faint, inscrutable arc curves at the corner of his lips as he speaks in a flat, detached tone: "New colleague? A pleasure." In those two seconds of dead silence, the four men's appraisals, probes, and tacit acceptances intertwine and spread. Tan Xizhe tilts his chin up slightly, his tone crisp and decisive, carrying the authority unique to a Captain: "Transfer order." You step forward and place the smooth transfer order onto the case files on the table. He doesn't reach out to pick it up. Instead, he extends a forefinger, his well-defined fingertip lightly tapping the official seal and text on the paper. He looks up at you again, the initial scrutiny in his cold eyes fading to be replaced by a measure of fair recognition. "Right." A single word, concise and powerful, finalizing all arrangements. "Since you've reported for duty, take a seat." As the words fall, he unscrews his pen cap and points the tip directly at the case file photo at the top of the whiteboard. He says solemnly, "We're starting with a review of the cold cases. Pei Shu, report on the case." The four men instantly shed their idle postures, quickly returning to their positions and entering work mode. Tan Xizhe gazes down at the case details on the whiteboard, his presence steady and commanding; Pei Shu flips through the files, ready to provide precise profiling and data at any moment; Jiang Shiyuan drops his legs and sits up straight; Zhou Xiaozhen pockets his lighter and stands tall from his slouching position. You pull out the only empty chair by the table. The moment you sit, you feel a faint residual warmth on the seat. The Captain wasn't lying. This elite Jincheng ace detective team never slacks, standing in confrontation with crime and the truth day and night. And you have officially entered the fray. You look at the case—it's a child trafficking case you had heard a little about during your time at the West District station. <choice_group> <choice id="1">Listen intently to Pei Shu's case analysis</choice> <choice id="2">Offer your own perspective on the case</choice> <choice id="3">Act freely</choice> </choice_group>