Zhou Xiaozhen · Conversa

You stand before the half-open office door of the Criminal Investigation Unit, a transfer order stamped with the bright red seal of the Municipal Bureau pinched between your fingertips. The sealed air of the corridor carries the faint bitterness of last night's cold-brew coffee mixed with the lingering toner smell of the printer. Warm yellow ceiling light spills through the crack in the door, along with the low, taut murmur of a case debrief. Your phone still holds the squad leader's hoarse instructions from moments ago, laced with the exhaustion of an all-nighter: "Walk straight in when you get there, no need to knock. All four of them are in." You raise your hand and gently push the door open. The scattered murmur of voices and clatter of keyboards stops abruptly. The air freezes. Inside, four people sit in different postures, and at the same moment, four entirely different gazes land on you at the door. Standing directly in front of the whiteboard is Tan Xizhe. His long, slender fingers grip a black marker, the tip hovering mid-air above the whiteboard, the unfinished case notes hanging in dark ink. His pale, almost translucent profile is veiled in a composed chill. Those narrow phoenix eyes sweep over the transfer order in your hand with a scrutiny as sharp as a crime scene examination. After a pause of less than half a second, he cleanly caps the marker and lowers his hand. His voice is low and flat, revealing neither pleasure nor displeasure—just a precise confirmation of established fact: "The new transfer?" The second hand of the worn dark tactical watch on his left wrist ticks at a steady pace—the only movement in the dead silence. Steady and restrained. At the workstation slightly to the side, Pei Shu sits upright at his desk, neatly stacked case files spread out before him. The half-rim glasses wrapped in black tape on his nose make his features look even colder and more indifferent. His grayish-brown pale pupils don't openly size you up—they're more like a high-speed processor, instantly capturing and reading every detail of your posture and expression. After two seconds, his gaze returns to the paper as if nothing happened, and he continues flipping through the files. An unlit cigarette is clamped between his lips with neat teeth marks. His fingers habitually hold a black gel pen. He carries the calm detachment unique to a profiler. Across the conference table, Jiang Shiyuan lounges lazily in his chair, long legs casually crossed and propped on the edge of the table, his posture wild and unrestrained. The cigarette between his lips shifts from the left corner of his mouth to the right. The light mole on his brow bone bobs slightly as he raises an eyebrow, his eyes holding youthful laziness and a hint of playful curiosity. His tone is loose and smiling as he casually breaks the silence: "Oho, a real newbie dropped in out of nowhere." Beneath the relaxed surface hides the sharp vigilance of a criminal investigator. In the shadow by the window, Zhou Xiaozhen leans half-against the cold window frame. His fingertips repeatedly flip and rub a vintage silver lighter, its crisp click-crack echoing clearly in the dead-silent office. A pair of black half-rim sunglasses sits low on his forehead, hiding the emotions in his eyes, leaving only a sharp, clean jawline exposed. He gives you a faint glance, then turns his head to look at the sky outside the window before slowly pulling his gaze back. A barely perceptible arc curls at the corner of his lips—impossible to tell if it's genuine. His tone is flat and distant: "New colleague? A pleasure." In two seconds of dead silence, the four men's scrutiny, probing, and tacit acceptance intertwine and spread. Tan Xizhe lifts his chin, his tone crisp and decisive, carrying the unique authority of a team leader: "The transfer order." You step forward and place the neatly flattened transfer order on top of the case files on the desk. He doesn't reach for it. Instead, he extends his index finger, the knuckles clearly defined, and taps lightly over the official seal and text on the paper. He looks up at you again, the cold sharpness in his eyes fading from initial scrutiny to a fair measure of approval. "Alright." The single word lands—simple, forceful, settling all arrangements. "Since you're on duty, take a seat." As the words fall, he twists open the marker cap and points the tip directly at the case file photo at the top of the whiteboard, saying in a deep voice: "First, let's review the backlogged cold cases. Pei Shu, brief the case." The four men instantly shed all their idle postures and snap back into work mode. Tan Xizhe lowers his eyes to examine the case on the whiteboard, his presence steady and commanding; Pei Shu's fingers flip through the files, ready to deliver precise profiling and data at any moment; Jiang Shiyuan retracts his slouched posture, planting his long legs on the floor and sitting up straight; Zhou Xiaozhen puts away his lighter, pockets it, and straightens his languid frame. You reach for the only empty chair beside the table. As you sit down, the seat still holds a faint trace of warmth. The squad leader wasn't exaggerating—this all-elite Jincheng ace criminal investigation team never lets its guard down, standing against crime and truth day and night. And you are now officially in the game. You look at the case: it's the child trafficking case you'd vaguely heard about while at the West District Unit. <choice_group> <choice id="1">Listen carefully as Pei Shu analyzes the case</choice> <choice id="2">Share your own take on the case</choice> <choice id="3">Do as you please</choice> </choice_group>