The Remaining Third Chapter Thirty-Eight Song the Second

“Parting with no return?” Zhang Xiaoman tore a sticky note from the truck’s steering wheel, glanced at the four characters written on it, and sneered, “If I catch you again this time, it really will be forever—so long that you’ll never get out, not even when your sentence wears through the prison floor…”

He handed the note to the trace inspection team and was just about to leave the cab when he suddenly noticed a greasy, oil-stained paper ball under the passenger seat. He picked it up, carefully unwrapped it, and brought it to his nose for a sniff. An overwhelming stench of fermented tofu assaulted him. A flash of inspiration crossed his mind, his furrowed brow slowly relaxed, and he handed the crumpled wrapper to He Wei, who was walking over from the back of the truck. “I know where Han Yuan’s next destination is.”

He Wei took the wrapper and turned it over several times, but found no markings or codes. “Is it because of this wrapper? I can’t see anything special about it…”

“Sometimes, searching for clues isn’t about what you see,” Zhang Xiaoman mused, touching his nose. “A friend of mine once said that dogs rely on their noses for everything. What you see can deceive you, but a scent never lies. Actually, it’s not just the nose—sound matters too. To truly understand something, you have to use all your senses… He Wei, haven’t you noticed how people these days are obsessed with ‘seeing is believing’? But what the eyes see isn’t always real, especially for investigators like you. These days, you’re all too reliant on modern forensic technology. A case crops up, and the first thing you think of is checking surveillance footage. But you must realize that a person behaves very differently under a camera’s gaze than they do when unobserved. The truth behind appearances can be worlds apart…”

He Wei nodded thoughtfully, lifted the greasy wrapper to his nose, and gave it a sniff. His expression instantly soured as if he’d swallowed a dead fly.

Zhang Xiaoman clapped his hands and laughed. “See? I keep telling you to use your head, but you never listen. Everything I just said was just a digression—it has nothing to do with how I deduced Han Yuan’s next stop. You’ve hated stinky things since you were a kid, right? Bet you haven’t smelled stinky tofu in years. Miss it?”

“Uncle Man, I know you’ve been a bit dissatisfied with me because of Nie Yi and Li Jun, but they’ve already gone home. Can you stop messing with me?” He Wei’s mouth twitched as he suppressed the urge to throttle Zhang Xiaoman. He looked again at the wrapper, pointed at the words “Lüvine Specialty Snacks,” and asked uncertainly, “Lüvine City?”

“Exactly,” Zhang Xiaoman coughed lightly and climbed down from the cab. “Han Yuan left the detention center and drove this truck. There wasn’t a single stinky tofu vendor from Lüvine along the way, yet this wrapper turned up under the passenger seat. What does that tell you?”

“Either the wrapper was already in the truck, or Han Yuan brought it from the detention center…” He Wei mused. “The truck driver’s a local, hates spicy food, and certainly wouldn’t eat stinky tofu. That leaves one possibility: Han Yuan brought the wrapper from the detention center. But there’s no way Lüvine stinky tofu would be allowed in there…”

“The last time Han Qingxue visited Han Yuan in the detention center, she brought him stinky tofu from Lüvine,” Zhang Xiaoman said, hands clasped behind his back as he strolled toward the rear of the truck. “You all focused on the footage of the siblings arguing, but you didn’t notice that the wrapper originally on Han Yuan’s side of the table disappeared. So, my little lecture wasn’t just idle talk after all…”

He Wei forced an awkward, polite smile and was about to reply when an officer who had just finished taking a statement from the pop singer Qiu Qiu hurried over, handed He Wei the transcript, and summarized the situation. He Wei pursed his lips and, brimming with energy, instructed, “Good work. Next, pull all the surveillance along the route and find that black sports coupe…”

Suddenly, Zhang Xiaoman’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, glanced at the message, and waved at He Wei. “No need to look for the car—I know where it is.”

He Wei stared at him in astonishment. “Do you have a crystal ball or something?”

“Not quite,” Zhang Xiaoman pointed to the truck’s license plate, “A57391. I had Blondie hide in the truck and tail Han Yuan all the way.” He showed He Wei the phone screen. “That kid’s finally proven useful. He’s at a repair shop with Han Yuan, changing tires—and he’s stumbled onto something extra.”

He Wei read the message, his face lighting up. “Talk about a blind cat catching a dead mouse—one third of the job is done!”

Zhang Xiaoman opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak, a stabbing pain shot through his head. His breath quickened, his senses began to fade, and he collapsed with a crash…

Those who bear grudges often suffer from headaches: take the ancient warlord Cao Cao, or Napoleon from the West, or Zhang Xiaoman who had just fainted—and now, you could add the mechanic in the storeroom to the list.

The mechanic, face ashen, stared at Zhu Dachang, who was approaching with a club in hand, and protested angrily, “Enough! That’s the seventeenth time—you really think my head’s a wooden fish?”

He too collapsed with his mouth half open, just like Zhang Xiaoman, except this time, a fresh red bump rose on his head.

Zhu Dachang dusted off his hands and left the storeroom, saying to Hou San, who lay on the bed, “Third Brother, that guy’s quiet now. What do you think we should do next?”

Hou San rolled his eyes. “Next time, don’t hit his head. There are plenty of ways to shut someone up—like stuffing a wad of cotton in his mouth…”

Zhu Dachang scratched his head sheepishly. “Right, why didn’t I think of that…”

“What have I done to deserve a teammate as dense as you…” Hou San sighed, then turned to Blondie, who was tied to the table leg by Zhu Dachang, and felt a headache coming on. “Brother, fate really plays tricks on us. Last time you stole our motorcycle, and now you and your friends have stolen our cab. What did we ever do to you?”

Blondie swallowed and forced a smile. “Come on, we’re all brothers in the same business—no need to hold grudges… Besides, think about it: that ‘Don’t Touch Me’ car is worth way more than your cab. Honestly, you’re coming out ahead…”

Hou San snorted. “You might fool my simpleminded buddy with that, but not me. Back when I was running the streets, you were still picking your nose and eating it.” He exhaled heavily. “If I’m not mistaken, your ‘Don’t Touch Me’ is a hot car. The cops are probably on their way, so you’re desperate to get rid of it. Am I right?”

Before Blondie could argue, an angry shout exploded outside the repair shed: “Song Lao’er, I must’ve been crazy to trust you with that bag of jewels! You set me up and tried to double-cross me. If you don’t give me an explanation today, I’ll burn your whole damn shop to the ground!”