The lead originated from a single invoice.
On the seventeenth day of the Hengyuan case, I tasked Wen Ruzhou with checking all of Hengyuan’s external payment vouchers over the past five years. This was tedious work, requiring her to pick out every expenditure exceeding 500,000 yuan from a vast ocean of financial records, cross-checking the recipient, amount, date, and purpose.
Wen Ruzhou accepted the assignment without asking why.
Her way of working was quite interesting. Zhao Feng and the others were accustomed to doing whatever I assigned without question, but she was different. She would first clarify the purpose of the task, what I was searching for, and what finding it would prove. Initially, I thought she was overly inquisitive, but later realized it was a professional habit developed during her time in auditing—auditing emphasized “beginning with the end in mind,” determining the audit objective first, designing the audit procedures second, and executing them last.
This line of thinking proved immensely helpful when I partnered with her later.
That day, she spent six full hours immersed in the server room; I even had cafeteria staff deliver her lunch. She ate her boxed meal while facing the computer, a chopstick resting in her mouth while her eyes never left the screen. Glancing inside as I passed by the server room, I saw her comparing the discrepancies between two spreadsheets, her fingers tapping rapidly across the keyboard.
“Found something?” I knocked on the doorframe.
She raised her head, a green vegetable still dangling from her mouth: “You arrived just in time.”
She pulled me over to the computer and pointed at a number on the screen.
“What’s this?”
“A consulting fee from Hengyuan last December,” she clicked open a folder. “The amount is 8.6 million yuan, with the payee listed as a consulting firm named ‘Zhonghui Business Services’.”
“Consulting fee?” I frowned. “An 8.6 million yuan consulting fee—what consulting services did Hengyuan purchase?”
“Don’t know,” she shook her head. “I reviewed the contract; the content states ‘Year-round Business Advisory Services’ without any specific service details. But the problem is—”
“What’s the problem?”
She brought up another spreadsheet: “This ‘Zhonghui Business Services’ was registered in March 2019, with a registered capital of only 100,000 yuan. Paid-in capital is zero. Social security contributions…”
She paused.
“How many?”
“Zero.”
I stared at that “zero” for three seconds.
A consulting company with a registered capital of 100,000, zero paid-in capital, and zero social security contributions received an 8.6 million yuan “business advisory fee.”
What damn advice were they giving? Teaching people how to print money?
“Furthermore,” Wen Ruzhou clicked open another diagram, “this company’s registered address is in an office building in Futian District, but I checked—that office building was under renovation in 2019, with no companies residing there at all. And—”
She turned to look at me, the faint warmth in her eyes completely gone.
“Zhonghui Business Services’ legal representative is named ‘Wen Minghua’.”
My fingers froze.
“Wen?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “The same ‘Wen’ as in Wen Ruzhou.”
I remained silent for a few seconds.
“What is the relationship between this Wen Minghua and Wen Ruzhou?”
“I’m not sure,” she closed the file. “But I checked the business registration records; Wen Minghua’s ID card address and…”
She didn’t finish her sentence.
Yet I understood.
Wen Ruzhou’s ID card address. Wen Minghua’s ID card address. Two addresses, completely identical.
Wen Minghua was a family member of Wen Ruzhou. Could be her father, an uncle, or a cousin. In short, this company that received eight million from Hengyuan shared a blood connection with Wen Ruzhou.
“This material,” I pointed at the computer screen, “who else has seen it?”
“Just you and me.”
“Keep it quiet for now.” I stood up. “Make a copy of the original voucher, and return the original to the archive room.”
“Alright.”
Reaching the doorway, I stopped once more.
“Wen Ruzhou.”
“Mm?”
With my back turned to her, I didn’t look back: “Do you know someone named Wen Minghua?”
Her fingers paused briefly on the keyboard.
That pause was very brief—so brief it was almost imperceptible. Yet I caught it.
“Don’t know him,” she said. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
I pushed open the door and stepped out.
That evening, I went to Futian alone.
The office building where Zhonghui Business Services was registered stood along Shennan Avenue—an old 1990s structure with exterior tiles already peeling off. Standing below, I tilted my head to look up, counting the windows, unable to guess which room had once served as this company’s office space.
Now the building had been converted into a creative industry park, filled with small startup companies, coffee shops, and co-working spaces. Zhonghui Business Services had long been deregistered, leaving not even a sign behind.
Standing below for half an hour, I took some photos and then visited the Market Supervision Bureau.
The name Wen Minghua didn’t make me wait long. Retrieved records showed: Wen Minghua, male, born in 1965, ID card address indeed matching Wen Ruzhou’s address. Registered Zhonghui Business Services in March 2019, deregistered in September 2021. The annual report prior to deregistration indicated zero social security contributors, zero operating income, and zero net profit.
A shell company. A briefcase firm among briefcase firms.
The only valuable thing was that business license.
And that business license had received 8.6 million yuan from Hengyuan.
Closing the documents, I leaned back against the chair, staring blankly at the ceiling.
What was the connection between Wen Minghua and Wen Ruzhou?
Retrieved data indicated that the household registered at Wen Minghua’s ID address had Wen Ruzhou’s mother, Wen Manhua, listed as the head of household. This implied Wen Minghua was either a relative of the Wen family or shared a close bond with them.
And Wen Manhua was the chairwoman of Manhua Group.
Manhua Group. A top-ten private enterprise in Shenzhen spanning real estate, investment, and trade, with total assets exceeding twenty billion yuan.
The money laundering case of Hengyuan Real Estate was now linked to Manhua Group.
And Wen Ruzhou was Wen Manhua’s daughter.
I suddenly recalled the message Zhou Qiming had sent me.
“I knew.”
He knew Wen Ruzhou’s mother was Wen Manhua. He knew this lead might point toward Manhua Group. He might even know the relationship between Wen Minghua and the Wen family.
Yet he still placed Wen Ruzhou on my team.
What was he thinking?
Rubbing my temples, I suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion.
Early the next morning, I called Zhao Feng into my office.
“Help me look into someone,” I pushed Wen Minghua’s records over. “Wen Minghua; I’ll send you his ID number. Focus on checking if he has business dealings with Manhua Group.”
Zhao Feng glanced at the records, his brow furrowing: “Captain Shen, this Wen Minghua—”
“Just check.”
Looking as if he wanted to speak further, he refrained, nodded, and walked out.
The moment the door closed, I heard footsteps in the corridor.
It was Wen Ruzhou.
Carrying two cups of coffee, she passed by my office doorway with very light, almost silent steps. Yet I still sensed her presence—not by sound, but through an indefinable intuition.
She walked past.
The aroma of coffee drifted in, smelling slightly bitter.
I stared at the doorway for a long time, until that aroma dispersed.
In the afternoon, Zhao Feng returned.
The news he brought back caught me somewhat off guard.
“Wen Minghua has no direct relationship with Manhua Group,” he placed a document on my desk. “But his sister married Wen Manhua’s younger brother.”
“What do you mean?”
“Simply put,” Zhao Feng sat down, “Wen Minghua’s sister is named Wen Mingyu, who married Wen Manhua’s younger brother, Wen Guohua. Wen Guohua serves as a supervisor at a subsidiary under Manhua Group; he isn’t senior executive level and holds no real power, but his status as part of the Manhua faction is genuine.”
“What about Wen Minghua?”
“Wen Minghua and Wen Guohua are brothers-in-law by marriage,” Zhao Feng lowered his voice slightly. “That is to say, Wen Minghua’s wife and Wen Guohua’s wife are biological sisters.”
I froze briefly, then realized the implication of this web of relationships.
Wen Minghua wasn’t a direct relative of Manhua Group, but an in-law. And a very close in-law—being married to sisters meant their wives shared blood.
In the business world, such a bond carried more weight than anything.
“There’s one more thing,” Zhao Feng’s expression looked somewhat peculiar. “I checked the relationship between Wen Minghua and Wen Ruzhou.”
“Speak.”
“Wen Ruzhou’s father was named Wen Jianguo—Wen Minghua’s biological brother.”
I was stunned.
“Wen Ruzhou’s father—Wen Jianguo—was biological brothers with Wen Minghua?”
“Yes,” Zhao Feng nodded. “But Wen Jianguo passed away when Wen Ruzhou was very young. Exactly when or how he died, I couldn’t find out. All I know is that Wen Minghua subsequently followed Wen Manhua in business.”
Wen Ruzhou’s father was dead.
Wen Minghua was her father’s biological brother.
Zhonghui Business Services received eight million from Hengyuan, and Wen Minghua was Wen Ruzhou’s uncle.
“Captain Shen,” Zhao Feng’s voice broke my train of thought, “should we keep investigating this lead?”
Looking at the documents on the desk, I remained silent.
Investigating further meant pursuing the line of Wen Minghua. Pursuing Wen Minghua meant pursuing Manhua Group. Pursuing Manhua Group meant—
Pursuing Wen Ruzhou.
“Investigate,” I said, “but don’t alert her for now.”
Zhao Feng glanced at me, hesitating to speak.
“What do you want to say?”
“Nothing,” he stood up. “I’ll get back to work.”
Reaching the doorway, he suddenly turned back: “Captain Shen, I don’t know if I should say this.”
“Say it.”
“Little Wen—her professional capabilities are beyond question,” he paused. “But she is Wen Manhua’s daughter. This matter… you should be clear in your own mind.”
“I know.”
He nodded and left.
That night, I worked late in the office alone.
Wen Ruzhou had taken leave in the afternoon, saying she felt unwell and needed to visit the hospital. I approved it, but didn’t ask which hospital she was heading to.
When she left, she passed my office; I raised my head and glanced at her.
Her complexion was indeed poor. There was a bluish tint under her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept well.
“Want me to give you a ride?” I asked.
She froze briefly, then smiled and shook her head: “No need, I can go on my own.”
“Alright.”
She turned and left, her pace somewhat hurried.
Staring at her back, a thought suddenly crossed my mind.
Her surname was Wen. Her mother was named Wen Manhua. Her uncle was named Wen Minghua.
Zhonghui Business Services received eight million yuan in laundered funds from Hengyuan.
And she—had drawn that fund flow chart.
Did she know?
Did she know the connection between Zhonghui Business Services and Hengyuan?
Did she know the link between Wen Minghua and Manhua Group?
Did she know—that her uncle might be involved in this money laundering?
I didn’t know.
Yet one thing was crystal clear to me: She would find out sooner or later.
And the moment she found out, what choice would she make?
At one in the morning, I packed up my things to head back.
Walking to the elevator bank, I saw the lights in the adjacent office were still on.
It was Wen Ruzhou’s workstation.
Walking over, I pushed open the door and found her absent. Yet a document lay spread out on her desk, as if left in a hurry before she could tidy up.
I originally intended to help her pack away the document, but my gaze was caught by a line of text:
“Manhua Group Organizational Structure (Internal Version)”
I stared at those words for a long time.
Then I closed the document.
The moment I closed it, I noticed a handwritten line in the corner of the last page:
“Ruzhou, there are matters beyond your control—don’t meddle in them. I only have you as my daughter.”
The handwriting was refined, written in fountain pen, the ink not yet completely dry.
Written by Wen Manhua.
Written for Wen Ruzhou.
Staring at those words, I suddenly understood.
Wen Ruzhou had long known there were problems with Manhua Group.
She didn’t come to economic crime investigation to pad her resume, but to—
Closing the folder, I turned off the light and walked out.
Inside the elevator, I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes.
My mind was filled with her appearance from this morning.
Smiling, shaking her head, saying “no need for a ride.”
Pale-faced, walking with rapid steps.
As if fleeing from something.
I suddenly had a strong urge to ask her: How much do you actually know?
Yet I didn’t have her phone number.
Or rather, I had it, but had never saved it.
Returning home that night, I sat on the sofa and scrolled through my phone contacts.
She wasn’t there.
Yet I remembered her number.
I had never intentionally tried to memorize it, yet I remembered it regardless.
11 digits, not a single number missed.
Staring at the phone screen, my fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Ultimately, I didn’t send that message.
I put the phone down.
As I set it down, a thought suddenly crossed my mind.
That fund flow chart—she spent three days drawing it.
During those three days, what was she actually thinking?
Was she helping us investigate the case, or was she—
I didn’t dare think further.
Outside the window, dawn was breaking.
I hadn’t slept all night.