July 6, Year 243 of the Newland Calendar. This was Chen Li’s first assignment.
Chen Li was a law student at Jinshui University and a trainee officer at the Jinshui City Police Department, favored by the department’s leadership. Like any rookie cop facing his first mission, his eyes held no nervousness—only a keen curiosity about the case. They were to arrest Iwasaki Shun, a wealthy and notorious Newland businessman.
Some officers waited in plain clothes at the Jinshui Airport terminal, while Chen Li and another group, disguised as airport staff, stood on the tarmac. Iwasaki’s private jet landed on schedule. As the stairs lowered, the team swarmed aboard and took Iwasaki into custody. Chen Li, bringing up the rear, observed the man—a shock of gray hair, a long face. After a flicker of surprise, Iwasaki showed little alarm. He rose calmly, straightened his suit, and submitted to the handcuffs without a word. Only his face bore that confident, eerie smile, which sent a chill down Chen Li’s spine when their eyes met.
After Iwasaki’s arrest, his private jet was also to be impounded as evidence. Chen Li was not with the escort team, so he lingered on the plane. It appeared to be an older model, retired from commercial service and refurbished lavishly inside—divided into a suite, shower room, dressing room, kitchen, dining area, and conference room. In the suite was a king-size bed; the nightstand held a generous supply of condoms and linens. The dressing room had men’s shirts and suits on one side, and on the other, women’s pajamas and a variety of uniforms—many of them flirtatious, even kinky. The conference room was more mundane, except for two maps on the wall: not the usual world map and Newland map, but one of Newland and one of Kanto.
From the airport, Chen Li followed the investigation team directly to Iwasaki’s villa to collect evidence. The villa stood seven stories high, occupying two thousand square meters in a posh seaside neighborhood on the outskirts of Jinshui. To the north lay Nanshan Park, and to the south, the famous mangrove beach—an enviable location.
The first sight inside the villa made Chen Li gasp. Hanging in the foyer was a figure that looked like a corpse—but upon closer inspection, it was a lifelike wooden sculpture of a young girl, her face comely, clutching a thick rope, draped in a white wedding gown, as if a bride bound in chains. In the dusk light, with the foyer unlit, the statue cast eerie shadows that sent a shiver through the room.
“This old bastard has a peculiar taste, huh?” remarked Officer Lu Yucheng, Chen Li’s mentor in the force, a genial man. His offhand comment helped ease the creepiness.
“Iwasaki was arrested over a decade ago for organizing prostitution,” Chen Li said, studying the strange statue while glancing around. “But he got off without prosecution. All these years later, it seems he’s only gotten worse.”
The villa was lavishly decorated with gold ornaments, antiques, and calligraphy. In a study on the first floor, a taxidermied tiger lay crouched, its whiskers bristling, fangs bared, eyes fierce as if ready to pounce. On a shelf stood a first edition of Lolita; another bookshelf displayed framed photographs of Iwasaki with numerous celebrities and dignitaries from Newland and around the world: former Newland President Huayue, current President Zhao Wenlong, financier Chen Shiming, General Du Silin, Kanto’s Prime Minister Tennoji Kotaro, and many others. Chen Li’s gaze swept past these photos, lingering on a carefully framed banknote signed by Newland’s richest man, Chen Shiming. After a moment’s silence, he reached out and picked up an old photo from over twenty years ago—a picture of Iwasaki with Zhao Wenlong at a party, each man arm-in-arm with his companion.
On the third floor was the master suite, comprising a bedroom, a bathroom, and a massage room. Stepping into the massage room was as visually jarring as the foyer: the walls were covered with nude paintings of women, the largest over two meters tall—shockingly explicit. In the corridors and rooms, there were also numerous sketches of naked young girls, many bearing obvious fingerprints on the edges; none of the artworks were signed. In the center of the massage room stood a massage table, surrounded by curious “treatment” devices, and shelves stocked with expensive massage oils. Opening the wardrobe revealed more lingerie—nurse uniforms, sailor suits, maid outfits, and others—some so small they could only fit a girl of ten or so.
Iwasaki’s bedroom was surprisingly sparse: just a bed and a desk, bare walls with plain wallpaper—a stark contrast to the rest of the villa. The only odd detail was a surveillance camera mounted in the corner above the headboard.
Chen Li pondered the camera’s angle for a while, then walked around the suite thoroughly. Returning to the bedroom, he knocked on the wall behind the bed—there was a hollow space. He called in the tech team, who opened a hidden door to a monitoring room of about ten square meters, filled with dozens of screens covering every corner of the villa.
Chen Li felt uneasy, as he found more hidden cameras in other rooms. He climbed higher to the top floor, which was converted into a rooftop swimming pool and a conservatory filled with priceless golden orchids and juniper bonsai—each worth a fortune. Even more startling, the floor and walls were made of one-way glass, allowing a direct view down to the gym and bathroom below.
Before he could explore further, his mentor called him down to the basement. It had been converted into a hot spring bath, but the tech team noted that the water circulation system was controlled by a central computer, allowing remote adjustment to dangerously high temperatures—a peculiar and ominous feature for a private residence.
When Lu Yucheng met him, he first asked what Chen Li thought of the villa. Chen Li considered and said, “Iwasaki has a strong need for control, lives in decadent luxury, and loves to show off his wealth.”
Lu Yucheng nodded in agreement and handed Chen Li a stack of photos. Chen Li flipped through them—they were explicit images of Iwasaki with various young women, some appearing barely in their teens, their expressions fearful, their smiles forced.
“We received a tip that Iwasaki was involved in organized sexual assault of women and minors. Judging by this, it’s probably true,” Lu Yucheng added, then sighed. “They caught him back in Year 229, but he hired a dream team of lawyers and struck a deal with the prosecutor—walked away without prosecution. Like a joke. You saw how calm he was when arrested? He’s sure this time will be the same.”
“Will it? We have solid evidence this time.”
“We had solid evidence last time, too.”
News of Iwasaki’s arrest swept across Newland like a gust of wind. On July 8, prosecutors charged him with “engaging in sex trafficking of minors” and “conspiracy to commit sex trafficking.” If convicted on both counts, the 66-year-old billionaire could face up to forty-five years in prison. Iwasaki vehemently denied the charges, and his lawyer entered a not-guilty plea, arguing that the matter had already been resolved.
That “already resolved matter” referred to the Year 229 arrest, when police had taken Iwasaki into custody for “organizing prostitution.” At that time, a fourteen-year-old girl had reported that Iwasaki paid her 300 Newland Dollars for sex. After months of investigation, police confirmed that Iwasaki had engaged in sex with multiple underage girls. But the prosecutor in that case negotiated for eleven hours with Iwasaki’s lawyers and reached a plea agreement: Iwasaki would admit to two counts of soliciting a minor, pay restitution, and serve time in a private prison, in exchange for avoiding prosecution. He was ultimately sentenced to eighteen months and registered as a sex offender for life. In practice, however, the private prison granted him “work release”—six days a week, twelve hours a day, he could leave the facility to attend to his business. For Iwasaki, that effectively meant sleeping in the prison. This farcical arrangement continued for a year until his parole. Even during parole, he could board his private jet as long as he did not leave the country. The Herald later commented: If the prosecutor had shown an ounce of sympathy for the victims, this appalling abuse of justice would never have occurred.
The Herald had been following the Iwasaki case closely. In June, a group signing as the “October Society” published a lengthy investigative report in the paper, reviewing the court records, questioning the legal maneuvers of the original case, and including statements from four victims. Moreover, the report cited testimony from a new victim, suggesting that Iwasaki had not only resumed his activities after his previous arrest but had escalated them—now involving kidnapping, trafficking, rape, and possibly murder of minors.
As Iwasaki’s arrest made headlines, netizens dug up the details of his earlier immunity deal. The prosecutor who had brokered that deal was now the Labor Secretary in the Civic Party government. On social media platform, the secretary posted: “Iwasaki committed terrible crimes. I am glad the prosecution is now advancing this case on the basis of evidence.” But that tepid response did not satisfy the opposition Liberal Party. The victims’ lawyers demanded further explanations, and Liberal lawmakers called for the secretary’s resignation, accusing President Zhao Wenlong of knowing about the Iwasaki case and the plea agreement when he appointed him.
Zhao denied the allegations and defended the original disposition. In response, Liberal media released a video from some twenty years ago showing Zhao and Iwasaki laughing and chatting, each with a female companion—Zhao with his wife, Iwasaki with his mistress, Ma Jilan. Amid the uproar, Zhao changed his story, claiming he had fallen out with Iwasaki about fifteen years earlier and had not spoken to him since. His Labor Secretary, “to avoid further division within the party,” resigned.
After his arrest, Iwasaki’s lawyers filed a bail request, offering a bond of a hundred million dollars secured by real estate, his private jet, and a yacht. But with public outrage boiling, the judge denied the request, and Iwasaki was remanded to a Jinshui jail.
As investigators combed through Iwasaki’s assets, they discovered that he owned a private island in the southeast of Newland, part of the Canghai archipelago, about a 150 kilometers east of Canghai Island. He had purchased it in Year 231, originally named “White Horse Island,” but he changed it to “Thin Horse Island.” He had spent lavishly building a manor, dock, helipad, and desalination plant on the island. For years, his private jet shuttled regularly between Jinshui and Canghai, from which he would take a helicopter or yacht to the island.
Chen Li accompanied the police team to the island. It was tiny—800 meters east to west, 700 north to south, with a total area of just 0.2 square kilometers. From the air, it looked unremarkable—barren hills, a rocky shore with almost no beach. The main building complex sat on the northern side, where the terrain was slightly flatter. At its heart was a small square with a sundial in the center, surrounded by a rectangular ring road. The largest villa, facing north, blended classical Kantoese style—a gabled roof, deep eaves, blue tiles, and red walls, quite imposing. The building occupied about 2,500 square meters with two floors above ground, though anyone with experience could tell it had a basement. The other three sides of the square held smaller villas and utility buildings; a torii gate stood south of the main building, facing it. A small dock lay to the west, and a helipad to the east.
Once ashore, Chen Li did not feel the usual seaside relaxation—rather, a strange unease. He noticed a pillar on a knoll east of the helipad, carved with dragons and clouds, about three meters high, painted red, with a rider on a goat at the top. Surrounding it were banyan trees that looked recently transplanted, sparse and scraggly. A flock of seabirds, especially gulls, gathered there, bold enough that the helicopter’s landing did not frighten them; they perched in the trees, staring straight at Chen Li’s team like predators watching prey.
“Ever notice how... well-fed the seagulls are on this island?” Lu Yucheng muttered.
Chen Li shook his head, pushing the unease aside, and followed the group toward the largest villa. As they approached the square, he noticed another pillar behind the torii gate—this one blue, topped with a rider on an ox, equally out of place.
“Iwasaki’s mind is impossible to read,” Chen Li quipped. “Next one’s probably a boar rider?” Turning, he saw a yellow pillar on a hill to the east—not a boar rider, but an elephant rider. The banyan trees around it were thicker, almost swallowing the pillar; without someone pointing it out, he might have missed it.
The villa on the island was orderly but empty. Pushing open the main door, Chen Li saw the same opulent decor as the Jinshui mansion—conference rooms, studies, dining rooms lavishly furnished, while the private spaces deeper inside were filled with obscene or eerie paintings and decorations. A large room held a dental chair, its walls hung with Noh masks, especially the fearsome Hannya masks, which looked particularly chilling in the dim light.
On the second floor, in Iwasaki’s private study, Chen Li found a painting more startling than any nude: a portrait of former Newland President Huayue in drag. In the painting, Huayue wore a white off-shoulder gown and blue high heels, posed seductively on a chair, pointing directly at the viewer—a grotesque comedy.
Every officer who saw it burst out laughing. Chen Li smiled wryly, trying to shake the absurd image from his head. But the painting was too conspicuous; after a thorough examination, police discovered a hidden door behind it.
As in the Jinshui villa, behind the door was a monitoring room—Iwasaki had cameras everywhere, recording everything. Inside the room, they found a safe containing dozens of hard drives, labeled by category and date. The team seized them eagerly and packed them for transport back to Jinshui.
Chen Li wandered back to the first-floor corridor. The basement entrance was concealed behind a display cabinet. Originally a wine cellar, it had been expanded downward, doubling its area. The first basement level contained storage rooms, but unlike the orderly floors above, here things were chaotic—some rooms were crammed with food and wine, others were empty with shelves overturned. The second basement level was more disturbing: rooms with iron doors lined both sides of the corridor, arranged neatly.
The tech team opened the doors. Chen Li entered the first cell—so identified because of a bed bolted to the floor and a viewing window in the door. Bloodstains were splattered on the walls and floor; on the plaster, fingernail scratches formed two words. Chen Li leaned close and read them: “Mama.”
Another room Chen Li named the “torture chamber”: hooks on the walls and ceiling, a chain left hanging on a door, bloodstains in corners and between floor tiles, though the floor had clearly been cleaned. Then there was the last room—an improvised operating theater, with a surgical table, an operating light, and cabinets stocked with scalpels, gauze, and instruments, some dated only a month ago.
Chen Li withdrew, pale. Lu Yucheng patted his shoulder: “Rough, isn’t it? I felt the same at first. Go upstairs for some air.”
Chen Li shook his head. “I’m thinking about something strange. It’s been over ten days since Iwasaki was arrested. Why did it take this long to get a warrant for this island?”
“Don’t overthink it. The chief had to specially approve the search.”
Chen Li rubbed his chin, muttering, “I see...”
Back in Jinshui, police focused on processing evidence from the island. At a press conference, Police Chief Zhou Guoliang personally reported the progress, detailing Iwasaki’s background, the arrest, and some publicly shareable findings—including, to laughter, the absurd portrait of Huayue.
During Q&A, the most frequent questions concerned Iwasaki’s ties to Newland’s elite, especially Zhao Wenlong and Huayue—both from rival parties. A young reporter with an “intern” badge asked especially pointedly: “If Iwasaki is charged with sex trafficking, should the buyers involved also be investigated? Based on current disclosures, many of Newland’s most prominent figures are implicated.”
Chen Li, attending as the chief’s assistant, watched Zhou Guoliang fumble, finally saying, “The police will conduct a thorough investigation in accordance with the law and regulations.” Chen Li smirked inwardly as the reporter pressed: “Has the police already begun such an investigation?” Zhou could only reply, “Details of the investigation remain confidential.” Fortunately, time ran out; otherwise, Zhou might have been cornered further.
Chen Li’s gaze lingered on the female reporter. She was tall and slender, dressed in a neat business suit, her black hair pulled back in a high ponytail with delicate bangs falling across her forehead. Her eyebrows were arched, her eyes large and bright, with deep double eyelids, a straight, slender nose, and a small mouth with light lipstick. After hearing Zhou’s evasive answer, she pursed her lips and sat down with a resigned expression.
Chen Li guessed she was only eighteen or nineteen, college age, likely interning at some media outlet. After the press conference, Zhou fled to avoid further questions. Chen Li lingered, helping colleagues tidy up. After the reporters left, the young woman stayed behind. She looked around, then walked straight to Chen Li: “Officer, would you be interested in a brief interview?”
Chen Li was a bit surprised. He glanced back at Lu Yucheng, who smirked: “Go ahead. Everything that’s been cleared for release is fair game.”
Chen Li turned to her: “I should tell you, there are confidentiality rules. I won’t have more info than the chief gave.”
“That’s fine. Just a short interview.” She smiled, revealing two dimples, quite endearing. As they stepped into the corridor, she handed him a business card. “I’m Xia Yu from the October Society. I write for the Herald.”
“October Society?” Chen Li recalled—the investigative report on Iwasaki had been credited to that collective. “You wrote that piece?”
Xia Yu shook her head, smiling. “October Society is our collective signature and also our student group. We’re a student organization at Jinshui University, focused on studying Newland’s social issues.”
“You’re a JSU student?” That was unexpected.
“Actually, I’ve been admitted and will start school soon. I’m using the summer break for fieldwork.”
Chen Li laughed: “Then you’ve come to the right person. I’m Chen Li, a law student at JSU, currently interning at the police department.”
Xia Yu’s eyes lit up, her tone brightening: “Then I should call you senior!” She added, “I’m in biology—because I plan to pursue an MD at JSU, so I need a bachelor’s first.”
“Medicine? That’s intense. Long hours, tough exams, I hear.”
“And expensive!” Xia Yu shrugged, then laughed, steering back: “Senior, would you be willing to help your junior with some story leads?”
The term “senior” felt warm. Chen Li felt flattered, but he shook his head: “Confidential stuff is off-limits—Chief Zhou would kill me.”
“Then let’s stick to what’s public.” She began taking notes. “For example, public records show Iwasaki was born to a working-class Kantoese immigrant family. He became a middle-school teacher after college, then made his first fortune managing assets for a wealthy tycoon, and rose to finance. Senior, don’t you think his rise is a bit too extraordinary? Not everyone gets that kind of opportunity.”
“His early career is curious, but probably unrelated to the case.”
Xia Yu nodded: “Iwasaki has dual citizenship with Newland and Kanto. Any reaction from Kanto?”
“Not that I’ve heard.”
“After his arrest, police searched his seaside mansion immediately. Publicly available information shows close ties with Newland’s elite, with photos as evidence. Is the police planning to map his social network to identify other individuals involved in the sex trafficking?”
Chen Li waved her off: “That’s confidential.”
“One victim’s testimony alleges extremely egregious crimes beyond sex trafficking. Has the police launched investigations into those?”
“All of Iwasaki’s crimes are under investigation.” Chen Li paused and countered: “May I ask you something about October Society? In your article, you cited testimony from a new victim. Is this witness real?”
“Absolutely real!” Xia Yu nodded.
“But you’ve refused to let police interview this witness. Why? In fact, one reason the investigation is focused on sex trafficking charges is that the primary complainants are still the victims from the earlier case. We’re lacking this witness’s statement in our evidence chain.”
Xia Yu hesitated, then replied: “We’re doing it to protect the witness. But if the court issues a subpoena, we’ll make sure she testifies.”
“So you don’t trust the police. Because of the earlier plea deal?”
“Objectively, yes.” Xia Yu thought for a moment, a hint of worry crossing her eyes, and added: “It’s always better to be cautious—especially in a case as far-reaching as Iwasaki’s.”
Better to be cautious. The October Society was right. Without that caution, there would have been no story to follow.
Early in the morning of August 10, Year 243 of the Newland Calendar, Iwasaki Shun was found dead in his cell. A preliminary police investigation concluded that he had died by suicide.
