After joining the October Society, Chen Li provided some photos and information that could be released—such as Iwasaki's booking photo, interior shots of his private jet, aerial images of the island, the forensic report, cell photographs, and that eye-watering "drag portrait" of former President Huayue. These materials didn't seem to fully satisfy the October Society, as many could be obtained through other channels. So Chen Li proposed arranging an interview with Iwasaki's younger brother, Iwasaki Yu.
Iwasaki Yu was Iwasaki Shun's only surviving immediate relative. Under the will Iwasaki Shun had signed before his death, his entire estate—valued at over five hundred million dollars—would pass to Yu. Since Shun had no publicly acknowledged children, over a dozen people had come forward in the month since his death claiming to be illegitimate heirs, but none had passed DNA verification.
Yu himself did not believe the official "suicide" conclusion. He had even hired a forensic pathologist to re-examine the body, who found the same abnormalities that had drawn widespread skepticism: three neck fractures, bloodshot eyes, and congestion in the head and neck. The new report noted: "Multiple fractures of the hyoid and thyroid cartilage are extremely rare in suicidal hangings but far more common in homicidal strangulation." The expert also criticized the prison's negligence: "They should not have rushed the body out of the prison—that destroyed evidence." Another forensic pathologist who had participated in the original autopsy revealed that their report had not actually confirmed suicide by hanging—their conclusion had been "undetermined."
When Xia Yu and Chen Li interviewed Iwasaki Yu, he had just returned from Kanto, where Shun's funeral had been held. He had been buried beside their parents' graves—"returning to his roots." Despite his exhaustion, Yu showed them an old family photo with apparent warmth, a picture from many years ago when the two brothers were still young.
"We were different as kids. My brother was sharp, but he didn't like studying—went to an average university. After graduation, he became a middle school teacher, but his mind was never on the job—he was always figuring out how to make money."
"Current records show that after three years at that elite private school, Mr. Iwasaki switched to a trading position at an investment bank—in a special transactions division, providing tax advice to high-net-worth clients." Xia Yu took notes as she asked: "What prompted his career change?"
"I'd say he had a dream of getting rich—you probably wouldn't believe me. Actually, he was fired for poor teaching performance. But one of his students was the daughter of an investment bank executive, and that executive helped him get a job."
"Would an investment bank executive find a job for a teacher?" Xia Yu glanced back at Chen Li, finding it hard to believe.
"Not for an ordinary teacher, but my brother wasn't ordinary." Yu seemed reluctant, but after a pause, he continued: "He'd just graduated—young and handsome, quite popular among the female students. He was invited to student parties, and he was dating that girl at the time."
"That's..." Chen Li almost blurted out "old habits die hard" but swallowed it. After a long pause, he managed: "Maybe it wasn't seen as problematic back then."
Xia Yu was equally stunned into silence. Fortunately, she had prepared questions in her notebook: "He rose quickly within five years at the bank, soon going independent and starting his own financial management firm—clearly Mr. Iwasaki had talent in investment."
Yu gave a wry smile. "Talent... in a way. The bank found out he'd violated rules and engaged in illegal lending, so they let him go. But during his time there, he'd courted an actress and helped her recover funds embezzled by a securities firm—it took a year, but he was well compensated. That experience is what led him to start his consultancy."
"In any case, Mr. Iwasaki's firm managed over a billion dollars in client assets."
"The firm was essentially a global debt recovery service—or simply put, a collection agency."
"Records show that Mr. Iwasaki even worked for defense contractors and the Attorney General, and had ties to arms dealers in the Seven Islands."
"Later on, as his business grew, he had less contact with the family—I don't know much about that."
Chen Li pulled out a copy of a passport: "We've learned that Iwasaki possessed a fake passport at that time, with entry and exit stamps from several Seven Islands countries."
Yu looked puzzled: "You are..."
"I'm a police officer at Jinshui City PD." Chen Li finally showed his badge. "At that time, Iwasaki connected with a Seven Islands arms dealer—the same man who served as the intermediary in the 'Seven Islands Gate' scandal."
Xia Yu added: "You may not know, but the 'Seven Islands Gate' was a political scandal forty years ago, when the Newland government secretly sold anti-tank missiles and other weapons to Seven Islands countries through Kanto, in exchange for the release of Newland hostages held by local militias. Several officials resigned and were sentenced."
Yu shook his head, seeming not to understand: "My brother met plenty of big shots later. An arms dealer doesn't seem unusual, does it?"
"Regarding the prominent figures Mr. Iwasaki knew," Xia Yu chose her words carefully, "we understand he had long-standing relationships with President Zhao Wenlong, President Huayue, and others. How close would you say he was with these people?"
"I know what you're getting at—that's why I'm certain my brother was murdered. He held dirt on too many big names from both parties, far more than you could get through public channels. Let me put it this way: when Zhao Wenlong was running for president, he once told me personally that if he said everything he knew, both parties' candidates would have to drop out."
"What exactly did this 'dirt' consist of?"
"I don't know. But what do you think it could be?"
"I believe Mr. Iwasaki Yu's judgment is sound—Iwasaki Shun's death is riddled with suspicious circumstances and must be treated with care. We've already filed a lawsuit demanding an investigation into the prison's negligence in this case." After finishing the interview with Iwasaki Yu, Chen Li and Xia Yu went immediately to meet Iwasaki's defense attorney, who also declared that he would never believe Iwasaki had taken his own life.
"On August 1, I met with Iwasaki in prison to discuss defense strategy. We spent five hours together. He was clearly pleased—even excited—about the approach I proposed. Would a man planning suicide bother strategizing for his own defense?"
"But actually, as early as July 23, the prison had noted signs of suicidal intent and placed him under extra measures." Chen Li briefly described Iwasaki's first "suicide" attempt. "At 1 a.m., he was found unconscious on the floor with a neck injury. His cellmate initially claimed to know nothing, and said he'd tried to revive him after discovering him."
"Utter nonsense!" The attorney looked angry. "That cellmate tried to strangle Iwasaki with a bedsheet—but botched it. The man was a former police officer who'd murdered four people in a drug deal, one of them by strangulation. Iwasaki told me himself—he was afraid to report it to the prison, fearing retaliation."
"So the prison's additional suicide-prevention measures did, in fact, protect him."
"Exactly. So when they removed those measures on August 9, and he died the next day—how can that be explained?"
"We contacted the cellmate's attorney and learned the prison had forbidden him from disclosing anything about Iwasaki's death, under threat of consequences. His lawyer has petitioned the court to have him transferred to another facility."
The attorney nodded, then shook his head. "That man probably doesn't know much anyway. He was already sentenced to death for four murders—it's easy to keep him quiet."
Xia Yu asked: "The prevailing theory is that Iwasaki was silenced for holding dirt on two-party elites—possibly involving presidents, tycoons, and celebrities. What's your view?"
The attorney was silent for a long time, thinking carefully, before finally speaking: "I'm a lawyer—I deal in evidence. The truth is, there's no direct evidence yet linking anyone to Iwasaki's crimes."
There was, in fact, some circumstantial evidence. Chen Li had helped Xia Yu access certain court documents. The pilot of Iwasaki's private jet testified that numerous political and business figures had flown with Iwasaki to the island—former President Huayue had made at least twenty-six trips. A former employee at the mansion said Zhao Wenlong and Iwasaki had been close fifteen years ago, even "wingmen" to each other, bringing home different models daily—though they later fell out over a forty-million-dollar property dispute. But another testimony indicated that Iwasaki had once brought his "Lolitas" to a casino owned by Zhao, only to be turned away because minors were not allowed.
This testimony boosted Zhao Wenlong's supporters' confidence, making even the recently leaked "Phonegate" scandal seem insignificant. In the Phonegate recordings, Zhao had called the Kantoese Prime Minister and offered military aid in exchange for investigating former Vice President Li Shunshui's business activities in Kanto. The South Chamber of Congress had launched impeachment proceedings against Zhao. But Zhao's supporters argued the president had done nothing wrong, and that impeachment was an overreaction. The news that Zhao had barred minors from his casino immediately won him support from moderate voters at this critical moment.
The investigation was always like this—seemingly objective, but always lacking decisive evidence. After this round of interviews, Xia Yu was very grateful for Chen Li's help. To organize the leads more quickly and draft an article, she invited Chen Li to the October Society's office in the old city.
Jinshui City, literally meaning "golden water", lay at the heart of Newland, on the eastern edge of the Jinshui Plain. To the north, the Jinhu Hills—spurs of Mount Yantu—rose above the city; to the south lay Jinshui Bay. The Jinlan River flowed through the city from north to south, emptying into the bay. This favorable geography had nurtured a prosperous metropolis. With a population exceeding sixteen million, Jinshui was the fifteenth-largest city in the world—the capital of the Newland Federation, and the political, economic, and cultural center of Newland and indeed the world. It was known as the "Golden City."
Jinshui's old city lay in the eastern part of the city, on the west bank of the Jinlan River. Once a dock and industrial area, it had flourished as a shipping hub and declined with the advent of containerization. Today, its infrastructure was in disrepair, and its population was a motley mix. The western neighborhoods near the river were predominantly Serian and more expensive; the east was predominantly South Islander and more lawless.
Driving from Jinshui University across the river bridge, one entered the old city. Homeless people and drug addicts were everywhere. Along the streets, Chen Li saw people dancing wildly, others wandering like sleepwalkers, some twitching uncontrollably—and one whose lower body stood straight while his upper body bent all the way to the ground, forming a bizarre "triple-fold" posture. From a distance, they looked like a row of zombies. After turning a few corners, he finally arrived at a middle-class Serian neighborhood in the old city. The order was better here—though there were still homeless people wrapped in blankets sleeping on the streets, at least no one was openly using drugs.
Following the navigation to the address, Chen Li rolled down his window and saw, not an office, but a restaurant—an ordinary little eatery with a sign reading "Chang's Restaurant." He got out and was immediately hit by an indescribable odor: rotting garbage on the streets, the cloying sweetness of exhaust fumes, the stench of sewage, the aroma of cooking oil from the restaurant, and faintly the greasy smell of marijuana burning. He wrinkled his nose. His second impression was noise: car horns, street ads, vendors hawking, arguments, police sirens, motorcycles roaring past, and a faint hum of electrical current.
As he grew irritated, he witnessed a shocking scene: several police officers had stopped a car and ordered the driver out. The driver was a typical Souther, windows locked, refusing to exit. One officer smashed the window with his pistol, dragged him out, beat him, handcuffed him, and shoved him into the squad car.
Unable to contain his curiosity, Chen Li approached the last officer. The officer, seeing someone approach, reflexively drew his gun—but Chen Li showed his badge first: "Brother, I'm from Jinshui HQ."
The officer relaxed, holstered his weapon, and accepted the cigarette Chen Li offered. "No big deal. We got a theft report."
"This guy?"
"Probably not. Similar clothes, but different face."
Chen Li stared in disbelief at the battered Souther. "And you just beat him up?"
The officer shrugged. "What else could we do? He wouldn't get out. Brother, he's a Souther—could be high on something and shoot you. We lose too many brothers to Southers every year."
"But he had a dashcam!" Chen Li pointed to the device in the car. "He'll sue you—and win!"
The officer's face changed. He went back, retrieved the dashcam, and conferred with the others in the squad car. Soon the lead officer came over, shook Chen Li's hand, and said: "HQ brother, you're young and sharp. This Souther probably staged this to claim compensation—but we checked, he's not our suspect. We'll release him when we get back."
Chen Li watched the squad car drive away, a knot in his stomach.
Xia Yu's address was correct—the October Society's office was indeed upstairs at the Chang's Restaurant. The restaurant belonged to Chang Baichuan's family. When he heard Chen Li had come, Chang came out warmly to greet him and invited him to stay for a meal.
"Xia Yu had to go back to campus—she specifically asked me to take good care of you."
Chen Li insisted there was no need, but he was curious about this student group hiding above a restaurant. Chang led him through a corridor cluttered with lumber, up a narrow, steep staircase, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath their feet.
"Small place, not great conditions," Chang apologized. "Ground floor is the restaurant, second floor is our living quarters. We have a spare room we use as the October Society's activity space."
The second-floor corridor was similarly narrow, with five rooms on both sides. Three doors on the right were locked; two on the left were covered by curtains. Only a small window at the end provided light, making the corridor dim.
Chang pulled back the curtain for the room nearest the stairs and pushed the door open. The first thing Chen Li saw was a table in the center piled high with books. By the window sat an old desktop computer, across from a female-style laptop. Surrounding them were a kettle, teacups, tissues, and other odds and ends—and books everywhere, stuffed into shelves against the walls and packed in cardboard boxes in the corners and under the table, newspapers and documents crowding every surface.
Chen Li walked curiously into the room, circling the table. His eyes lingered on the stacks of books; he picked one up at random—Theses on Feuerbach: Commentary and Summary. He flipped through it, understood nothing, and put it back.
Chang noticed Chen Li placing the book beside the laptop. "That's Xia Yu's computer. She usually leaves it here."
Chen Li naturally wouldn't touch her laptop. He turned his attention back to Chang: "I heard Professor Shen founded the October Society. Does he come here too?"
"Sometimes. Many of these books are his—we borrow them from his place for discussion."
"It seems like the October Society mainly does reading groups, and not many people attend."
"Small group, that's normal." Chang opened the old computer by the window. "I also write articles here—mostly about the Iwasaki case lately."
Chen Li came over to look. Chang had already drafted a summary of the Iwasaki Yu interview. "This one's for the Jinshui Post. I plan to write a few more for different outlets."
"Did you write all the previous articles?"
"Not all. Professor Shen wrote most—like that Herald piece—but some were by others. Honestly, we started as a small reading circle. We never planned to investigate cases. It's been an unusual experience."
It seemed Chang wasn't particularly interested in the Iwasaki case itself—so why was he actively writing commentaries about it? Chen Li asked: "Chang, why did you join the October Society? And contribute your office?"
"Professor Shen was my master's advisor, and co-advisor for my PhD. He wanted to start a political science study group, but Zhao Wenlong's education reforms made the university refuse to approve it. He needed a place to host it. I figured my family had this spare room—might as well, to keep close with Professor Shen. So I joined early—basically a founding member."
Chen Li nodded along: "You've made a huge contribution! Good student, productive research, community organizing—you'll succeed wherever you go."
Chang was flattered. "I just hope to get a faculty position at JSU." He paused, then asked: "Chen, I heard from Professor Shen that President Shi introduced you?"
Chen Li had to nod. "Family connections."
"I thought so—how could anyone know nothing about student loans? You must not need them!" Chang pulled Chen Li downstairs and insisted on cooking a few dishes for him himself. "In this neighborhood, I'm one of the best cooks. Even if I can't find a job, I can always run the restaurant!"
Chang's confidence was well-founded. Though just simple home-style dishes, he made them quickly and deliciously. While eating, Chang reminisced: "Chen, I know you might look down on me because I'm a Souther. But I'm only half Souther—my father was Souther, married into the family. So I grew up suffering from discrimination from both sides. The Serians thought I was a mutt, the Southers thought I was a traitor. I couldn't please anyone."
"Chang, don't say that. You proved a South Islander can become a PhD."
Chang sighed. "Yes—thankfully my family valued education, and I worked hard. I fought my way up, and soon I'll finish my doctorate. What I want most is a faculty position at JSU. But without connections, without backers—it's hard."
"University faculty standards keep rising. 'Publish or perish'—too many applicants, too few jobs. Young scholars are fighting tooth and nail." Chen Li ate slowly, choosing his words carefully. He sensed an opportunity to get information about the witness from Chang. "But Chang, have you considered that there are unconventional paths?"
"I know. But I don't have access to those either."
"The Iwasaki case is an opportunity. If you make a name for yourself through this case, your chances of getting a faculty position increase significantly."
Chang frowned thoughtfully for a long time, then shook his head firmly. "To get famous, I'd need to survive first. Besides, I can write commentary—but could I actually solve this case?"
"But you have a trump card: a witness the police haven't even contacted. A girl, right?"
Chang shook his head again. "Not in our hands. In Ding's."
"Ding Dejin?"
"He found her. He handled everything. How he found her, what she knows, where he's hidden her—none of us know."
"I understand Ding mistrusting the police, but why hide it from you?"
"I don't think it's mistrust—just protection. The October Society isn't a tight organization. For something this dangerous, the fewer who know, the better."
Ding Dejin.
Chen Li repeated the name silently, recalling that tall, upright figure. He was certain: Ding held the key that could unlock everything.
