Bureau of Demon Affairs CH11
Chapter 11: Zhang Jingzhong
No one would have expected a woman like Zhang Jingzhong to succumb to Alzheimer’s.
People only remembered her as the perennial champion of the Bureau’s sharpshooting competitions. When she fired at that depraved monster known as "The Leatherface," she never missed her mark. Though the culprit had escaped back then, Zhang Jingzhong had spent a decade hacking through the weeds of bureaucracy to establish the Bureau of Demon Affairs, maintaining a fragile harmony between humans and demons.
Just as everyone expected her to lead the Bureau toward even greater heights, Alzheimer’s—that ruthless thief—began to steal her memories, her wisdom, and eventually, her independence. Soon, the once-formidable Director was reduced to sitting in a wheelchair, being pushed outdoors by a caregiver to soak in the sun.
When Zhou Xun came to visit, Zhang Jingzhong was staring blankly into the shade of a willow tree, a flannel blanket draped over her knees, her posture slightly hunched. Her condition had worsened over the years. She drifted between moments of clarity and confusion, requiring constant supervision.
"Xiao Zhou, you're here!" the nanny greeted her.
Zhou Xun nodded and sat on a nearby stone bench. She picked out a flat, green-skinned tangerine from her bag and began to peel it. The sharp, zesty aroma wafted through the air, causing Zhang Jingzhong to turn her head. Zhou Xun placed a small piece into the old woman's hand, remembering that Zhang Jingzhong always preferred these sour, green tangerines.
Zhang Jingzhong slowly put the fruit into her mouth. As she chewed, the tart juice danced across her taste buds. Her brow twitched, and for a moment, a spark of her former spirit returned to her eyes—the same spark Zhou Xun had seen the first time they met.
Zhou Xun remembered it vividly. Thirteen years ago, the first dismemberment case occurred on the day of the "Beginning of Autumn." Despite the season’s name, the heat was sweltering. The cicadas shrieked from the trees, and the hum of air conditioners was incessant. The streets were deserted; no one wanted to be grilled by the midday sun except for Zhou Xun, who had planned to go swimming on the mountain with Fang Nan.
On her way to the bus stop, she passed an old residential complex and was surprised to find a crowd gathered in front of the green belt. Police tape was already up, and several uniformed officers were on the scene. Driven by curiosity, Zhou Xun squeezed through; she’d only seen scenes like this on TV.
The crowd was too thick, and police began clearing the area. A young officer suddenly bolted from the center, ran to a tree, and began to dry heave. As he moved, a gap opened in the crowd, and Zhou Xun caught a glimpse of the mangled body parts beneath the bushes. The jagged nature of the wounds made it clear: this was not the work of a human.
It was the first time Zhou Xun had seen a corpse—and such a gruesome one at that. Her vision went black. When she came to, she found herself sitting on the curb, supported by a female officer in uniform.
"Go home, kid. This isn't a show for children."
Zhou Xun spent the rest of the day in a daze. That evening, her mother made stewed chicken to "mark the autumn," as per tradition. But seeing the oily yellow broth and the tender meat, Zhou Xun thought of the spongy fat oozing from the victim’s abdominal wounds. She ran to the bathroom and vomited.
Before she finished, her father returned from work with shocking news: the victim was a former colleague of his from the factory. Her father mentioned that the man had started a small business after being laid off and was doing fine—until a few years ago when he fell under the spell of a strange cult. He’d been donating money constantly, nearly draining his family savings. People were speculating he’d been murdered by cultists for trying to leave.
Panic gripped Zhou Xun. Death and murder were suddenly far too close. She began to pray every single night for her father's safe return.
Yet, ten days passed and the investigation into that daylight dismemberment had stalled. The few cameras at the intersection had caught nothing, and not a single witness could be found. Only one person, napping nearby, had been jolted awake by a horrific scream; they looked out the window and saw the remains. Such cruelty suggested a vendetta, but the police exhausted every lead in the victim's social circle and came up empty.
Then, things got truly hair-raising.
Half a month later, while the victim was still in the morgue, his five-year-old son suddenly vanished. Forty-eight hours later, the family found him at the foot of the mountain. The boy was unharmed, claiming his "Daddy" had picked him up from school to take him swimming.
The police realized then that the killer was likely a demon with shapeshifting or face-changing abilities. For a time, Fox Demons and Skeletal Demons faced a wave of discrimination.
A second case followed on November 26th of that same year. The victim was another middle-aged man, killed less than two kilometers from the first site. At dawn, the man had left an underground casino after losing everything. A week later, his daughter claimed she was being followed. Once, she thought she saw her father waving at her from across the street. She fled in terror and called the police, but despite constant surveillance, no trace of the killer was found.
Snow began to fall in Baihe City in December. Zhou Xun had no interest in the scenery or her upcoming mock exams. She only worried about her father, wondering if he would return safely after driving his night shifts.
She took out a pen and began sketching on her scratch paper.
She drew a map of the neighborhood and circled the two crime scenes in red. They were close—less than two streets apart.
Modus Operandi, she wrote. Torn apart alive. Face skin removed. Internal organs taken.
Why so cruel? A vendetta?
But if it was a vendetta, she thought, it had to be someone both victims knew. How could the police miss someone in such a wide-scale search?
Or was it a spree killer with a mental illness? She shook her head. The killer avoided cameras and left no witnesses. A deranged person wouldn't have such sophisticated counter-surveillance skills. Moreover, taking the face, the organs, and approaching the family... it was like a unique signature.
Approaching the family, she wrote. If the killings were random, how did the killer know exactly who the family members were? How did they know the victims' schedules and the families' routes?
The victims were carefully selected. The killer must have been watching from the shadows for a long time.
Zhou Xun looked at the distance between the scenes again. So close. Perhaps the killer lived right here, watching day and night. Perhaps the victims had brushed shoulders with him every day.
The thought terrified her. Her own home was in that same radius.
A third murder occurred near the end of winter break, though this time the body went unclaimed. People said the complex where it was found was a hub for unlicensed sex workers; the victim was likely a transient client.
Zhou Xun spent her break wandering around the crime scenes, observing every person and demon she passed. She’d read in detective novels that killers often return to the scene of the crime.
She was there so often that the police began to recognize her. One day, the female officer who had comforted her at the first scene stopped her.
"I’ve seen you here many times, kid," she said, calling out to Zhou Xun.
"I... I’m just playing."
"Playing at a crime scene?"
The officer looked skeptical, so Zhou Xun blurted out all her theories from the past few weeks. She expected the officer to laugh at a child's ramblings, but instead, the woman's eyes lit up.
"You’ve got a sharp mind," she said. "I think you’re made of the right stuff for criminal investigation!"
"Really?" Zhou Xun was thrilled. Her guesses were just from a citizen's perspective; if she had more data, she could do so much more. She boldly asked the officer for more details on the case.
Naturally, she was rejected. The officer was amused but serious, telling her to focus on school and leave the catching of bad guys to the professionals.
Zhou Xun scratched her head and prepared to leave, but the officer tore a page from her notebook and wrote down a contact number. "However," she said, "we always welcome leads from concerned citizens. By the way, I'm officer Zhang. Zhang Jingzhong."
Zhou Xun still remembered the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled—vibrant and full of life.
After eating half the tangerine, Zhang Jingzhong’s hand went limp. Her eyes fixed on a point in the distance, as if she’d forgotten what she was holding. Zhou Xun took the fruit and tucked the blanket back around her knees.
Whenever Zhou Xun hit a wall in a case, she would come to see Zhang Jingzhong. It was Zhang Jingzhong who had personally recruited her into the Bureau after university.
Just then, a message from Zhu Zhu arrived: [The tech team had scoured all surveillance around Mount He and its trails. No suspicious individuals had been seen descending. Furthermore, no one matching Zhang Guangjun’s appearance had been captured on camera.]
Zhou Xun sighed. The investigation had hit a dead end.
How did the killer leave the mountain? How did he bypass the cameras?
Her eyes landed on the cars parked along the road. A thought struck her. What if he left in a vehicle? He would have been covered in blood; he couldn't just walk. Did he hijack a car, or pretend to be an injured hiker?
She immediately called Du Xingwang. "I think we need to check if anyone reported a stolen car on the mountain... or if someone hit a pedestrian, or picked up an injured person! If there are no reports, we check every single vehicle that left the mountain in the last two weeks—one by one!"
It sounded insane, but Zhou Xun was suddenly filled with hope. As she stood to leave, she heard a faint whisper from Zhang Jingzhong.
"Xiao Zhou... you must catch him..."
* * *
The scent of the tangerine peels was fresh and sharp, but in the distance, Shen Gongbao let out a string of sneezes. He sat on a bench, looking at the fruit in Zhou Xun’s hand with utter disdain; the pungent smell irritated him.
Within moments, several stray cats had gathered around him, rubbing their heads against his heels and meowing. He didn't mind, letting them fawn over him.
Suddenly, a pair of eerie green eyes appeared in the bushes—flickering with the light of some sinister, otherworldly creature.
Shen Gongbao turned his head. The strays around him hissed, their fur standing on end as they scattered in terror. Shen Gongbao narrowed his eyes at the dark gaze in the bushes.
"So, you’ve finally found me."
The leaves rustled, the green eyes vanished, and a large, round-faced Silver Shaded Shorthair cat trotted out. The cat jumped onto Shen Gongbao’s lap without an invitation and began to purr like a tractor.
Shen Gongbao stroked its head, glancing at the distant Zhou Xun to ensure she wasn't watching. He whispered to the cat, "I’ve spent a few days in this human realm, and I’ve realized something: neither humans nor demons possess a single shred of spiritual root for cultivation anymore. Sigh. So, the world has truly fallen into this state."
The cat stretched, as if asking: So, are you going to stretch your legs and show them a 'head-turning performance' of your own?
Shen Gongbao smiled, seeing Zhou Xun walking toward him. He bared his fangs and whispered, "Naturally. If I don't stir up some trouble for the mortal world, can I still be called Shen Gongbao?"
The cat let out a "meow" of approval.
Translator's Notes:
No one would have expected a woman like Zhang Jingzhong to succumb to Alzheimer’s.
People only remembered her as the perennial champion of the Bureau’s sharpshooting competitions. When she fired at that depraved monster known as "The Leatherface," she never missed her mark. Though the culprit had escaped back then, Zhang Jingzhong had spent a decade hacking through the weeds of bureaucracy to establish the Bureau of Demon Affairs, maintaining a fragile harmony between humans and demons.
Just as everyone expected her to lead the Bureau toward even greater heights, Alzheimer’s—that ruthless thief—began to steal her memories, her wisdom, and eventually, her independence. Soon, the once-formidable Director was reduced to sitting in a wheelchair, being pushed outdoors by a caregiver to soak in the sun.
When Zhou Xun came to visit, Zhang Jingzhong was staring blankly into the shade of a willow tree, a flannel blanket draped over her knees, her posture slightly hunched. Her condition had worsened over the years. She drifted between moments of clarity and confusion, requiring constant supervision.
"Xiao Zhou, you're here!" the nanny greeted her.
Zhou Xun nodded and sat on a nearby stone bench. She picked out a flat, green-skinned tangerine from her bag and began to peel it. The sharp, zesty aroma wafted through the air, causing Zhang Jingzhong to turn her head. Zhou Xun placed a small piece into the old woman's hand, remembering that Zhang Jingzhong always preferred these sour, green tangerines.
Zhang Jingzhong slowly put the fruit into her mouth. As she chewed, the tart juice danced across her taste buds. Her brow twitched, and for a moment, a spark of her former spirit returned to her eyes—the same spark Zhou Xun had seen the first time they met.
Zhou Xun remembered it vividly. Thirteen years ago, the first dismemberment case occurred on the day of the "Beginning of Autumn." Despite the season’s name, the heat was sweltering. The cicadas shrieked from the trees, and the hum of air conditioners was incessant. The streets were deserted; no one wanted to be grilled by the midday sun except for Zhou Xun, who had planned to go swimming on the mountain with Fang Nan.
On her way to the bus stop, she passed an old residential complex and was surprised to find a crowd gathered in front of the green belt. Police tape was already up, and several uniformed officers were on the scene. Driven by curiosity, Zhou Xun squeezed through; she’d only seen scenes like this on TV.
The crowd was too thick, and police began clearing the area. A young officer suddenly bolted from the center, ran to a tree, and began to dry heave. As he moved, a gap opened in the crowd, and Zhou Xun caught a glimpse of the mangled body parts beneath the bushes. The jagged nature of the wounds made it clear: this was not the work of a human.
It was the first time Zhou Xun had seen a corpse—and such a gruesome one at that. Her vision went black. When she came to, she found herself sitting on the curb, supported by a female officer in uniform.
"Go home, kid. This isn't a show for children."
Zhou Xun spent the rest of the day in a daze. That evening, her mother made stewed chicken to "mark the autumn," as per tradition. But seeing the oily yellow broth and the tender meat, Zhou Xun thought of the spongy fat oozing from the victim’s abdominal wounds. She ran to the bathroom and vomited.
Before she finished, her father returned from work with shocking news: the victim was a former colleague of his from the factory. Her father mentioned that the man had started a small business after being laid off and was doing fine—until a few years ago when he fell under the spell of a strange cult. He’d been donating money constantly, nearly draining his family savings. People were speculating he’d been murdered by cultists for trying to leave.
Panic gripped Zhou Xun. Death and murder were suddenly far too close. She began to pray every single night for her father's safe return.
Yet, ten days passed and the investigation into that daylight dismemberment had stalled. The few cameras at the intersection had caught nothing, and not a single witness could be found. Only one person, napping nearby, had been jolted awake by a horrific scream; they looked out the window and saw the remains. Such cruelty suggested a vendetta, but the police exhausted every lead in the victim's social circle and came up empty.
Then, things got truly hair-raising.
Half a month later, while the victim was still in the morgue, his five-year-old son suddenly vanished. Forty-eight hours later, the family found him at the foot of the mountain. The boy was unharmed, claiming his "Daddy" had picked him up from school to take him swimming.
The police realized then that the killer was likely a demon with shapeshifting or face-changing abilities. For a time, Fox Demons and Skeletal Demons faced a wave of discrimination.
A second case followed on November 26th of that same year. The victim was another middle-aged man, killed less than two kilometers from the first site. At dawn, the man had left an underground casino after losing everything. A week later, his daughter claimed she was being followed. Once, she thought she saw her father waving at her from across the street. She fled in terror and called the police, but despite constant surveillance, no trace of the killer was found.
Snow began to fall in Baihe City in December. Zhou Xun had no interest in the scenery or her upcoming mock exams. She only worried about her father, wondering if he would return safely after driving his night shifts.
She took out a pen and began sketching on her scratch paper.
She drew a map of the neighborhood and circled the two crime scenes in red. They were close—less than two streets apart.
Modus Operandi, she wrote. Torn apart alive. Face skin removed. Internal organs taken.
Why so cruel? A vendetta?
But if it was a vendetta, she thought, it had to be someone both victims knew. How could the police miss someone in such a wide-scale search?
Or was it a spree killer with a mental illness? She shook her head. The killer avoided cameras and left no witnesses. A deranged person wouldn't have such sophisticated counter-surveillance skills. Moreover, taking the face, the organs, and approaching the family... it was like a unique signature.
Approaching the family, she wrote. If the killings were random, how did the killer know exactly who the family members were? How did they know the victims' schedules and the families' routes?
The victims were carefully selected. The killer must have been watching from the shadows for a long time.
Zhou Xun looked at the distance between the scenes again. So close. Perhaps the killer lived right here, watching day and night. Perhaps the victims had brushed shoulders with him every day.
The thought terrified her. Her own home was in that same radius.
A third murder occurred near the end of winter break, though this time the body went unclaimed. People said the complex where it was found was a hub for unlicensed sex workers; the victim was likely a transient client.
Zhou Xun spent her break wandering around the crime scenes, observing every person and demon she passed. She’d read in detective novels that killers often return to the scene of the crime.
She was there so often that the police began to recognize her. One day, the female officer who had comforted her at the first scene stopped her.
"I’ve seen you here many times, kid," she said, calling out to Zhou Xun.
"I... I’m just playing."
"Playing at a crime scene?"
The officer looked skeptical, so Zhou Xun blurted out all her theories from the past few weeks. She expected the officer to laugh at a child's ramblings, but instead, the woman's eyes lit up.
"You’ve got a sharp mind," she said. "I think you’re made of the right stuff for criminal investigation!"
"Really?" Zhou Xun was thrilled. Her guesses were just from a citizen's perspective; if she had more data, she could do so much more. She boldly asked the officer for more details on the case.
Naturally, she was rejected. The officer was amused but serious, telling her to focus on school and leave the catching of bad guys to the professionals.
Zhou Xun scratched her head and prepared to leave, but the officer tore a page from her notebook and wrote down a contact number. "However," she said, "we always welcome leads from concerned citizens. By the way, I'm officer Zhang. Zhang Jingzhong."
Zhou Xun still remembered the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled—vibrant and full of life.
After eating half the tangerine, Zhang Jingzhong’s hand went limp. Her eyes fixed on a point in the distance, as if she’d forgotten what she was holding. Zhou Xun took the fruit and tucked the blanket back around her knees.
Whenever Zhou Xun hit a wall in a case, she would come to see Zhang Jingzhong. It was Zhang Jingzhong who had personally recruited her into the Bureau after university.
Just then, a message from Zhu Zhu arrived: [The tech team had scoured all surveillance around Mount He and its trails. No suspicious individuals had been seen descending. Furthermore, no one matching Zhang Guangjun’s appearance had been captured on camera.]
Zhou Xun sighed. The investigation had hit a dead end.
How did the killer leave the mountain? How did he bypass the cameras?
Her eyes landed on the cars parked along the road. A thought struck her. What if he left in a vehicle? He would have been covered in blood; he couldn't just walk. Did he hijack a car, or pretend to be an injured hiker?
She immediately called Du Xingwang. "I think we need to check if anyone reported a stolen car on the mountain... or if someone hit a pedestrian, or picked up an injured person! If there are no reports, we check every single vehicle that left the mountain in the last two weeks—one by one!"
It sounded insane, but Zhou Xun was suddenly filled with hope. As she stood to leave, she heard a faint whisper from Zhang Jingzhong.
"Xiao Zhou... you must catch him..."
* * *
The scent of the tangerine peels was fresh and sharp, but in the distance, Shen Gongbao let out a string of sneezes. He sat on a bench, looking at the fruit in Zhou Xun’s hand with utter disdain; the pungent smell irritated him.
Within moments, several stray cats had gathered around him, rubbing their heads against his heels and meowing. He didn't mind, letting them fawn over him.
Suddenly, a pair of eerie green eyes appeared in the bushes—flickering with the light of some sinister, otherworldly creature.
Shen Gongbao turned his head. The strays around him hissed, their fur standing on end as they scattered in terror. Shen Gongbao narrowed his eyes at the dark gaze in the bushes.
"So, you’ve finally found me."
The leaves rustled, the green eyes vanished, and a large, round-faced Silver Shaded Shorthair cat trotted out. The cat jumped onto Shen Gongbao’s lap without an invitation and began to purr like a tractor.
Shen Gongbao stroked its head, glancing at the distant Zhou Xun to ensure she wasn't watching. He whispered to the cat, "I’ve spent a few days in this human realm, and I’ve realized something: neither humans nor demons possess a single shred of spiritual root for cultivation anymore. Sigh. So, the world has truly fallen into this state."
The cat stretched, as if asking: So, are you going to stretch your legs and show them a 'head-turning performance' of your own?
Shen Gongbao smiled, seeing Zhou Xun walking toward him. He bared his fangs and whispered, "Naturally. If I don't stir up some trouble for the mortal world, can I still be called Shen Gongbao?"
The cat let out a "meow" of approval.
Translator's Notes:
- Beginning of Autumn (立秋): One of the 24 solar terms. In Chinese culture, it's tradition to "flesh out in autumn" (贴秋膘) by eating meat to prepare for winter.
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