Eric Turner silently put down the newspaper scraps in his hand. He turned to look at a glass photo frame on the bedside table. Inside was a group photo—a picture of dozens of little boys and girls around seven or eight years old. The photo had already turned slightly yellow, and the faces of the people inside were a bit blurry...

Chapter Three: Past and Present Lives and the Point of Karma? (Part Three)

While Eric Turner was pondering the secret of the newspaper scraps in his hand, at this moment in the major crimes unit of a certain police bureau in Shanghai, several men were sitting there smoking in silence. No one spoke for a long time, until finally, a middle-aged, chubby man suddenly said, “Do we really have to call that guy in? But he never respects his superiors, acts recklessly, doesn’t follow discipline, and also…”

“Director Niu, just bear with it. After all, that guy was transferred from the special forces. Even though he doesn’t have any connections up top, he’s genuinely skilled, and he’s helped solve several major drug cases with Interpol. We really can’t just transfer him away. Assigning him to the traffic division is already a way of sidelining him…” Another younger man took a drag of his cigarette and spoke calmly.

“Sidelining is one thing, but now we have to call him back for this case. If you guys have the nerve, I still don’t feel comfortable bringing it up.” The middle-aged chubby man exhaled, then forced a bitter smile at the others.

The rest also smiled wryly. The person they were talking about was named David Harris, a retired special forces soldier, but for some unknown reason, he had been placed in this Shanghai police bureau. He was indeed capable, having solved several major international drug cases with Interpol, but unfortunately, he didn’t know how to play politics and seemed clueless about officialdom. As a result, not only did he not get promoted, but he was also criticized for minor issues and accused of having character problems, leading to him being sidelined in the traffic division. Anyway, the Chinese tradition is not to care about the truth—as long as someone occupies the moral high ground, they can condemn you completely. So he could only manage traffic on a dozen or so streets with a few young officers.

“…But on the other hand, Director Niu, isn’t this a good opportunity? We can use this chain collision case as an excuse to bring him in. After all, it’s a traffic issue. If he succeeds, the credit goes to our major crimes unit. If not, he stays sidelined, and we could even…” The younger man suddenly chuckled, but several people around him frowned at his words. Although they didn’t like David Harris either, they weren’t that petty, and a few were about to speak up.

The middle-aged chubby man also frowned slightly before saying, “Little Olivia Martinez, we’re all comrades here. Don’t say things like that again. If he succeeds, let’s transfer him out of the traffic division. He really is talented, just not good with people… If not, I can take responsibility… That’s it. Little William Scott, go call him over.”

Another steady-looking middle-aged man nodded, said nothing more, turned, opened the meeting room door, and walked out. The rest continued their silence amid the sound of smoking.

In a quiet office of the police bureau, several young people were busy walking back and forth. In fact, the traffic division’s daily work was very easy. They didn’t have to stand guard or direct traffic—that was the traffic police brigade’s job. The traffic division only got involved when there were criminal cases related to traffic. Even managing a dozen streets, such cases were rare. After all, if people were deliberately running others over every day, only a few brave souls would dare to drive. So the police bureau’s traffic division was nothing like the traffic police brigade’s—it was a true “idle office”: easy work, no money.

A man of about twenty-seven or twenty-eight was sitting in the captain’s seat, looking down at the documents in his hand, speaking nonstop: “Little Emily Thompson, go organize the Shanghai wanted list. Oh, and check if the warehouse has any issues… Old Olivia Martinez, how did it go yesterday with the street blockage? It lasted five hours—did something happen? And Little Jack Evans…”

The steady middle-aged man almost burst out laughing at the scene. Ignoring the looks from the others, he walked over to David Harris’s desk and knocked hard on the table: “David, you still can’t sit still, huh? Making these rookies run around doing this and that… I’m amazed you can find so much to do. If it were me, I’d probably be asleep by now.”

David Harris looked up. His hair was a mess—who knew if he’d even combed it that morning—but his face was clean. Compared to his clean face, though, his shirt was covered in oil stains. Who knew how long he’d been wearing it, yet he still had it on.

“Old William Scott, what brings you here?” David Harris didn’t stand on ceremony. He pushed aside the documents in his hand, rubbed his messy hair, and finally spoke.