Zhao Ming did not like the arrangement.
He said so within five minutes of hearing about it.
"No," he repeated, sitting back in his chair and looking at Lin Wan as though she had personally chosen to make his life more difficult. "Absolutely not."
Lin Wan sat across from him in the same office as before, hands folded, expression level.
"I didn't ask whether you liked it."
"That's obvious."
He removed his glasses, cleaned them with a square of cloth, then put them back on.
"You met privately with Chen Jin after obtaining an incriminating recording from his brother."
"Yes."
"And you agreed not to release it immediately."
"Yes."
Zhao Ming leaned forward.
"Do you understand how bad that sounds if this ever becomes formal?"
"It won't sound worse than a dead man being rewritten into brake failure."
"That is not the point."
"It is exactly the point."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Zhao Ming exhaled slowly.
"All right," he said. "Let's assume, for one reckless second, that you were right to buy time. What do you actually have besides the recording?"
"Nothing admissible yet."
"Good. At least you're not delusional."
Lin Wan ignored that.
"He said he would open access."
"He?"
"Chen Jin."
Zhao Ming gave her a long look.
"You're using his name now."
Lin Wan did not answer.
"That was not a casual observation," he said.
"I know."
His expression sharpened, but he let the point go.
"What kind of access?"
"The report chain. Insurer handling. Legal flow."
"Informal?"
"Yes."
"Then he's not opening access," Zhao Ming said. "He's selecting what you see."
Lin Wan nodded once.
"I know."
"Do you?"
"Yes."
The answer came quickly enough that he believed it.
That was probably the only reason he didn't push harder.
"All right," he said. "Then we use what he gives you for pattern, not trust."
"That was already the plan."
"Good." Zhao Ming opened a folder and slid a sheet of paper toward her. "Start here."
Lin Wan looked down.
Three columns. Four names. Two firms. One insurer. A consulting company she did not recognize.
"What is this?"
"The places where language shifts first," Zhao Ming said. "Police reports matter, but less than most people think. Claims handling matters. Medical interpretation matters. Timeline summaries matter. Once the administrative language settles, the rest of the machine aligns around it."
Lin Wan read the names again.
"You already suspected this."
"I work in law," Zhao Ming said dryly. "Suspicion is most of the profession."
He tapped the page with one finger.
"Don't chase the loudest door. Chase the softest one."
Lin Wan thought of Chen Jin's phrase from the day before.
A useful path.
She disliked the way the logic overlapped.
"Which one is weakest?" she asked.
Zhao Ming pointed to the consulting firm.
"They're external. That means they can be pressured, but it also means they're not fully protected. If someone adjusted the medical or behavioral framing of the crash for risk purposes, this is where it may have happened first."
Lin Wan looked at the company name.
"Have you worked with them?"
"No. But I know who has."
"Who?"
Zhao Ming hesitated.
Then said, "Someone named Xu Yifan."
The name meant nothing to her.
"Who is that?"
"Independent review specialist. Former compliance. Good reputation. Expensive enough to be careful."
"And?"
"And people like Chen Jin don't hire expensive caution unless something already matters."
Lin Wan folded the page once and slipped it into her bag.
"I want everything you can find on him."
Zhao Ming nodded.
Then he gave her another look, this one more measured.
"How direct was Chen Jin with you?"
Lin Wan knew what he was really asking.
Not about the content.
About the temperature.
"Direct enough," she said.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the one you get."
He watched her for a second longer.
Then, carefully, "You should understand something. Men like him don't negotiate because they're losing. They negotiate because they prefer deciding the shape of conflict."
"I know."
"Do you?" Zhao Ming asked. "Because there's a difference between being useful to him and being safe from him."
Lin Wan stood.
"I'm not trying to be safe from him."
Zhao Ming's face did not change.
That, more than concern would have, made her pause.
He spoke quietly.
"That may be the first mistake you've made."
Three hours later, Lin Wan was standing in the lobby of an insurance group headquarters beneath a ceiling of polished stone and cold light.
She wore a plain gray coat and carried a folder containing nothing that could not be replaced.
The receptionist smiled in the way people smiled when they intended to help as little as possible.
"Do you have an appointment?"
"No," Lin Wan said. "I'm here to see Han Li."
The smile shifted.
"That won't be possible."
"Tell him it concerns the Chen traffic fatality."
That did it.
Not much.
Just enough.
The receptionist's eyes sharpened for a fraction of a second before smoothing over again.
"Please wait."
Lin Wan sat on a leather chair that had been designed to look expensive and feel temporary.
People crossed the lobby in tailored coats and sensible shoes. Screens flickered quietly on the walls. Somewhere above her, money was translating death into categories.
Ten minutes later, a man in his thirties approached.
Dark suit. Neat tie. Controlled face.
"Miss Lin?"
"Yes."
"I'm Han Li."
He did not offer his hand.
Smart.
"Walk with me," he said.
They took a side corridor lined with glass offices and entered a smaller meeting room overlooking a service lane at the back of the building.
Han Li remained standing.
"That was unwise," he said.
Lin Wan set her folder on the table.
"So you do know who I am."
"We know many things."
"I'm sure you do."
His eyes stayed on her face.
"What do you want?"
"The internal designation attached to the crash."
"That's confidential."
"Then tell me whether an impairment review was ever opened."
Han Li did not answer.
He didn't need to.
Lin Wan saw the answer in the half-second of stillness that followed.
Good.
"So it was," she said.
"Miss Lin—"
"And then it changed."
"That is not something I can discuss."
Lin Wan looked past him to the narrow lane outside, where rain had left dark tracks on the pavement.
"You don't have to discuss it," she said. "You just have to understand that I know you moved it."
Han Li's voice dropped.
"You should leave this alone."
"Everyone says that."
"That should tell you something."
"It does."
She looked back at him.
"It tells me I'm finally near the right people."
That was when his composure thinned.
Not enough for fear.
Enough for irritation.
He took a step toward the table.
"You think this is a game because you found one unstable man willing to say the wrong thing in a hallway."
Lin Wan did not move.
"No," she said. "I think it's a system because everyone I meet uses a different version of the same warning."
Han Li went still.
There.
Another seam.
He knew she was right.
He also knew saying so would make things worse for him.
After a moment he said, "You have no idea what sits behind that file."
Lin Wan met his gaze.
"Then that's the first honest sentence anyone in your building has said to me."
She picked up her folder.
As she turned to leave, Han Li said, "If Chen Jin is still speaking to you directly, then you are much safer than you think—"
He stopped.
Lin Wan turned back.
"Or?"
He held her eyes.
"Much less safe."
He left before she could ask another question.
Outside, the rain had stopped.
Lin Wan stood beneath the building's awning and took out her phone.
One new message.
Unknown number.
Not Chen Jin's direct line. Another one.
Don't go to the consultant's office tomorrow.
No name. No explanation.
She stared at the screen.
Then saved a screenshot and forwarded it to Zhao Ming.
A minute later, her phone rang.
Chen Jin.
She answered at once.
"That was you," she said.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because if Xu Yifan sees you in person tomorrow, the wrong people will know by lunch."
Lin Wan stepped out from under the awning into the cold air.
"And you're suddenly doing me favors?"
"No," he said. "I'm preserving the timeline."
"The timeline for what?"
"For you to learn something useful before someone panics and closes the wrong door."
She hated how much sense that made.
"You could have let me walk into it," she said.
"Yes."
"But you didn't."
"No."
There were too many people moving around her—umbrellas, traffic, a delivery truck idling at the curb. None of it felt fully real.
"Why?" she asked again.
This time, Chen Jin did not answer at once.
When he did, his voice was lower.
"Because you're not the only one following pressure points."
The line went quiet.
Then he added, "Go home."
Lin Wan looked up at the gray sky above the street.
"I don't think I have one of those at the moment."
For the first time, he said nothing.
And for reasons she did not want to examine, that silence stayed with her long after the call ended.