Chen Yujia’s voice drifted over again, "To make someone like that talk, you have to make him clearly realize that he isn't smart; in fact, he's quite foolish."

I nodded, saying, "You're absolutely right, but how can I make him feel foolish if the man won't say a single thing?"

"You need to create an illusion to deceive him, making him feel that his plan is doomed to fail, and then use a superior tactic to expose the lie he’s already told. This will plunge him into frustration, and once a person is frustrated, despair sets in. If you can achieve that, a little gentle guidance will make him open up voluntarily."

I couldn't help but exclaim, "If you became an interrogator, world peace would be within reach."

Chen Yujia gave a faint smile. "I’m not that capable; I just happen to have a knack for psychology."

Seeing his demeanor and expression, he was exactly like a refined scholar from ancient times. Sometimes I truly wondered if he had time-traveled from centuries ago into the modern era.

However, because You Qiaolin’s case was so critical, I couldn't reveal too many details to him, meaning the rest of the work would have to be my own effort.

"What about the second scenario?"

"The second situation is more difficult, because he has a defined target, and even knowing he faces death, he refuses to name this person. This implies that in his mind, this person is more important than life itself. Therefore, getting him to name this individual is exceedingly hard—unless..."

At this point, Chen Yujia paused. An idea sparked in my mind, and I quickly interjected, "Unless we use hypnosis!"

Chen Yujia shook his head. "That won't work. Hypnosis generally requires the subject's consent; otherwise, it cannot be performed."

I laughed and joked, "That makes sense. Otherwise, if I learned hypnosis, couldn't I just hypnotize the President of the United States and render the country’s government obsolete?"

Chen Yujia remained unmoved by my joke. He was deep in thought, slowly saying, "Unless he believes this person isn't important and that he has no need to protect them."

"But how can we make that happen?"

The principle was understood, but the execution was the key.

Finally, I noticed a flicker of difficulty cross Chen Yujia's face. This was the first time I had seen him struggle. Seeing him troubled made me even more suspicious: was You Qiaolin acting this way for this very reason?

Just then, I saw Chen Yujia’s eyes regain that deep, oceanic expanse—the look he adopted when he was fully immersed.

I sat silently, not making a sound. In the entire room, only the faint sound of two people breathing existed.

After a long moment, Chen Yujia’s eyes returned to a normal color. He spoke very slowly, "We don't know who this person is, so we can't precisely find the key to unlock his heart. However, we can infer a general range. Then, we can introduce different topics to this group of people separately. By observing his reactions, we can perceive a more accurate answer..."

Chen Yujia’s words were like drinking an entire bottle of iced tea on a scorching summer day; I felt completely refreshed from head to toe.

This was indeed an extraordinarily clever method. I truly couldn't imagine what material Chen Yujia’s brain was composed of, but one thing was certain: it was absolutely different from mine. Although I often prided myself on my intelligence, even when I occasionally failed, I attributed it to bad luck. But in front of Chen Yujia, I was utterly ashamed of my own abilities.

I thought that in the future, I should come here more often when I had nothing else to do. Being around intelligent people might not make one smarter, but it certainly wouldn't make one duller.

As I left the clinic, Chen Yujia told me, "If you need anything in the future, just come to me. Helping you is also a way of giving back to society."

If he had suddenly said something like that, I would have found it phony. But having spent time with him and having witnessed him treating patients for free just now, these overly sentimental words actually moved me to the point of feeling emotional myself.

That evening, I meticulously worked through several interrogation approaches based on Chen Yujia’s thinking. In the process, I called Zhang Jiewei twice to inquire about specific details, eventually solidifying the overall interrogation strategy. Of course, the "strategy" I speak of was merely the broad direction; the real interrogation would depend heavily on improvisation—much like the college entrance exams.

Suddenly, I felt You Qiaolin was like an examiner on the path of my life. He wore his bright, mirror-like gold-rimmed glasses, behind which his eyes glittered with false and malicious light. He wove lie after lie, handing them to me to unravel. If I succeeded, I was a victor; if I failed, I was a loser.

But was he the victor, or the loser?

What right did he have to be my examiner?

Or perhaps, I had chosen this examiner, but did I have the right to choose someone else?

Clearly, I did not. I couldn't choose anyone else; even if I had a million chances, I would still choose him—this damnable devil!

I thought that perhaps the moment I put on my police uniform, our destinies were sealed. Our meeting was simply a matter of timing—it was inevitable.

This time, his descent into prison was due entirely to his excessive arrogance; he played too far, even recounting his crimes as a story to his girlfriend. Although I still had some reservations about why Zhang Hemei told me that story, I had to admit that if she hadn't told me, and I had reported the matter to Lord Jiang, Lord Jiang would never have reopened the investigation into You Qiaolin’s wife’s disappearance. The resolution of that case served to drag You Qiaolin down with it, meaning, ultimately, You Qiaolin sent himself to prison.

The next day, I received a call from Lord Jiang, saying all the paperwork was complete and I needed to go to the Preliminary Investigation Section for registration. Since You Qiaolin was a major criminal, the procedures for bringing him in for further questioning were quite complex. If not for Lord Jiang’s staunch assistance, it likely would have taken ten days or half a month to complete. I was deeply grateful for this.

Arriving at Anyin City First Detention Center, the towering iron gate sent a chill through my body just by looking at it. Though I was not a convict, the architecture of the building, coupled with the intangible aura created by its long-standing function, generated a sense of oppression unmatched anywhere else.

In addition to the Public Security Police, the Armed Police were stationed here, and a regular field army unit was garrisoned a mile away. Such heavy defense was not merely a formality but absolutely necessary. The criminals incarcerated here were vicious and extremely cunning creatures of darkness; they were the wolves among men. Every crime committed by each one could fill a bestselling novel—though the reason for the sales success would never be the glory of their deeds, but the insight offered by their dark, moldering souls, which served as a warning to the world.

You Qiaolin was just one of them, but among this cohort of dark creatures, his degree of darkness ranked near the top. He was, without question, a true demon!

I approached the small hatch next to the main iron gate and presented my credentials. A comrade from the Armed Police checked them, then made a phone call. Once everything was verified, there was a faint metallic click, and the small door on the large gate opened.

Stepping inside, I felt the temperature plummet, and the noise and agitation outside were instantly cut off. It was just one door, yet it separated two worlds: outside was the world of the living, inside was the realm of the dead. This iron gate was the pass to the underworld. In reality, many convicts who crossed this threshold ended up on the execution grounds, as this was the First Detention Center, housing mostly inmates facing the three major sentences.

The "three major sentences" referred to life imprisonment, suspended death sentences, and immediate execution.

I walked with heavy steps toward the Preliminary Interrogation Building. This was a separate structure, devoid of any trees or attached objects around it; even the drainpipes were secured with iron locks. The purpose was to prevent convicts from using the interrogation session as an opportunity to attempt breakouts or similar actions.

I sat in Interrogation Room Number Seven, waiting quietly for his arrival. There was a short distance from the holding cells to this location, requiring passage through dozens of iron doors, so I lit a cigarette. The smoke rose and twisted in the air; sunlight pierced the haze but brought no warmth, only making the atmosphere more ethereal.

I finished one cigarette, but he hadn't been brought in yet. For some reason, I started to feel restless. As I pulled out a second cigarette from the pack and was about to light it, I heard an extremely faint metallic click from a distance—I knew he was coming!

You Qiaolin was a death row inmate, so by regulation, he had to be shackled at the ankles, and handcuffs were required when he was brought out to prevent any extreme actions.

That faint sound of metal striking metal exploded in my ears like a clap of thunder. I crushed the cigarette fiercely, jumped to my feet, and rushed to the window to look out.

About fifty meters away, two burly detention center officers flanked a slightly stooped figure. That figure was drastically different from the You Qiaolin I remembered, and also much different from what I had previously imagined. I had assumed that this unrepentant, wicked man would feel no pangs of conscience, thus he wouldn't be haggard or tormented, and should therefore look quite well.

But seeing him now, I questioned if I had been wrong. The meticulously neat man was now disheveled, his hair a mess, and his back somewhat hunched. That sharp, competent image was completely gone.

In that moment, I felt a faint sense of disappointment. Perhaps he wasn't what I imagined. Perhaps he had already confessed everything necessary, because what did a person who knew death was certain have left to hold onto?

The three figures drew closer, becoming larger and clearer in my vision. Then, I noticed You Qiaolin wasn't wearing those gold-rimmed glasses. A thought occurred to me: in prison, inmates were forbidden from possessing anything made of glass or metal that could be used as a weapon.

I wondered if his current appearance was due to not wearing his glasses. He had always hidden behind the glare of his spectacles; now, suddenly stripped bare and exposed to the daylight, was his wicked soul trembling under the direct sunlight?

A series of distinct sounds from the leg shackles echoed, like a piece of music, but a dark melody filled with blood and death. They were nearly downstairs now. Suddenly, You Qiaolin, sandwiched between the guards, glanced up sharply. A flash of piercing light crossed my vision, and I felt momentarily dazed.

He was looking at me. He must have sensed I was watching him, which is why he looked up to return the gaze.

My anger surged instantly. I gripped the iron bars of the window tightly, my knuckles turning ashen white.

Then I heard a voice from the hallway: "Interrogation Room Seven." This was followed by the rhythmic thudding of footsteps and a continuous clatter of metal.

I stared intently at the open doorway, as if awaiting a fated enemy. Finally, a face—both familiar and strange—appeared in the entrance.

In that instant, my mind went mostly blank; I wanted to etch that face into memory forever, but I couldn't. Because what I saw wasn't a person, but a zombie—an empty shell of a walking corpse, devoid of soul.

You Qiaolin’s vacant eyes held nothing, only my reflection. He was looking at me, but I didn't feel that anyone was looking at us; it felt as though that face was oriented towards me, and the angle of his eyes was directed at me, like a puppet.

The detention officer led You Qiaolin to the specially built wooden chair, removed his handcuffs, and secured one hand in the chair's restraints. Then, he turned to me and said, "We'll be in the duty room downstairs. Call us if you need anything."

I nodded. "Thank you for your trouble."

The door slammed shut with a bang, and the room fell silent, so quiet I couldn't even hear my own heartbeat.

You Qiaolin remained just as lifeless as before, sitting stiffly. At that moment, he resembled the corpses he often worked with—his face expressionless, devoid of any muscular tension. Such a face only appears during deep sleep or death, yet here he was, alive, wearing that expression, which was far more terrifying than seeing an actual dead man.

I couldn't recall the opening lines I had rehearsed countless times. I sat there dumbly, staring at him, until a fly landed on my eyelash, forcing me to blink, and I snapped back to awareness. Then, I spoke slowly, "You Qiaolin, we finally meet."

You Qiaolin showed no reaction. He neither spoke nor nodded, as if I hadn't spoken at all, or perhaps as if we existed in completely different dimensions, making him unable to see or hear me.

But I knew that wasn't the case. He was deliberately putting on this act—a common tactic criminals use to resist interrogation.

"I have to admit, you are an exceptionally intelligent man. Had it not been for some extremely accidental factors, I imagine you would still be a respected forensic pathologist today."

I began using the prepared interrogation script. Though brief, this opening statement contained several layered meanings: first, flattering his pride to lower his guard; second, using the phrase 'extremely accidental factors' to pique his curiosity; and third, attacking his psychological defenses by contrasting his past respected status with his current situation.

This opening was meticulously crafted by Zhang Jiewei and me. Zhang Jiewei had promised to assist in the investigation concerning Xiaoxuan, so he hadn't complained at all when I called him late last night until the early hours. Most of this script was his creation.

Zhang Jiewei truly lived up to his reputation as an interrogation expert. This speech struck You Qiaolin like three simultaneous bolts of lightning; his body twitched slightly. But it was only a flicker before he returned to his previous stillness.

"I know you won't reveal anything further, but I still had to come. Do you know why?"

You Qiaolin remained motionless, but his head was raised throughout, staring directly into my eyes—as if he were the interrogator and I was the one being questioned.

At that moment, I suddenly relaxed my body, leaned back, and spoke with utter disdain, "Actually, I know much more about things than you imagine. Take Zhang Hemei, for example. Your copy of Zhe Yu Gui Jian is sitting right in her bedroom."

My expression was supremely arrogant, like a peerless sage addressing a supreme fool. This demeanor, combined with the factual basis of my statement, elicited a strong reaction from You Qiaolin.

"Hemei! What about Hemei?" You Qiaolin suddenly roared from his throat, his voice echoing throughout the small room.

"She’s a lot like you," my first lie slipped out softly behind the truth.

You Qiaolin’s entire body shook violently. If not for the restraints of the specialized wooden chair, I imagined he would have lunged at me or done something else entirely unpredictable.

I watched him coldly, observing his desperate struggle.

Suddenly, You Qiaolin quieted down and said expressionlessly, "She is innocent. I believe in the fairness of the law."

Hearing this, I desperately wanted to jump up and slap him dozens of times. Did a vicious monster like him deserve to utter the word 'law'?

"Fairness? Do you think someone like you deserves fairness? When you faced those innocent girls, did you ever consider the existence of the law? A butcher like you deserves to be shot a hundred times over," I spat out the anger boiling in my chest.

You Qiaolin offered no reply. He stared at me like a corpse, as if he could see his hope reflected in my face. Or perhaps he was hoping to incite my rage and then calmly humiliate me once more, watching me flee in disarray, just like in the past.

I calmed myself, refraining from speaking immediately. Instead, I lit a cigarette and slowly exhaled the smoke.

This was something Zhang Jiewei had told me: You Qiaolin actually smoked. He had asked other inmates for cigarettes in his cell, but he had never asked during Zhang Jiewei’s interrogations.