Suddenly, lines like cracks appeared across Qi Wan's face, and then pieces of white plaster fell away, revealing hollow, black sockets underneath.

I stumbled back in fright. Suddenly, Qi Wan’s mouth opened like a wolf’s, her teeth becoming sharp and gleaming coldly. A low howl resonated from her throat as she lunged towards me…

Sitting in the office, I replayed last night’s dream, still nursing a lingering fear. The dream felt so real, so visceral, that now, even catching a glimpse of the small plaster doll displayed on Gao Jianning’s computer desk makes me want to vomit.

Gao Jianning eyed me suspiciously and reluctantly tucked the plaster doll away.

Now that Xiao Cuo was gone, I reorganized the workload: I would primarily handle the Archive Room cases, Zhang Jiewei would remain in charge of the rental building issues, Gao Jianning and Feng Siyan would provide technical support and participate in relevant actions when necessary, and Wang Xuyang was the utility player—anyone could boss him around.

Wang Xuyang was immediately displeased upon hearing this. His little drumsticks—his legs—began to spin like a windmill, and he muttered under his breath, "I want to investigate the Archive Room case." However, his voice was so soft, so faint, that it seemed only he could hear it.

Lately, Wang Xuyang’s mood had been somewhat dampened. Whether it was guilt over Xiao Cuo or the lingering pain from when Gao Jianning dislocated his arm during their last scuffle, the kid had certainly quieted down. But no matter how subdued he seemed, it couldn't stop his little drumsticks from swinging everywhere.

I ignored him. Handling cases couldn't be entrusted to someone like him, regardless of his internal feelings; the work had to proceed according to plan.

Of course, before Wang Xuyang could start any work, he first had to undergo an investigation. Since he had visited the Archive Room three days before Xiao Cuo was killed and had entered the very room that caught fire, in a sense, he was a suspect.

Though I disliked labeling my colleagues this way, some things are beyond one's control.

After receiving my report, Administrator Jiang immediately approved the investigation into Wang Xuyang, which was subsequently greenlit by the bureau leadership. To avoid negative repercussions for Wang Xuyang, the first round of questioning was designated an internal inquiry, to be conducted by Zhang Jiewei and myself. Should relevant evidence emerge, a formal interrogation would then be initiated.

Sitting across from Wang Xuyang in the interrogation chair, I felt a strange sensation: just how fragile human connections truly are. One moment, I called him a colleague; the next, he was an adversary. And Wang Xuyang, who moments before was guiltily swinging his legs, now bristled with indignation.

Yet, Wang Xuyang respected discipline. He suppressed his rising emotions, sat down, rested one leg high on the armrest, and began to swing it incessantly.

If this were any other time, I would have slapped that leg down without hesitation. But not now. With suspicion hanging over him, I had to treat him like a criminal. I intended to let him keep swinging, keep twitching, until the nervous energy exhausted itself and trembled from within his own soul!

Zhang Jiewei remained stone-faced and silent. I knew he was grieving Xiao Cuo's death too. Although they weren't close friends, Xiao Cuo was childlike; no one could dislike him, even if he was ugly or constantly tried to mooch a meal off you.

After nearly five minutes of silence, Wang Xuyang’s little drumsticks finally slowed. He glared at me and said, "Say what you need to say, stop with the theatrics."

Zhang Jiewei let out a cold snort, and an invisible pressure spread, enveloping the entire interview room. Wang Xuyang’s leg instantly froze mid-swing, and even I felt the atmosphere shift—we had snapped into full focus in that instant.

I wondered how Zhang Jiewei achieved such an effect. If it were me, a mere snort would likely not have stopped Wang Xuyang’s leg; he would have probably shot me a flirtatious wink to signal that he was the one controlling the exchange, not me conducting the interrogation.

I sighed internally. Comparing people only leads to frustration. It was the same way with Xiao Xuan; Zhang Jiewei must have felt superior to me in every way, yet he couldn't win the beauty’s heart, probably weeping in frustration.

The thought of Xiao Xuan instantly soured my mood. I slammed my hand hard on the table and roared, "Speak! What exactly did you do!!!"

The sound echoed in the room, making my ears tingle. Wang Xuyang just stared at me dumbfounded, confused by the sudden outburst.

My rage had made me lose control, and my loss of control unnerved Wang Xuyang. He stammered, "I didn't do anything, don't try to scare me."

"Scare you? Xiao Cuo died right before our eyes! If I don't find the killer and avenge him, I swear I won't be human!" My words shot out like nails from a rivet gun, sharp and forceful.

Mentioning Xiao Cuo’s death clearly deflated Wang Xuyang, though whether from guilt or a guilty conscience, I couldn't tell.

Wang Xuyang suddenly looked up at me. "Honestly, I am deeply saddened by Xiao Cuo's death. I will cooperate fully with your investigation. Ask me anything you need to know."

I paused, taken aback. In my perception, Wang Xuyang was utterly self-centered, someone who never considered others' feelings or cared if they lived or died. But perhaps beneath that facade, there was still the heart of an ordinary man, simply buried by his underdog exterior.

However, was this sincerity or a performance?

None of it mattered, because in the face of evidence, words and emotions become irrelevant.

It was then that Zhang Jiewei spoke, his voice devoid of emotion, purely functional: "On the afternoon of the 16th of this month, you entered Archive Reading Room No. 1 carrying a black bag. What was inside?"

I had seen the surveillance footage. He was carrying a somewhat unfashionable, old-fashioned leather bag—the kind Wang Xuyang wouldn't normally carry unless forced, especially not one so dated.

Wang Xuyang blinked, thought for a moment, and replied, "Xiao Cuo asked me to carry it. The bag was his too. I don’t know what was inside; I never opened it."

"The 16th, the black leather bag—are you sure it belonged to Bao Qiang?"

Wang Xuyang nodded. "Sure."

"Alright. Now, describe, roughly, what happened each time you entered Reading Room No. 1 afterward."

Wang Xuyang then began to recall, bit by bit, recounting his actions. Naturally, most of it would be tedious and potentially useless, as even if he were the perpetrator, he would craft a believable narrative. The purpose of this exercise was simply to extract more details that could later be verified.

For instance, if he claimed that on a certain day he entered the archive and secretly drew a turtle on Xiao Cuo's face—something only the two of them knew—we could check backward. If his account was true, Xiao Cuo would have left Reading Room No. 1 with a turtle on his face. Did the other archive staff notice? If not, Xiao Cuo would have returned to the office with it, and we would have seen it. If neither the staff nor we saw it, then Wang Xuyang was lying.

This was the profound within the simple, a method for uncovering the truth, often a crucial one. When people fabricate lies, unless they are meticulously calculated, no lie can perfectly align with the spacetime, environment, and related occurrences. The inconsistencies are the gaps—the flaws—that reveal the falsehood.

Lying is human nature; no one claims never to have done it. But for someone under interrogation, lying often equates to concealing guilt.

After concluding the questioning of Wang Xuyang, I headed to the Forensics Division. They had just identified a piece of evidence recovered from the Archive Room fire scene.

I held a new item in my hand. It was recovered during the post-fire survey, found among the ash in the area where Xiao Cuo was located. Forensics determined that this metallic object did not match any standard metal fixtures in the Archive Room, so it was cataloged as evidence. The intense heat had warped the item, obscuring its original shape and rendering its function impossible to discern.

I stared at the blackened object. Suddenly, I felt a strong sense of familiarity, as if I had seen it somewhere before. Yet, after racking my brain, I couldn't place it.

Although I wanted to imagine it as the killer's detonator, it didn't look like one. It was just a piece of metal. Deformed by the fire’s extreme heat, it appeared roughly circular, lacking any visible hooks or attachments, and certainly not an electronic board for receiving remote signals.

What was it, and how was it connected to the case?

I turned the circular metal piece over and over in my hand before placing it back in its evidence bag, certain that I had encountered this object before.

My thoughts branched out like tangled roots:

If this object belonged to Xiao Cuo, it must have been something he carried. I knew Xiao Cuo; he was so meticulous with money he wouldn't carry frivolous jewelry. If it wasn't an ornament, it had to be something... useful.

I furrowed my brows, digging through fragments of past memories, but nothing surfaced.

What purpose could a simple circular metal piece serve?

However, if it wasn't Xiao Cuo's, it was highly likely left by the killer. And the reason I recognized it would be because I knew the killer, having seen the object in their possession. But I knew too many people; a warped piece of metal wasn't enough to pinpoint a specific individual.

But if I knew the killer, perhaps Xiao Cuo did too, which would explain why he was ambushed without warning.

Suddenly, my eyes widened, and excitement surged through me: Perhaps the killer never even entered the Archive Room!

If I were the killer, I could approach Xiao Cuo after lunch, just as he was preparing to go to the Archive Room. I would entrust him with an item—a large box or a small case—telling him it was critically important and he must not lose it. The trusting Xiao Cuo would surely treasure the box and carry it directly into the Archive Room. While Xiao Cuo was inside with the container, I would wait outside, watch him enter, and then press a switch in my hand, causing the box to explode instantly...

My heartbeat unexpectedly slowed. I felt a distinct sense of touching something deeper, something connected not only to Xiao Cuo's death but carrying a far broader significance.

In the Ou Jinglan series of cases, there were clear indications of a mole within the precinct, and Xiao Xuan herself had been under suspicion. Later, when You Qiaolin was apprehended, the idea of an inside man was dismissed because You Qiaolin fit every criterion—he was both the perpetrator and the 'mole.'

But the emergence of this new killer pulled my thoughts further afield. I remembered after the self-immolation of the killer Qi Wan in the Brain-Eater series, I received a bizarre email signed 'Lan Jinxuan.' My initial analysis was that if another hidden killer existed, the email was a provocation, designed to flaunt their intelligence over my perceived foolishness.

As such, a long, strange thread materialized, linking all past and present cases in an unimaginable configuration. The most unimaginable part was that I appeared to be the central component of this thread!

My thoughts became chaotic. How could I have arrived at this conclusion? Was I truly going insane, connecting myself to a conspiracy as deep and dark as an abyss?

I violently pulled myself out of that spiral and employed reverse thinking: these cases were clearly independent, occurring at different times; how could they be connected? Furthermore, the culprits in the first two series had already been convicted and the evidence was conclusive—how could a new killer suddenly appear?

Dazed, I returned to the office just as Gao Jianning handed Feng Siyan a freshly brewed cup of coffee. Feng Siyan accepted it naturally, without offering thanks, suggesting their relationship was indeed significant.

I called out to Gao Jianning, "I’ll take one too."

"Last packet, it's gone," Gao Jianning replied curtly, completely forgetting how hard I had worked previously to help him curry favor with his 'goddess.'

At that moment, I noticed a slight shift in Feng Siyan’s expression. Perhaps she knew Gao Jianning was lying, but she seemed touched by the gesture.

"Putting friendship after romance," I remarked, sitting down in my chair. "How are those two sets of data coming along?"

Feng Siyan suddenly interjected, "What data? I wasn't aware." This cold beauty, aside from her preference for silence, lived for work, so her rare utterance was noteworthy.

When the goddess spoke, Gao Jianning immediately set me aside and explained to her, "Brother Lei sent me two sets of data yesterday. Said he found them accidentally in Xiao Cuo's notebook; they might help with the case."

Feeling ignored, I was slightly miffed. "A reminder: remember confidentiality protocols."

"Siyan is a colleague. What's there to keep secret? Besides, this data might mean nothing at all, just scribbles," Gao Jianning argued convincingly, completely regaining his old, ten-words-against-one demeanor.

Feng Siyan frowned slightly. "May I see them?"

Since things had progressed this far, I knew that even if I insisted a hundred times that he shouldn't, Gao Jianning would reverently hand them over like a devout believer. So, I played the magnanimous card. "Of course. Maybe your expertise will crack it faster than his."

If I had said that to anyone else, Gao Jianning would have sworn an oath to challenge them to prove his title of 'Invincible Oriental Unmatched.' But Feng Siyan was different; she was the goddess for whom he would give everything. His title hardly mattered to her.

True to form, the kid grinned ear to ear. "Exactly! Siyan’s skill level is definitely higher than mine—not just higher, but way higher."

Good heavens, he was using her familiar name right to her face, and the beautiful Feng didn't even react. It seemed this boat was about to dock.

However, this nauseatingly simplistic flattery was too much even for Feng Siyan. She shot Gao Jianning a sharp look. "What nonsense are you spouting?"

Gao Jianning instantly shut up, like a faucet with its valve closed.

Watching their synchronized exchange, so perfectly husband-and-wife, I leaned back lazily. "You two sort it out. It doesn't matter who breaks it, since you're inseparable now. Hehe, I'll take a break."

My comment was deliberately provocative. Feng Siyan was too aloof; if I didn't find a way to make her a bit more bold, Gao Jianning would have a tough road ahead.

Gao Jianning chuckled knowingly at my remark, and Feng Siyan's face flushed slightly, though she dared not argue with me. Another wave of her mesmerizing gaze swept over, hitting Gao Jianning squarely.

The kid immediately sobered up and said, "Here are the two sets of data."

"Handsome, pick up the phone, handsome, pick up the phone."

I looked at the number—completely unfamiliar. I answered. A strange voice came through the line: "Hello, Officer Wang?"

"Yes, this is he. Who is this?"

"This is Xu Jinping. We met last time on Wanxiang Street."

Ah, I remembered him—the man in the checkered shirt seen on the surveillance footage during the rental building murder, later cleared and released. Crucially, he had provided a vital clue back then, though it led nowhere at the time. If he was calling now, he must have good news.

"Hello, hello! How could I forget? We walked around for half an hour together; we're old acquaintances."

"Officer Wang, I remembered something about that incident last time. The person's collar was blue, with a few yellow letters on it."