Yellow is the brightest hue among all colors, visible even in the dark given the slightest illumination. And because it contrasts so sharply with other shades, Xu Jinping was able to recognize the letters.

After taking note, I told him, "Thank you. If you recall anything else, call this number."

"Yes, yes, Officer Wang, is there really a reward if the case is solved?"

"Of course, and your identity will be kept confidential."

After dismissing the fellow who was clearly greedy for both women and money, I immediately sought out Zhang Jiewei to relay this intelligence. He was now the lead investigator on this case and needed first-hand information.

Zhang Jiewei jotted it down, then continued to fiddle endlessly with the familiar titanium alloy lighter in his hand. I was as familiar with this lighter as I was with Zhang Jiewei himself; the first time I entered the Special Investigations Office, I saw the lighter at the exact moment I saw him. And whenever he sat down, he would take it out to turn it over and over, much like Zhuge Liang with his feather fan.

The lighter was an older model and quite worn from his constant handling, yet Zhang Jiewei showed no inclination to replace it.

A man of his apparent means could probably afford to swap out a car without batting an eye, let alone a mere lighter. Therefore, I concluded the lighter must have a history—perhaps a gift from a first love, which is why he held onto it so dearly.

However, I knew it was virtually impossible to pry any personal details from someone like Zhang Jiewei. He could stare at you with that granite face effortlessly, making you abandon your line of inquiry and slink away defeated.

I shifted my body, feigning casualness. "Look how beat up that lighter is, still playing with it? It's an embarrassment to our Special Investigations Office. I’ll get you a new one tomorrow; just toss this one."

Mid-sentence, I sensed something was off, but I forced myself to finish.

Silence. Silence...

That was Zhang Jiewei’s signature move: using silence to defeat an opponent without a fight.

But I wasn't just anyone; such a petty tactic didn't faze me. I pressed on, "Not speaking means you agree. Hand it over before you change your mind later."

I reached out, but Zhang Jiewei instantly drew his hand back, saying to me with grave seriousness, "Wang Lei, let this go this time. Don't mention the lighter again."

Well, this fellow was ruthless, slamming the door shut completely, leaving not even a crack.

But I have a peculiar nature: the more you hide something, the more determined I become to find out.

I forced a light laugh. "It's not a big deal, just a lighter. Compared to the bond between us brothers, what does it amount to?"

Though only a few words, I had firmly pinned Zhang Jiewei down using the concept of 'brotherhood'; at least he couldn't afford to lose his temper.

"It is my brother, a brother for life!"

Zhang Jiewei uttered those lines, then coldly stood up and left.

Now I finally understood: the lighter wasn't from a lover; it belonged to a brother.

But I was puzzled: how could a man as stone-like as Zhang Jiewei have a brother? And if he did, was that brother also cold and hard as stone?

Yet, how could emotion arise between two stones?

Harboring this question, I went to find Gao Jianning. He was the know-it-all, and with the police network now linked, personal files were compiled in meticulous detail. While the file might not mention the lighter, it would certainly mention his brother. Given their close relationship, they must have worked cases together, and every case a police officer handles leaves a paper trail.

Unexpectedly, Gao Jianning didn't need to check the network at all. He gave me a cryptic smile, and I immediately leaned in to listen.

Feng Siyan, standing nearby, couldn't help but interject, "So secretive?" Curiosity, it seemed, was innate to human nature, regardless of gender or looks.

When the goddess spoke, Gao Jianning, following his usual pattern, gently brushed me aside and replied, "Ah, Zhang Jiewei is actually quite a pitiable soul."

That only sharpened my appetite for the story. Feng Siyan paused her work, adopting an attitude of rapt attention.

"It was back when Zhang Jiewei was just a lowly cadet at the police academy..."

I interrupted Gao Jianning, who was swaying his head dramatically. "Do you need to speak like that, or will a lightning bolt strike you down from the heavens?"

Gao Jianning chuckled. "I'm accustomed to a more refined manner of speaking; I forgot you rough sorts can't appreciate it."

"Less nonsense, hurry up and tell the story!"

"Well, no—Zhang Jiewei’s grades in the police academy were outstanding, so even before graduation, he participated in several case investigations. One time, he went undercover, infiltrating a drug trafficking ring as a low-level runner. During this operation, he met someone who he later recruited as an informant, helping to crack that major case."

Oh, I see. I’d read a plot like this in some Hong Kong or Taiwanese TV drama, never expecting it to happen in real life. But Zhang Jiewei himself was a cold-blooded character; even toward his own comrades, he was distant. How could he become close brothers with a drug dealer?

Gao Jianning continued, "Unfortunately, during the arrest of the kingpin, the boss discovered this person had betrayed him and shot him dead. Those present said Zhang Jiewei held his body and wept for a full half an hour."

I immediately cut in, "You added that part yourself, didn't you? I'd sooner believe aliens would invade Earth than believe he cried."

Gao Jianning gave me a look of profound ignorance. "You haven't heard the end yet. Why jump to conclusions so soon? Be careful, a thunderbolt might strike you down." Since his major victory over Wang Xuyang, this guy had gained confidence and was getting more expressive in front of Feng Siyan.

"Because this person wasn't a man; she was a woman, and I heard she was devastatingly beautiful, capable of causing fish to sink and the moon to hide..."

At this, Feng Siyan let out a soft hum. Gao Jianning quickly clarified, "Of course, I'm only repeating what I heard. Her appearance has nothing to do with me."

It dawned on me then. This friend who valued women over friendship had actually wept for half an hour over a woman. I mused that if I had met an unfortunate end that day, he probably wouldn't shed a single tear for me.

But then I paused and reflected: wasn't I the same? Xiao Xuan's departure caused me to weep bitterly, but Xiao Cuo's absence brought only hatred and rage in my heart!

"This information is highly classified. Not a single detail can leak out, or Zhang Jiewei will surely kill me," Gao Jianning whispered.

I frowned and asked, "Who told you all this? Why have I never heard of it?" This was the weakness of police officers: no matter the matter, public or private, they habitually pressed for every detail until everything was perfectly clear.

"When I was at the Ministry of State Security, I had a colleague who was Zhang Jiewei's classmate. He told me this story personally, so it's absolutely true."

"Why on earth would he tell you all that?"

"Heh heh, I asked him after seeing him constantly playing with that lighter, and his face turned blacker than Bao Gong's. It just so happened that I ran into my former colleague one day who said he knew Zhang Jiewei, so I inquired."

"You're quite the gossip, aren't you?" Feng Siyan interjected suddenly.

"No, no! I’m never gossipy, just this one time."

I stood up to leave, letting those two continue their entanglement; the more entangled, the better.

It was time for me to focus on my own tasks. Wang Xuyang had mentioned that the black satchel belonged to Xiao Cuo, and since Xiao Cuo didn't have it during the fire, it should be at his home.

Fortunately, I was the only one who had visited his place, so I immediately drove over, my heart heavy all the way.

Xiao Cuo's family lived elsewhere. He came to Anyang City alone, seeking the relative stability of this job to help support his family. But now that he was gone, who would look after his beloved sister and parents?

Though I desperately wished to take on that responsibility, my capacity was limited. I was already committed to caring for Xiao Xuan's parents, leaving me unable to assist them further. When I saw them at Xiao Cuo's memorial service, I felt deeply ashamed. The only thing I could do was quietly burn the IOU and urge Xiao Cuo's sister to study hard and strive to become a useful person. However, once my finances improved, I would definitely continue to help them.

Before I knew it, I arrived at the dilapidated neighborhood. I parked the car and took out a key—one of Xiao Cuo's personal effects. Opening the door, I was stunned: there was only a bed, a desk, a chair, and a cabinet; nothing else. The room was cramped, likely no more than thirty square meters, and the bathroom barely big enough for one person.

Every time before, Xiao Cuo insisted on going upstairs alone, telling me to wait downstairs. It turned out he didn't want me to see his humble living conditions.

I sighed and walked to the cabinet. Opening it, I found it completely empty—not a single piece of clothing, much less a black leather bag.

Strange. The room was as bare as a blank sheet of paper. Had the black satchel vanished into thin air?

Surveillance footage showed Wang Xuyang carrying the black satchel into Reading Room 1 and emerging with Xiao Cuo carrying it. Everything aligned with Wang Xuyang’s account, but one step remained: locating the black satchel for meticulous forensic analysis.

We know that objects are composed of incredibly fine atoms and molecules. These tiny particles render sight useless, yet they exist, and their presence is vital to solving a case. No matter where anything rests, some mischievous atoms or molecules will inevitably escape their matrix. These little entities are resourceful and invasive; they can permeate even sealed spaces.

Therefore, a precise analysis of the black satchel would confirm whether it had contained gasoline, explosives, or any other substance that could ignite a fire.

I immediately went to the front door, opened it, and crouched down to examine the lock closely; there were no signs of forced entry. Then I checked the windowsill; there were no footprints or marks indicating climbing.

Suddenly, I considered that Xiao Cuo's family might have taken the item. I quickly called them and inquired thoroughly, but the result was unexpected: they had not received any black satchel.

The anomaly finally surfaced, like a dark, submerged monster watching me silently.

"Perhaps the black satchel is the key to solving this case, and the killer secretly took it back." Thinking this, I actually felt a bit relieved. Since the killer retrieved the satchel, it meant the killer wasn't the 'Grim Reaper,' but a flesh-and-blood human like myself.

I admit I felt a genuine fear when facing a 'Grim Reaper' that might not even exist, but aren't most people like that, easily confused by ethereal concepts?

Assuming the black satchel is deeply connected to the crime, perhaps even leading to the killer, I needed to know what secret it held. Maybe it contained arson materials, but unless the killer was Wang Xuyang, it wouldn't serve as direct evidence. So far, we only know Wang Xuyang handled the bag.

Then, a thought flashed through my mind: if the black satchel contained arson materials, and Wang Xuyang had touched it, why wouldn't the killer simply use that opportunity to frame him?

Unless the accusation isn't a frame-up, but the truth?

The black satchel might indeed have been Xiao Cuo’s, but Wang Xuyang hid the incendiary materials inside before entering the archive room, then strolled in boldly. In Reading Room 1, he turned his back on Xiao Cuo, retrieved the items, and concealed them in a pre-selected hiding spot.

The killer is Wang Xuyang!?

Cold sweat broke out on my forehead. Although I had experienced something similar before, facing it again caused an uncontrollable wave of dread.

Is Wang Xuyang the second You Qiaolin?

But the gap between them was too vast: one was so meticulous he seemed to measure every step, while the other was so careless he looked like he walked on tightropes while swinging his legs. I seriously doubted these two individuals shared any resemblance.

However, I am a police officer; my duty is to let the evidence speak, ensuring the criminal has no escape or place to hide.

While there is no direct evidence naming Wang Xuyang as the killer yet, the accumulating signs are starting to reveal him. With deeper investigation, I am certain there will be a breakthrough.

Then, my previous hypothesis returned: the killer never entered the archive room but handed the item containing the incendiary material to Xiao Cuo for safekeeping, and then activated the ignition device. The strongest logic supporting this theory is that it explains why Xiao Cuo couldn't escape—the ignition device was on or near him, causing him to burst into flames instantly, leaving no time to react.

But if there was such a tiny ignition device, why did the black satchel disappear?

This question looped like a thin cord, tightly binding my heart.

Perhaps only Wang Xuyang could provide the answer.

But without solid evidence, Wang Xuyang wouldn't speak.

Leaving Xiao Cuo's residence, I drove slowly along Anyang City's main avenues. The road had just been washed clean, and on the distant horizon, a haze of moisture hung in the air, making the scene of the archive room arson as vague and elusive as the case itself.

Suddenly, a burst of intense fire erupted in the middle of the road, blocking my path. I didn't have time to brake and slammed into it. With a loud boom, sparks scattered, and a figure, burned black as charcoal, clawed onto the windshield. I stared hard and gasped, crying out, "Xiao Cuo!"

It was Xiao Cuo; I hadn't mistaken him. Even though he was burnt beyond recognition, I remembered him.

"Xiao Cuo, tell me, who is the killer? I will avenge you!"

Xiao Cuo suddenly grinned, revealing his bleached-white teeth, then pointed at me: "The killer, you are the killer! You murdered me!"

"No, I'm not! Look closely, I'm Wang Lei!"

"It was you! You set the fire that killed me! I want you dead!"

Xiao Cuo finished speaking and violently smashed his head against the glass. The windshield shattered with a crack, and a charred, black hand clamped tightly around my neck: "You killed me! I want revenge! I want you dead!"

I jolted awake, realizing I was lying in my own bed, looking around in a daze. The terrifying scene had only been a dream. But the dream felt too real; my neck still ached faintly.

I sighed, preparing to take a shower, having broken out in a nervous sweat. As I walked toward the wardrobe for clothes, I wondered: why such a dream? They say we dream of what we think about during the day, but why did I become the murderer? Xiao Cuo, please watch over me from the heavens and guide me to the true culprit soon.

Pulling open the wardrobe, I blindly grabbed a set of underwear and turned toward the washroom. Suddenly, I froze, turning back to stare at the wardrobe, my gaze fixed as if a black specter were hiding inside.

I slowly opened the wardrobe door. A long-sleeved shirt with a red collar appeared before my eyes, and the glaring yellow letters sent a wave of panic through me.

This shirt was indeed mine, but how could it be?

I rubbed my temples repeatedly. What was happening? What in the world was going on?

Was the person Xu Jinping, the eyewitness at the rental complex, actually me?

The red-collared shirt with yellow letters, coupled with the figure on the surveillance video, seemed to explain everything, yet I had absolutely no memory of it—not even in the dream.

But the facts were laid bare, allowing for no excuses.

Now, I felt the most terrifying thing in the world wasn't finding two identical leaves, but suddenly discovering a 'leaf' exactly like yours.

My heart plunged into the deepest calm, then shot back up as I tried to break free from this cage, only to realize nothing could change.

I murdered someone?

Impossible. Absolutely impossible. I didn't know He Shuhua, and I had never been to Wanxiang Street before!

This must be a coincidence. Someone who looks very much like me happens to own a shirt identical to mine—no, a shirt with an identical collar. Such coincidences do happen; they are certainly more likely than winning the ten-million-dollar lottery.

I barely slept at all that night. As soon as the sun rose the next day, I felt drowsy and on the verge of sleep. I called Zhang Jiewei and told him I had an issue and couldn't make it to the bureau, asking him to preside over the morning meeting. My mind was too chaotic right now to lead any meeting.