The bridge was a dry bridge, about ten meters long. Xieyang Road was uneven in height, and almost all buildings stood above the bridge level. Few people ever ventured underneath it. In spring, weeds grew wildly there, sometimes even reaching up to the bridge surface. Anyone unfamiliar with the area might not realize there was a hollow space below and could easily fall in.

The body was discovered by a group of street vendors selling breakfast along Xieyang Road. As the weather turned warmer, someone noticed a foul smell. Thinking it was rotten food from a neighboring stall, they began to argue, each blaming the other. They decided to trace the source of the odor and found the body under the bridge.

The suspect in the Huang Xuntong case had not yet been caught, and now there was another body. The local police quickly sealed off the area and informed the Beicheng precinct. Before He Feng even arrived at Xieyang Road, he had already called Ji Chenjiao.

Ji Chenjiao had originally planned to return to Xiayang City today and hold a meeting with the Major Crimes Unit. They were going to investigate the Liu Yixiang (Huang Xuntong) case along two lines—first, the suspicions surrounding Ji Ke; second, the mysterious person avenging Huang Xuntong.

The sudden occurrence of this new case made him pause mid-brush.

“We’re not sure yet whether it’s a homicide with body disposal or just a fall that led to death. We’ll see when we get there,” He Feng said grimly. “But it’s Xieyang Road again, and I’ve got a bad feeling about it. Just wanted to give you a heads-up. Our forensic team should be arriving soon. If Major Crimes wants a look at the scene, you better send someone now.”

Ji Chenjiao put down the phone, rinsed the foam from his mouth, and immediately called An Xun and Xi Wan. Then he quickly got dressed.

Ling Lie was still asleep, his head buried under the covers. Ji Chenjiao frowned. This guesthouse had been arranged by the county bureau. It was relatively clean—but no matter how clean, it couldn’t compare to his own bedsheets at home. And yet Ling Lie had spent the whole night with the quilt over his face.

When sleeping elsewhere, Ling Lie usually only covered up to his chest.

“Get up.” Ji Chenjiao checked the time. They weren’t in a rush today originally, but He Feng’s call had lit a fire under him. He slapped Ling Lie through the quilt. “We’re leaving immediately.”

Ling Lie stirred, hair messy, eyes still sleepy. The wide-neck T-shirt he wore had slipped to one side, exposing his shoulder.

Ji Chenjiao’s eyes darkened slightly. “You awake yet?”

“Still dreaming,” Ling Lie murmured, and as he started to flop back onto the pillow, Ji Chenjiao grabbed his shoulder.

Ling Lie caught a faint whiff of aftershave, his eyes refocused. “Alright, let’s go.”

Ji Chenjiao let go and quickly packed up. Since there was still work to do in Luchang County, he held a brief impromptu meeting with the team that had come with him. He told them to stay, while he and Ling Lie set off right away.

After a quick roadside breakfast, Ling Lie was fully awake. “We in such a hurry because someone else died on Xieyang Road?”

Ji Chenjiao: “…”

Ling Lie fastened his seatbelt and mumbled, “Guess I’ve stunned you with my brilliance again.”

They soon entered the highway. Ji Chenjiao kept checking his phone—An Xun and Xi Wan must have arrived at the scene by now. He was eager to know the cause and identity of the death.

Ling Lie was curious. “What kind of case is it?”

Not sure whether the two cases were related, Ji Chenjiao didn’t want to disclose anything, so he changed the subject. “Didn’t you sleep well? Dreaming so sweetly this morning—what were you dreaming about?”

“That woke me up good.” Ling Lie grinned. “I dreamed I was eating chicken wings.”

Ji Chenjiao: “Ambitious, aren’t you.”

“What’s wrong with that? I’ve been having this dream since I was a kid. Comes around every once in a while.” Ling Lie asked, “Ever had a recurring dream yourself?”

Ji Chenjiao suddenly recalled something—something also about dreams. But the dreams were chaotic, and when he woke, he could only remember fragments.

In those dreams, he was someone else. He couldn’t recall the person’s face—or maybe, he had never clearly seen it even in the dream. That person had a different name—one he couldn’t remember—but in the dream, they had told him: “I am you.”

When had these dreams started? Probably after his master, Ning Xiechen, went missing, and Yan Xi cut off contact with him. During that low period, when he was discouraged and mentally worn out, strange dreams had found their way in.

He had once been deeply puzzled by the recurring dream, because it seemed meaningless. How could he be someone else? How could someone else be him?

Once he pulled himself together again, the dream occurred less frequently—only now and then, during nights of poor sleep, he would still “meet” the person who claimed to be him.

“Captain Ji?” Ling Lie’s voice snapped Ji Chenjiao out of it. He didn’t want to share his own dream, but didn’t mind hearing about Ling Lie’s. “Dreaming about chicken wings since childhood—just how obsessed with them are you?”

Ling Lie said, “It’s a long story. I nearly starved to death once. A rich young master shared his chicken wing with me, and that’s how I survived.”

Ji Chenjiao had never liked those kinds of foods since childhood. Suddenly, he remembered that Ling Lie’s family had once smuggled themselves abroad. The timeline didn’t seem to match. Ling Lie’s parents had passed away after he became an adult—no matter how difficult his childhood was, it shouldn’t have come down to surviving on a young master’s charity chicken wing.

“Where were your parents?” Ji Chenjiao asked.

Ling Lie paused and looked out the window.

At that moment, both were lost in their own thoughts. Ji Chenjiao felt that the mystery surrounding Ling Lie had grown heavier. Ling Lie realized he had let something slip and said something he shouldn’t have. So he chose silence.

Ji Chenjiao hadn’t thought of Yan Xi in a long time—that young man barely a few years his senior, but who had taught him far more than Ning Xiechen ever did. Now, when he tried to recall Yan Xi’s face, it had already become a blur.

But just now, he suddenly sensed something familiar in Ling Lie. It wasn’t his looks, or his voice, not even something vague like personality.

It was mystery.

Both Ling Lie and the vanished Yan Xi shared the same elusive air of mystery that Ji Chenjiao couldn’t quite grasp.

The car arrived at a rest stop just as Xi Wan’s call came through. Ji Chenjiao bought Ling Lie some water and snacks, then stepped aside to answer the phone.

The body was lying face down beneath the bridge. Anyone crossing the bridge wouldn’t have noticed unless they looked closely down below.

Xi Wan, An Xun, and the forensic doctor from the sub-bureau had gone down to the site.

The deceased was a middle-aged man, about 1.68 meters tall, wearing a dark blue cotton long-sleeve T-shirt and jeans. His clothes were stained with dirt and dust. Rigor mortis had fully resolved, and livor mortis had set in on the abdomen—he had been dead for at least two days.

His face was contorted, tongue protruding from the mouth, and there were clear ligature marks on his neck. His wrists and forearms, exposed due to rolled-up sleeves, had numerous friction abrasions.

An Xun pressed a finger against the ligature mark. There were scratch marks surrounding it, and the most prominent ligature track slanted upwards. Besides dirt, there was also blood beneath the victim’s fingernails.

The victim had facial trauma and a broken nose. Another ligature mark could be seen beneath the upward-slanting one.

From up on the bridge, Xi Wan called out, “There’s blood here.”

An Xun and the forensic doctor carefully bagged the body for transport and autopsy.

“The killer is slightly taller than the victim. He strangled the man unconscious on the bridge while the victim fiercely struggled. The scratches around the neck were made in a desperate attempt to save himself,” An Xun said after returning to the bridge. “After the victim lost consciousness, the killer pressed him down onto the ground and kept strangling him—those facial injuries were inflicted then.”

Xi Wan nodded. “I’ll take the blood sample back for testing. It likely belongs to the victim.”

An Xun knelt near the bloodstain, planted one knee on the ground, and mimed a pulling-up motion with both hands. “To make sure the victim was truly dead, the killer pinned him down and continued tightening the ligature. The victim scratched at the ground in his final moments—hence the dirt under his nails. Once the killer confirmed death, he threw the body off the bridge.”

Ji Chenjiao never let Ling Lie out of his sight. “Has the identity been confirmed?”

“The facial trauma isn’t severe, and the killer didn’t try to conceal the victim’s identity,” Xi Wan said. “We should have a result soon. We also collected several fairly complete footprints at the scene—it should be easier to investigate than Huang Xuntong’s case.”

Ling Lie had already finished eating and using the restroom. Ji Chenjiao hung up the call and told him to get back in the car.

Ling Lie asked, “Captain Ji, technically speaking, the Major Crimes Unit doesn’t need to provide me with food and lodging anymore, right?”

Ji Chenjiao replied, “Mm, you’re going home tonight.”

Ling Lie shook his head vigorously. “Are you kidding? I can’t stay there anymore!”

Ji Chenjiao had expected that response and chuckled. “Then what do you propose?”

“Can I keep staying with the Major Crimes Unit? Or can you find me another place?”

“You think anyone can just live at the Major Crimes Unit? What are you, a loiterer…”

Ling Lie interrupted, “I’m not a loiterer! I’m a suspect!”

Ji Chenjiao: “…” He’d met his share of oddballs, but none quite like Ling Lie. What kind of suspect stays past the 48-hour hold and refuses to leave? Ling Lie had been clinging on for days.

“Anyway, I’m not going anywhere. I’m innocent. Until you clear my name, I’m staying put!”

Ji Chenjiao didn’t actually intend to kick Ling Lie out. With so many mysteries surrounding him, keeping him nearby where he could be watched felt safer.

They returned to Xiarong City around noon. Ji Chenjiao drove straight to Xieyang Road. The place was bustling. Word of another death had already spread online. Outside the police tape stood streamers, vloggers, and curious shopkeepers who had all gathered to gossip.

The number of officers was unusually high—detectives, local precinct police, and officers from the North District Sub-bureau were all there.

Someone was saying, “Is there a fugitive hiding around here? Two people dead in just a few days. On TV, it’s always like this—a whole building where people just keep dying…”

“Captain Ji, perfect timing! I was just on the phone with Brother Liang!” He Feng waved with a serious look on his face. “We’ve basically confirmed the victim’s identity—guess who it is?”

Ji Chenjiao said, “Spare me the suspense.”

“Tang Xiaofei, forty-three years old. Lived in the same building as Huang Xuntong! He was the resident of apartment 2-2. Divorced. Lives alone. When Huang Xuntong died, we canvassed the building—he was still around then, nothing seemed off. And now, suddenly, he’s the next victim.”

“This case is stirring up panic. The residents think someone is targeting people on Xieyang Road. But there’s no clear link between the two murders yet. Especially the M.O.—the killer of Huang Xuntong was very professional. Tang Xiaofei’s killer was much sloppier—it took multiple attempts to strangle him.”

Ji Chenjiao went to Tang Xiaofei’s apartment. His ex-wife had just identified the body and still looked terrified. She was visibly annoyed at the police questioning.

“He was a piece of trash when he was alive, and now he’s still making trouble after death! I’ve been divorced from him for years. I haven’t even been to this place. How would I know who he’s offended? You’re wasting your time asking me!”

Her strong accent clearly marked her as someone not native to Xiarong City. Ji Chenjiao suddenly tensed—because just a few hours ago, he’d been surrounded by voices with that same accent.