Before leaving Rongmei, Ling Lie pulled up Luo Manzhai’s treatment and medication records, then tracked down the head of Rongmei’s North District.

The manager dug out the hiring forms, repeatedly explaining that Dr. Zhuo Suyui had been recruited from Country A with great effort and a high salary, specifically to lend authority to Rongmei’s high-end treatment brand.

This indicated that Zhuo Suyui hadn’t come to Chaoxia County on his own initiative.

The investigation at Rongmei hit another dead end. However, shortly after, a clue emerged from the screening list Ji Chenjiao had drawn up: Qiu Yubei and Jiang Hui had been chatting about Luo Manzhai almost daily for the past three months, buying negative trending searches about her. In the last half-month, they had spoken on the phone multiple times—though the content of those calls was irretrievable. Yet, in the week following Luo Manzhai’s murder, the two had abruptly stopped contacting each other.

“Luo Manzhai’s role was originally Jiang Hui’s, but once Luo’s two hit dramas aired, her popularity eclipsed Jiang’s.” Liang Wenxian printed out the chat logs and spread them on the table. “Both of them were extremely hostile toward Luo Manzhai. Upon learning of her accident, the normal reaction would have been to share the news with each other.”

Shen Qi ran in from the corridor in a rush. “Brother! Qiu Yubei has gone missing!”

Jiang Hui was a minorly famous period drama beauty—oval face, long straight black hair, a former dancer with a graceful figure and classical aesthetics. Her superior looks had won her a legion of ‘face fans’ the moment she entered the public eye. However, her agency was weak, and aside from her looks, her acting was awkward, leaving her stuck in the embarrassing tier of “famous, but not actually a star.”

In the drama Windy Mist, she was originally cast as the female lead; rumor had it the initial styling was even designed around her. But just before filming began, Luo Manzhai’s previous period drama blew up, and the producers immediately moved to replace Jiang.

Jiang Hui watched helplessly as the lead role flew out of her hands, landing in those of Luo Manzhai—the very person her best friend constantly cursed out. She had been so angry she nearly quit the production.

When Liang Wenxian conducted the first round of screenings, he had focused heavily on Jiang Hui. At that time, she had feigned shock and sadness, repeatedly calling Luo Manzhai a good actress and a good sister.

But now, sitting in the Major Crimes Unit’s interrogation room, her eyes revealed only fear and hatred.

Ji Chenjiao asked, “Is Qiu Yubei your friend?”

Jiang Hui kept her head down. “Luo Manzhai’s death has nothing to do with me. You’ve caught the wrong person.”

“We haven’t ‘caught’ you; we are conducting a necessary inquiry.” Ji Chenjiao placed the chat logs between Jiang and Luo on the table. “The Luo Manzhai you described to us is completely different from the one you described to your close friend. Can you explain that?”

Jiang Hui suddenly looked up at Ji Chenjiao. “Yes, I lied last time. I hate Luo Manzhai, that bitch! Why should she snatch what belongs to me? What, is it a crime to hate someone?”

Ji Chenjiao said, “Of course it’s not a crime. I’m happy to be your listener.”

Jiang Hui paused, tears suddenly shimmering in her eyes. “You saw the chat logs between Yubei and me. Fighting for billing, fighting for endorsements—it looks stupid in your eyes, doesn’t it? But we have to fight. How many years can a female star stay glamorous?”

Ji Chenjiao didn’t rush to the main point, patiently listening to Jiang Hui’s complaints.

Jiang Hui first talked about how hard she had it, how many people had smeared her, how she met Qiu Yubei… most of it was meaningless information, but as a seasoned detective, Ji Chenjiao didn’t interrupt her.

Half an hour later, Jiang Hui finally reached the events within the production crew. It was much like what A’Xi had described: after joining the cast, Luo Manzhai became the center of everything, demanding the world revolve around her.

As early as a year ago, Jiang Hui had heard from Qiu Yubei about Luo Manzhai playing the diva and stealing resources. Now experiencing it firsthand, she complained to Qiu Yubei whenever she had a free moment, and they teamed up to buy negative search trends.

When she mentioned the trending searches, Jiang Hui stopped. She lowered her head, her eyes darting left and right. This was a reaction indicating she was thinking up a story.

Seeing she had gone silent, Ji Chenjiao asked, “Aside from texting, you and Qiu Yubei had thirteen phone calls lasting over fifteen minutes. I’m curious—why would you suddenly switch to phone calls in the middle of text chats?”

Jiang Hui really wasn’t a good actress; hearing this, panic quickly flashed across her face. She repeatedly tucked her hair behind her ear with her right hand—even though no hair had fallen onto her cheek.

Ji Chenjiao continued, “I also noticed that before Luo Manzhai’s accident, you and Qiu Yubei stopped contacting each other. Why is that?”

Jiang Hui cried out in alarm, “I told you Luo Manzhai’s death has nothing to do with me!”

Ji Chenjiao nodded. “I just asked why you stopped contacting Qiu Yubei. You could have simply told me that Qiu Yubei is missing.”

Jiang Hui opened her mouth in terror.

Ji Chenjiao: “You didn’t know?”

Jiang Hui: “I… no, no, I knew.”

Ji Chenjiao: “Then why didn’t you say so? Or is there a hidden story behind Qiu Yubei’s disappearance?”

“No! There isn’t!” Jiang Hui was on the verge of collapse. “She went abroad! She’s in Country N!”

On the other end, Shen Qi finally locked onto Qiu Yubei’s location. Just as Jiang Hui said, she was indeed in Country N, but for reasons currently unknown, she was undergoing emergency resuscitation in a local hospital.

Upon learning Qiu Yubei was in danger, Jiang Hui began tearing at her own hair like a madwoman. “Impossible! Absolutely impossible!”

Suddenly, she went quiet, as if finally realizing what had happened. She looked at Xi Wan in horror: “It was that bitch Luo Manzhai who harmed Yubei!”

The situation was sudden, and with Qiu Yubei abroad, she was beyond the reach of the Major Crimes Unit. Ji Chenjiao called Xi Wan in to calm Jiang Hui down. Once stabilized, Jiang Hui finally revealed the truth behind her claim that “Luo Manzhai harmed Qiu Yubei.”

Jiang Hui and Qiu Yubei had been friends since dance academy, but their personalities were polar opposites. Qiu Yubei was direct and wore her heart on her sleeve, while Jiang Hui was more lukewarm; even if she hated someone, she would deliberately disguise it.

Thus, regarding their hatred for Luo Manzhai, Qiu Yubei made a scene known to the whole industry, while Jiang Hui managed to maintain a superficial harmony with Luo on set.

But the person being hated saw it clearly.

Shortly after joining the cast, Luo Manzhai used the pretext of discussing roles to call Jiang Hui out alone. “I stole your role, so you must hate me, right?”

Recalling Luo Manzhai’s arrogant demeanor, Jiang Hui’s shoulders trembled with rage.

Since the pretense was torn, she didn’t bother being polite. “What do you want?”

She thought Luo Manzhai would threaten her, perhaps stripping away even her supporting role just as she had taken the lead.

She didn’t care. Worst case, she just wouldn’t film.

But Luo Manzhai’s next words completely exceeded her expectations.

“My role was originally yours. I can understand why you hate me. If I said I regret it and want to compensate you, would you believe me?”

Jiang Hui: “Compensate?”

“Yeah.” Luo Manzhai lit a cigarette. Amidst the white smoke, her gaze grew hazy. “Do you want to be famous? To be able to snatch a female lead as easily as I did?”

Jiang Hui seemed bewitched. “Who doesn’t want to be famous?”

“Then swap fates.” Luo Manzhai blew a mouthful of white smoke into her face. “Do you remember Ye Ruige?”

Ye Ruige, a red-hot female star three years ago, had vanished without a trace after a car accident.

And it was exactly after her accident that Luo Manzhai had landed that variety show role.

“I swapped fates with her.” Luo Manzhai rolled up her sleeve, revealing a faint scar on her upper right arm. “I hired someone to steal a personal item of hers, a necklace, and twelve strands of her hair, then went to Country N for a displacement surgery. From then on, her luck was transferred to me.”

Jiang Hui was skeptical, but the desperate desire for fame made her ask, “What kind of surgery?”

Luo Manzhai whispered in her ear, “It’s actually witchcraft. Isn’t that popular in Country N?”

Jiang Hui: “You mean, raising… raising little ghosts?”

Luo Manzhai: “Everyone raises little ghosts; they’re useless now. I’m telling you about a brand new sorcery. If you don’t believe me, check for yourself. If you want to do it, I can give you the contact info. But you have to think it over—this sorcery carries risks. You might die.”

Jiang Hui secretly researched the sorcery Luo Manzhai mentioned. Perhaps because it was too obscure, there were almost no records online. But she found scattered clues—fate swapping was a sorcery from the southern villages of Country N. What Luo described involved injecting a melted necklace into the body and consuming powdered hair. If luck was bad, one might suffer “backlash.”

But wealth is found in danger. Jiang Hui was tempted and told Qiu Yubei over the phone.

Qiu Yubei was even more excited than she was, urging her to get the contact info from Luo Manzhai immediately.

Luo Manzhai handed the paper with the contact info to Jiang Hui, laughing as she added, “I told you the method, but you can’t swap my fate, okay?”

At the time, Jiang Hui didn’t realize Luo Manzhai said that intentionally. When she and Qiu Yubei put their heads together, the answer was obvious: If not Luo Manzhai’s fate, whose fate should they swap?

Being in the same crew, it was all too easy for Jiang Hui to steal Luo Manzhai’s personal item and hair. She took Luo Manzhai’s bracelet, and Luo never noticed.

“She knew all along! She did it on purpose! She wanted to kill me!” Jiang Hui gnashed her teeth.

Ji Chenjiao and Ling Lie watched Jiang Hui on the monitor. Whether it was camera distortion or not, her face looked hideously twisted.

Xi Wan asked, “Then you gave the bracelet to Qiu Yubei?”

“Yubei asked me for it,” Jiang Hui cried. “She hasn’t had work for months, she could get away, and she’s always been bolder than me. She said she’d go try it first. If it really worked, once she got famous, she’d help me steal a top star’s ring.”

Jiang Hui mailed the bracelet to Qiu Yubei, who immediately went to Country N to find the so-called shaman. However, the displacement surgery failed. despite resuscitation efforts, Qiu Yubei remained unconscious.

Jiang Hui said, “I harmed Yubei. How could Luo Manzhai be so kind? She wanted to use the shaman’s hand to get rid of us! Now she’s dead, and she deserved it!”

The woman in the interrogation room was nearly hysterical. Ling Lie suddenly asked, “How did the scar on Luo Manzhai’s right arm happen?”

An Xun quickly replied, “It was caused by a fracture when she was a teenager, absolutely not some fate-swapping surgery. I can’t understand how anyone would believe such lies.”

Ji Chenjiao: “Because they were too desperate to be famous.”

Ling Lie leaned in close to the monitor, the screen’s cold light illuminating his face. “Luo Manzhai never had the so-called fate-swapping surgery. Did she intentionally send Jiang Hui to her death? If she never swapped fates, why did she know so much about that sorcery? She even had the contact info.”

Two possibilities surfaced in Ji Chenjiao’s mind:

First, she hadn’t done the surgery, but had done something similar to fate-swapping. Because of her, someone—likely a female star—suffered a disaster, which is why she received that Killer card. She voluntarily mentioned Ye Ruige, which ironically might rule Ye Ruige out. Her seeing a psychologist might be torture from this event. She didn’t tell Zhuo Suyui the truth, or Zhuo was hiding parts of it.

Second, she had researched the sorcery in detail but never acted on it. When she discovered Jiang Hui hated her, she goaded Jiang, laying a trap. She actually knew her necklace was stolen but waited for the right moment. What she didn’t expect was that she would be murdered, and the one going to Country N would be Qiu Yubei.

“But this deduction is based on Jiang Hui’s testimony. Even Ye Ruige was mentioned by Jiang Hui. Whether Luo Manzhai actually mentioned Ye Ruige to her, only she knows,” Ling Lie said. “Luo Manzhai climbed to her current position; she’s not stupid. Would she really have that conversation just because Jiang Hui hated her?”

At that moment, the verification results came in. The contact info written for Jiang Hui was indeed in Luo Manzhai’s handwriting.

The case seemed to be sliding down a bottomless tunnel, with more and more doubts waiting to be solved.

Most of the team had returned to the city bureau. Ji Chenjiao called everyone to the meeting room. “I’ll share a few thoughts. The Luo Manzhai case likely involves the dark side of the entertainment industry. Xiao An confirmed the scar isn’t from sorcery, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t have similar thoughts or actions in the past. The only certainty now is that Qiu Yubei had an accident due to sorcery, but whether Jiang Hui encouraged her remains a question mark.”

Xi Wan: “I also wanted to say, their friendship might not be exactly as Jiang Hui described.”

“We need to investigate Ye Ruige, and prioritize Luo Manzhai’s connections in Country N,” Ji Chenjiao said. “Jiang Hui is relying on the fact that neither Qiu Yubei nor Luo Manzhai can speak. Be careful not to fall into her linguistic traps.”

After the meeting, the team dispersed. Ji Chenjiao returned to his office. It was pitch black inside, but the glow of a monitor lit up his desk, illuminating a person slumped over it.

Openly watching dramas in the office and falling asleep while doing so—no need to guess who it was.

Ji Chenjiao didn’t turn on the lights. He walked over quietly. Only when he got close did he realize Ling Lie’s eyes were wide open, staring like lanterns. Anyone else might fall asleep, but not Ling Lie.

Ji Chenjiao: “…”

The computer seemed to be playing a very dull film. The setting was southern hills, gray skies, constant rain. The green mountains were shrouded in mist, giving off a pallid vibe. The people on screen were dressed in drab colors. Just looking at it felt oppressive.

Ji Chenjiao didn’t watch many movies, and this genre was completely outside his tastes. He was curious why Ling Lie was watching it; this guy had even less artistic sentiment than him, preferring ear-splitting comedies and melodramas with questionable logic. Just a while ago, he was curled up on the sofa watching the leads cry over misunderstandings.

Ji Chenjiao’s hand itching, he plucked out Ling Lie’s earphone. Ling Lie glared at him like a cat whose comfortable life had been disturbed.

Ji Chenjiao put the earphone in his own ear. He listened for a moment—half a minute passed without a single line of dialogue, just village dogs barking. In the dim light of the screen, he looked at Ling Lie. “Brewing up some depression, are we?”

Ling Lie snatched the earphone back but didn’t put it in. He slumped onto the desk again. “Zhuo Suyui didn’t spill a single thing. If this case doesn’t crack soon, I’ll have to go see a shrink at Rongmei myself. Better to get diagnosed early if I’m getting depressed.”

Ji Chenjiao held his head down and gave his hair a rough rub. “What nonsense are you spouting?”

“Not nonsense. Don’t you think? Ever since we came back to Xiarong, every case has been mysterious. Jiang Yunduo being possessed was weird enough, and now Luo Manzhai adds a sorcery angle.”

“But there are no ghosts or gods in this world. Possession and sorcery are just smokescreens for sin.”

Ling Lie looked into Ji Chenjiao’s eyes. Setting aside the childhood life-saving grace, Ji Chenjiao was a man grown exactly to Ling Lie’s aesthetic preferences. From the first glance, he thought this cop was beautiful—so beautiful he wanted to hunt him, wanted to bully him.

He hadn’t learned a single normal way to like someone from his captain or sister-in-law. He was more like a bratty boy pulling a girl’s pigtails: if he liked someone, he had to make faces at them. Nyah nyah nyah.

Looking at Ji Chenjiao’s face, made deeper by the dappled light, he couldn’t resist reaching out. His fingertips traced the contours, then his index finger and thumb came together, pinching Ji Chenjiao’s lips.

Ji Chenjiao: “…” The brat is acting up again.

But the brat had more in store.

Sitting together in the unlit office, discussing the difficulties of the investigation and comforting each other should have been a warm, intimate moment. But Ling Lie was undoubtedly a little devil for ruining the atmosphere. After pinching his boyfriend’s lips, the gloom on his face vanished, replaced by a smile. “Xiao Ji, when you act deep, you look like a little old man of seventy or eighty.”

Xiao Ji: Thanks for that.

Ling Lie exited full screen and found the cast and crew list below the film. “I wasn’t watching this to get depressed. Look who the director is.”

The film was titled Xiling Broken Rain. Under Director and Screenwriter was a familiar name: Sun Jing.

Ji Chenjiao’s brow furrowed. “Her?”

“Yes.” Ling Lie scrolled the mouse, revealing the full list. In the lower section, another name they knew even better appeared starkly: Luo Manzhai!

“Sun Jing shot this film three years ago in a small town in the southwest mountains. It’s about a group of dairy workers whose cows die, losing their livelihood, turning to crime against each other, marching toward mutual destruction. Luo Manzhai’s role was just a step above an extra, only two minutes of screen time.” Ling Lie’s eyes shone as if he’d discovered a new continent. “I can’t believe they had this overlap. The snowball at Rongmei is getting bigger and bigger.”

Ji Chenjiao hadn’t heard of Xiling Broken Rain and searched for information online. Ling Lie spoke from the side, “I checked. It’s a film that didn’t even make it to theaters. Sun Jing said she prepared for three years, went deep into the locality, lived with the townspeople, and felt she gave it her all. But people nowadays don’t like movies like this. It’s too dark, yet leaves you unable to cry. No theater wanted to screen it. She could only take it to villages and schools, showing it for free to anyone interested, but even then, the audience was sparse. After that, she never made another movie.”

Ji Chenjiao sighed. From Sun Jing’s perspective, it was indeed tragic, but he wasn’t the target audience for such films and couldn’t judge. He and Ling Lie focused with near cold-bloodedness on the same point: Luo Manzhai and Sun Jing intersected because of Xiling Broken Rain, and Rongmei was their second intersection.

Ji Chenjiao stood up, turned on the light, went to the whiteboard, and wrote quickly.

Centered around Rongmei, three patients had died.
The first, Jiang Yunduo: frightened into mental instability, died in a car accident.
The second, Mou Ying: left a suicide note claiming to have scared Jiang Yunduo insane, overdosed on meds, once drew a picture of free dance for rehabilitation scholar Sun Jing; her doctor, Ha Junli, had intentions of revenge against Rongmei.
The third, Luo Manzhai: murdered, doctor was Country A national Zhuo Suyui, Luo Manzhai participated in Sun Jing’s film.

On this relationship chart, both Luo Manzhai and Mou Ying pointed to Sun Jing. And since Jiang Yunduo was connected to Mou Ying, she was also linked to Sun Jing by a dotted line.

Ling Lie sprawled bonelessly in the chair. “Xiao Ji, do I have to go to Chaoxia County again?”

Ji Chenjiao put down the marker. “Shen Qi wants to do field work. I’ll let him go.”

Ling Lie sat up indignantly. “Am I someone who dislikes work that much?”

Ji Chenjiao saw he was acting again and played along. “I think you are.”

Ling Lie crooked a finger at Ji Chenjiao. “Shen Xiao-Qi is tech support; how can you let tech support run around?”

At that moment, having worked all day, Shen Qi was enthusiastically shouting at a roadside barbecue stall owner: “Two more ribs and a chicken leg!”

The owner knew him well and laughed, “Yo, eating so much today?”

Shen Qi patted his chest proudly. “Let me tell you secretly, this tech support guy is made for field work. I’m hot property right now!”

Ji Chenjiao walked up to Ling Lie, placing both hands on the armrests of the chair, effectively trapping Ling Lie.

“Then tell me, Teacher Ling, what should we do?”

Ling Lie looked at Ji Chenjiao, the light in his pupils blocked by Ji Chenjiao’s shadow. “Teacher Ling should go. Teacher Ling isn’t afraid of hardship, but…”

Ji Chenjiao took the cue. “But?”

Ling Lie lifted his body slightly. “But Xiao Ji has to give a kiss first.”

Ji Chenjiao curved his lips and leaned down to kiss Ling Lie. But not just a peck—this kiss was deep. Even when Ling Lie subconsciously reached out to push against Ji Chenjiao’s chest, Ji Chenjiao didn’t stop.

“Just one peck lacks sincerity.” Ji Chenjiao straightened up, looking down at Ling Lie, whose eyes were misty. “Is that enough?”

Ling Lie stared at Ji Chenjiao for a moment, then whoosh—he spun the chair around, feet kicking the ground rapidly. The chair was like a boat, carrying him away.

Ji Chenjiao: “…”
Goodbye boyfriend, I’m sailing away tonight?

With a thud, Ling Lie’s little boat hit the wall and capsized. Ji Chenjiao quickly ran over to see if Ling Lie was hurt. Ling Lie spread his arms out shamelessly. “Giving you a chance to salvage our love.”

Ji Chenjiao was half exasperated, half charmed. You’re the one sailing away, you’re the one demanding to be salvaged—why are you so annoying?

Ji Chenjiao pulled Ling Lie up. Together they righted the chair and tidied the knocked-over stools before leaving the office.

That night, Ling Lie and Ji Chenjiao weren’t the only ones watching Xiling Broken Rain with the lights off. In a development built by the Yu Group in Chaoxia County, Sun Jing was also watching this gloomy work devoid of any humor.

But in the glow of the screen, her face bore a trace of a smile. It was the smile of a mother who had endured great hardships, looking at the child she had raised through blood, sweat, and tears. Even if the child wasn’t incredibly successful, as long as they were healthy and safe, occasionally turning around to call her “Mom,” she felt a lifetime of hard work was worth it.

But as the plot unfolded and the progress bar neared the end, her smile gradually turned cold and eerie, as if hearing endless curses, encountering malice that shouldn’t have befallen her.

Her child was taken away. People who didn’t know her at all accused her of being unfit to be a mother. Her child was brainwashed by those people, looking at her with eyes full of venom.

But by what right? Why? What did she do wrong?

The sound of breathing in the room grew heavier and more violent, until it sounded like someone gasping for their last breath. She stood up panting, unsteadily gripping the table. A photo frame was swept off the table, shattering with a crash. She picked up a shard of glass and stabbed it toward her wrist.

But as a line of blood was cut into her skin, she abruptly stopped. Trembling, she smoothed back her sweat-soaked hair and laughed strangely. “Are you crazy?”

In the darkness, a voice seemed to respond to her—Aren’t you already crazy?

---

At night, Ling Lie and Ji Chenjiao slept in each other’s arms. In the morning, summoned by his biological clock, Ling Lie kicked Ji Chenjiao, bouncing upright from the duvet.

Ji Chenjiao had morning grumpiness too. being kicked for no reason—even if he didn’t fall off the bed—was irritating.

But before he could speak, Ling Lie said, “You almost strangled me!”

Ji Chenjiao looked down, recalling the situation last night. This was the master bedroom, his room. Although he and Ling Lie had upgraded to boyfriend status, given they were still in the phase of getting to know and adjusting to each other, they hadn’t immediately achieved “Grand Completion” of life.

So normally, they still slept in separate rooms.

It was Ling Lie who hugged his pillow and insisted on squeezing in with him, only getting comfortable once tucked into the crook of his arm. Ji Chenjiao had reluctantly embraced him. Damn it, his arm was still numb and sore, yet Ling Lie was playing the victim?!

Ling Lie jumped off the bed and rushed into the bathroom. Ji Chenjiao had wanted to sleep a bit longer, but now he was wide awake. He squeezed into the bathroom without knocking, seeing all of Ling Lie’s goods.

Ling Lie: “You’re looking at me! Is this the only bathroom in your house?”

Ji Chenjiao ignored the second question. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it before.”

Ling Lie had to go to Chaoxia County today. If he didn’t leave early, he’d be stuck in the morning rush hour. He washed up quickly and rushed out the door.

Driving on the road, Ling Lie suddenly had a moment of clarity and looked down at his pants. Hmm? When did Xiao Ji see me?

Ling Lie pondered this question for the better part of the highway drive. But before he took the exit, Ji Chenjiao suddenly called him, his tone exceptionally grave: “Another patient at Rongmei has died.”