The ID showed: Ling Lie, 28 years old, a native of Baixiang County, Xiarong City.

“He said he came here to work, just looking for a place to stay.” Ji Zhan spoke with growing regret. “This building used to house workers from the old tile factory. The factory’s been gone for years, most of the workers don’t live here anymore. People rent them out. It’s all like this in this area. So I didn’t think anything of it when little Ling moved in. Who would’ve known… sigh!”

The neighbors all gathered around, talking over one another.

“Working? Never saw him leave in the morning like normal people—seven or eight o’clock.”

“I got up one night to use the bathroom. Our living room curtain wasn’t drawn, and I saw him coming home. It was already four in the morning!”

“His clothes were weird, too. Oh—and I heard he hung around with those grannies who dance in the square.”

“He totally killed someone and ran!”

The apartment was spotless. All the trash had been taken out. The fridge was completely empty. It did look suspiciously like someone on the run. But the more Ji Chenjiao looked, the more he felt something was off.

This man called Ling Lie rented a place here, killed his neighbor, then dressed the victim in his own waist-drum outfit? What was the motive? The killing was carried out with expert skill—was he following orders, lying in wait here for months just to strike? If he was that professional, why not fear exposure? Why wait half a year?

Still, for now, Ling Lie was the prime suspect. The top priority was to find him.

Ji Zhan still had a rental contract that included Ling Lie’s contact number. Ji Chenjiao called it—it was powered off. That only added to the appearance of guilt and flight.

Ji Chenjiao had the tech unit track the number. The unit’s technician, Shen Qi, was the youngest in the Major Crimes team. Brilliant with networks, but socially tone-deaf—he’d even dared to talk back to the division chief and the deputy director. The only one he admired was Ji Chenjiao. He was a total fanboy.

“Got it, bro! Leave it to me!” Shen Qi accepted the task gleefully.

While Ling Lie’s whereabouts remained unknown, other aspects of the investigation were moving quickly. The residents of Xieyang Road didn’t know much about Ling Lie, but they all had stories about Huang Xuntong.

Huang Xuntong had lived there for at least ten years. At first, he rented. Then he started saving money—running a street stall, moving goods, washing dishes—and eventually bought the apartment from the original owner. He bought it early, and since the units on Xieyang Road were old and rundown, the seller was desperate to offload, letting Huang snap up a deal.

But if you asked about reputations, Huang’s was worse than Ling’s. In the early years, he was decent—juggling multiple jobs, doing manual labor during the day and working security at nightclubs. But later, probably after saving up enough and having a place of his own, he became lazy and idle. He started bringing massage girls home.

The woman now living with him—Shao Ling—was the one he’d stayed with the longest.

“Guys like him, we’ve seen plenty,” said a sixth-floor neighbor. “Came from the countryside, no parents, no wife—just drift through life.” She added, “I won’t gossip about what he did at home, but the worst thing was how he drank. Came home drunk all the time, slamming the metal gate shut and waking up my kids!”

Another neighbor chimed in, “He liked to gamble, too! Said he was just helping out at a mahjong parlor, but really he was just addicted. Bet big, too. Once he owed people money and they came banging on his door—I didn’t even dare open mine!”

“He wasn’t always like this—used to be friendly. Don’t know what triggered the change.”

“Midlife crisis? Men get those too, right?”

Ji Chenjiao noticed that many people mentioned a shift in Huang Xuntong’s personality and habits over the past few years, but no one could pinpoint exactly when. Just… sometime in recent years.

What had happened to Huang in those years?

“How would I know?” said Shao Ling when she arrived at the precinct. She was wide-eyed and curious, wandering around like a tourist. She even bummed a cigarette from a female officer and got a bottle of Wangzai milk.

“You guys are so funny, giving me something this fancy—trying to bribe me or what?” She took a sip and scrunched her face like she was concentrating really hard on the taste.

The female officer, a clerical worker who occasionally helped out with the Major Crimes team, was a bit dumbfounded—Wangzai? Fancy? She had a whole box of it in her office. Cheap stuff.

But Ji Chenjiao understood. Shao Ling had probably grown up in poverty, where even something like kid’s milk in a can was an unreachable luxury.

She likely had a poor and unhappy childhood.

“How did you meet Huang Xuntong?” Ji Chenjiao asked. “When?”

Shao Ling held the can with both hands, gently rolling it in her palms before setting it down. “I washed hair. He came to the shop and paid for services. That’s how we met. Two years ago, maybe? But he had other women back then. We were just customer and employee. He talked to me, said he’d been looking for someone like me for over a year.”

The kind of “hair washing” she mentioned, of course, wasn’t just a haircut.

“You’ve been with him a while,” Ji Chenjiao said.

Shao Ling cackled, her eyes showing fatigue and bitterness. “Yeah. He said he liked me, wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. Later, he told me to quit that job and moved me in. Then guess what? He became a pimp.”

“He recruited girls?” Ji asked.

“Yup. Took a cut. Hey, officer lady—don’t look at me like that. You guys have status. We don’t. We’re ants, roaches, bedbugs. If we want to survive, we have to get dirty. I know it’s illegal. But Huang Xuntong’s dead. What does it matter now?”

Since Shao Ling was willing to talk, Ji Chenjiao pressed on. “Neighbors said he used to be hard-working, earned the apartment bit by bit. What changed?”

“I heard that, too. But that was before I got with him. I asked once. He said, ‘Why do women always ask so many damn questions?’ Look, don’t blame me for his downfall. He was already spiraling when I met him.”

Ji Chenjiao pieced the timeline together—Huang Xuntong changed about three years ago. This case might need to be traced back to then.

“How much do you know about his background?”

“Family’s been farmers for generations. Parents are dead. No relatives,” Shao Ling said. “He didn’t really have friends either. Drank alone. I guess I was his only friend. Now he’s dead… makes me think he was probably bottling up something all along.”

“You don’t seem very affected by your friend’s death.”

“Oh, please!” Shao Ling laughed again. “You’re young. Bet you grew up in a good family, huh? You wouldn’t understand us. Huang and I were just… surviving together. While he was alive, we lived. Now he’s dead… it’s just like that.”

After returning to the precinct, Ji Chenjiao left the follow-up canvassing at the crime scene to Liang Wenxian, the team’s senior member. Liang Wenxian had years of experience but was increasingly laid-back these days. He had no interest in leadership and was happy to work as Ji Chenjiao’s second-in-command.

Liang Wenxian dug up something—several residents said they’d seen Huang Xuntong and Ling Lie argue earlier this year. No one knew what sparked it. It was around midnight, Huang Xuntong was drunk, and Ling Lie was wandering the alley for unknown reasons. Huang Xuntong shoved Ling Lie. After that, he always referred to 4-2 as “that pretty boy.”

If it was a crime of passion caused by long-held resentment, then that could be a motive. But the method of murder pointed to a professional. The existing clues were too fragmented to draw a real conclusion.

To determine if the killer was a resident of 4-2 or someone else, one indirect method was to check whether the lock showed signs of being picked. Tools and keys leave different marks, even if the lock isn’t visibly damaged. Forensics could tell the difference.

“It was opened with a key,” said Xi Wan, “but there’s something odd about these shoes.”

Ji Chenjiao picked up the shoes. “Different foot shape?”

Xi Wan nodded and showed a 3D model on her computer. “If the same person wears a pair of shoes, the indentations from the soles should match. But this pair shows two distinct pressure points. Very slight, but still there. And the shoes are slightly stretched. These crease marks? Left by disposable plastic shoe covers.”

“So someone put on covers over bare feet, then wore these shoes to disguise themselves as the 4-2 tenant, committed the crime, and later returned the shoes—erasing their own footprints from the hallway and stairs,” Ji said.

“Judging by the shoes, yes,” Xi Wan frowned. “But the door was definitely opened with a key. If Ling Lie’s innocent, then why can’t we reach him?”

Ji Chenjiao contacted Ji Zhan again to ask about the lock on apartment 4-2. Ji Zhan said that when he rented it to Ling Lie, he had changed the lock, but just to be safe, he asked Ling Lie for a spare key—promising not to open the door without permission.

“Do you still have the key?” Ji Chenjiao asked.

“Of course I do! I’ve kept it safe!” Ji Zhan replied.

An Xun finished the autopsy and delivered the report to Ji Chenjiao. “It matches the preliminary assessment. Huang Xuntong had consumed alcohol before he died, which caused disorientation and slowed reactions. He was completely defenseless when attacked. One more thing—he had an old, serious injury on his right arm, a fracture from his teenage years.”

Obvious old injuries were useful in confirming the identity of the body, but now that the victim’s identity was confirmed, the old fracture seemed less relevant.

“Likely from a fight when he was a teenager,” An Xun said.

Ji Chenjiao read through the report and then went to the technical investigation office. Shen Qi was buried in his work, wearing headphones.

“Xiao Ling, does my pose look right?” Qiang Chunliu waved at Ling Lie with her phone in one hand. “I don’t think my legs should be like this!”

The sun was bright, and Miaoshan Park was full of retirees dressed in dazzling reds and greens—almost like walking rainbows. Late winter had brought the final bloom of plum blossoms, their pink shades covering the hills in breathtaking beauty.

Qiang Chunliu had seen a video on Muyin called “The Queen of Fancy Hats,” filmed under plum trees with colorful hats and flowing skirts. She was both envious and bitter. So, she organized a waist-drum dance group outing to Miaoshan, staking out a spot early in the morning. She’d informed Ling Lie beforehand, but he was volunteering at a kindergarten that morning and only showed up in the afternoon.

After taking dozens of photos and videos, everyone was tired and sat down to rest. The ladies had come prepared, bringing cold noodles and marinated snacks. Qiang Chunliu invited Ling Lie to join them, but he showed her the free braised pork buns he got at the kindergarten.

Qiang Chunliu frowned. She couldn’t understand why such a good-looking young man would want to eat those stinky buns. And cold buns at that? She quickly mixed him a bowl of cold noodles topped with marinated meat. “Don’t eat that, try my cooking instead.”

Ling Lie didn’t refuse. After thanking her, he began to eat. Watching him, Qiang Chunliu smiled. “Having an appetite is a blessing.”

Just then, a commotion came from the opposite pavilion. A group of women led by one wearing an elaborate floral hat had arrived, with several retired men photographing them. Among them was a young man in a white shirt.

When Qiang Chunliu saw them, her heart sank. What rotten luck! She had come to imitate the “Queen of Fancy Hats” and ended up running into her in person.

Bad omen! She turned away and tried not to look. Thinking of how Ling Lie had told her “You look beautiful just like that” while photographing her, she couldn’t help but show him the video of the Fancy Hat Queen. “Xiao Ling, be honest—do I look better than her?”

Ling Lie had just finished his noodles. “Sister Chunliu, she’s beautiful in her own way, and you in yours. I don’t know her, but I know you. You’re kind to me, you made me noodles, and you helped me make money. How could she compare?”

Qiang Chunliu knew she couldn’t match the Fancy Hat Queen, but Ling Lie’s words comforted her. She perked up and started posing the group again.

The Queen of Fancy Hats’ group made quite a scene. Ling Lie couldn’t help glancing over. The young man in the white shirt also looked back, but they were too far apart to make eye contact.

Ling Lie realized he hadn’t taken any selfies after all the group photos. He turned on his phone.

At the same time, back at the municipal bureau’s major crimes unit, Shen Qi tore off his headphones. “Brother! Got him! He’s at Miaoshan Park!”

Ji Chenjiao immediately led a team there.

Just as the crime team arrived, Qiang Chunliu was announcing the end of the outing. Ling Lie, now a bit tired, yawned beneath a blooming plum tree. His eyes were teary from the yawn, and his lashes looked damp.

Ji Chenjiao flashed his badge—his eyes were almost stuck on Ling Lie’s innocent and even slightly dazed gaze.

Ling Lie saw the badge and looked even more confused. A loose strand of hair slipped from his tied-up hair. He tilted his head gently and said, “Hm?”