The meeting continued. What needed to be investigated next wasn’t just the Chunliu Waist Drum Team—they were merely an entry point.

The background checks on the Hongyun Modeling Team had already been underway. The team members chatted with the models in seemingly meaningless small talk, but the first thing they needed to confirm was the whereabouts of these retired ladies around the time of the incident.

Xi Wan flipped through the notes. “Three people don’t have alibis—Zhou Qingxia, Lu Juan, and Wang Tonghao. Both Lu and Wang live alone in old buildings with little to no surveillance in the area. They both insist they stayed in that night. They don’t seem to have strong motives, and their relationship with Liu Yuchun was distant and casual at best. But Zhou Qingxia…”

“Her home is four kilometers from Ganzi Street—not exactly nearby. But starting from this past Lunar New Year, she’s been regularly driving to Ganzi Street at around 7 p.m. This was found through surveillance footage. I asked her about it, and she said she was going to chat with Liu Yuchun. She’s usually so glib, but she sounded unsure when she said that—like she was lying.”

Ji Chenjiao asked, “What about the 26th?”

Xi Wan replied, “She didn’t show up on Ganzi Street that day. She claims she was home. But no one can verify that.”

“She doesn’t live with her family?”

“She does, but she and her husband have been sleeping in separate rooms for years. Their daughter doesn’t live with them. Her husband is indifferent. Usually, when the police come, family members try to cover for each other, right? But her husband said bluntly that even if she weren’t home that night, he wouldn’t have known.”

When conducting community investigations, gossip was unavoidable—and sometimes crucial to solving a case. From several Hongyun team members, Xi Wan learned that Zhou Qingxia and Liu Yuchun weren’t as close as they appeared. To use a modern phrase: they were “plastic sisters.”

Back when they were still workers, the two didn’t get along. Zhou Qingxia was known for being flashy, obsessed with fashion, and once dubbed the factory belle. But her beauty came from makeup and trendy clothes. When it came to facial features alone, Liu Yuchun was the real beauty.

Liu Yuchun, however, didn’t know how to dress up and had no energy or interest in it. The older folks from the factory all found it baffling that she and Zhou Qingxia later became friends. Zhou Qingxia had gossiped behind Liu Yuchun’s back more than once. It was clear she saw Liu Yuchun as a rival. Liu Yuchun, on the other hand, seemed to have no interest in competing with her.

Now, what Liu Yuchun really thought of Zhou Qingxia was something that could no longer be verified—she was dead.

While the major crimes team was holding their meeting, Zhou Qingxia had locked herself in her study, feeling anxious and uneasy. In front of her were many photographs, some yellowed with age, others new. She spread them out, then hastily gathered them into a pocket. Just as she opened the door, she was startled to see someone standing outside. She gasped, and the pocket slipped from her hand, scattering the carefully collected photos across the floor.

“What are you doing?” The man in a gray loungewear set looked at her with disdain and contempt. It was Zhou Qingxia’s husband, Liang Bin.

Their apartment was over 150 square meters. Liang Bin was often away on business and had a mistress outside. He rarely spent time at home, yet now he seemed to be deliberately confronting Zhou Qingxia.

“What’s it to you?” she snapped, quickly squatting down to pick up the photos. But Liang Bin was faster and grabbed three of them before she could react. She panicked and lunged at him. “Give them back!”

Liang Bin held the photos in one hand and shoved her hard with the other. “Isn’t this Liu Yuchun? How come you have photos of her from over twenty years ago? And so many?”

Zhou Qingxia hit the wall and winced in pain, then leapt at him like a madwoman. “Give them back!”

Though in his sixties, Liang Bin was still strong and easily restrained her. “Don’t tell me you’re the one who offed your ‘good sister’?”

“Shut your mouth! You bastard! Let me go! Get lost!”

The more she struggled, the more amused Liang Bin looked. “Old hag, shouldn’t you be thanking me? The police already suspect you. If I told them you used to stalk Liu Yuchun, would you still be sitting at home right now?”

Zhou Qingxia’s pupils shrank. “You were following me?”

Liang Bin sneered. “You can stalk me and harass Xiaoli, but I’m not allowed to see what you’re up to every day?”

Zhou Qingxia suddenly looked drained, leaning against the wall and glaring at Liang Bin with venom. After a while, she seemed to calm down. “I haven’t even settled the score with you yet. You deliberately said those things to the cops today to screw me over, didn’t you?”

Liang Bin replied, “Screw you? I was just fulfilling my civic duty. I didn’t lie to the police. Zhou Qingxia, if you really did something, I suggest you go turn yourself in—try to get a lighter sentence.”

Zhou Qingxia spat at him. “You just want to use this to threaten me into a divorce! Dream on!”

Liang Bin wiped his face, looked down at the three photos in his hand, and said calmly, “What exactly did Liu Yuchun do to you?”

Zhou Qingxia’s eyes were full of anger and mockery. “Don’t tell me you were into that kind of woman too?”

Liang Bin said, “You were really jealous of her, weren’t you?”

That seemed to hit a nerve. Zhou Qingxia burst out in a high-pitched laugh. “Me? Jealous of that bumpkin?”

The sound was so shrill it made Liang Bin cover his ears. When he looked again, Zhou Qingxia had already run down to the terrace.

They lived in an upscale duplex with a spacious terrace. From the second floor, Liang Bin watched her toss the photos into an enamel basin and light them on fire.

He scoffed and looked at the three photos still in his hand. Stupid and vicious old hag, he thought. She forgot I still have these.

Liang Bin opened the video app on his phone and zoomed in, clearly capturing Zhou Qingxia burning the photos.

Later that same night, office lights began to go out one by one. This wasn’t the city center, financial district, or riverside tower—just a regular office building filled with small companies. Naturally, their employees weren’t the type to pull all-nighters or dedicate their lives to their careers.

But one glass-walled room still glowed. Inside, only one employee remained.

Staring at the glowing screen, his pale face looked sickly. Cold sweat drenched his thin summer shirt.

On the screen was a chat box. The person on the other end was giving him another task.

[If I finish this, will it be over?] the employee finally asked.

No reply. It was as if the god on the other end didn’t feel the need to respond to a mere mortal.

But the god finally showed some mercy and typed: [Depends on how you perform.]

The employee typed again, nervously: [Have the police noticed me? What if I’m exposed…]

The response was ice-cold, heartless: [Do you think you matter that much?]

The chat ended. The employee stared at the screen for a long time, then gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Right… I wasn’t doing this for myself anyway.”

In the dark room, the man let out a cold chuckle toward the glowing laptop. Behind him was a messy table with a disorganized chess set—not Chinese chess, not Go.

These days, few young people still played chess.

Beside the table, on the wall, was a whiteboard covered in arrows and pinned photos. But with only the laptop’s glow, the details were hard to make out.

Back at the precinct, the meeting had ended late. Everyone else had left, but Ji Chenjiao lingered in the room, annoyed at the thought of having to drive back to the small rental he lived in now. The family housing compound was right across from the station—he could’ve walked home. If only he hadn’t rented it out to that freeloader Ling Lie…

Just then, his stomach grumbled—he’d forgotten to eat dinner. Where could he grab something quick? Maybe drag Ling Lie along for a bite?

He was already dialing. Ling Lie’s phone was off.

Ji Chenjiao instantly grew alert. Then again, Ling Lie often had his phone off. But now that he’d tried and failed, he felt irritable. What if Ling Lie’s up to something shady again?

Fifteen minutes later, Ji Chenjiao arrived at the housing complex with a package of smoked meat from Xi Wan’s hometown. Everyone else had taken theirs home, but he didn’t like it. He almost let An Xun take it. A guy like Ling Lie, obsessed with worldly pleasures, would probably love it.

He needed an excuse to check in—showing up empty-handed wouldn’t do.

Ji Chenjiao had never been a landlord before, but he had the manners of one. Even though he had a key, he politely knocked.

He knocked for five minutes—no response. The lights were off downstairs, so maybe Ling Lie wasn’t home? Ji Chenjiao took out the key, planning to go in for a glass of water.

The lock turned. As the door opened, he heard the sound of hurried footsteps—but it was too late to stop the door now.

Ling Lie stood there, dripping wet, hastily thrown-on pajama pants clinging to his soaked body. The thin fabric left little to the imagination.

Ji Chenjiao: “……”

“I didn’t hear you, I was in the shower.” Ling Lie’s pale skin was flushed red from the hot water, especially his chest and ears. He looked like he had rushed out quickly and had been in the steamy bathroom too long—his breathing was hot and fast. “Find your own shoes, okay? I haven’t even rinsed the shampoo off my head yet.”

With that, Ling Lie ran back into the bathroom, leaving a trail of wet footprints from the doorway to the living room.

Ji Chenjiao’s temple pulsed a few times. He changed into indoor slippers and frowned at the watermarks on the floor. He grabbed a big roll of paper towels to wipe them clean.

Why had he knocked just now? This was his home—he could’ve just opened the door.

And… he’d seen Ling Lie’s abs earlier. Just a thin layer, but how did this pale-skinned “chicken” even have abs?

After wiping the floor, Ji Chenjiao suddenly felt hot and bothered. The temperature had shot up over the past few days—it was now over thirty degrees. The office had air conditioning, but here, not even a fan was on. He quickly found the remote and turned on the A/C, standing in front of it to cool down.

The sound of water stopped in the bathroom. Not long after, Ling Lie came out wearing only pajama pants and headed straight to the bedroom.

Ji Chenjiao: “……” He’d just dried that floor!

Ling Lie hadn’t brought any clothes into the bathroom. When he appeared again in front of Ji Chenjiao, he was already dressed in a light gray athletic set.

He wore a pair of flip-flops, water still dripping from his feet, as he dried his hair and said, “Next time, just open the door. Today I actually ran out for you.”

Ji Chenjiao was at a loss for words, so he found something to pick on. “You don’t turn on the lights when you’re home?”

“I had the bathroom light on.”

From downstairs, you couldn’t see the bathroom window. Ji Chenjiao asked, “What about the living room?”

“I wasn’t in the living room, why should I turn it on? Waste of electricity.”

“……”

At that moment, Ling Lie noticed the A/C was running. “You turned on the air conditioning!”

“Is that a problem?”

Ling Lie hurried to close the windows. “Who’s paying the electric bill? You or me?”

“Who paid when you lived on Xieyang Road?”

“I did.”

“Then this one’s yours too.”

Ling Lie decisively turned off the A/C and opened the windows again.

Ji Chenjiao was practically fuming. He turned it back on and held the remote high when Ling Lie tried to snatch it. He looked at Ling Lie with mischief:

—Look, you can’t reach. Want to try jumping?

Ling Lie didn’t jump. Instead, he mocked, “Captain Ji, are you really twenty-eight years old this year?”

“……”

“I stopped playing games like this in third grade.”

Ji Chenjiao suddenly didn’t want to play anymore either. After being looked up and down with such disdain, he felt… off. Why had he done something so childish?

Ling Lie noticed Ji Chenjiao staring at him with a strange expression and laughed. “Honestly, I’m hot too. But I’m poor.”

Ji Chenjiao tossed the remote aside. “Fine. I’ll pay the electric bill!”

“Alrighty!” Ling Lie eagerly closed the windows and drew the curtains, even turning the temperature down to 17°C.

Ji Chenjiao: “……” That’s excessive!

After the chaotic back-and-forth, Ji Chenjiao finally remembered why he’d come over—first, to inspect the place. Second, to find someone to eat with. And third, he was thirsty! He wanted a drink!

When he returned from getting a glass of water, Ling Lie was crouched beside the coffee table, examining a vacuum-packed slab of cured meat. From Ji Chenjiao’s angle, he could see a small patch of dampness at the neckline of Ling Lie’s sweatshirt. He thought this guy really didn’t take care of himself.

But then, a conflicting feeling rose up inside him. Ji Chenjiao frowned slightly.

Ling Lie lived rough and frugally, but his person and space weren’t messy or disheveled like others in similar circumstances. He kept himself clean, had nothing unnecessary, and even the essentials seemed easily disposable.

Perhaps sensing Ji Chenjiao watching him, Ling Lie turned around. “Have you eaten?”

Exactly what Ji wanted to hear. “Not yet. You?”

Ling Lie stood up with the cured meat in hand. “Perfect. I bought tomatoes, corn, and shrimp. Just needed some meat. I’ll make a pot of corn chowder—we’ll eat together.”

Ji Chenjiao immediately said, “I don’t eat cured meat.”

“I do.” Ling Lie pointed to the cleaned shrimp in the sink. “You eat this.”

He sautéed two tomatoes, added water to make a broth, waited for the corn to cook through, then tossed in the pre-fried shrimp, the cured meat, and a bunch of tofu and shiitake mushrooms.

In just fifteen minutes, he had a hot pot of soup ready.

Ji Chenjiao watched from the side, slightly stunned.

His adoptive mother always spent an entire morning making soup. Every time he went home, she’d wake up at dawn just to start cooking. He had come to believe that hot soup required a significant investment of time, so he never made it himself.

Ling Lie sprinkled chopped scallions into the soup, then picked up the whole pot.

Ji Chenjiao asked, “That’s it?”

Ling Lie: “Everything’s cooked. Why wouldn’t it be done? I’ll serve you a bowl.”

Ji Chenjiao didn’t expect much—but to his surprise, the first spoonful tasted pretty good.

Ling Lie had made just one portion of rice. Ji didn’t eat any, so Ling Lie dumped it all into his own bowl.

They both ate quickly and quietly, scooping soup and picking vegetables without any conversation. In less than ten minutes, the pot was empty. Ling Lie scraped the rest into his bowl and finished the rice with the remaining broth.

Since he’d mooched a meal, Ji Chenjiao thought to wash the dishes to avoid seeming like a total freeloader, but Ling Lie wouldn’t let him.

“How’s my cooking?” Ling Lie washed the dishes with practiced ease.

Ji Chenjiao gave him an A in his mind but said aloud, “Not bad.”

Ling Lie smirked. “Your body tells the truth.”

Ji Chenjiao: “……”

Ling Lie glanced at him. “I only politely invited you to dinner, didn’t expect you to accept so eagerly. You even ate my share. If it weren’t for that bowl of rice, I’d still be hungry.”

Ji Chenjiao had always managed his appetite with precision, so he knew Ling Lie wasn’t lying. He had eaten more than usual because the soup was too good to resist.

“Come by next time.” Ling Lie walked him to the door, taking on the air of a proper host.

Ji Chenjiao thought, Look how smug you are. I’m not coming again. Tomato corn soup, huh? Simple. I’ll make it myself tomorrow night.

The investigation—both online and offline—continued. The last video posted by “Queen of Hats” was now flooded with candles and “Rest in peace” messages. There were still cruel comments, but they had either been deleted, drowned out, or countered with backlash.

Netizens excelled at showcasing kindness, compassion, and civility after tragedies like this. But the Major Crimes Unit was focused on what came before—the countless malicious comments that had led to it all.

According to real-name registration and IP tracking, Cyber Investigation identified six individuals who had been persistently attacking Liu Yuchun online. Three of them were members of the Chunliu Waist Drum Team, and the other two belonged to a community of retired photography hobbyists.

But the most unexpected discovery was that the account named “Cherish Always” turned out to be Zhou Qingxia’s alternate account.

Unlike the usual curses and insults, “Cherish Always” not only criticized the “Queen of Fancy Hats” with derogatory language and personal attacks, but also spread rumors about her unhappy family life and alleged illicit affairs with elderly men.

The serious crime unit had seen plenty of strange cases, but it was still shocking that someone Zhou Qingxia’s age could say such vile things online—especially when the target had once been her best friend. The level of malice and vulgarity left even the seasoned detectives taken aback.

Xi Wan shivered. “I don’t want to interrogate her. One of you do it.”

Of course, it was time for the captain to step in.

At this point, the serious crime team hadn’t taken any formal action against Zhou Qingxia, and the existing evidence still couldn’t prove she was the killer. However, suspicion around her was steadily increasing. Ji Chenjiao planned to bring her in and confirm a few key facts first.

But before Ji could even leave the precinct, he got a call saying Zhou Qingxia’s husband, Liang Bin, had come forward with evidence to report her.

In the interview room, Liang Bin showed a mixture of regret, guilt, and just the right amount of fear. He placed three photographs on the table, along with a phone containing a video.

“This is the situation. Yesterday when you came to talk to me, I wanted to protect my wife, so I didn’t tell the truth. I apologize,” Liang Bin said sincerely. “But the more I thought about it later, the more I realized Qingxia might be connected to the case. She knows you’re investigating her, so she burned the hundreds of photos she’d collected of Liu Yuchun. She always hated her.”

Ji Chenjiao looked up after watching the video. “I’ll need to take the phone for forensic examination. That okay?”

Liang Bin nodded. “Go ahead.”

Ji picked up the photos. All three featured Liu Yuchun—one from when she was young, and the other two taken more recently.

Liang Bin continued, “I’ve been busy with work and didn’t pay enough attention to Qingxia. I can’t confirm whether she was home on April 26. I can only provide what I can—evidence that she and Liu Yuchun were never friends.”

Throughout history, there have always been those who turned in their family for justice. But Ji could tell Liang Bin wasn’t acting out of righteousness alone. He remarked deliberately, “She’s your wife.”

Liang Bin paused and gave a bitter smile. “I know this makes me seem despicable. But I also came today to ask the police for protection.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know if she’s the killer. But as her husband, I’m scared,” Liang Bin said earnestly. “Of course, I hope she’s not. But if she is—who wants to share a bed with a murderer? I’m afraid she might go crazy and hurt me too.”

Meanwhile, Zhou Qingxia was having a long, terrible nightmare. In it, Liu Yuchun wore a white dress, blooming with red-black stains of blood. She walked toward her expressionless, demanding to know why Zhou had treated her that way.

Zhou woke up screaming. She sat dazed for a long time before remembering: she had left those three photos behind after fighting with Liang Bin the day before.

She jumped up and ran to the study—nothing. Checked Liang Bin’s room—nothing. She searched the whole house. They were gone.

She slumped into a chair, panicked, thinking of the worst possibility—but quickly shook her head. No, Liang Bin was still her husband. He wouldn’t go that far.

Just then, the doorbell rang. Her hands trembled with fear.

Ji Chenjiao peered through the peephole. “Ms. Zhou, please open the door.”

Zhou Qingxia refused in a panic, but Ji had come with a search warrant. Liang Bin was also there. Zhou locked the door from the inside, making it impossible to open with a key. When Ji’s persuasion failed, he forcibly broke the lock in front of Liang Bin.

“What are you doing?! You’re breaking into my home! Is there no law?!” Zhou Qingxia screamed from the stairs, her hair disheveled and wild. But the moment she saw Liang Bin, her mind went blank—shocked and enraged.

Why was Liang Bin with the police? Was her worst fear coming true? Was he really going to betray her?

She shook her head in disbelief. She couldn’t accept that Liang Bin would go this far. They were husband and wife.

Ji Chenjiao held up the warrant. “Zhou Qingxia, I’m conducting a lawful investigation into the Liu Yuchun case. Please cooperate.”

“I didn’t kill her! You can’t treat me like this!” Zhou shouted.

The task force had already spread through the house, collecting evidence. Ji Chenjiao walked up to Zhou, his calm, just demeanor forming a stark contrast with her frantic panic. They were both on the stairs, a few steps from the door. Liang Bin remained near the entrance, playing the bystander, though his gaze—behind his glasses—was locked on the stairs.

“If you have nothing to do with the case, I’ll clear your name,” Ji said, his voice just loud enough for Zhou to hear—but something in his tone made Liang Bin suddenly frown from a distance.

Zhou Qingxia seemed to catch Ji’s meaning. She looked him in the eyes. This young detective exuded a quiet but compelling authority. It was intimidating, but also oddly reassuring—making her want to trust him.

After a pause, she finally grabbed the handrail and stepped aside. “Okay… okay. I’ll confess.”

---

Author’s Note:

Captain Ji: He has abs!!