The ashes of the photos had already been dumped into the laundry sink and flushed away the night before. Only a small amount of muddy residue remained in the basin, which hadn’t been cleaned yet. Xi Wan carefully placed the extracted fragments and ashes into an evidence bag.

Zhou Qingxia watched the busy police officers. Suddenly, she rushed into the bathroom and stared at her ghostly reflection in the mirror. The bathroom door was left open, and Ji Chenjiao stood just outside. Not long after, Zhou Qingxia walked out, looking lost and dazed. “You’re going to take me away soon, aren’t you?”

Ji Chenjiao kept his hands in his pockets and nodded.

“Then let me change clothes first.” Zhou Qingxia gave a bitter smile. “I won’t hide anything. I just don’t want to walk out there like this.”

Ji Chenjiao agreed. “Go ahead.”

Zhou Qingxia returned to her bedroom—already searched thoroughly by the major crimes team. Fifteen minutes later, she opened the door. From a disheveled, pajama-wearing “crazy woman,” she had transformed into an elegant, well-groomed lady ready for the cameras.

In a corner where no one noticed, Liang Bin turned away and let out a cold snort of disgust.

On the way to the municipal bureau, Zhou Qingxia showed off her excessive jewelry to Ji Chenjiao.

She wore a jade bangle on each wrist, along with Buddhist prayer beads and gold bracelets. Six out of her ten fingers were adorned with rings, the wedding ring on her right ring finger especially prominent. Around her neck hung three necklaces, one of which matched her earrings.

If not for the police car, she would have looked like she was headed to a fancy banquet.

“They were all gifts from Liang Bin,” Zhou Qingxia said slowly. “Back then, I was the flower of the factory—no one could compare. Men lined up down Binjiang Road to chase after me. How could I have fallen for him?”

After a pause, she answered herself with a touch of irony, “It was because he did business. He had more money than we factory workers ever could.”

“Whenever I look at these pieces of jewelry, I always feel like he must have loved me. But… why can’t people stay young like jewelry does?” Zhou Qingxia’s voice began to tremble. She touched her rings and bangles, fingers gradually tightening, filled with resentment. “They look just as new as they did twenty years ago—shinier, even—but I’ve grown old. Once a person ages, they lose everything…”

“Officer Ji,” she asked just as they neared the bureau, “was it Liang Bin who reported me? Did he say I was the killer?”

The answer was obvious, but she couldn’t accept what she’d seen. She needed confirmation from the police.

Ji Chenjiao replied, “Even if he hadn’t, I would’ve come to ‘invite’ you today. Take care, ma’am.”

Zhou Qingxia opened her mouth in surprise, unable to hide her shock—but this time, she quickly regained her composure. “It was me. I hated Liu Yuchun.”

In the Major Crimes interrogation room, under the bright lights, Zhou Qingxia’s carefully made-up face crumbled—wrinkles like withered branches cruelly marked her face.

“But I never truly wished for her death, let alone killed her. I didn’t do it!”

Ji Chenjiao presented photos and video evidence. “You collected hundreds of photos of Liu Yuchun? Why burn them?”

Zhou Qingxia dodged the question. “Because she was my best friend.”

One of the other officers grew irritated. “You really have the nerve to say that!”

But Ji Chenjiao said, “Go on.”

“I didn’t really have friends. I founded the Hongyun Team, but none of them were true friends.” Zhou Qingxia’s expression turned distant. “All these years, I couldn’t stop watching Yuchun. If I had to name one friend, it was her.”

She began recounting the factory years. At eighteen, Zhou Qingxia had joined the plant—youthful and beautiful, the undisputed belle of the workplace. But before long, another “flower” appeared—Liu Yuchun, who was even more innocent-looking.

Her features weren’t as striking as Liu Yuchun’s, but Zhou Qingxia was more assertive, willing to invest in herself. She married a workshop manager, used imported cosmetics, and wore the latest fashions from the coast.

People often said she wasn’t as naturally pretty as Liu Yuchun, so she made sure to outshine her in every other way. Liu Yuchun wore plain gray uniforms and never wore makeup—so Zhou Qingxia always seemed to come out on top.

But her flamboyance also earned her many enemies. Gossipers often compared the two “factory flowers,” claiming Zhou Qingxia’s beauty was fake, and if Liu Yuchun wore makeup, she’d look a hundred times better.

Zhou Qingxia paid off Liu Yuchun’s coworkers to spread rumors. Liu Yuchun, whether timid or indifferent, never confronted her over the slander.

Eventually, Zhou Qingxia divorced and married Liang Bin, becoming a rich man’s wife, and the one-sided feud came to an end.

Even after leaving the factory for years, Zhou Qingxia kept tabs on Liu Yuchun. She even had people collect photos of her. Seeing Liu Yuchun struggle with poverty and aging brought Zhou Qingxia great joy.

They reunited at a former colleague’s son’s wedding. It was a banquet, so all the women were dressed up, but Liu Yuchun still looked frumpy.

Zhou Qingxia had a sudden idea—why not bring Liu Yuchun into her circle as a contrast to herself?

She warmly rekindled their “friendship,” pretending past grievances didn’t exist. Liu Yuchun, surprisingly, played along and even exchanged contact info.

After that, Zhou Qingxia would often call on her. Liu Yuchun, idle at home, was initially asked to help film. Zhou Qingxia lent her clothes and makeup under the guise of kindness.

When Liu Yuchun first wore Zhou Qingxia’s dress on camera, everyone praised her appearance to her face, but laughed behind her back.

But something changed. Perhaps at fifty-something, Liu Yuchun finally developed a sense of beauty. Encouraged by her daughter and newfound financial freedom, she began buying clothes and makeup.

With money and a naturally good foundation, Liu Yuchun transformed from a dowdy old woman into the “Queen of Hats.”

Zhou Qingxia grew envious and resentful. Her only edge had been makeup—and now Liu Yuchun had mastered that too. She deeply regretted ever bringing Liu Yuchun into her world but couldn’t force her out. Now, when people talked about the Hongyun Modeling Team, they thought of the “Hat Queen,” not the team leader.

What stung most was Liu Yuchun’s genuine kindness. She often invited Zhou Qingxia to her home like a real sister.

Zhou Qingxia’s marriage with Liang Bin was long dead. Liu Yuchun’s husband, Wang Huiqiang, although living separately due to his mother’s illness, showed no signs of cheating. That one fact alone made Zhou Qingxia feel utterly defeated.

She began encouraging Liu Yuchun to overspend. When Liu Yuchun shared her sadness over her daughter moving out, Zhou Qingxia pretended to comfort her—while secretly reveling in it.

She thought: Wang Huiqiang’s just a worker. He won’t be able to handle a wife who spends like that. Sooner or later, the family will fall apart, and Liu Yuchun will return to her pitiful self.

As “Hat Queen” grew popular online, the insults also multiplied. Zhou Qingxia, having been trolled online herself, knew how cruel internet comments could be.

That gave her an idea. She registered the account “Cherish Always” and started attacking “Hat Queen” under her videos.

“I just wanted her to suffer,” Zhou Qingxia justified. “I swear—I never wished for her to die.”

Ji Chenjiao said, “Because if she dies, you have no one to compare yourself to, right?”

Zhou Qingxia was silent for a while, staring at the photos on the table. “Maybe so. Sometimes I realize I shouldn’t be so obsessed with her, but I can’t help it. The things people said in the factory echo in my head—‘You’re not the prettiest. She is.’”

“Before the murder, you visited Ganzi Street multiple times. Why?” Ji Chenjiao pressed. “Don’t try feeding me the same lie you used last time.”

Zhou Qingxia recalled what Liang Bin had said the night before. At last, she admitted, “I was following her.”

“Why?”

“She dances at the square by the roadside every evening from 7 to 9. There are men in their group too.”

Hearing this, and combining it with what Zhou Qingxia had previously said, Ji Chenjiao already guessed her intention. “You want to film Zhou Qingxia dancing with men and send it to Wang Huiqiang? Then spread rumors that she’s cheating, so they’ll get divorced? Your marriage is unhappy, so your ‘friend’ should suffer with you?”

“Haha, hahahaha—” Zhou Qingxia laughed until tears came out, her voice laced with malice. “Yeah, maybe if she gets dumped by her husband, I’ll finally have the courage to divorce mine. But I was unlucky. I never managed to catch her dancing with an old man—she’s always dancing with women.”

Ji Chenjiao asked, “Since when did you start following Liu Yuchun?”

Zhou Qingxia: “Just over a month ago.”

“What suddenly made you want to do something like this?”

“Because after the Spring Festival, my husband became even more blatant about having affairs outside. Every time he came home, he pressured me to divorce.”

Completely unrelated events—yet someone obsessed could easily connect them. Ji Chenjiao suddenly thought, if Zhou Qingxia’s story was true, she might have crossed paths with the murderer within the past month.

Because the killer would definitely have scouted the area beforehand, and they had hidden inside the apartment during the exact time Liu Yuchun was out dancing.

“Did you notice anyone suspicious?”

Zhou Qingxia answered quickly, almost too eagerly, as if trying to clear her name. “Yes! Qiang Chunliu from the waist drum team!”

The Serious Crimes Unit had already identified three members of the Chunliu Model Team during an online investigation, and one of them was indeed Qiang Chunliu. Ji Chenjiao had even seen her briefly with Ling Lie.

But Zhou Qingxia’s story was inconsistent.

First she said she saw Qiang Chunliu sneaking around Ganzi Street—wherever Liu Yuchun appeared, Qiang Chunliu would appear too. Once, Liu Yuchun even noticed and had a confrontation with her.

Then she said it was only Qiang Chunliu who was secretly following Liu Yuchun, and Liu Yuchun had no idea who she was.

When it came to the grudges between the Hongyun Model Team and the Chunliu Waist Drum Team, Zhou Qingxia spoke with great detail and even a sense of pride. But ironically, that very pride came from the woman she hated—Liu Yuchun. If not for the sudden rise of the “ Hat Queen,” Hongyun wouldn’t have achieved its current glory.

Zhou Qingxia had a clear motive. Although she denied killing Liu Yuchun, she couldn’t account for her whereabouts between the evening of April 26 and the early hours of the 27th. So she remained under police control.

While Ji Chenjiao was interrogating Zhou Qingxia, Liang Wenxian was leading a team to verify the identities of netizens who had posted abusive comments. Their online and offline behavior were alarmingly similar—when faced with the police, they were even more unreasonable than when they hurled insults at Liu Yuchun on Muyin. Some pretended to be confused and denied everything. Others went full rogue—sitting on the floor, shouting and crying: “Yeah, I cursed her! So what? Is swearing a crime now?”

Even Liang Wenxian was getting a headache. It was easier to deal with real, violent criminals than these so-called “harmless” people. Some sat on the floor like they were the victims, others started livestreaming and filming, hoping to frame the police for “brutality” and stir up the public.

If it hadn’t been for Liang Wenxian being so calm and polite, never raising a hand, and wearing a bodycam the entire time, those videos would have caused a real mess once they hit Muyin.

In the end, all of them were taken to the station. Some confessed after their children persuaded them. Others had equally unreasonable children who came and made a scene at the Serious Crimes Unit.

Sometimes Ji Chenjiao had to step in and calm public anger, but clearly now wasn’t the time. Liang Wenxian brought back news: Qiang Chunliu wasn’t home, nor at her usual retirement hangouts, and they couldn’t reach her.

From a detective’s perspective, this strongly suggested she’d gone on the run.

Ji Chenjiao immediately asked Shen Qi to start tracking her down and was about to visit Qiang Chunliu’s family when a team member called him back, saying that those people who were making a scene at the station were now demanding to see “who’s in charge” and get an explanation.

Ji Chenjiao: “…”

If police-community relations weren’t handled carefully, it would give troublemakers ammunition. After weighing the situation, Ji Chenjiao quickly walked toward the reception room—but before entering, he heard a familiar voice. He froze, surprised to see the calm, smiling man inside pacifying the crowd.

Ling Lie!

“You’re Aunt Jiang’s son, right? Aunt Jiang said you’re really good at cooking crayfish… How do I know her? Oh, I’m also in the waist drum team!”

“Aunt Jiang, Aunt Jiang! Come, sit here. Don’t worry. The police are just trying to understand the situation. Don’t be afraid, okay?”

“Sister Lei, why are you crying? Just explain clearly. We’re all just ordinary people—how can anyone not make a single mistake in life?”

“Don’t worry! The Major Crimes Unit will definitely be fair and won’t wrong a single good person. How do I know? Well, I work all over the place. They hired temporary staff here and it comes with food and lodging, so I came along…”

Ji Chenjiao: “…”

The crowd, which had been hostile and loud just moments before, had somehow quieted under Ling Lie’s calming presence. One auntie even held his hand and said, “Xiao Ling, as long as you’re here, I’m not worried. Come on, ask whatever you need to ask. I admit it—I’ll reflect on myself!”

A team member immediately led them to the interrogation rooms. Ling Lie waved with a smile and saw Ji Chenjiao standing by the door. “Hi, Captain Ji.”

Ji Chenjiao: “Hi, temp worker.”

Ling Lie: “Such sarcasm.”

Ji Chenjiao: “And you’re one to talk? You think you can waltz into my unit like it’s your living room? Who let you in?”

Ling Lie: “I came voluntarily to assist the investigation. You’re really going to turn away such a passionate citizen?”

Liang Wenxian came over and explained, “Xiao Ling really did come for official reasons. We’re focusing on the Chunliu Waist Drum Team, and he’s a member. He also has a good relationship with Qiang Chunliu. I registered him earlier. Everything’s by the book—so technically, he didn’t just barge in.”

Ling Lie smugly raised his brows at Ji Chenjiao. Ji Chenjiao, looking annoyed, asked, “Then do you have any leads for me?”

Ling Lie huffed, “Not in the mood to share now!”

If they weren’t so busy, Ji Chenjiao would have dragged him in and shaken him like a tree—surely something useful would fall out. But right now, he had to head to Qiang Chunliu’s home.

Qiang Chunliu’s phone had been off since 4 p.m. yesterday. Her Muyin account had logged in an hour ago, but it was her son Zhu Jie who had accessed it.

“Our whole family is looking for her. I logged into her account hoping to find clues about where she went!” Zhu Jie, a regular white-collar worker, had taken leave from work and was running around sweating. His white shirt was completely soaked through.

The more Ji Chenjiao listened, the more something felt off. Qiang Chunliu’s husband had passed away a year ago. She lived with her son and daughter-in-law. According to Zhu Jie, she always cooked dinner for the family, but last night, she didn’t show up—and her phone was off. She never came home.

An elderly woman vanishing like that—shouldn’t they have reported it? But instead of calling the police, Zhu Jie and his wife had spent all day blindly searching on their own.

Saying they didn’t care about Qiang Chunliu’s life or death didn’t quite fit—Zhu Jie clearly looked worried. But if they did care, why didn’t they report it?

Ji Chenjiao called Zhu Jie over to the police car. “Didn’t think of reporting it?”

Zhu Jie’s face changed instantly and he stammered, “Well, isn’t it that the police don’t do anything unless it’s been forty-eight hours?”

Many people misunderstand police procedures, so this was plausible. But…

“You seem very anxious. Did you not report it because you were afraid to?”

Zhu Jie immediately said, “No, no, it’s not like that… we… sigh!”

If it had just been a regular beat cop, it might’ve been fine, but it had to be the Major Crimes Unit. Zhu Jie couldn’t make up an excuse anymore and finally admitted that his first instinct had been to report it—but his wife had stopped him.

Now the whole city was talking about the “Hat Queen” case. They knew what his mother had done on Muyin. And over the past few days, Qiang Chunliu had been acting strangely—nervous, constantly on edge, muttering that the “Hat Queen” was coming back to get revenge on her. She was clearly feeling guilty.

“My mom’s superstitious. She thinks the dead can tell who hated them in life. But my mom only cursed her online—she didn’t do anything else.” Zhu Jie cautiously asked, “That… that’s not illegal, is it? She knows it was wrong. She’s been feeling awful about it.”

Ji Chenjiao said, “You were afraid the police would find out your mom cursed the ‘Hat Queen’—so you didn’t report it? Then what do you think I’m looking for Qiang Chunliu for today?”

Zhu Jie panicked. “I didn’t know you guys could trace that! My wife said you can go to jail these days for cursing someone online. And if this gets out, people online will start attacking our whole family! We adults can take it, but what about our kid? Our daughter just started elementary school. If her grandma did something like this, she’ll be bullied! She’s an innocent girl!”

What a mess. If they had known it would come to this, why did they do it in the first place? But now wasn’t the time to lecture Zhu Jie—Qiang Chunliu had been missing for over half a day, and she had to be found as soon as possible.

Although Zhu Jie insisted his mother couldn’t possibly have committed murder and definitely hadn’t gone into hiding, why had Qiang Chunliu vanished right at this crucial moment?

If we ruled out fleeing out of guilt, what reason did she have for leaving on her own? Or what if she had been forced?

A disturbing thought flashed through Ji Chenjiao’s mind—according to Zhou Qingxia, Qiang Chunliu had been seen following Liu Yuchun. If Qiang Chunliu wasn’t the killer, then the real killer may have noticed her during that time.

The real killer might have thought two things: Did this person notice me? She could be a risk. Or: this person often appears near Liu Yuchun—maybe I could frame her.

Either way, the result would be the same: eliminate the witness.

Qiang Chunliu’s family lived in a three-bedroom apartment in an old residential complex. Qiang Chunliu had a small, dim bedroom to herself. Ji Chenjiao went straight to check the fridge and her wardrobe. The fridge was stocked with eggs, milk, non-leafy vegetables, full containers of rice and flour, and five boxes of frozen dumplings and wontons in the freezer.

Ji Chenjiao asked, “Who bought all this?”

Zhu Jie, who never paid attention to the fridge, thought for a moment and said, “Must be my mom. We never deal with any of that.”

Qiang Chunliu’s wardrobe didn’t say much to an outsider, but compared to her fall and winter clothes, her spring and summer clothes seemed lacking.

The possibility that she had left voluntarily couldn’t be ruled out. But if she’d fled to escape guilt, she sure had made an awful lot of preparations for her family.

Ji Chenjiao called Zhu Jie over to look in the wardrobe and asked if he remembered what was missing. Zhu Jie searched for a while and said, “Weird. Her down jacket’s missing?”

“A down jacket? In this season?”

Zhu Jie replied, “Yeah, my wife bought her one last year for her birthday. It cost over a thousand yuan. She loved it—wore it all winter. Bright red. Festive. Huh, why isn’t it here?”

Ji Chenjiao thought—bringing a down jacket this time of year? Maybe she was heading for a high-altitude location? The plateau? But Xiayang City was far from the western highlands, and there were no train or flight tickets in her name.

But to the south, there was Feiyun County—with mountains.

At that moment, Shen Qi confirmed that Qiang Chunliu’s phone had pinged in Feiyun County before shutting off, so it couldn’t be precisely located.

Ji Chenjiao asked, “Has your mom ever been to Feiyun County?”

Zhu Jie looked completely baffled.

Feiyun County was under Xiayang City’s jurisdiction but far from the city proper, with no tourist attractions and bordering another city. Most residents had never been, and neither had Ji Chenjiao.

The Major Crimes Unit sprang into action. Two police cars sped toward Feiyun County. On the way, Ji Chenjiao used a tablet to read up on the county—and then his eyes narrowed.

In the unnamed mountains at the border between Feiyun and the neighboring county stood an earthen temple. The mountain wasn’t a scenic spot, and the temple wasn’t famous. Only local elders sometimes went to worship there.

Qiang Chunliu had taken a winter down jacket. Zhu Jie said she’d been paranoid, thinking the “Hat Queen” wanted to harm her.

The truth was becoming clear.

Ji Chenjiao wanted to contact the Feiyun County police immediately to send officers to the temple. But after some thought, he worried something might go wrong en route, so he gave up on saving time.

The road from Xiayang City to Feiyun was long, and by the time the team arrived in the mountains, it was dusk. The temple was sparsely populated, with each person minding their own business. When the officers explained they were looking for Qiang Chunliu, an elderly man said, “If you hadn’t come, I would’ve sent her back tomorrow. Come with me. She’s already repenting.”

In a simple side room, Qiang Chunliu looked worn and haggard. When she saw the police, she stood up in fear, then looked toward the elderly man by the door.

“Go back. Tell the police everything you know,” the old man said. “That is true atonement. Only then will you find real peace.”

__

Author’s Note:

Ji Chenjiao: (Picks up Ling Lie and gives him a shake—two braised pork buns and two burgers fall out.)