Shen Qi was determined to expose Ling Lie’s “lies,” and the first step was to verify his whereabouts before and after the crime. Most of the area inside Xieyang Road lacked usable surveillance; only a few small shops and intersections had cameras. There was no footage confirming when Ling Lie had left his building, but a camera across the street caught him riding a bicycle at 11 p.m. on April 5.

In the video, Ling Lie was wearing the exact same outfit he wore the next day at Miaoshan Park, carrying a plain black backpack.

Had he stayed on main roads, each segment of his journey would have been recorded, providing crucial time evidence. But he deliberately chose alleyways and was seen on camera seemingly scanning for surveillance.

“Bro! Isn’t he obviously looking for blind spots?” Shen Qi was pumped. “Always diving into places with no cameras—and when he can’t, he hides!”

Ji Chenjiao frowned but didn’t comment. “Keep digging,” he simply said.

According to the detailed route Ling Lie had described, he had briefly stopped in at least four alleys. He claimed he was just catching his breath and observing his surroundings.

To the average person, this might not sound strange—but to a detective, it screamed scouting the area. And with no surveillance confirming his passage, there was a real chance he had doubled back at some point, avoided known cameras, killed Huang Xuntong, and then left again. With a bicycle, he could save a lot of time and move freely.

Ling Lie also said he’d had braised pork intestine over rice at around 2 a.m. on Qie’an Road in the East District. Qie’an Road was a famous night food street in Xiarong City, lined with bars and clubs. It was normal for people to grab a bite before heading home—even late at night, there were lines.

Shen Qi found no transaction records from Ling Lie. Ji Chenjiao took a photo of him to the stall owner, who waved it off. “So many people come at night. How would I remember?”

Officer Ji said, “Let me see your surveillance footage.”

The shop had cameras, but like many night stalls, the dining area was outside. The storefront was tiny, and after midnight, the tables and chairs often spilled into the street. The cameras, installed inside, didn’t capture anything outdoors.

Ji Chenjiao thought for a moment and asked, “Did anyone pay in cash?”

That jogged the owner’s memory. “Hey, yeah, there was one!”

Ji showed him Ling Lie’s photo again. “Was it him?”

The owner studied the picture. “Can’t say for sure, but I remember it was a young guy. I even told my wife—imagine, a young person paying cash! I haven’t seen that in ages.”

Ji Chenjiao left Qie’an Road and followed Ling Lie’s route east.

He was getting increasingly curious about Ling Lie—though not just because of the case. Ling Lie was the primary suspect, and many of his behaviors fit the profile of a killer—particularly a cruel one. If it turned out he was the murderer, the case likely wasn’t his first.

And yet, Ling Lie seemed completely confident the police would treat him fairly, acting as if his current predicament was no big deal. What was he really doing on his late-night “sweeping” rides? Why did he avoid using a phone? Why insist on paying with cash at such a critical time?

The stall owner remembered seeing him, but not the exact time.

Ji Chenjiao then visited Lanlong Cinema. There was footage of Ling Lie there, but the movie’s start time was after Huang Xuntong’s estimated time of death—so it couldn’t serve as an alibi.

The footage showed Ling Lie entering the theater with a soda and popcorn. He ate during the first half and slept through the second. A cleaner had to wake him up the next morning.

“He was really polite,” the cleaner said. “Even smiled and offered to buy me breakfast. I told him I’d eaten, and he said the seats were comfy and he’d come back another day to sleep again.”

Ji Chenjiao: “…” This guy could sleep soundly not just at the Major Crimes Unit, but anywhere.

Visiting Moonflower Kindergarten was trickier than other stops—there were many children around, and Ji Chenjiao didn’t want to cause a disturbance.

He pretended to be a parent and only revealed his identity once in the principal’s office. The principal seemed nervous and immediately emphasized that their volunteer recruitment was compliant.

Ji Chenjiao could tell that wasn’t the case, but the qualifications of private kindergarten staff weren’t his department’s concern. He made a note to inform the proper office later.

The principal had nothing but praise for Ling Lie. She said the kids loved playing with him—he was open and enthusiastic, unlike some teachers who were stiff and awkward. But what stood out the most was his respect for food.

Ji asked, “What do you mean?”

The principal explained, “We provide meals here, and his trays were always spotless. He ate everything—ginger, garlic, peppers, even the leftover oil, he’d mop it up with bread. You don’t see young people like that anymore. He probably went through hard times. He also loved our chef’s pork buns—those greasy ones. He could eat four at once.”

As she spoke, she even gestured to show the size.

Ji Chenjiao had assumed Ling Lie volunteered for ulterior motives, but so far, it really did seem he was just there for the pork buns.

The more they dug, the more questions arose. Shen Qi also found that in the month before the crime, Ling Lie had spent ten nights biking aimlessly around the city. If he didn’t have to go to the kindergarten or had no other work the next morning, he’d return home at dawn to sleep. If he had a job, he usually wouldn’t go home—he’d wash up somewhere and head straight to work.

In the Major Crimes Unit’s conference room, the team gathered to discuss their findings.

“If the killer isn’t him,” Xi Wan said, “then with enough observation time, they could have easily figured out that once he goes out at night, he never returns before 2 a.m. And Huang Xuntong usually came home between midnight and 1 a.m.—plenty of time to commit the murder.”

Shen Qi asked, “Sister Wan, so you’ve already decided Ling Lie isn’t the killer?”

Xi Wan thought he was acting like a child. “I’m making a reasonable assumption.”

Shen Qi wanted to argue more, but Ji cut in. “No emotional bias. I told you to look into his past—what did you find?”

Shen Qi puffed out his cheeks, then refocused. “The SIM card Ling Lie uses now was activated last October. Half a month later, he signed a lease with landlord Ji Zhan. I don’t have access to his bank statements—can you request that for me, brother? He’s used mobile payments, but the amounts are small—nowhere near enough to cover daily expenses. Most of the time, he pays in cash.”

“Ling Lie’s registered birthplace is Xiarong City,” Shen Qi continued. “But his parents, Ling Shibin and Meng Xuelan, have no official emigration records, and their household registration hasn’t been used in twenty years. When this happens, there’s usually only one explanation: they left the country illegally.”

Ji Chenjiao asked, “Does Ling Lie have any reentry record?”

Shen Qi nodded. “Yeah, he returned last February and had his ID updated. After that, he went to a few cities before eventually settling in Xiarong.”

The room fell silent for a moment.

Liang Wenxian spoke up. “Ling Lie may not be connected to this particular case, but I think he’s a dangerous person. We still haven’t figured out who he really is.”

Shen Qi chimed in, “Brother Liang and I are on the same page!”

Xi Wan couldn’t help snapping at him. “You’re just biased against him.”

Shen Qi retorted, “You only like him because he’s handsome! You women are the worst!”

Xi Wan: “…”

Ji Chenjiao let them argue. “Liang Wenxian, what about the Huang Xuntong side of things?”

Preliminary investigation into the victim’s interpersonal relationships was the most mentally exhausting phase, and Liang Wenxian was the most suitable person in the major crimes unit to lead it. He was meticulous and never discouraged even when no major leads turned up—he truly embodied the spirit of a Buddhist monk.

Liang Wenxian led the team to canvas Xieyang Road. Initially, they assumed that Huang Xuntong’s recent behavior may have offended many people, but their findings were surprising: although he had “given up on life,” he never dragged anyone else down with him. Even when drunk, he never caused trouble. The women he dated simply left when things ended—no emotional entanglements. When he lost money playing mahjong, he would always pay it back. And in arguments, he was usually the one to yield.

He appeared to be a disheveled and abrasive man but was actually not the kind to make enemies. Aside from his apartment, he had nothing worth coveting. He had no descendants. The only person who might stand to gain from his property was Shao Ling, but they weren’t married, and there was no will. After his sudden death, Shao Ling wouldn’t get anything.

With no evidence of grudges or enemies, suspicion circled back to Ling Lie—he was the only one who’d ever had a scuffle with Huang Xuntong. Huang Xuntong had even insulted him in public, calling him a “pretty boy.”

Could Ling Lie have felt humiliated and killed out of rage?

Ji Chenjiao found that motive unconvincing.

“We meet again, Captain Ji,” Ling Lie greeted, looking well-rested and fed—practically like an honorary member of the major crimes unit by now.

Ji Chenjiao asked, “Did you ever have a dispute with Huang Xuntong?”

Ling Lie sighed suddenly.

Ji Chenjiao: “?”

“I’d like to say no, but the way you’re asking means you found something,” Ling Lie replied. “I remember every street I passed, and I genuinely don’t recall any argument with him. That’s pretty out of character for me, isn’t it?”

“You’re surprisingly self-aware. What happened that day?”

“I was out for a night ride and saw someone ahead walking unsteadily—drunk out of his mind. I didn’t know who he was at the time,” Ling Lie said. “The road wasn’t narrow, but he staggered toward my side, staring at me.”

The drunk man’s eyes were bloodshot, his gaze a mixture of fatigue, disgust, and melancholy. He was shorter than Ling Lie and glared up at him from below. He reeked of alcohol, and his cracked lips moved like two squirming worms.

Most people would have steered clear, but Ling Lie wasn’t afraid of him. However, just as the man was about to speak, Ling Lie stepped aside.

The drunk man stumbled forward and missed, then turned around to chase after Ling Lie. His voice was hoarse and nasty: “Neither man nor woman—what are you supposed to be?”

Ling Lie raised an eyebrow. “Neither man nor woman?” Him?

He became curious—what other insults would the drunk come up with?

Slurring badly, Huang Xuntong kept calling him things like “freak” and “pretty boy.” If Ling Lie had walked away, the drunk couldn’t have caught him. But Ling Lie, curious, stayed to listen.

Then Huang Xuntong either got bolder or more riled up and gave Ling Lie a shove. It wasn’t hard—no real threat.

“I’ll hit back, you know,” said Ling Lie.

Huang Xuntong didn’t hear him and pushed again. This time, Ling Lie dodged and used the motion to throw Huang Xuntong to the ground.

Huang Xuntong scrambled back up, fear creeping into his eyes. They locked gazes briefly before Huang Xuntong slinked away like a beaten jackal.

“That’s all there was to it, Captain Ji. You’re not going to consider this a motive for murder, are you?” Ling Lie leaned back, hands behind his head, relaxed. “Otherwise your unit—”

Seeing he was about to launch into another jab, Ji Chenjiao twitched and cut him off. “Shut up.”

Ling Lie obligingly covered his mouth. “Mmm-mmm!”

Ji Chenjiao hadn’t thought the scuffle was reason enough for murder, but after hearing Ling Lie describe the encounter—and knowing Huang Xuntong ’s usual behavior—a new doubt surfaced.

Huang Xuntong rarely got aggressive, even when drunk. Why had he picked a fight with Ling Lie? Was there something about Ling that triggered him? Even after sobering up, Huang occasionally mentioned that “pretty boy.” Could his hatred be specifically aimed at traits like “pretty boy” or “gender ambiguity”?

What had happened three years ago?

The initial canvassing was complete, but none of the Xieyang Road residents remembered Huang Xuntong experiencing anything unusual three years prior. The street itself hadn’t changed in decades—it felt abandoned by the fast-developing city, headed toward nothing but obsolescence.

“Three years… three years…” Ji Chenjiao flipped through the investigation records and paused on a page.

Ling Lie’s landlord, Ji Zhan, had a father—Ji Ke—who died exactly three years ago.