Xi Wan said, “The second floor isn’t that high, but not everyone can climb up there. First of all, Jiang Meng is an athlete; second, he’s tall and has long legs. But why would he climb through the window? To lure Kang Wanbin to the lakeside, he clearly wouldn’t have used this method. Think about it—if Kang Wanbin was sitting comfortably in his room and someone suddenly came in through the window, he would’ve screamed. Even if no one else heard the noise, Jiang Meng would hardly have been able to lead him to the lake after that. Also, the footprints on the window suggest that the person left the same way they entered. It’s strange.”

Ji Chenjiao mentally reconstructed the scene, assuming the person who climbed the window really was Jiang Meng. Under what circumstances would he climb in, then leave as if nothing had happened?

The only possibility was that Kang Wanbin wasn’t in the room—Jiang Meng had come up empty-handed.

Ji Chenjiao asked, “What about other traces, like fingerprints?”

Xi Wan shook her head. “Only footprints. No fingerprints. He was wearing gloves while climbing.”

Wearing the standard villa-issued indoor shoes, gloves to cover fingerprints, sneaking in through the window at night—clearly premeditated. Ji Chenjiao thought to himself: But Kang Wanbin had already been lured away; Jiang Meng’s plan wasn’t carried out?

From Jiang Meng’s browsing history, he had indeed prepared to kill Kang Wanbin. This was very different from Yao Jue. Although Yao Jue hated Kang Wanbin for ruining him, he never expressed a desire to kill him to anyone, nor did his personal devices show any relevant searches. Yao Jue had merely said he wished Kang Wanbin would die—which was very different from wanting to kill him.

So if Jiang Meng really did climb through that window, then his confession was even less credible.

The Major Crimes Unit dispersed to find people at Wanbin Laihe who might have work-related contact with Yao Jue and Jiang Meng. Though technically working for the same company, their departments were completely different—Yao Jue was a washed-up model; Jiang Meng was a rising sports influencer. They didn’t even work in the same division.

Yao Jue’s assistant still refused to believe he was the killer. “Jiang Meng? The guy from Jiangbin’s Dream? We’ve never dealt with him. Brother Yao doesn’t even know him. I’m with Brother Yao every day—I’d know if they’d ever met.”

The assistant rattled on, then suddenly said, “Oh! Wait—they did meet once. I went with Brother Yao to HR, and in the lobby we ran into Jiangbin’s Dream. Brother Yao had forgotten his makeup bag on a chair, and Jiangbin’s Dream called us back so he could retrieve it. Just that once. We even commented on how handsome he was—but so grumpy-looking. Brother Yao said I didn’t understand—that young girls these days liked that cold, arrogant type.”

On Jiang Meng’s side, neither colleagues nor supervisors recalled him having any contact with Yao Jue.

Meanwhile, Shen Qi finished his deep tracking report. “Bro, I’ve been really thorough this time—there’s no sign that the two ever contacted each other.”

Yao Jue was brought back to the interrogation room again, looking calmer than before. Because he had been detained earlier than Jiang Meng, there was an information gap—Jiang Meng knew Yao Jue had been arrested, but not the other way around.

Ji Chenjiao placed Jiang Meng’s photo on the table. “Do you know him?”

Yao Jue leaned forward to look, then nodded. “Yeah. Jiangbin’s Dream. Kang Wanbin’s new favorite.”

His tone was smooth, hiding nothing. But this exact reaction made Ji Chenjiao, Xi Wan in the surveillance room, and Shen Qi even more certain of what they’d suspected—Yao Jue and Jiang Meng were not accomplices.

Because if they had conspired to kill Kang Wanbin, Yao Jue would have instinctively tried to protect Jiang Meng. Upon realizing that the police knew about Jiang Meng, he wouldn’t have been this calm—he would’ve immediately insisted he was the sole culprit.

Ji Chenjiao said, “He confessed. Said he killed Kang Wanbin. Said it had nothing to do with you.”

Yao Jue’s mouth fell slightly open, eyes blank, as if he hadn’t understood. After a moment, he whispered, “What?”

Ji Chenjiao repeated himself, eyes never leaving Yao Jue’s face. Yao Jue’s expression shifted from confusion to disbelief, to absurdity, and finally he shook his head. “You’ve made a mistake. It can’t be him.”

“Why not?”

“Because…”

Yao Jue avoided Ji Chenjiao’s gaze, his eyes darting side to side, like someone trapped in sudden panic. But this panic wasn’t guilt—it was surprise, as if he truly hadn’t expected Jiang Meng to confess. And yet… he seemed to understand why.

Ji Chenjiao saw every flicker of this inner struggle. Yao Jue hadn’t expected Jiang Meng to confess—not because they had agreed he would take the blame, but because from Yao Jue’s initial confusion, he clearly believed Jiang Meng wasn’t the killer.

Someone uninvolved in the murder had no reason to confess. But what about that faint trace of understanding in Yao Jue’s eyes? What made him able to understand Jiang Meng’s confession?

Was it because they had done the same thing?

Ji Chenjiao asked, “Yao Jue, let me ask you again—when you deliberately covered those footprints, were they Jiang Meng’s footprints?”

Unlike his earlier denial, Yao Jue now hesitated, lowered his head, and fell silent.

What did this silence mean?

Ji Chenjiao pressed on. “You wanted to protect that person. But why not walk backwards with a branch to erase the footprints—instead of deliberately covering them with your own? Did you plan from the start to take the blame for him?”

“No!” Yao Jue suddenly raised his voice. “I killed Kang Wanbin! No one else!”

“What about Jiang Meng?”

Yao Jue fell silent again.

In another interrogation room, Jiang Meng was also insisting again and again that he alone was the killer—not Yao Jue.

But here lay a subtle difference: while both claimed to be the murderer, Yao Jue shifted from denying Jiang Meng’s involvement to falling completely silent when asked, whereas Jiang Meng firmly insisted Yao Jue was innocent from start to finish.

Ji Chenjiao returned to his office, repeatedly reviewing the two interrogation videos, pondering another possibility.

Maybe neither of them was the real killer.

Yao Jue wished for Kang Wanbin to die but lacked the courage to act. Jiang Meng had meticulously planned to kill him, choosing Maple Breeze Villa because of its many guests, weak security, and easier access.

But the real killer could be a third person—one even more thoroughly prepared: the owner of Footprint A.

Yao Jue, for reasons the police had yet to uncover, had shown up at the murder scene and possibly witnessed the true killer in action—which was why he could describe how Kang Wanbin had died.

And the real killer never knew Yao Jue had been there.

Someone had done what Yao Jue could never do—and in Yao Jue’s mind, this person had become a hero. After this “hero” left, Yao Jue came to the lakeside and found the footprints.

He couldn’t kill—but he could take the blame. Covering footprints was simple—but what if the killer left other traces? Yao Jue wanted to protect this person who had avenged him, so he deliberately left his own tracks.

He was determined to take the fall.

Meanwhile, Jiang Meng had arrived at the room too late, missing the chance to kill Kang Wanbin. In Jiang Meng’s eyes, the real killer was Yao Jue—who had done the deed in his place. Now that he was also a suspect, Jiang Meng wanted to take the blame to protect Yao Jue in return.

This tiny difference in their reactions revealed everything:

Yao Jue knew for certain the killer wasn’t Jiang Meng, but his delicate, sensitive mind naturally took on the burden as if it were. He was willing to sacrifice himself for the real killer—and didn’t want to let Jiang Meng do the same for him.

Jiang Meng, with simpler thoughts, believed he should shoulder the blame alone—why drag a second person down? Especially when he felt grateful to this supposed “killer,” Yao Jue.

Could this be the truth?

And what about Luo Wanwan and Long Shasha, the two sisters?

It had started to rain at Fengyi Villa. Nature’s cleansing veil shrouded the lingering traces of crime in white mist. But the search had not stopped because of the rain—the team was racing against time.

On a hillside on the eastern side of Fengyi Mountain, police dogs sniffed around the undergrowth, circling and refusing to leave. There might be something down the cliff. Just as Liang Wenxian was about to send a team member down to investigate, Ling Lie was already buckling his harness. “Brother Liang, I’ll go.”

Jagged rocks jutted out from the cliff face. The moment his foot stepped on them, loose stones fell away with soft rustling sounds. The air was thick with the damp, earthy scent of rain-soaked plants. Wearing a raincoat and gripping the safety rope with one hand, Ling Lie descended, the process like sinking into a pool of icy water.

A familiar foul odor began to waft up from below. Even diluted by the rain, it wormed its way into his senses. Mixed with the scent of rotting vegetation, the stench here somehow carried more “vitality” than that of corpses found in the city.

Ling Lie had encountered far too many corpses in his time; if there was one thing he would never mistake, it was the smell of decay.

Suspended mid-air, he single-handedly took out his goggles and mask, putting them on as he went further down. The deeper he descended, the stronger the smell became. The cliff bottom was damp, and with the recent combination of rain and high temperatures, the corpse below was sure to be in a terrible state.

Finally setting his feet on solid ground, Ling Lie unfastened the safety rope and looked up at the cliff top. Unexpectedly, he felt a sense of nostalgia. This kind of cliff—not as steep or treacherous as others he had scaled bare-handed countless times before—brought memories flooding back. Sharp as daggers, those rocks had been stained with his blood, and his arms, chest, and abdomen had been scored with bloody gashes by their edges.

In the blink of an eye, those days were years behind him. Now, he was “retired,” living a life lazier than the average citizen. Earlier, Liang Wenxian had tied him so securely that there was no chance of an accident—like a rookie who had never rappelled off a cliff. Ling Lie felt a faint urge to laugh. But he quickly shook his head. Maybe it was those phone calls from Xiao Yu’an and Shen Xun, disturbing his peace and making him think of the past so much lately.

Was this really the time to reminisce about the good old days?

He turned, sniffing the air like a hound, heading towards the source of the stench.

In the dense ferns lay half a human corpse, badly decomposed, lying face up. Rain poured over her, making her seem almost shrouded in a sacred white glow. Not far from the torso lay scattered legs and other body parts.

Ling Lie crouched beside her, studying the remains in silence until Liang Wenxian’s shout broke from above. Ling Lie activated his communicator. “Found it.”

Lowering a living person was easy. Hoisting a dead body back up was far more difficult. The process would surely damage any trace evidence, and the environment at the bottom of the valley made smooth transport impossible.

Ling Lie took out his phone to photograph the corpse. Cause of death from a fall was hard to judge at a glance, so he moved around, photographing the scattered body parts and their positions.

By then, Xi Wan and An Xun had also descended. An Xun rushed to the body, examined it carefully, and shook his head. “Severe decomposition plus the fall. The cause of death can only be confirmed by autopsy.”

Xi Wan took out a body bag. The three of them carefully packed the upper torso. An Xun focused wholly on the corpse, but Xi Wan distracted herself by stealing glances at Ling Lie. The sight of this terrifying corpse would’ve turned any rookie’s face ghost-white—only veterans like her and An Xun could handle it without blinking. But Ling Lie was calm, precise in every move.

She recalled hearing a rumor not long ago—that Ling Lie was either a criminal or someone from “up top.” Back then, she’d dismissed it as a joke, but now… there seemed to be some truth in it.

After sealing the last severed calf, Ling Lie walked west as if still searching for something.

“Xiao Ling!” An Xun called out.

Ling Lie turned his head. “You two go up first. I’ll have another look in case something was missed.”

With a forensic examiner and trace analyst present, nothing would normally be overlooked. Xi Wan couldn’t help but wonder what exactly he was after—but she didn’t ask. “Be careful then. Come up soon.”

Ling Lie smiled. “Got it.”

As soon as An Xun ascended, he hurried away with the corpse for autopsy, while Xi Wan stayed above to continue examining the scene. There were a few messy, incomplete footprints nearby; one set faintly matched the canvas shoes that had fallen below. The other was too damaged to be useful.

“Any signs of struggle?” Liang Wenxian asked.

“Almost none,” Xi Wan squatted down to inspect. “The killer likely ambushed the victim by surprise and subdued them. See—drag marks, and faint traces of blood.”

Liang Wenxian pondered. “So the killer brought the victim here for some reason, knocked them unconscious—maybe not dead yet—and pushed them off the cliff?”

Xi Wan nodded. “A blow to the head seems likely. A sharp weapon would’ve caused heavy bleeding, but if it was an electric shock, usually there’s no blood.”

Liang Wenxian glanced down the cliff. “Ling Lie’s still not up?”

“He said he wanted to keep searching,” Xi Wan replied, then hesitated. “Brother Liang, who is Ling Lie exactly?”

Liang Wenxian smiled faintly. “Not an enemy, that’s for sure.”

Meanwhile, Ling Lie wandered the valley floor like a hiker on an adventure. He had no clear goal—just as when he’d cycled every corner of this city at night, delivering packages under the guise of work, secretly observing its unseen side. He wasn’t driven by purpose; he simply wanted to look, to feel. These moments burned into memory and surfaced when needed. He never thought “wasting time” was pointless. Over time, he simply saw more than others.

He noticed a stone—larger than a palm, smooth—completely unlike the sharp rocks around it. It didn’t belong here.

It was foreign.

He looked up again, estimating distance from the cliff. If someone had thrown this from above, it would have landed exactly here.

As he picked it up, his eyes curved slightly. There was obvious blood beneath it.

Sealing the stone in an evidence bag, Ling Lie walked further. From this angle, he had already passed beyond where anything thrown from above could fall. Everything unusual in this area had been accounted for. Yet he felt something was still missing.

Narrowing his eyes, he scanned the area—and spotted a cluster of monstera plants, five or six of them. The valley was overrun with wild plants, but only this little patch had monstera. Rain tapped steadily on the broad leaves.

This plant—what a coincidence. Ling Lie had just seen it in the old streets of Nanfeng District, where people liked to use monstera as ornamental plants. They lined the weathered riverside corridors, filled the balconies and courtyards of inns and homestays.

The communicator crackled. Ling Lie thought it was Liang Wenxian calling him back, but a familiar voice came through: “Ling Lie, can you hear me?”

Ling Lie’s lips curved. “Coming up now.”

Ji Chenjiao had heard about the discovery at Fengyi Mountain and rushed over. By now, the rain had turned into drizzle. When Ling Lie climbed up, Ji Chenjiao personally held the safety rope.

Ling Lie was drenched—raincoat useless—and the moment he stood firm, he shook his head wildly like a dog, spraying water everywhere. Ji Chenjiao got splashed in the face and was about to snap when Ling Lie suddenly held up an evidence bag. “This rock has blood—possibly the murder weapon.”

Xi Wan hurried over, punched Ling Lie’s shoulder, and gave him a thumbs-up.

Ling Lie was already slender; soaking wet, he looked even thinner. He stepped back and sneezed repeatedly. Ji Chenjiao immediately stripped off his own jacket and draped it over him without a word.

It was June, but the mountain was cold after rain. Ji Chenjiao looked at Ling Lie’s pale face and thought he was on the verge of catching a terrible cold.

After exchanging a few words with Liang Wenxian, Ji Chenjiao returned to Ling Lie. “Let’s go.”

Ling Lie blinked. “Go where?”

“A shower.”

“Ew! Can I soak in the hot spring too?”

“…”

Fengyi Mountain did have hot springs—but many of the ones in farm inns were fake. Ling Lie didn’t care. He rinsed off the mud and water, then jumped into the spring, even dunking his head under.

It was a small pool, no one else around. Ji Chenjiao watched for a while—no movement. He couldn’t help but call out, “Hey—”

Bubbles rose from the water. First Ling Lie’s crown appeared, then his eyes—bright and gleaming, the corners pink from the steam, strangely beautiful.

Ji Chenjiao hesitated to speak.

Finally Ling Lie surfaced fully, sighing in contentment, cheeks red as if from fake wine.

Ji Chenjiao suddenly remembered what the old orphanage director once said—A’Dou had left alone long ago, such a tiny child walking from the city center just because a boy named Chengcheng told him there’d be food and shelter here.

His throat went dry. He wanted to ask—Are you A’Dou? Did you once stay at Linglan Alley? Was the little boy who gave you chicken wings named Cheng?

The words were at the tip of his tongue when Ling Lie suddenly stood up with a splash, water streaming like silk from his lean, muscled body. “All done! Do I have to pay for this? Is this reimbursable?”

Ji Chenjiao swallowed the words back. “Not reimbursable.”

“Ahh!”

“I’ll pay.”

Ling Lie beamed. “Captain Ji, you’re so generous! May fortune smile on you forever!”

Major Crimes Unit Forensics Center. After piecing the body back together, An Xun officially began the autopsy. DNA samples had already been taken from the deceased. Since there was a strong suspicion that the body belonged to Luo Wanwan, her DNA was directly compared. The result came back quickly—it was indeed Luo Wanwan.

Luo Wanwan’s only relative, Long Shasha, was in the middle of recording a program when she received the news and broke down completely. Because Ji Chenjiao had always harbored suspicions about both Luo Wanwan and Long Shasha in the Kang Wanbin case, he personally went to the television station to fetch her. Her grief and despair were so contagious that even the staff nearby couldn’t hold back their tears.

But Ji Chenjiao merely watched coldly, noticing a detail that would have been easily overlooked—when Long Shasha was overwhelmed with pain, she suddenly lifted her eyes and cast a glance in his direction.

On the way to the city bureau, Long Shasha never stopped sobbing. It was as if her tears would never run dry—she cried to the point of near fainting.

Since the condition of the body was unfit for ordinary identification, Ji Chenjiao did not make her view the corpse. Instead, he took her directly to the reception room to question her again about the events of the banquet that night.

Long Shasha was lost in her own emotions, incoherent, answering the wrong questions. “I knew it… I knew something would happen to her. It was Kang Wanbin who dragged her into this. Those people hated Kang Wanbin—if they killed him, they’d kill her too…”

“And what about you?” Ji Chenjiao asked. “Do you hate Kang Wanbin?”

Long Shasha trembled, her tear-swollen eyes looking helplessly at Ji Chenjiao. “What are you saying?”

“When you and Luo Wanwan were young, a man-made disaster occurred in Nanfeng Town. The townsfolk fought with the thugs hired by real estate developers over land. Four townspeople died—including your father, Long Zhongguo.”

Long Shasha’s shoulders stiffened, her body frozen like a puppet.

“All of those thugs came from the Kang family martial arts school in Tongqie County—the same Kang family of which Kang Wanbin is the youngest son. Most of the Kang family is now in prison, but Kang Wanbin’s business is thriving, his wealth and status intact. You and Luo Wanwan surely knew who Kang Wanbin was when you approached him, didn’t you? There was always something that puzzled me about this case—Luo Wanwan had everything at the TV station: status, money… Why would she leave all that to associate with a businessman of questionable reputation like Kang Wanbin? When I uncovered that violent incident, everything made sense. Luo Wanwan got close to Kang Wanbin to take revenge.”

Long Shasha’s lips quivered, her face drained of color. She shook her head mechanically. “No… I didn’t know that Kang Wanbin was… was…”

“How could you not know?” Ji Chenjiao pressed. “Kang Wanbin’s background was no secret. He spoke publicly more than once about turning in his own family. Both you and Luo Wanwan worked in media. How could you not have known this widely-reported local news?”

Long Shasha braced herself on the edge of the table and slowly stood up. Her body swayed as if she might collapse at any moment. But she steadied herself, her gaze growing stubborn. “Give me some time… I just need to calm down.”

Ji Chenjiao ordered a policewoman to escort her to rest.

Luo Wanwan’s autopsy was far more complicated than Kang Wanbin’s. After finishing, An Xun thought Long Shasha might want to see her sister one last time, so he painstakingly restored the corpse to make it as presentable as possible before going to find Ji Chenjiao.

“The cause of death was a fall from a great height. When Luo Wanwan fell to the bottom of the valley, she was still conscious. She struggled before dying. But before she fell, she was already unconscious. The cause of unconsciousness was twofold—blunt force trauma to the back of the head and heavy alcohol consumption before death.”

“The alcohol matches the wine served at the banquet. Most likely, she was already drunk and confused when the killer lured her to the cliff. If the killer had been reckless, they could have simply pushed her over. But to be safe, they chose to knock her unconscious first before pushing her off.”

Ji Chenjiao studied the autopsy report, deep in thought. Although Long Shasha had denied that Luo Wanwan approached Kang Wanbin with revenge in mind, this was clearly the truth. The two sisters shared a desire for revenge. Luo Wanwan, who had gone missing, had been one of the suspects in the Kang Wanbin case. Yet on the very day Kang Wanbin was killed, Luo Wanwan also died.

Their causes of death were different but bore certain similarities. Both had been drinking; the alcohol severely dulled their vigilance and resistance. One body hidden at the bottom of a lake, the other at the bottom of a valley. Luo Wanwan had been involved in Kang Wanbin’s business dealings for years. The killer hated Kang Wanbin—Luo Wanwan could easily have been included in that hatred.

But there was a critical difference. The killer who murdered Kang Wanbin was strong—strong enough to overpower Kang Wanbin, judging from the footprints, likely male. As for Luo Wanwan’s killer, they went to the trouble of knocking her unconscious with a blunt object even though she was already drunk. Were they afraid that if they struggled while pushing her, she might accidentally push them off instead?

So the killer was more likely a woman—or a weak man.

Long Shasha? Ji Chenjiao couldn’t help thinking of that strange look in her eyes. With how close the sisters were, if Long Shasha had suggested a walk in the mountains that night, a drunk Luo Wanwan would certainly have agreed.

But the motive? Why kill the sister she relied on the most? Did they disagree over revenge? After all, it was Long Shasha’s father who’d been killed—her desire for revenge should have been stronger than Luo Wanwan’s. Had Luo Wanwan, after enjoying success at Kang Wanbin’s side, grown unwilling to risk revenge anymore?

And what about the killer protected by Yao Jue and Jiang Meng—were they involved in Luo Wanwan’s death as well? After He Lin’s death back then, Wanbin Laihe’s reputation had plummeted until Luo Wanwan “saved the day.” Jiang Meng couldn’t possibly have been unaware of Luo Wanwan’s crucial role in PR.

Interrogation room. Ji Chenjiao said, “We just found Luo Wanwan’s body.”

Jiang Meng froze, then suddenly laughed and applauded. “She’s dead too? Serves her right! Serves her right! Hahaha! That’s what you get for siding with evil!”

Ji Chenjiao asked, “Did you kill her too?”

“I…” Jiang Meng paused, then a look of relief spread across his face. “Yes, I killed her too. I hated Kang Wanbin most, but Luo Wanwan came second. One killed my sister, the other made the world forget her. They committed countless sins—they deserved to die by my hand!”

“How did you kill Luo Wanwan?”

Jiang Meng opened his mouth but couldn’t answer. He stalled. “How else could I have done it? Just… like that.”

Ji Chenjiao asked Yao Jue the same question. Yao Jue didn’t take the blame this time. Head lowered, he said softly, “Sister Luo… she was actually a good person.”

In Yao Jue’s account, Luo Wanwan was capable, strong, but also meticulous and gentle. After Kang Wanbin had ruined him and his career fell apart, Luo Wanwan had occasionally looked out for him, sending some decent business his way.

Yao Jue wiped his tears, his previous facade nearly gone. “He shouldn’t have killed Sister Luo.”

Ji Chenjiao asked, “Who did it?”

But Yao Jue covered his face and shook his head wearily. “I don’t know… I really don’t know. I only saw his back.”