Chapter 3
“We’ve just received a report—there’s been a homicide on Sanjiang Road in the Hexi District. According to the preliminary feedback from the first officers at the scene—” the police officer began, but his originally loud, commanding voice gradually dropped in volume. The rest of his words became indistinct.
It wasn’t clear whether he had noticed Luo Jingyao standing under the tree nearby, or if he was simply being mindful of the grieving family of Huang Guojun still wailing outside the gate.
After hearing the report, Lin Jiafan exchanged a glance with the people beside him. The members of the Special Case Investigation Team immediately understood and rushed into the office building at top speed.
He spoke a few more quiet words with the officer, then turned and walked slowly back toward the tree. He stopped about two steps away from Luo Jingyao.
“Coach Luo, right? I’m sorry about today’s class…” His voice carried a hint of apology. Normally clear and bright, it had grown slightly hoarse from exhaustion.
“It’s fine. Work comes first, of course. I’ll coordinate the follow-up sessions with the bureau,” Luo Jingyao replied, waving a hand lightly. The smile on her face was polite—yet distant, almost detached.
Lin Jiafan didn’t say more. At that moment, a police minibus pulled out from the back courtyard.
The driver’s window rolled down, revealing the narrow face of a young man with dyed light hair. “Captain Lin!”
Lin Jiafan gave a slight nod, then strode over, decisively pulling open the passenger door and getting in.
The main entrance of the city’s public security bureau was still completely blocked. Riot police sent in as backup had only just managed to carve out a narrow path barely wide enough for the vehicle to pass.
The siren blared the next second. The police van quickly disappeared from sight.
Outside the gate, the brief calm shattered almost immediately.
The middle-aged woman who had been crying and shouting resumed her tantrum. She waved her arms violently in the direction the vehicle had left, shouting toward the dozens of phones filming her:
“Look at how fast they’re running! The one sitting in that car must be some high-ranking police official!”
A young officer assigned to crowd control couldn’t stand the baseless accusation any longer and spoke up sharply.
“Ma’am, you can’t just make things up. That vehicle was dispatched on a legitimate task!”
“A task?” Huang Guojun’s mother snapped like a cat that had caught the scent of blood. Her eyes lit up instantly, and she exchanged a subtle glance with a man holding a protest sign behind her.
This scene did not escape Luo Jingyao, who had just made her way out through the side gate and was trying to squeeze past the crowd.
She raised an eyebrow slightly, greeted the gate guard she had already become somewhat familiar with over the past few days, and then slipped effortlessly into the crowd.
In such a tightly packed space, she should have been struggling to move—but she wasn’t. In just a few breaths, she had already edged close to the middle-aged woman. At just over 160 cm tall, she blended easily into the crowd without drawing attention.
At that moment, a commercial van pulled up by the roadside. Several people carrying equipment stepped out—likely media personnel.
Huang Guojun’s mother immediately noticed them. As if suddenly empowered, she placed her hands on her hips and launched into another round of accusations.
“On a mission, right? Then dare to tell everyone what mission it was!”
The young officer who had spoken earlier instinctively tried to respond, but was quickly pulled back by a colleague. He swallowed his words.
Seeing this, the woman became even more aggressive.
“Why aren’t you saying anything now? Guilty, are you?”
The journalists had already pushed through the crowd and arrived at the front. Though many onlookers were displeased with their forceful entry, once they saw their credentials hanging around their necks, they shifted from annoyance to anticipation—watching as if a spectacle was unfolding.
Facing the cameras shoved right up to her face, the woman showed no fear at all. In fact, her emotions seemed to intensify. Tears and mucus flowed freely as she cried out:
“Journalists! Please, you have to stand up for me! Two years ago, the Tianjin Public Security Bureau wrongly accused my son of murder—he was killed because of them!”
Even though the officers had heard such baseless accusations before, they were still visibly angered. The same young officer stepped forward again.
“The facts of the June 13 serial homicide case were clear. The evidence was complete. The investigation was proper and flawless. The suspect confessed, and the courts upheld the verdict through final appeal. You cannot make such irresponsible accusations against us!”
“Unfounded?” the woman screamed, suddenly erupting in front of the cameras. “Then explain to everyone what happened in last week’s murder case!”
“And that police van that just left—what exactly was it going to do?!”
The young officer hesitated. It wasn’t fear—he simply understood the weight of his words in a situation like this, especially with livestreams and major media outlets present. One wrong sentence could spiral into a public relations disaster.
Before things escalated further, a deep, steady voice came from behind him.
“The details of last week’s case cannot be disclosed yet, as the investigation is still ongoing. Once it concludes, we will release an official statement. We ask the public to trust the police.”
The speaker was Zhang, the deputy bureau chief.
Luo Jingyao recognized him. Three days earlier, when she had come to complete her onboarding, it was this same man who had taken her around the bureau.
Perhaps because he looked calm and reliable, speaking with confidence and clarity, the crowd gradually quieted.
But this was not the outcome Huang Guojun’s family wanted.
As expected, the woman spoke again—this time revealing information that had not been made public.
“Oh, spare me your righteous act! You refuse to tell the truth because last week’s murder case is just like the June 13 serial killings, isn’t it?!”
“And don’t think I’m stupid. That police van just now was clearly heading to the new crime scene in Hexi District.”
“Let me guess… this new case—is it also connected to the June 13 serial murders?”
At those words, Luo Jingyao frowned slightly in the crowd. Something felt off.
Deputy Director Zhang’s eyelid twitched almost imperceptibly. His expression remained steady, but his gaze toward the woman sharpened with scrutiny.
The new murder case from last week had been tightly controlled. Even major official media had not been able to obtain details—so how did this woman know?
But there was no time to dwell on it.
Under the watchful eyes of the crowd and countless livestream viewers, he chose his words carefully.
“The investigation is not yet complete. For public responsibility, we cannot draw conclusions at this stage.”
“However… yes, there are similarities between last week’s case and the June 13 serial homicide. Based on current evidence, we are leaning toward the possibility of a copycat crime…”
“You finally admitted it!” the woman cut him off sharply. Her voice was piercing. “Copycat crime? Just an excuse for your incompetence!”
“My son was innocent! He was wrongfully convicted!”
“Who’s going to pay for his life?!”
Suddenly, she lunged forward.
Fortunately, the riot police reacted instantly and restrained her in time.
But the next second, a sudden commotion erupted. It looked as though she had been pushed from behind—she staggered and fell dramatically to the ground, perfectly angling her face toward the media cameras.
“Police are hitting people!” she screamed.
“My poor son… he was only thirty! And now the real killer is still out there, while these heartless people are attacking a grieving mother instead of catching criminals…”
“My son! I’m sorry I failed you… I’m coming to join you!”
With that final wail, she suddenly pulled a fruit knife from her chest and pressed its blade against her throat.
The crowd froze for a moment—then chaos exploded.
Some people rushed to film. Others shouted updates into their phones. A few simply fanned the flames, relishing the drama.
Deputy Director Zhang immediately stepped forward, but was shouted back.
“Don’t come any closer! If you don’t give me a satisfactory answer today, I’ll die right here!”
The blade caught the sunlight, flashing coldly as it pressed closer to the pulse in her neck.
Zhang had no choice but to stop several meters away, speaking calmly while signaling urgently to the riot police.
But the situation was too chaotic. With the woman surrounded by her own group, there was no clear opening for intervention.
Just as everyone’s attention was locked on the woman threatening suicide—
A quiet, unremarkable figure was already moving through the crowd.
When Luo Jingyao was blocked by several men holding signs, she paused slightly, tilting her head to assess the gaps between people.
The next second—
A sudden scream broke the air.
“Ah—!”
In an instant, both the crowd and the media turned sharply toward the sound.
And what they saw made them freeze.
The fruit knife that had been in the woman’s hand was now spinning through the air in a clean arc before clattering precisely onto the ground beside Deputy Director Zhang’s feet.
The sharp metallic sound against concrete made everyone’s scalp tighten.
Almost as if coordinated, every phone and camera in the crowd swung downward in unison.
On the ground, two figures were locked in a sudden, unexpected entanglement.
The onlookers: …wait… what just happened?
