Shen Xiaoxiao looked like she was choking, unable to catch her breath as she coughed and glanced at Jiang Yan.
“No, why would Zhang Tian ever hit…”
“Jiang Yan, don’t smile, it’s creepy…”
Jiang Yan smoothed out the corners of her lips, shooting Shen Xiaoxiao a sidelong glance. Shen Xiaoxiao obediently mimed zipping her lips shut, and Jiang Yan turned her gaze back to He Shuyu.
He Shuyu’s reaction gave her the answer.
Her guess was right.
So, it was likely that He Shuyu discovered Zhang Tian’s act of kidnapping and abusing his mistress, and thus pretended to have a mental episode to call the police.
To avoid arousing Zhang Tian’s suspicion, He Shuyu chose the “red dress” as a lead-in, saying she saw a girl in red playing alone on the seesaw—not long ago, she had an episode while Aunt Wang was collecting rent, and at that time had made Zhang Xiaoliang wear a red dress. So this statement wasn’t out of place; mixed fact and fantasy, it wouldn’t attract Zhang Tian’s attention.
Jiang Yan closed her eyes and recalled that 911 call.
The call featured multiple sounds, in this order: He Shuyu’s voice, unnerving chewing noises, muffled “mm mm” sounds with her mouth covered, struggling noises, and a heavy object hitting the floor.
So what was actually happening then?
Jiang Yan rested her hands on her knees, fingers drumming idly as she imagined different scenarios, pausing at the most logical and reasonable one.
—Because He Shuyu had a mental illness, after moving into the building, she rarely went out. It was Zhang Tian who took care of shopping, cooking, and taking the kid out. So on the night of the incident, He Shuyu was at home.
The place was small, there was nowhere to hide anyone’s actions, so He Shuyu directly witnessed Zhang Tian bringing his lover home and watched as he abused her the whole time. For some reason, He Shuyu decided to call the police.
As for why, that was still unknown.
But one thing was certain: when He Shuyu made the call, Zhang Tian was right beside her abusing his mistress.
So Zhang Tian caught on that his wife was calling the police, and to avoid exposure, stopped hitting the mistress and switched tactics—like forcing her to eat something on the floor, which would explain the sudden chewing in the call.
But worried He Shuyu would say too much and the police might really come, he stopped abusing the mistress for a bit, covered He Shuyu’s mouth, and during that, the mistress must have struggled violently, knocking things over.
The order of all sounds added up.
Jiang Yan slowly opened her eyes, but there was no hint of satisfaction there.
Something about all this felt off—first, why was Zhang Tian kidnapping and beating his mistress? And why didn’t he try to hide it from He Shuyu? Did he simply think that, as a mental patient, nothing she said would be taken seriously?
And why did He Shuyu help Zhang Tian cover it up after death? Did she already know what Zhang Tian planned, so she wrote that essay foreshadowing their marital split before calling the police? From all current info, it seemed the mistress survived and was left alive—so why didn’t she call the police either?
Shen Xiaoxiao didn’t think as deeply. She rummaged through her memory for family-ethics news, eager to weigh in on Zhang Tian’s abuse:
“Maybe He Shuyu caught him cheating, was about to divorce him, so Zhang Tian staged beating the mistress?”
She analyzed earnestly, “He probably wanted to show whose side he was on, telling his wife he loves her more than the mistress!”
Jiang Yan shook her head. “He Shuyu is a mental patient. If she separated from Zhang Tian, Zhang Xiaoliang would surely go to him.”
“With her personality and issues, feeling guilty for years, if she found out about the cheating, she’d blame herself instead of divorcing.”
“There’s no need for Zhang Tian to put on this act.”
Shen Xiaoxiao turned to He Shuyu: “So what really happened?”
He Shuyu’s lashes lowered, saying nothing.
“Hey, don’t space out.” Shen Xiaoxiao stepped forward to prod her, but the moment she touched her, the temperature in the room dropped sharply.
It was already dank and cold, but now the air felt stifling, the chill almost tangible—malice like icy blades seeped into her flesh, creeping into her bones.
A powerful sense of danger swept over her.
Shen Xiaoxiao instinctively tried to pull her hand back, but it was too late.
A sharp pain stabbed her index finger, blood instantly welling. Jiang Yan stepped forward and grabbed He Shuyu’s jaw, giving it a sharp twist—crack! He Shuyu’s jaw instantly dislocated, her loose lower jaw hanging open to reveal bloodstained teeth.
Shen Xiaoxiao quickly withdrew her hand.
Clearly, He Shuyu was relapsing.
Now, in this state, she no longer dodged her own body. Seeing the two were trouble, she squinted with a venomous smile, then rammed herself toward Shen Xiaoxiao’s shoulder. As Shen Xiaoxiao gasped in pain, she bounced up, trying to rejoin her body.
But just as joy flashed in He Shuyu’s eyes, a piercing, needling pain surged across her scalp.
Jiang Yan frowned, gripping He Shuyu’s hair and yanking her back.
“You get a little arrogant when you relapse, don’t you?”
Jiang Yan glanced at the bloody bed, then at He Shuyu’s body hanging from the lamp, then, a bit disgusted, hugged the head in her arms and slowly lay down on the bed.
The midnight livestream erupted in a flood of “???”
“The interval between relapses is too short; she must have been provoked,” Jiang Yan calmly analyzed. “Even if she snaps out of it soon, we won’t get any real info out of her.”
Shen Xiaoxiao watched as Jiang Yan settled snugly on the bed, finding the whole scene extremely out of place.
“So…?” she mumbled.
“So go to sleep.”
Shen Xiaoxiao was silent for a moment, then quietly lay down next to Jiang Yan, turning over to face away.
But the sense of someone watching behind her was burning a hole in her back—two minutes later, she rolled over again and, lowering her head, met the venomous glare of the woman.
Shen Xiaoxiao: “.”
Jiang Yan, completely unfazed: “Her jaw’s out—can’t bite, so hold tight, and it’ll be fine.”
“…That does make sense, but just…her face, can we …”
Jiang Yan yawned, “Don’t want to look at her face?”
Shen Xiaoxiao leapt at the offer: “Right, right!”
After a second, Jiang Yan stuffed the head into Shen Xiaoxiao’s arms like a toy. “There you go.”
Shen Xiaoxiao: “!!”
Jiang Yan: “Shut up.”
Shen Xiaoxiao dared not say a word. As Jiang Yan’s breathing slowed into steady sleep, she slowly dipped her head inch by inch to stare at the back of the head in her arms, limbs stiff as boards.
*
Approaching six o’clock, the first streaks of sunlight appeared.
Shen Xiaoxiao had not slept a wink, listlessly shaking Jiang Yan awake. The moment Jiang Yan’s eyelid fluttered, all her grievances rose and surged in her chest.
“Wuu—”
Given the time, Jiang Yan got up, brushed off Shen Xiaoxiao’s hand, and fished He Shuyu’s head out of her arms without a glance at her pet-seeking gaze.
Shen Xiaoxiao’s sob was cut off as she watched Jiang Yan flip her wrist. The body, which had sparred all night with the lamp bulb, was instantly made whole with the head reattached.
In an instant, a “complete” He Shuyu stood by the bed. Her gaze softened under the light—quiet and gentle.
But her body was turning transparent.
—Dawn had arrived; it was time for her to go to reincarnation.
Shen Xiaoxiao muttered a few words, telling herself He Shuyu hadn’t meant to scare her, then seriously bid her farewell, “Hope you live a long, full life next time.”
He Shuyu seemed to try to smile, but her dislocated jaw and mangled, ugly body twisted the expression into something horrible.
Jiang Yan extended her palm to He Shuyu, who hesitated, looking at Jiang Yan in confusion.
“Give us some info,” Jiang Yan said.
He Shuyu curled her fingers. She couldn’t make a sound, and in fact, she no longer intended to.
After a long pause, she touched her index finger to Jiang Yan’s palm.
She wrote, stroke by stroke:
“Thank you, but please stop investigating.”
With the period drawn, He Shuyu smiled a little, bitterly. She seemed to want to write more, but her lips just trembled, and in the end she wrote nothing.
She turned to the window. Today was fine and clear. Not far below the window stood a pear tree; the faint fragrance of its blossoms drifted into the room, mingling with the building’s fishy odor—a reminder of good things ruined.
He Shuyu leaned against the windowsill and sighed gently.
As sunlight poured into the room, He Shuyu disappeared—completely vanished, even the red handprints on the walls gone without a trace.
“Knock knock knock!”
Outside, Cheng Guang was banging on the door.
The Condensing Spirit Pill’s restorative power for the soul was unrivalled. After barely three hours’ rest, Cheng Guang was full of energy, hollering about treating them to a feast as he knocked.
So the three tidied up and went out.
The sky was dimly lit—not bright, not gloomy, neither warm nor cold—as they walked to a street stall and picked a low, shabby but clean table.
There was nothing like a real feast around there in the morning, so Cheng Guang ordered twelve baskets of steamed dumplings, filling up the whole table. The hot, fresh dumplings were petite and translucent, the skin wrapping juicy shrimp inside, delicious with a dip in special soy sauce.
Shen Xiaoxiao stuffed three into her mouth at once, like an otter storing food, cheeks bulging as she gnawed and pouted at the edge of the table.
Cheng Guang was about to start discussing clues with them, but was bemused to see Shen Xiaoxiao’s aggrieved face.
“Woke up grumpy?”
“Probably just ate too much,” Jiang Yan tossed a glance at her, “face muscles went numb.”
Shen Xiaoxiao wanted to argue, but her mouth was crammed—she mumbled for ages but couldn’t get a word out, and finally had to chew as fast as possible, working desperately to swallow everything.
But by then, five minutes had passed.
No one cared anymore why she’d been upset.
Shen Xiaoxiao tried to steer back to the topic: “It’s not that!”
Cheng Guang was just asking Jiang Yan about last night, and now he was confused: “Not what?”
Shen Xiaoxiao clenched her fist: “You just asked why I was mad, right? How could you forget? I’m only mad because of Jiang Yan! She made me sleep hugging He Shuyu’s head all night, all night—wuuuu. She slept so soundly, I couldn’t sleep at all, I’m so jealous!”
Cheng Guang frowned.
Shen Xiaoxiao waited a long time, but neither comforted her. She buried her face in her millet porridge, gulping it down, then raised her head, livid.
Jiang Yan: “What’s wrong?”
Shen Xiaoxiao’s oily lips pouted: “My jaw’s numb.”
“………..”
By now, Cheng Guang had made up his mind. He absolutely didn’t believe Jiang Yan would bully a teammate. He’d once been blinded by books and wronged Jiang Yan; now she was his saviour, and he wouldn’t let anyone slander her!
He declared, “You’ve wronged my senior sister.”
“She’s just helping you build courage. Seriously—if you don’t train your nerves, you’ll be in real trouble in the future. Besides, He Shuyu’s head wasn’t dangerous, right?”
Shen Xiaoxiao: “Mm…”
Cheng Guang knew it.
He encouraged her: “My senior sister does good deeds quietly and is always misunderstood! Think about it; if you can’t even handle this, what will you do when real danger comes? You gained a lot from last night!”
Shen Xiaoxiao was confused: “What did I gain?”
“Next time you’re told to sleep hugging a head, will you dare?”
Shen Xiaoxiao thought it over, then nodded: “Maybe.”
“There you go!”
Cheng Guang egged Shen Xiaoxiao on: “So next time, you should grab the head yourself and show your senior sister your progress—don’t waste her good intentions!”
Shen Xiaoxiao puffed out her chest: “I should!”
“A child to be taught,” Cheng Guang patted her shoulder, satisfied, and went back to his dumplings.
Jiang Yan, listening to it all, set her empty basket aside and wiped her hands with satisfaction.
She knew saving Cheng Guang would pay off.
Next time a head drops by, she’d be able to sleep soundly again.
…
Shen Huanhuan and Zhao Chong were scheduled to visit the building today, so after breakfast, the three returned.
Anping City police had already visited once before. If no signs of murder were found this time, He Shuyu’s death would be ruled as a “mad dog attack,” and the case closed.
But since it was a suicide, regardless of whether the police found evidence of the dog attack or of suicide, He Shuyu’s case wouldn’t be investigated any further.
So this was their only chance to use the house calls to gain an edge.
When the three returned to the building, Shen Huanhuan and the others hadn’t arrived yet. A few schoolchildren came by, backpacks slung behind them, ages from seven or eight to twelve or thirteen. Two girls about the same age linked arms; their badges said “Anping Middle School.”
The pair huddled close, giggling at some shared secret, faces bright with youth, paying no attention to the people ahead.
Jiang Yan stepped aside.
“Thanks, sis!” the girl in the pink scrunchie turned belatedly and thanked her with a smile.
Shen Xiaoxiao watched them go: “Those two are really nice kids!”
Cheng Guang: “How so?”
Shen Xiaoxiao: “Didn’t see them pity themselves for living in an old building like this.”
“What’s to feel sorry for?” Cheng Guang rolled his eyes. “It’s people like you living in four-story villas who are the minority!”
Shen Xiaoxiao froze.
Then quickly grinned, elbowing Cheng Guang with a sly laugh: “Jealous? Do more good deeds in this life—you’ll get a big villa next time!”
They started playfully bickering. Jiang Yan’s attention fell on a small boy three meters away, head lowered, oversized baseball cap shadowing his face, a black mask over his mouth.
They were blocking the main gate. The boy said nothing, just pulled his cap lower and tried to squeeze past at the edge.
Jiang Yan angled her shoulder slightly; the boy quickly tried to dart through, but the space was too narrow, and he barely managed to get by before the loose cap dropped to the ground.
His head was bald, scarred with ugly reddish-brown burns, scars trailing down to his ears and cheeks—skin broken and deeply pitted.
The boy hurriedly picked up his cap, put it on, and strode away without a word.
Shen Xiaoxiao had noticed as well and whispered, “Is that… burns?”
Jiang Yan shook her head.
“It’s a scald,” a taunting voice came from behind.
Jiang Yan turned.
Lin Xinjui wore expensive headphones around his neck, long legs in black track pants—if you ignored his sneering face and biting tone, he would have fit the bill for a typical bad-boy heartthrob.
“Second-degree scald, at least. And you act like you’re so smart—don’t know even that?” Lin Xinjui stood right in front of Jiang Yan, face openly mocking.
“Is it so shameful to not know?” Jiang Yan asked.
“Of cour—”
Jiang Yan cut him off. “I’d think, as a professional streamer, losing matches is what’s really shameful.”
Lin Xinjui’s face darkened.
He’d slept all day, gamed all night, kept running into useless teammates, and streamer comments were getting out of hand. He lost his temper and broke the rules, cursing fans—half an hour ago, he was red-carded and banned from his esports channel for three months.
He narrowed his eyes menacingly: “You watched my stream?”
“No,” Jiang Yan said flatly, “Cheng Guang had an emergency last night, but I figured you were in-game, so you didn’t help.”
Cheng Guang dropped his gaze, eyes flickering.
Sure enough, Lin Xinjui stiffened visibly—he’d been wearing headphones last night and hadn’t heard any alerts, but he refused to see it as his fault; instead, he smirked, “Someone got into that much danger in such an easy match?”
“If you died, you deserved to get eliminated.”
“You!” Shen Xiaoxiao bristled, raising her fist to hit Lin Xinjui, but Cheng Guang caught her hand.
Cheng Guang shook his head. “Forget it.”
Lin Xinjui curled his lip as if too bored to talk anymore, put on his headphones, slung his bag, and quickly vanished around the corner.
Jiang Yan didn’t bother with the episode. Once he was gone, she said directly, “He was just coming down from the sixth or seventh floor.”
Shen Xiaoxiao pouted: “Yeah, I saw—his left sleeve was covered in dust.”
The building’s handrails were unusual: on the left, and the lower five floors, because of heavy use, were clean; only the ones on the sixth and seventh floors were coated in dust.
“Lin Xinjui definitely got info from Zhao Chong and then came early to check our room to see if He Shuyu had reincarnated. If she hadn’t, he’d have destroyed her soul permanently.”
Shen Xiaoxiao had watched Lin Xinjui’s stream and understood how much malice he had for supernatural entities, so her guess was dead on.
Jiang Yan nodded, saying no more.
…
At 9 am, Shen Huanhuan and Zhao Chong arrived at the building, accompanied by a young policeman.
So as not to make the tenants alert, Shen Huanhuan came prepared, wearing long sleeves and pants, dyed hair, colored contacts, makeup, and waterproof foundation covering neck and face. No one could tell she was Shen Xiaoxiao’s twin.
They declined Aunt Wang’s offer to show them around and went door to door starting from the first floor. Tenants were very cooperative, so they made quick progress and got to the third floor within an hour.
Rooms 301 and 302 were vacant, so Shen Huanhuan knocked on 303. Since she’d been notified, the woman inside was home and soon opened the door.
She looked over forty, with deep wrinkles on her face, her dark, checkered coat faded from washing, but her hair was neatly coiled, and the cramped room was clean and orderly.
The policeman flashed his badge and gestured for them to conduct the interview.
Her name was Zhu Xinyun, age 36, selling clothes at the wholesale market, with a son just starting elementary school. Her husband worked construction and had been off on a job since the start of the year.
Shen Huanhuan asked if she knew the woman from 604.
Zhu Xinyun answered easily, “Not really, I’ve only seen her twice and never spoke to her. I have spoken to her husband—he helped with Chengcheng’s school registration. I had nothing to give as thanks, so I brought apples from my folks’ farm twice—those were the only times I saw He…was it He Shuyu?”
Shen Huanhuan corrected her: “He Shuyu—fourth tone.”
Zhu Xinyun “oh oh’d” in reply.
Zhao Chong frowned, “Why did Zhang Tian help you? Did you know each other before?”
“How could I?” Zhu Xinyun shot Zhao Chong a glance, thinking him odd. “I’d been renting here since before Chengcheng was born—how would I know someone as capable as that, so well-educated! Zhang Tian only moved in four months ago. I heard his wife’s illness ruined them, heavy debts.”
Shen Huanhuan prompted, “And Zhang Tian helped you because…?”
“Kiddos, of course—my Chengcheng,” Zhu Xinyun nodded at a picture frame near the TV—a skinny, bright-eyed boy stood in front of the building, beaming with childlike innocence and vitality.
“His kid was unlucky—a drunk stabbed his eye and blinded it. He’s bullied at school; my kid’s had it tough too—lost all his old friends. Since Zhang Xiaoliang came, they only played together.”
“That’s why Zhang Tian helped us—because the kids were close.”
At this, Zhu Xinyun’s expression clouded.
Shen Huanhuan pressed her lips together, knowing she shouldn’t pry further, but Jiang Yan had asked her to focus especially on 303 and pull any info she could, so she had to press on.
“Did something happen to your child?”
Zhu Xinyun frowned, wrinkles bunching at her eyes. “Does this have anything to do with He Shuyu’s death?”
Shen Huanhuan hedged, “Can’t say.”
Zhu Xinyun stared at her a good while, then closed her eyes. “Chengcheng was scalded by oil.”
“Just last October, I was making him breakfast. I always told him just focus on his studies, but he insisted on helping fry pastries. I know little kids shouldn’t do that, but I took a call and let him be. The next thing I knew, hot oil—real boiling—splashed right on his face…”
“His face’s ruined, his front side barely has any good skin. We didn’t have insurance. Couldn’t afford much treatment, so we just brought him home.”
Zhu Xinyun fussed with her hair, gazing at her son’s picture, eyes turning red.
Shen Huanhuan glanced around. The room was a model of dignified poverty—ten-year-old TV gleaming, and towels folded neatly.
On the table, a chipped porcelain bowl held a bunch of blooming purple wildflowers.
Zhu Xinyun caught her gaze, explaining, “My boy picked those by the road for me yesterday—said I should wear them in my hair.”
“His dad used to bring me flowers, too—plucked all the wildflowers bald when we were younger. Guess that runs in the family!”
She brightened a little, talking about happy things.
Shen Huanhuan smiled reflexively.
“My dad used to bring my mom a bouquet every day, too.”
Zhu Xinyun seemed lighter. “What flowers did he bring?”
Shen Huanhuan: “Blue roses—mom liked them.”
Zhu Xinyun’s eyes lit up: “I thought roses were all red? There are blue ones, too? Never seen them. Maybe I’ll tell my Old Li to get me one someday!”
Shen Huanhuan smiled, “They’re hard to find, but as pretty as that little purple one on your table.”
They asked a few more questions but learned nothing special. Ten minutes later, they left 303.
After leaving, Shen Huanhuan sent info on 303 to Jiang Yan.
She chose her words carefully:
“That disfigured boy you asked about is Zhu Xinyun’s son, Li Cheng, scalded by hot oil while cooking. He and Zhang Xiaoliang were both bullied at school, so they’re each other’s only friends.”
After a moment, she hesitated and added:
“Zhu Xinyun doesn’t seem to be Zhang Tian’s affair partner. She sounded genuinely affectionate about her husband and looked happy when she mentioned him.”
Jiang Yan’s reply was swift, as if sighing.
“Both kids really had it rough.”
Shen Huanhuan sighed: “Yeah.”
After a pause, Jiang Yan sent another message: “Did you ask which month Li Cheng was burned?”
Zhu Xinyun had just mentioned it, so Shen Huanhuan replied, “Last October.”
She asked: “Did you find something?”
Jiang Yan didn’t answer.
A while later, just as Shen Huanhuan was heading to the next visit, she got another text from Jiang Yan.
“Do you remember what month the fire in 709 was?”
Jiang Yiqing had mentioned the date on the bus before they arrived.
So Shen Huanhuan replied: “Last year, October 14th.”
“When did Zhang Xiaoliang go blind?”
Yesterday afternoon, she’d already relayed that info to Jiang Yan, including the timing. As she wondered why Jiang Yan was asking again, she suddenly froze, eyes widening.
She understood what Jiang Yan was suspecting.
After a long pause, she typed out:
“Also last October.”