Lu Chenzhou stared at the dark screen, the icy cold sensation from his fingertips creeping up along his finger bones. The distinctive smell of the old newspaper section—a mix of paper mildew and dust—now clung to his breath like a thick, viscous film. Those two lines in the conclusion column—“Highly homologous possibility”—were like red-hot iron rods branded onto his retinas, impossible to fade even with his eyes closed. Shen Moqing’s blood, in Shen Yan’s garage. Why was he there? This question was like a stone dropped into a stagnant pond, the ripples spreading rapidly, touching deeper, darker boundaries. The killer? An informant who entered the scene afterward? Or… some more complex role? Lu Chenzhou’s left hand unconsciously reached toward the desk, his fingertips touching a ballpoint pen. He picked it up, his thumb pressing the button on the pen cap repeatedly. *Click. Click. Click.* The rhythmic, light sound was particularly clear in the silence, like a countdown, or like a measure of the speed of his thoughts. He needed to integrate. The DNA evidence was an isolated point; it required a behavioral pattern, a motivational outline to support it, to transform from a “possibility” into a “logical chain.” And the behavioral pattern was precisely hidden within the fragments he already possessed—the scene environment, the position of the glass shards, the pattern of the bloodstains, and that ever-present, anonymous square. His phone vibrated in his pocket. Not a call, but a text message. The screen lit up: an unfamiliar number, the content brief: 「3 PM, window-side private room on the second floor, Cloud Coffee Shop. Shen Qinghuan.」 The pressure from the Shen family had arrived. Faster and more direct than anticipated. The person sent wasn’t a lawyer like Gu Zhixing, meticulous and watertight, nor a silent enforcer of violence like Lei Hu, but Shen Moqing’s second daughter, Shen Qinghuan, who seemed peripheral within the family. Lu Chenzhou’s thumb stopped on the pen cap button. The clicking ceased. He stared at the text message, as if he could see through the words to the pair of seemingly innocent yet possibly scheming eyes behind it. This was a probe. Shen Moqing was probing his progress, testing his loyalty. Perhaps also probing whether he had detected the DNA lead. Lu Chenzhou put down the pen; it rolled to the edge of the desk and stopped. He needed a narrative, a report based on a truthful profile yet skillfully avoiding the core DNA issue. He needed to package the dangerous conclusion that “the killer might be Shen Moqing” into the vague outline of “the killer may possess certain special privileges or status.” It was risky, but also an opportunity—a chance to observe the reactions within the Shen family, especially to observe Shen Qinghuan’s true stance. He replied: 「Received.」 The light outside the window shifted from leaden gray to a dull, grayish white. The rain had stopped, but the humidity grew heavier, pressing down on the glass with a weighty presence. Lu Chenzhou turned off the computer, folded the printed DNA comparison conclusion into a small square, and slipped it into the cover lining of a heavy old dictionary. Then he stood up and left the library. Walking down the corridor, he could feel a faint, elusive gaze from the corner—perhaps the library administrator, perhaps not. The air had a compressed quality, like a spring pressed to its limit, yet it was unknown when it would snap back. *** Cloud Coffee Shop was located in the podium of a glass-curtain-walled building in the new district. The decor followed the currently popular minimalist industrial style: exposed concrete pillars, dark gray sofas, and huge floor-to-ceiling windows. At three in the afternoon, there weren’t many people. The background music was a low, mellow jazz piano, the notes dripping slowly like water droplets. The air was filled with the charred bitterness of dark-roasted coffee beans, mixed with a hint of cloyingly sweet syrup. Lu Chenzhou was led upstairs by a server. The private room was at the end of the corridor, the door slightly ajar. He pushed it open and entered. Shen Qinghuan was already there. She sat on the sofa by the window, her side facing the door, slowly stirring a white porcelain cup in front of her with a small silver spoon. Outside the window was the damp cityscape, the traffic flowing like slowly moving colored building blocks. Today, she wore a beige knit sweater, her long hair loosely tied up, revealing a slender neck. Hearing the door, she turned her head, her face blooming into a perfectly measured, slightly charmingly naive smile. “Mr. Lu, you’re very punctual,” her voice was light and airy, like a feather brushing past the ear. “ The waiter brought lemon water and gently closed the door on his way out. With a soft *click*, the private room sank into an intentionally crafted intimate atmosphere, but the feeling of being watched did not disappear. Instead, it became more concrete because of the enclosed space. Lu Chenzhou’s spine tensed slightly. “The lattes here are quite good. I ordered one for you, I hope it suits your taste.” Shen Qinghuan gently placed the silver spoon on the edge of the saucer, producing a crisp *ting*. Her fingers were slender and pale, the tips painted with a light nude nail polish. At that moment, she was unconsciously stroking the fine embossed pattern on the cup handle. “Thank you.” Lu Chenzhou did not touch the coffee. His gaze rested on Shen Qinghuan’s face, calm and focused, as if observing a piece of evidence. “Miss Shen, you asked to meet me today regarding the case?” “Father is very concerned about the progress.” Shen Qinghuan picked up her cup and took a small sip. Her eyelashes lowered, casting faint shadows on her eyelids. “As you know, what happened to my brother… has been a huge blow to the family. As the days pass, there are inevitably some rumors outside, saying the case… might involve some old family matters, or… some people who can’t be spoken of openly.” She raised her eyes, her gaze clear, yet carrying a resilient pressure that could not be avoided. “Father hopes to hear something more definite. After all, you are the person he personally invited.” The pressure had arrived. Wrapped in a sugar coating, packaged with concern and family reputation, but at its core was urging and questioning. The corner of Lu Chenzhou’s left eye twitched almost imperceptibly. He picked up the lemon water, the coolness of the glass pressing against his palm, suppressing that slight physiological reaction. “I understand Mr. Shen’s anxiety.” His speech was measured, each word seeming precisely weighed. “The investigation has indeed encountered some… points that need clarification.” “Oh?” Shen Qinghuan set down her cup and leaned forward slightly, adopting a posture of listening. “What points are those? Perhaps… I can be of some help? I do know a little about family matters, after all.” Help, or probing? Lu Chenzhou’s fingertip tapped lightly against the glass once, so softly it was almost silent. He began to toss out the first carefully selected piece of the puzzle. “There are some traces at the scene,” he said, his gaze not leaving Shen Qinghuan’s face, “that don’t seem left by an outsider.” Shen Qinghuan’s stirring of her coffee paused for half a second. The silver spoon stopped at the cup’s rim. “The perpetrator was likely very familiar with the villa’s layout, even with Mr. Shen Yan’s daily routines.” Lu Chenzhou continued, his tone as if stating an objective fact. “Not the kind of familiarity gained through short-term observation. It’s the kind… steeped in the environment, knowing where the surveillance blind spots are, knowing which path Mr. Shen Yan habitually took from the garage back to the main house late at night, knowing there’s a rarely used paper cutter on the second shelf from the left on the tool rack—that kind of familiarity.” He paused, giving Shen Qinghuan time to digest the information, and himself time to observe. Shen Qinghuan’s pupils contracted slightly. Though they quickly returned to normal, that momentary freeze did not escape his eyes. Her fingers left the cup handle and instead lightly pinched the edge of her knitwear sleeve. She was nervous, or perhaps restraining some emotion. “And,” Lu Chenzhou continued, lowering his voice further, as if sharing a secret, “among the people who arrived earliest at the scene after the incident… there might have been someone who shouldn’t have been there.” Shen Qinghuan’s breath caught almost imperceptibly for an instant. Her gaze drifted toward the window, then quickly snapped back. When it landed on Lu Chenzhou’s face again, it was already re-covered with an appropriate layer of confusion and concern. “Someone who shouldn’t have been there? Mr. Lu, do you mean… inside the police? Or… someone from our family?” She did not directly deny it. Instead, she tossed the question back, while outlining two possible directions. Very clever—neither revealing her own inclination nor guiding the topic. Lu Chenzhou noticed that when she said “someone from our family,” there was an extremely subtle, almost indistinguishable hint of bitterness in her tone. “I mean,” Lu Chenzhou chose his words carefully, “anyone who, before the police officially sealed off the scene, had the ability and the reason to enter the garage without arousing suspicion. This person might possess some kind of… authority. Or, Her association was very concrete, directly pointing to the level of information control. This was interesting. Lu Chenzhou neither confirmed nor denied it, maintaining only a calm gaze. "That is one possibility. Another possibility is that this person is extremely familiar with on-scene investigation procedures, even knowing how to avoid the key areas of routine investigation. That glass fragment," he appropriately introduced a piece of real evidence, but stripped away the DNA information, "was found in a very tricky location, at the bottom of the gap between the tool rack and the wall. There was also a very shallow, direction-specific scratch on it. It didn't look like it was accidentally chipped off during a struggle. It was more like... being scraped off from a specific angle while moving or carrying something heavy." He described it with extreme detail, creating a strong sense of imagery. Shen Qinghuan listened, her eyes seeming somewhat vacant, as if she were simulating the scene in her mind. Her lips pressed together tightly, their color paling slightly. "Moving... something heavy?" she murmured. "Mr. Shen Yan's weight, plus possible struggle, or the killer needing to move the body to achieve a certain purpose..." Lu Chenzhou left the sentence unfinished, leaving ample room for imagination. He saw Shen Qinghuan's throat move slightly as she swallowed, perhaps to suppress a sudden wave of discomfort. It was a genuine physiological reaction, not entirely acting. The private room fell quiet, with only faint laughter and the lingering notes of background music from next door. The aroma of coffee became somewhat cloying. After a moment of silence, when Shen Qinghuan finally spoke again, the layer of girlish sweetness in her voice had peeled away somewhat, revealing a more genuine texture underneath. "Mr. Lu, about what you've said... does my father know?" "This is my preliminary analysis at this stage," Lu Chenzhou sidestepped the main point. "It still requires more evidence to support it. But the direction, I believe, is worth exploring further. A killer who is familiar with the internal environment, possesses the authority or pretext to enter the scene early, acts calmly and meticulously, but may have left subtle clues due to an accident during the moving process—this profile fits the existing trace logic better than a completely external, random killer." He used the word "profile" instead of "suspect." Vague, yet directional. He was probing, testing Shen Qinghuan, and through her, testing Shen Moqing. If Shen Moqing was innocent, or at least wished to appear innocent, then he should feel alert to this profile pointing to an "internal authority holder" and be willing to provide some internal information to clear himself. If Shen Moqing was that person... then the pressure would rebound in another form. Shen Qinghuan lowered her head, looking at the now lukewarm coffee in her cup, and remained silent for a long time. Her fingers released the cuff of her sleeve and instead gently smoothed a strand of hair that had fallen by her temple. This was a habitual gesture when she was nervous or thinking, something Lu Chenzhou remembered from the dossier. But this time, as her hand touched her hair, there was an extremely brief pause, as if she had remembered something and forcibly suppressed it. "I will convey your analysis... to my father," she finally looked up, her smile returning, but it was fainter than before, and somewhat forced. "Thank you, Mr. Lu. At least... this lets us know which direction we should be vigilant about." Vigilant. A cleverly chosen word. It acknowledged the threat might come from within while positioning the stance on the side of family defense. Lu Chenzhou nodded, saying nothing more. His objective had been achieved—he had thrown out the profile outline, observed Shen Qinghuan's reaction, and embedded the two key phrases, "internal information channels" and "special authority," into the Shen family's line of sight. The subtle changes in Shen Qinghuan's eyes when she heard these words, especially that momentary freeze and shift, were clearly captured by him. It wasn't just worry; it seemed more like an instinctive defense triggered by touching a sensitive point. Shen Qinghuan picked up the handbag placed on the sofa and stood up. "Then I won't disturb you any further. My father's side... there may be further communication. I hope you understand." "Understood," Lu Chenzhou also stood up. Shen Qinghuan left the private room, her high heels making a muffled, almost absorbed sound on the carpet. The door closed behind her. Lu Chenzhou didn't leave immediately. He sat back down, his gaze falling on the spot where Shen Qinghuan had just been sitting. The sofa cushion was slightly indented, still retaining a trace of body warmth and a faint perfume scent—a fresh floral-fruity note, but the base note was a bit cold, like grass after rain. He picked up Lu Chenzhou set down his cup and prepared to leave. As he shifted his foot, he inadvertently bumped against the edge of the sofa base. There was something in the narrow gap between the sofa leg and the wall. He paused, slowly bent down, and reached into the gap. His fingertips touched a smooth, slightly resilient paper object. He pinched its edge and pulled it out. It was an ordinary kraft paper envelope, unaddressed, without a postmark. The flap was sealed with ordinary glue, but not firmly, as if it could be peeled open at any moment. The envelope was thin; it probably contained only a sheet or two of paper. Lu Chenzhou’s heart tightened sharply. He quickly scanned the private room’s entrance—no one. The laughter and chatter from next door continued. The background music had changed to a slower, heavier tune. This wasn’t left by Shen Qinghuan. When she left, she had taken her handbag, her movements natural, without any extra pauses or furtive actions. Besides, if it were her, she could have simply given it to him directly during their conversation. So, who was it? When was it placed there? Before he arrived? Or during his conversation with Shen Qinghuan? The private room door was closed but not completely soundproof. If someone had taken advantage of a waiter delivering water or a brief moment when the door was opened to quickly slip it in from outside… The Anonymous Party. This thought poured over him like ice water. Not only did the other party know he was here, know about his meeting with Shen Qinghuan, they could even accurately deliver the item to a place within his reach. Continuous surveillance. Precise delivery. Moreover, the timing was chosen right after Shen Qinghuan had just applied pressure and left—this was a declaration, a provocation. Lu Chenzhou pinched the envelope, his knuckles turning slightly white. The envelope felt weightless in his hand, yet heavy as a thousand pounds. He didn’t open it immediately. Instead, he quickly stuffed it into the inner pocket of his jacket, placing it close to his chest. Then he stood up, pulled open the private room door, and walked out. The hallway was empty. He went downstairs, crossed the coffee shop’s lobby, and pushed open the glass door into the damp, cold outdoor air. The street was bustling with traffic and hurrying pedestrians. Standing by the roadside, his sharp gaze swept over the shop windows across the street, the parked vehicles, every possible corner where a line of sight might be concealed. Everything seemed normal, yet it felt as if silent eyes were lurking everywhere. The envelope pressed tightly against his chest. Through the fabric of his shirt, it conveyed a subtle, undeniable sense of presence. What was inside? A new warning? A vague clue? Or… another meticulously designed “guidance”? The Anonymous Party had chosen to act immediately after the Shen family’s pressure. Was it a coincidence, or was it intentional to superimpose two sources of pressure upon him? Where would this new clue lead the already mist-shrouded investigation? Lu Chenzhou raised his hand and hailed a taxi. As he pulled the door open and got in, he took one last look at the window-side private room on the second floor of Cloud Coffee. The window reflected the gray-white sky, like a silent eye. “Driver,” he gave the address of his temporary residence, his voice steady, betraying nothing unusual, “please hurry.” The car merged into the traffic flow. Lu Chenzhou leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes, but his fingers gently pressed against the edge of the inner pocket, feeling the thin envelope. Its cold touch seeped through the fabric into his skin. The spring had been compressed to its limit. And a new variable had just been thrown into this dangerous game. *** The car drove through the thick afternoon sunlight toward the gray, old residential area in the northern part of the city. The driver remained silent. The cold air from the car’s air conditioning carried the plastic scent of cleaning agent. He knew someone was watching—the eyes in the rearview mirror swept over his face every thirty seconds. He allowed his body to relax completely, his breathing even. Like a shell emptied of consciousness. Only then would those eyes hidden in the shadows let down their guard, believe that this “contract prisoner” was exhausted, submissive, worn smooth by the pressure. He needed them to think that. The car stopped at the mouth of a narrow alley. “Mr. Lu, we’re here.” The driver’s voice held no warmth. Lu Chenzhou opened his eyes and pushed the door open. A wave of heat instantly enveloped him; the air was mixed with the greasy smell of fried food and a faint sour odor from the sewers. Lu Chenzhou did not turn the key immediately. He took half a step back, his gaze sweeping over the edges of the doorframe. No signs of prying, no new scratches. He crouched down, using the dim daylight filtering through the stairwell window to examine the dust beneath the door gap. The distribution of the dust had been disturbed. Something had been slipped through the gap. He straightened up, then turned the key this time. The lock emitted a soft *click*, unusually distinct in the silent corridor. He pushed the door open, didn’t turn on the light, letting his eyes first adjust to the dimness inside. A single room, less than twenty square meters. A bed, a desk, a chair, a simple wardrobe. The window was tightly shut, the curtain half-drawn. The last slanted rays of the afternoon sun squeezed through the gap, cutting a sharp band of light onto the cement floor. Within that band of light, lying on the floor near the inside of the door, was a kraft paper envelope. Very thin. Lu Chenzhou closed the door, locked it from the inside, and drew the other half of the curtain. The room plunged completely into dimness. Only that sliver of light leaking through the curtain gap remained, hanging in the air like a suspended knife. He didn’t immediately pick up the envelope. He walked to the window, lifted a corner of the curtain, and looked outside. Across the alley stood an equally old residential building, its windows densely packed, most with curtains drawn. A few were open, revealing scenes of ordinary domestic life inside: drying laundry, flickering TV light, an old man dozing on a balcony. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But he knew the anomaly was there. Behind one of those windows, within the gap of some curtain, under the gaze of some pair of eyes. He lowered the curtain and turned around. He walked to the envelope, crouched again, but didn’t touch it. He took a pen from his pocket—an ordinary black gel pen, its cap already a little loose. He gently nudged the envelope with the pen tip, flipping it over. The back was blank. No words, no markings. He stood up, walked to the desk, and took a pair of rubber gloves from the drawer—cheap, disposable examination gloves available at any pharmacy. He put them on slowly; the rubber made faint rustling sounds against his skin. Only then did he walk back and pick up the envelope. Very light. He walked to the desk, pulled out the chair, and sat down. The desk lamp flickered on, its yellowish halo illuminating the desktop. He placed the envelope at the center of the halo, like placing a corpse awaiting examination on a dissection table. He carefully slit open the envelope's seal with a paper knife. Inside was only a single sheet of paper. A photocopy of a photograph. Black and white, but with high clarity. The paper was ordinary A4 copy paper, its edges neatly trimmed, bearing no fingerprints or stains—clearly processed. Lu Chenzhou smoothed the photograph flat on the desktop. The image was of the garage where Shen Yan’s body was found. But it wasn’t any of the police scene photos he had seen before. The shooting angle was from inside the garage, near the tool rack, pointing towards the entrance. This angle captured most of the garage space, including the black sedan and the area on the floor beside it later marked as the “primary bloodstain area.” But the focus of the photo didn’t seem to be on the bloodstain. Lu Chenzhou’s gaze fell on the lower-left corner of the photo. There, on the floor near the bottom of the tool rack, was a faint, curved drag mark. Very shallow, almost indistinguishable on the black-and-white photocopy, like a shadow left behind after something wet had dried. But Lu Chenzhou remembered that spot—in the subsequent police forensic report, the notation for this mark was “unrelated, possibly from daily moving of items.” No evidence was collected from it, and no close-up photos were taken. Yet in this photo, the drag mark was captured in its entirety. And, the time it was taken… Lu Chenzhou leaned closer to the photo, almost pressing his face against the paper. He caught the distinct, slightly bitter chemical smell of photocopier toner. His eyes scanned the edges of the image, searching for any detail that might hint at the time. The garage door was half-open; the daylight streaming in from outside was a grayish white. Morning. Or dusk. But based on the estimated time of Shen Yan’s death—the body was discovered around 10 p.m., and the garage lights were off—when this photo was taken, the overhead light in the garage was not on. Therefore, it could only be during a time of sufficient natural light. The morning of the day of the incident? Or some morning after the incident, but So, from 9 PM on the night of the incident until 10:40 AM the following day, the garage was in a sealed state for over thirteen hours. But the photograph shows the garage door was half-open. Therefore, there are only two possibilities for the time the photo was taken: either it was taken on some morning before the incident (though Shen Yan’s garage was usually only opened when using the car), or… after the incident but before the police arrived, someone opened the garage door, entered the scene, and took this photo. And then closed the door again. Lu Chenzhou opened his eyes. His gaze returned to that drag mark. The starting point of the drag mark was at the base of the tool rack, curving towards the center of the garage, disappearing after about a meter. The direction… wasn't towards the door, but towards the interior wall of the garage, the one piled with miscellaneous items. He opened a drawer and took out a cheap plastic magnifying glass. The world beneath the lens enlarged, details surfacing. The edges of the drag mark weren't smooth; there were minute, intermittent granular protrusions—as if something rough had been dragged. Near the endpoint where the drag mark disappeared, there was a small patch of slightly darker color on the floor, irregular in shape. It looked like the residue left by some liquid after it had dried. But the subsequent police forensic report made no mention of any liquid traces at this location. Either it was cleaned up later, or… the police simply didn't notice it. Lu Chenzhou put down the magnifying glass. He leaned back in his chair, the rubber gloves emitting a faint friction sound against the desktop. The air in the room grew stagnant, dust floating slowly within the halo of the desk lamp, like microorganisms in the deep sea. He began to integrate the information. First, DNA evidence: The bloodstain on the glass fragment strongly pointed to Shen Moqing. Second, Scene environment: The garage was sealed. The perpetrator needed a key or code to enter. Shen Moqing had access, but this didn't directly prove he was the killer—he could have entered the garage at another time, for other reasons, and accidentally cut himself. Third, this photograph. The photographer was able to enter the scene before the police arrived, with a professional shooting angle and familiarity with the scene layout. This person was either the killer themselves, an accomplice, or… a third party who knew the inside story but chose to "hint" in this way. And this person could accurately deliver the photo to his temporary residence. This meant the other party not only possessed internal police materials (the early scene photos) but also knew his movements—when he left, when he returned, even knew he would return alone to this room after his meeting with Shen Qinghuan. Surveillance. Or, more directly—tailing. Lu Chenzhou’s left hand unconsciously rose, his fingertips touching the corner of his left eye. There, a muscle was twitching faintly, once, then again, as if something were struggling beneath the skin. He forced himself to lower his hand. Then, he took out a blank notebook and opened it. The pen tip hovered above the paper, pausing for several seconds. It fell. He wrote two words in the center of the page: Perpetrator. Then, using these two words as the center, he began drawing lines radiating outward. The first line connected to "DNA — Shen Moqing (Connection)." He noted beside it: Motive? Father-son conflict? Family secret? Accident? The second line connected to "Scene Access Permission." Notation: Key/Code/Internal Personnel. Possible list: Shen Moqing, Shen Qinghuan, Gu Zhixing, Lei Hu, butler, routine maintenance personnel… The third line connected to "Early Scene Entry (Photography)." Notation: Time-sensitive (before police arrival), Purpose? — Record scene? Check for oversights? Create misdirection? The fourth line connected to "Professional Shooting Angle." Notation: Forensic knowledge? Photography training? Police background? The fifth line connected to "Drag Mark & Liquid Stain." Notation: Moving/Handling an object? Possibly the body? Liquid could be blood, cleaning agent, or other. Why missing from police record? — Overlooked? Deliberately concealed? The sixth line connected to "Anonymous Delivery." Notation: Continuous surveillance, information control, unclear intent. Threat? Warning? Guidance? Test? The lines intersected, forming a complex web on the paper. Lu Chenzhou’s pen tip circled several nodes repeatedly. The characteristics "Early Scene Entry" and "Professional Shooting Angle" pointed towards a person with forensic knowledge or scene access privileges. This person could enter the crime scene without raising suspicion, perhaps even had a "legitimate" reason—for instance, among the first "police personnel" to arrive, or the "family security chief." Yet the act of "Anonymous Delivery" revealed If the other party was the murderer or an accomplice, why would they provide clues that could potentially expose themselves? The drag marks in this photo, though not given much attention by the police, might be the key to cracking the case in his eyes. Unless... The other party's purpose wasn't to stop him from investigating. It was to guide him. Guide him to see certain overlooked details, guide him to construct a specific profile of the murderer, guide him... to suspect a specific person. Lu Chenzhou's pen tip paused. Beside the "Anonymous Delivery" node, he slowly wrote two words: Guide. Then, below those two words, he added a line in small script: Risk contact? The room was completely dark now. The last trace of daylight outside the window had vanished; night had fallen. Sporadic car sounds drifted in from the distant street, like the slow breathing of some massive creature. The halo of the desk lamp became the only light source in the room, casting his elongated, slightly wavering shadow onto the wall. He remained in that position for a long time. Until his throat grew dry and tight, until the muscles in his back began to ache from prolonged tension. Then, he moved. He picked up the paper filled with the relationship diagram, folded it in half, then folded it again. He stood up, walked to the simple single-burner gas stove in the corner of the room, and turned on the ignition switch. A blue flame *whooshed* to life. He brought the paper close to the flame. The edges of the paper rapidly curled, blackened, then caught fire. Orange-red tongues of flame licked at the densely packed handwriting and lines, consuming them into ash. The heat from the burning paper washed over his face, carrying the faintly sweet, slightly metallic scent of char. He watched silently until the flames were about to reach his fingers. Then, he dropped the remaining piece of paper into the sink and turned on the faucet. Water gushed down, swirling the black ashes into the drain, disappearing without a trace. He turned off the faucet. The room fell quiet again, leaving only the hollow, receding echo of water in the pipes. He walked back to the desk, sat down again, and took out a new sticky note. The pen tip hovered. Then, it wrote down a few words: 「Authority.」 「Guide.」 「Test.」 「Contact?」 He stared at these words for over ten seconds. Then, he folded the sticky note in half, stood up, and walked to the bookshelf—which was actually just a simple wooden shelf nailed to the wall, piled with a few old, inconsequential books scavenged from secondhand bookstalls. He pulled out a copy of *Mechanical Principles Handbook* and opened it. A musty, aged smell emanated from between the pages. He tucked the sticky note deep into the pages, closed the book, and returned it to its place. After doing all this, he walked to the window. Lifted a corner of the curtain. The street was completely dark now, streetlights casting a dim yellow glow. A few pedestrians hurried past, their shadows stretching and shrinking. More windows lit up in the residential building across the street, the flickering light of televisions visible behind curtains. Everything appeared normal. But he knew that the unusual was hidden beneath this normalcy. He let go of the curtain; the fabric fell back, blocking the outside view. He spoke softly, his voice sounding exceptionally clear, yet exceptionally lonely, in the empty room. "What do you want me to see?" Pause. "And just who are you?" No one answered. Only from somewhere far beyond the window came a faint, sharp sound—like a car alarm being triggered—piercing the night, then quickly fading into silence. **Scene Three** The profile was complete. Those lines, arrows, and annotations densely covered the entire sheet of paper. They were no longer disordered fragments but were connected by some internal logic, pointing toward a gradually clearer outline. A chilling outline. Lu Chenzhou put down the pen. The pen shaft was damp with sweat from his fingertips, leaving a slick imprint. He leaned back in his chair; the wooden backrest emitted a faint, protesting groan. Only the desk lamp illuminated the room, its dim yellow halo encircling this small area of the desk like a spotlight on a stage, shining on the sole actor of this one-man show. Beyond the halo, the rest of the room sank into thick darkness, its edges blurred as if ready to dissolve or swallow everything at any moment. He closed his eyes. Behind his eyelids, afterimages of light spots and lingering traces of those lines remained. The murderer. Someone who could enter the early crime scene without arousing suspicion. Someone who understood investigative angles, photography, and how to leave misleading information. Calm, meticulous, even carrying a kind of professional precision. But they were not without flaws. That glass fragment But the profile sketched out of this person... could it really be Shen Moqing? A sixty-eight-year-old elder, the head of a family, accustomed to scheming behind the scenes—would he personally move his son's corpse, risk leaving bloodstains in the garage, know how to slip a photo into the gaps of a police investigation? It wasn't impossible. But... it was too specific. Specific like a meticulously crafted target. Lu Chenzhou's breathing slowed. His throat was dry, and he could feel the painful friction when he swallowed. He opened his eyes, his gaze falling on the kraft paper envelope on the corner of the desk. The envelope was already empty, the photo pressed beneath his notebook, yet its presence felt more potent than any physical object. The Anonymous Party. This unseen shadow had once again precisely delivered a clue before him. Why? The first time was a charred photocopy, warning him that the other party had accessed old case files. The second time was this photo, providing a key detail overlooked by the police. A threat? Of course it was a threat. Each delivery was a declaration: I can see you, I can reach you, I know what you're investigating, I have what you need. But was that all? If the sole purpose was to threaten, far more direct and bloody methods could have been used. The photo... was too "professional." It wasn't displaying violence, wasn't flaunting cruelty, but was providing information. Information that had been filtered, pointedly directed, even carrying a certain... guiding intent. "What do you want me to see?" Lu Chenzhou's voice was very low, almost just the friction of air between his lips and teeth. There was no one else in the room. The words were like a pebble thrown into stagnant water, disappearing without an echo, instantly absorbed by the darkness. But he felt as if something was listening in the dark. Not a specific "person," but an intangible gaze. Like being separated by one-way glass—he was deducing on this side, while on the other side, someone was observing his every reaction, evaluating each step of his reasoning. That feeling of being watched from all angles, of his intellect being challenged, even of being treated as some kind of "test subject," was like fine, icy needles piercing his spine. Anger. A cold, suppressed-to-the-extreme anger slowly congealed in his chest. The corner of his left eye began to twitch slightly, uncontrollably. He raised his hand, pressing his knuckles hard against his brow bone, trying to suppress the subtle spasm. No. Anger wouldn't solve the problem. It would only cloud his vision, making him repeat past mistakes. He had to reassess. The Anonymous Party... might not be a pure enemy. At least, not entirely. Their behavioral pattern was a mix of threat, showmanship, testing, and... guidance. Like playing a dark version of a puzzle game, where the other party was both the puzzle-setter and, from the sidelines, subtly hinting, watching to see if he could reach the end. What was the end? Finding the true culprit who killed Shen Yan? Or... exposing some deeper, more dangerous secret? Lu Chenzhou's gaze shifted back to the paper filled with the relationship diagram. The edges of the paper were already frayed from his unconscious fingering. He stared at the two characters "Murderer" in the center of the paper. The connecting lines around them spread out like a spider's web, linking Shen Moqing, early investigative access, the photo-taker, possible internal personnel... all together. These characteristics could point to Shen Moqing. They could also point to a "person close to him"—someone who could access Shen Moqing, mimic his behavioral patterns, even possibly intentionally leave traces of his DNA. Or, point to the Anonymous Party who provided the photo themselves. A person with internal police channels, knowledgeable about crime scene investigation, capable of obtaining early-stage materials, meticulous in action, and intimately familiar with the Shen family's internal affairs. This profile outline was like a double-edged sword. It cut through the fog and also sliced open a more dangerous domain. The scope of suspicion was no longer limited to Shen Moqing; it expanded to encompass the entire Shen family network, police personnel who participated in the old case investigation back then, and any group that might possess "special access." The game had leveled up. The opponents might not be just one. On the chessboard, besides Shen Moqing in the open, there lurked the Anonymous Party in the shadows, as well as the unidentified "person with access" outlined by the profile. And he himself, Lu Chenzhou, this "contract prisoner" forced to investigate for his enemy, stood alone in the center of the board, exposed under all gazes. His every move could trigger a chain reaction, dragging himself, his sister Lu Chenxing, and even potential helpers like Zhou Zhengping and He Wan Fear was real, isolation was real, and the peril ahead was also real. Yet, in this suffocating darkness, he felt something for the first time... direction. Although that direction led to deeper darkness, at least it was no longer spinning in place. The profile had given him an outline; the contradictory behavior of the anonymous party had given him a point of suspicion. These two things were his only weapons at this moment. He needed a strategy. He could no longer be passively reactive, could no longer be led around by the nose by the Shen family's deadline and the elusive, unpredictable actions of the anonymous party. He had to take the initiative, even if it was only an extremely small step. Lu Chenzhou sat up straight and reached for the pa