“The autopsy report is out. The victim’s fatal injury was that knife wound on his wrist. The cause of death was excessive blood loss. The time of death matches our preliminary estimate, between 3:00 AM and 5:00 AM. Aside from the wrist wound, there are no other injuries.”
“The victim is Guo Xingchang, born in 1972, forty-eight years old, living alone. His wife divorced him ten years ago, and his son passed away in an accident. We just spoke to his ex-wife on the phone. She was silent for a moment before saying, ‘I have no relationship with him anymore. Whether he is dead or alive has nothing to do with me. I know nothing about his affairs; for ten years, I haven’t had any contact with him.'”
Someone commented on this: “Even if they are divorced… isn’t that a bit too cold?”
At first, there was still some low-voiced discussion about the case.
That was until more details were released. Photos taken at the crime scene were displayed on the screen: a fruit knife with a black handle stained with blood, and a fingerprint comparison chart.
“Only fingerprints belonging to Consultant Xie and the victim were found at the scene.”
“Apart from Consultant Xie, no one else entered the premises.”
……
The conference room fell into a dead silence.
After a while, someone asked: “Where is Xie Lin right now?”
Another silence followed.
Finally, someone replied: “He’s gone.”
“Furthermore, the security guard and the surveillance footage retrieved from the residential complex prove that he drove out last night. He left the complex at 2:30 AM, arriving at Guo Xingchang’s home right at 3:00 AM. The time of death lines up.”
All evidence points to Xie Lin.
Among those in the conference room, some had worked with Xie Lin for a long time and held him in such high regard that calling him their “idol” wouldn’t be an exaggeration—after all, in so many moments when they had been at their wits’ end, Xie Lin had arrived like a godsend.
But there were also those who had opposed Xie Lin’s involvement from the very beginning.
“I said it back then—he is a double-edged sword; you never know who the tip of the blade will point to next,” someone said. “He understands crime, he doesn’t fear crime, and he is most adept at putting himself in the murderer’s shoes.”
“Xie Lin is a dangerous man. No one can control him. I warned you all from the start!”
Outside the window, dark clouds pressed down, making it hard to breathe.
Chi Qing was not granted permission to enter the conference room this time.
However, he could guess most of the details they would be announcing inside.
Even the criminal investigators didn’t know the full details of the case from ten years ago due to the high level of confidentiality. That was why they only knew Guo Xingchang’s son had died in an “accident.”
But as a survivor of that old case, Chi Qing knew exactly what that “accident” meant.
His mind flashed back to those prison-like concrete rooms. Even though they had never met in person, ten years ago, the boy in that bedroom photo had been in one of those very rooms.
Suddenly, the words echoed in his ears again:
【…How could Xie Lin know?】
Chi Qing sat in the long corridor outside the conference room, removed one glove, and checked the time on his phone.
Then, he opened his messaging app, found Xie Lin’s name, and stared at the chat box for a while.
Because of the “special relationship” between Chi Qing and Xie Lin, he couldn’t enter the conference room. Ji Mingrui, worried about Chi Qing’s emotional state, pushed the door open and sat down beside him. He thought to himself that this birthday gift had been quite ominous—he had just gifted him a copy of the Criminal Law, and now the owner of the gift was probably about to “go inside.”
Although the weather wasn’t as cold as before, Chi Qing seemed immune to it, wearing only a thin sweater. His exposed hands had turned even paler from the cold.
His eyes were cast downward, the emotions within them veiled by his long lashes.
In the end, he said nothing. He didn’t type a single character on the screen, instead just turning the screen off while maintaining his previous posture.
Ji Mingrui opened his mouth, about to ask, “Are you okay?” when his phone rang. After he hung up, what he wanted to say was interrupted by a new task assigned by his superiors: “The Chief wants to see you. He says he has something to ask you.”
The sandalwood in the incense burner had burned halfway down.
Chi Qing sat opposite a middle-aged man.
He hadn’t met the Police Chief many times, but he had noticed that the man occasionally cast silent glances his way—short, intense gazes that held too much for Chi Qing to understand, nor did he particularly want to.
In the silence.
The kettle on the side happened to boil, and a cup of hot tea was pushed toward Chi Qing.
“Thank you,” Chi Qing said. “Has the teacup been disinfected?”
The person opposite him had never expected the first words spoken between them in this office to be that.
“…It has been disinfected.”
Only after hearing that answer did Chi Qing remove his gloves, preventing the bacteria and dust on them from contaminating the tea. He then pulled out a tissue and carefully wiped his hands clean.
It wasn’t until he took a sip of tea and placed the cup gently back on the desk that the conversation finally turned to the main point.
The man opposite spoke in a low voice: “The night Guo Xingchang died, I called him, but no one answered.”
Chi Qing replied nonchalantly: “Maybe he was dead.”
“Last week, Xie Lin asked me for the case files on the kidnapping. Then he went to find Guo Xingchang. I don’t know what the two of them talked about, but the next morning, Guo Xingchang crashed his car because he was ‘distracted.'”
Everything he said was the truth.
“Do you know why Xie Lin went to find him?”
“…”
Before Chi Qing could answer, the Chief continued: “I suspect it’s because of Xie Feng.”
“You seem surprised. Actually, it’s not hard to guess. Ten years ago, Old Guo was one of my men. Once the kidnapping case was closed, he suddenly resigned. I never knew the real reason for his resignation until Xie Lin approached him this time.”
On the night Guo Xingchang died, the complete statement the Chief made on the recorded phone call was: “Old Guo, the real reason you resigned back then… what exactly was it?”
Ten years ago, Guo Xingchang had cracked several major cases and was climbing the ranks quickly. He was also in the prime of his energy.
After the kidnapping case ended, he could have been promoted again, but the Guo Xingchang who wore the police badge back then refused. He said, “I want to resign.”
Guo Xingchang had deep dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept soundly since the kidnapping case.
“Resign? Why would you want to resign out of the blue?”
At the time, Guo Xingchang used the excuse that he missed his son after coming home every day and that his wife’s departure had caused him pain, stating he wanted to stop and adjust himself.
But he never told the real reason—because he could no longer, and had no way to, continue being a criminal investigator.
Because he had not chosen the side of justice.
Did he not know that the “thing” he was asked to do wasn’t simple?
Did he not know that doing so would likely lead to the mission’s failure?
Did he not know what he was thinking, or what he was hoping for, when he didn’t hang up that phone call the moment he received it?
He knew it all, but he had done it anyway, as if possessed.
And so, every night thereafter, he would lie there with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling, his memory constantly pulled back to that day.
The Chief said slowly: “You may not have met Xie Feng, and you don’t understand what kind of person he really was. I can only say that in ten years, there hasn’t been a day where I haven’t felt regret for his death. I dream that he is still alive in this world.”
“Xie Lin was a child who loved clinging to Xie Feng, but Xie Feng was always very busy. Two months before Xie Feng died, he had just promised Xie Lin that after this case ended, he would take him on a wilderness camping trip.”
“…”
The incense stick on the table was about to burn out.
The conversation ended with these final sentences: “Do you think Xie Lin would kill someone?”
Chi Qing’s pupils were a deep, lifeless color, like a dark pool that would not change no matter how much others stirred it. Those deep-pool-like eyes stared straight at the other person.
“Back then… under those ‘game rules’,” the Chief looked back at him, his voice heavy as if speaking of a deeply hidden secret. “You, as one of the two survivors, should know better than anyone else how you managed to survive.”
Half an hour later, Chi Qing stood by the roadside waiting for a taxi.
He stood at the curb as the sky was dyed a gray mist. Raindrops fell onto his umbrella, and the faces of pedestrians passing by were hidden beneath their own umbrellas.
The rain and the gloomy sky pressed down together. The umbrella in Chi Qing’s hand became heavier as it was soaked by the rain.
—“Back then, how did you manage to survive?”
These words fell heavily, smashing down along with the rain, drowning out all other sounds. In an instant, the sounds of traffic, rain, footsteps, and the chatter of people around him all faded into the distance. These words clearly weren’t distorted, yet he couldn’t stop them from amplifying infinitely in his ears.
He had chatted with Xie Lin about the old case from ten years ago, about how they both ended up inside, and about their respective “secrets.” But they had exclusively avoided one topic: “survival.”
Ten years ago, that man, in order to round out the numbers, divided them into pairs—this was a rule Chi Qing had paid particular attention to back then. The reason it had to be two people to a room, no fewer, was simply so they could watch them play the game.
“Everyone is here now.”
Footsteps came from the pitch-black corridor, followed by a man’s weary, raspy voice.
He pushed a cart from the first room deeper into the corridor, handing out the day’s meals while mumbling to himself.
Through a crack in the door, Chi Qing saw half of the man’s face. The corners of the man’s mouth were turned up slightly, as if he were smiling.
Chi Qing tried hard to distinguish every syllable from his muttering. In the end, he realized it was: “Since everyone is here… the game can begin.”
At the time, everyone was still naive enough to believe they were just being locked up, even waiting innocently for rescue.
They had never imagined that a cruel game had descended upon them.
“Children, let’s play a game.”
“The rules are simple—after one week, there can only be one person left alive in your room. I don’t care what methods you use; after a week, only one of the two can survive.”
“If both of you are still alive, you will both die together.”
“So… the game begins.”
