Chapter 12: Confrontation

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Ji He organized the current information and seemed to tentatively accept her account without getting caught up in minor details. Focusing on the key point, she asked, “What do you intend to do?”

Fang Qingzhao responded bluntly, “First, take her back to the hotel and give her some time to stabilize. Her recent emotional fluctuations are too extreme, making communication difficult.”

Ji He asked, “How long?”

“Two or three days, I suppose,” Fang Qingzhao replied cautiously. “It depends on her recovery.”

Ji He gave no clear response but smiled faintly and asked, “And then?”

Fang Qingzhao noticed the lack of approval in her smile and carefully explained, “Based on my judgment, the mastermind exploited Shen Zhiyang’s confusion and fear after the murder, shaking her consciousness and causing self-doubt and denial. Since the perpetrator assigned me as Shen Zhiyang’s identity, and the only link between me and Shen Zhiyang is the ‘Anomaly Assessment’ project, the anchoring of this fabricated recognition likely revolves around that project.”

She slowed her pace, striving to make it simple and clear: “Precise cognitive alteration can’t be achieved quickly; they can only guide her thoughts. Shen Zhiyang will retain a certain degree of independent judgment. For example, if you show her a lemon and an orange and tell her the lemon is sweeter, she won’t accept it. So all they can do is flood her with information related to me and the ‘Anomaly Assessment’ but can’t fully control her stance toward the project.”

Ji He, a veteran detective of over ten years, was inscrutable when she concealed her emotions, seeming as impenetrable as a rock, making it impossible to read her thoughts.

Fang Qingzhao was not one to talk to herself; without any feedback, her tone quickly turned dry, as if reciting from a script: “Shen Zhiyang’s position on ‘Anomaly Assessment’ is most likely different from mine. The ideal outcome is to use conflicting details to prompt her to question her recognition of me.”

“I can provide you with materials and, based on your conversations with her, verify the source of the information to make further adjustments.”

She finished and focused on Ji He, awaiting her response.

The two seemed oblivious to the chilling atmosphere enveloping the room, with only Zhao Rong silently enduring the deathly quiet.

...He hadn’t committed any crime. Why was he stuck between these two?

“Oh,” Ji He slowly grasped the point and jabbed, “Your suggestions are all uncertain speculations. If things don’t go well, how long do we wait—until pigs fly? How am I supposed to know you’re not lying to me?”

She swallowed the latter half of her words, preparing to negotiate further with Fang Qingzhao.

Seeing her mind turning, though lacking confidence, Fang Qingzhao thoughtfully responded with generosity and encouragement, “If you don’t trust yourself, you can trust me.”

Ji He was momentarily speechless—rarely had she been so vexed into silence.

“You only need a brief, minimal amount of learning to handle confrontations with Shen Zhiyang,” Fang Qingzhao revealed her meticulous care, considering every detail. “If it doesn’t go well, you can wear an earpiece, and I’ll connect with you live.”

Ji He’s lips twitched as she fought to contain herself, then smiled brightly, “No need. My IQ’s a bit higher than an ordinary monkey’s—I’ve evolved.”

“Don’t compare yourself to monkeys,” Fang Qingzhao finally noticed the subtle oddity in Ji He’s expression and glanced toward Zhao Rong, praising, “You seem a bit smarter than the guy next to you.”

—The guy next to her was probably no different from a monkey, both Ji He and Zhao Rong thought simultaneously.

Zhao Rong looked at Fang Qingzhao with the admiration one has for a hero.

Was this cruelty natural? At least it was different from their Captain Ji’s.

At the same time, his right hand twitched, wanting to cover the hero’s sharp tongue.

If this continued, he suspected their public servant might rise up and beat the people.

Ji He, as if opening her third eye, turned her head coldly and gave him a sidelong glance that said, “I know what you’re thinking.”

Zhao Rong immediately reined in his expression, sat with legs together, and straightened up.

Fang Qingzhao proceeded to fill in gaps alone: “If you plan to arrest her at the hotel, I suggest bringing more people. I’ll handle communicating with the hotel, clearing out neighboring guests in advance to prevent any surprises.”

Zhao Rong asked confusedly, “How would you communicate? Is it still a San Yao hotel?”

Fang Qingzhao equally puzzled, “With money?”

Zhao Rong: “...” His mouth was truly reckless.

Though Shen Zhiyang’s frail limbs could be held down with one hand, Ji He gave a weak “hmm,” unwilling to argue further with Fang Qingzhao.

Fang Qingzhao unlocked her phone and pushed it forward: “Add me as a friend. I’ll send you the materials once back.”

“I never said you could leave,” Ji He deliberately provoked, “How do I know you mad scientist types don’t have hidden tricks? Maybe from the moment you entered the room, you took control of me?”

Fang Qingzhao was stunned. Such baseless fantasies were not her problem, yet in this absurd scenario, she was cast as a terrifying pervert. Complaints might be a viable tactic.

Only when Ji He chuckled quietly did Fang Qingzhao realize she was joking.

Ji He added her as a friend, holding up her phone, saying, “Keep your phone open.”

·

At that moment, downstairs in the residential building.

Ji He’s phone screen blinked, displaying a message from Fang Qingzhao.

“Come up.”

Two simple words sounded like celestial music.

After a night of low spirits, Ji He suddenly stood and summoned, “Alright, forensic doctor! Where are the crime scene investigation team?”

The group split into two elevators, heading upward. The CSI team led the way, carrying toolboxes.

Since the crime scene was on the sixth floor—not very high—a few young, strong men climbed up via the emergency stairwell.

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Zhao Rong charged ahead energetically, running into Fang Qingzhao descending.

Fang Qingzhao handed back her body camera, giving a perfunctory nod as greeting, carrying her helmet in one hand and brushing past him.

Zhao Rong, watching her retreating figure, suddenly blurted out, “Ms. Fang, I have a small question.”

Fang Qingzhao paused halfway up the stairs, turning her head, eyes tired but exuding a “stranger keep out” severity: “Speak.”

Zhao Rong glanced upward to confirm no eavesdropping from above, leaned on the railing mysteriously, and asked, “Do you remember how many eggs you had for breakfast a year ago?”

“Mm,” Fang Qingzhao answered indifferently, “I remember.”

Zhao Rong inhaled deeply, about to marvel at her genius, but she leisurely added, “Because I never eat eggs for breakfast.”

Zhao Rong: “...”

Well, that was an unnecessary question.

He returned to the scene, still frustrated. The room was already crowded with police officers.

The photographer was taking pictures of the refrigerator.

The room’s air conditioning was off, and with the summer humidity, the corpse’s surface quickly gathered dense droplets. Blood and frost slowly melted, dripping wetly downward.

After the photos, the photographer hurriedly made way for the forensic doctor.

The kitchen and dining area were cramped; a large square dining table was placed against the wall. The few tall officers standing inside felt suffocated.

Shen Zhiyang was taken to a corridor nearby, where Ji He draped a coat over her, covering her head and face, letting her crouch to cool off.

The team tried to be gentle with the investigation, but the noise still woke residents a few floors above and below.

Curious neighbors rode the elevator up to investigate but were promptly blocked by detectives guarding the elevator entrance.

Disturbing neighbors late at night was frowned upon; officers smiled kindly and took the eager night owl downstairs for questioning.

Soon, a colleague brought an evidence bag for Ji He to inspect.

“This apartment hasn’t been lived in for at least two or three years, covered in dust everywhere except the entrance, which someone deliberately cleaned. This wedding invitation was left on the shoe cabinet, probably delivered recently, after Lv Jiancheng’s time of death. No fingerprints were found on it.”

It was a wedding invitation: a bright red Chinese character for “double happiness” on the left, and the couple’s information on the right. The wedding was set for September 15 in City B.

The young man’s eyes gleamed with faint amusement, mocking, “So thrilling—criminal acts and still inviting us to the wedding banquet!”

Ji He flipped through it several times, took a photo with her phone, and handed it back to a colleague.

The elevator chimed and opened again.

Two detectives emerged, reporting to Ji He: “Captain Ji, we checked—the apartment’s owners aren’t Shen Zhiyang but an elderly couple. Their daughter runs a business overseas; a few years ago, she had a baby, so the couple went abroad to help with childcare. They haven’t returned for over two years and haven’t rented or sold the apartment. We don’t know why Shen Zhiyang has the keys. We contacted the owners on WeChat and are waiting for their friend request to be accepted.”

Ji He nodded and instructed her deputy to help coordinate the scene, then took the recovering Shen Zhiyang back to the police car parked on the street. Zhao Rong eagerly followed.

Throughout the ride, Shen Zhiyang remained silent. Slumped into the car, she sat quietly, pupils unfocused, trembling slightly.

Ji He rolled down the front window, not turning on the AC, and asked, “Do you want to talk now?”

Shen Zhiyang no longer appeared sharp but soft and docile, whispering, “There are still some things I haven’t remembered.”

Ji He softened, as if her previous sternness never existed: “Say whatever you recall.”

Shen Zhiyang rubbed her forehead, hanging her head, struggling to start, growing more anxious.

Ji He offered, “Then I’ll ask questions. Is that okay?”

Shen Zhiyang nodded.

“How did you meet Lv Jiancheng?”

Shen Zhiyang clasped her hands tightly, rambling, “I saw him by chance on the street. I thought I was mistaken, so I followed them. Lv Jiancheng went to the restroom midway, and I impulsively approached his wife to chat. She said she was—”

Ji He interrupted, “Such a coincidence? Lv Jiancheng stayed away from City A after release and only came back to handle his father’s funeral, planning to stay just a week. He lingered in the city for a few hours to order flowers and happened to run into you?”

Shen Zhiyang’s breath stopped, then she fished out an answer from a forgotten corner: “Someone invited me to watch a movie but didn’t show. I waited on the roadside, looking around, and unexpectedly saw Lv Jiancheng.”

Ji He leaned forward, touching her arm, asking, “Who was this person?”

Shen Zhiyang drew comfort from her warmth, spoke more smoothly: “A customer from our café. He started coming about six months ago, sometimes sitting all afternoon, occasionally chatting with us.”

Ji He’s eyes sharpened. “What did he look like? Any distinguishing features?”

“He...” Shen Zhiyang racked her brain, recalling the deepest impression: “Wearing a white shirt and casual pants.”

Ji He: “...”

Zhao Rong: “...”

Why do otherwise normal people become so vague when talking to the police?

Shen Zhiyang lifted her head, tongue tied as if her brain couldn’t keep up: “I... I can’t describe faces well. When you ask, I’m unsure of details. Maybe double eyelids, maybe monolids. Don’t remember if he had moles. Skin was very fair and handsome. In his thirties, taller than me. My coworker said his suits were custom-made, obviously expensive. Don’t know why he kept coming to our café.”

Ji He shifted tactics: “We’ll get surveillance footage from your café. Do you remember any specific dates he came? Just one day is fine.”

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Shen Zhiyang replied, “My chat logs are gone. I mentioned him a few times to coworkers, saying he was here again. You can check.”

“Good.” Ji He quickly moved to the next question: “You didn’t kill Lv Jiancheng the first time you saw him. Why wait and act later?”

Shen Zhiyang’s expression changed drastically. Closing her eyes, she twitched as if electrocuted, her words disordered again: “The first time I didn’t react; I even hid. Later, I grew more resentful, hated myself for being afraid, so I kept following him. I noticed his relatives were polite to him, no one blamed him for past mistakes. I couldn’t accept that. When his child wasn’t home, I lied and threatened him to come out. I didn’t mean to kill him—I didn’t even know what I wanted to do—but once he recognized me, he didn’t regret it. He even mocked me...”

Her breaths nearly screamed.

Ji He interrupted again, taking her hand to calm her.

Shen Zhiyang lowered her head; warm tears seeped from her closed eyes, falling on Ji He’s hand.

After killing, she lost sensation for a while.

The world was noisy yet silent; she knelt beside the body, feeling momentarily dead herself.

Her thoughts then were alien; she couldn’t comprehend what drove her to hollowly handle the corpse, then use Lv Jiancheng’s phone to text his wife, fabricating clumsy lies to delay the report.

Back home, she hoped the police would never find the body, letting him die quietly as atonement.

At the same time, she awaited someone to break in, arrest her, and allow her to publicly denounce the monster’s crime.

Her tears fell as the CSI van in front of them moved.

The forensic doctor finally removed the corpse from the frosted freezer. The electric scooter blocking the entrance was moved, and the driver drove directly into the complex.

As he left, the driver nodded to Ji He through the window: “Captain Ji, we’re heading to the mortuary.”

Ji He waved and closed her window.

Shen Zhiyang covered her face, chest rising and falling, her forehead damp with sweat, eyes fixed on the taillights ahead, quietly saying, “The house is his too. My landlord said he needs it for personal use and wants me out by next month. Thinking I was upset, he said he has a vacant apartment nearby, though unkempt and dusty, but furnished and convenient. He offered it to me temporarily.”

Zhao Rong finally dug out a pack of tissues as Shen Zhiyang stopped crying.

“After that, I can’t remember clearly. My mind tried to convince me I was Fang Qingzhao, but my thoughts were messy. I realized something was wrong but couldn’t control it.

“I thought there was an internal problem at San Yao, that I was framed and my memory was fading. I sensed the key was crucial and feared forgetting this clue, so I went to a nearby internet café and gave the key to the manager. Unexpectedly, he seemed to know me, so I asked him to remind me. Then I booked a hotel across the street and locked myself in the room, hoping to adjust my state. If the amnesia worsened, I thought I’d need the computer and would go to the internet café immediately…”

Ji He responded with a soft “Hmm,” not probing further.

By the time they returned to the precinct and handled urgent paperwork, dawn was near.

Ji He floated down the corridor like a restless ghost, collapsing on the lounge sofa, motionless.

Zhao Rong thought she’d fallen asleep and, taking initiative, grabbed a blanket to cover her. Upon closer look, he saw her lips silently moving, guessing she was rehearsing her report.

Her body resisted, her soul wandered, but her mind worked.

Zhao Rong sympathetically asked, “Want some hot water, Master? I’ll get you a cup.”

Ji He’s facial muscles tensed as if struggling to control her emotions; her eyelids twitched, revealing a trace of despair.

“That man circled Shen Zhiyang for over half a year. Whether her murderous impulse was subjective can’t be confirmed. The crucial memory gap leaves us clueless about when her cognition began to shift.

“To be honest, I don’t think the meticulous handling of the key was something Shen Zhiyang could devise in her disoriented state. It’s likely, like the wedding invitation in the apartment, a deliberate hint to the police... Ha, fearing that by the time we find the body, the wedding will be over. See? He even looks down on us. Fine, I’ll write that in the report.”

Ji He suddenly fell silent. Zhao Rong finished pouring the water, looked up, and saw her checking her own pulse with one hand gripping the other’s wrist, solemnly declaring, “I can’t feel my pulse anymore.”

Zhao Rong was frightened, shouting, “Don’t say that, sister! Our evidence is solid; the prosecutor will understand!”

Ji He whispered, “With the suspect’s cognition all messed up, if it were you, would you understand?”

Zhao Rong replied, “I could just play dumb, I’m good at that. It’s not our fault if things are messy.”

Ji He lifted her heavy head from the sofa and gave him a glare: “Who else would want to be your ancestor but me? Besides, I didn’t volunteer for this either.”

Zhao Rong: “...”

He made a tragically exaggerated crying face.

Ji He lay back for a while; her mind grew clearer. Outside, cars passed on the street, and dawn’s light crept over the horizon.

She sat up decisively, pulled out her phone, and typed rapidly.

The screen’s pale glow illuminated her bloodless face, carrying a hint of terror.

Zhao Rong nervously asked, “Who are you contacting? Did we miss some evidence?”

Ji He said, “I’m messaging the crazy scientist. Wondering if she’s asleep yet. Why didn’t you stop her? Invite her to the precinct for a chat.”

·

Fang Qingzhao’s phone kept vibrating, notifications flashing across the screen. Yet she ignored them.

Exiting the elevator, she stopped before a door and raised her hand to ring the doorbell.