`Chapter 14

Chapter 14

“Happiness Garden Community, Townhouse”

“Click—”

The door hinge turned, and a pair of latex-gloved hands first appeared in frame.

The camera smoothly pushed forward. The newcomer was dressed in a fully sealed black diving suit, wrapped tightly from head to toe. A swim cap and mask concealed all physical features, leaving only a pair of eyes as still as a frozen pool. She stepped in, feeling a sticky texture beneath her feet—half-coagulated dark red blood spread from the center of the living room, crawling toward the soles of her shoes like a living thing.

On the floor lay a man on his back, a knife protruding from his chest.

The newcomer paid no attention to the gruesome scene, turning to take tools from a cart, sorting and neatly arranging each one. After putting on plastic shoe covers, she grabbed the corpse’s ankles and silently dragged it into the bathroom. The door was gently closed, leaving only a crack.

The camera froze outside the door, like a patient observer.

Then, various sounds escaped from the crack in the door:

“Thud—thud—” was the dull pounding.

“Crack—crack—” was the sound of bones separating.

“Whirrrrr—!” the sharp roar of a chainsaw occasionally tore through the air.

Most of the time, it was the unsettling silence, even more disturbing than these sounds.

The door opened again. She reappeared, carrying several black plastic bags, dripping wet, walking straight to the backyard barbecue pit.

The camera followed calmly from an observer’s perspective until she expressionlessly lifted the lid—

The next second, the viewpoint suddenly switched inside the pit!

The scorching, glowing inner wall immediately filled the entire frame. Several fresh chunks of flesh were thrown in, splatting onto the lens with a “smack,” obscuring everything.

The screen went black.

“Cut!” Qu Ping stood up from behind the monitor, her voice containing restrained excitement: “That take worked! Emotion, rhythm, details—all on point!”

She turned to her assistant and quickly instructed: “Especially that final subjective shot—I want the audience’s mind pressed into the barbecue pit like this. Tell post-production not to cut a single frame of this segment!”

What had just been completed was an extremely difficult one-take shot. The camera steadily followed Lin Yutong, recording her methodical dismemberment process in full. No editing, no interruptions—only cold, ultimate cruelty and a ritualistic chill that sent shivers down the spine.

The final sudden cut into the pit’s interior forcibly dragged the audience into the victim’s perspective, making them almost physically feel the heat and despair.

The initial filming was not smooth. Shi Yin had to remember her blocking while coordinating with camera movement, causing a couple of flubs. Qu Ping personally instructed her on camera movement paths. Shi Yin understood quickly, and on the third take, she completed all the beats smoothly, in one continuous flow.

Shi Yin wiped the water off her body, lightly jogged over to the monitor, and sat close to Qu Ping, focused on the screen. Her transformation from cold-blooded dismemberer to reflective actor was astonishingly fast.

The “deceased” from earlier still stood behind them, looking gloomy, as if unable to shake off the shadow of being “dismembered.”

“Old Duan joins the crew tomorrow,” Qu Ping said, smiling as she tapped Shi Yin’s forehead, a +2 favorability shining above her head. “Lin Yutong’s good days won’t last long. Ready to act opposite him? Back then, Zheng Ruwei was completely overwhelmed.”

The “Old Duan” she mentioned was Duan Wenting—the anchor of Saints in the Mist and the only major talent the crew could invite. Duan Wenting debuted in military-themed productions, exuding a hard, resolute aura, particularly skilled at portraying complex, deep inner lives. His acting was typical of the expressive school—eyes full of story, precise and meticulous body control, making every role convincingly textured.

Shi Yin listened carefully, her eyes not showing an ounce of fear, only unmasked excitement. For her, acting alongside such a senior was both pressure and a precious learning opportunity.

Coincidentally, that night, during her routine ten draws, she received some gossip about Duan Wenting.

[Received Duan Wenting gossip (white) x1]

[Soft spot of a tough guy! Can you believe it? The powerhouse in front of the camera is privately a “garlic-head.” Duan Wenting once drooled over the script in the middle of the night, thinking about a bowl of perfectly proportioned garlic bean noodles. Unfortunately, filming across the country, he hadn’t eaten authentic garlic bean noodles in a long time. His longing grew into obsession, and in the end, he even renamed his dog at home “Bean Noodles”! ]

Shi Yin: “……”

The next morning, Duan Wenting arrived on set, followed by his assistant and executive manager. He wore a simple black T-shirt with jeans, aviator sunglasses casually perched on his nose. Though travel-worn, he exuded an effortless, seasoned charisma.

Qu Ping went up to shake his hand, deliberately studying him with a serious expression: “Haven’t seen you for a few days. How did your face get so rough?”

Duan Wenting smiled, rubbing the newly sprouted stubble on his chin: “Just came back from northwest eating sand. Even washing my face was rough—no conditions to maintain it. Director, please bear with me.”

“You’re too cheeky,” Qu Ping snorted, stepping aside and pulling Shi Yin in front of her. “This is the new Lin Yutong. I invited her to save the scene. Mr. Duan—no need for me to introduce you, right?”

“Hello, Mr. Duan,” Shi Yin said humbly, slightly bowing.

“Thanks for your hard work,” Duan Wenting said, completely down-to-earth, extending his hand and gently touching her fingertips before letting go. “Thank you for coming to save the scene. Otherwise, this film would have been difficult to shoot.”

After simple pleasantries, he rubbed his hands and spoke casually: “Let’s shoot efficiently. When we’re done, I’ll go eat. I remember Yunxi has a small Tangzhou restaurant—the food is quite authentic.”

~

“Outside the Interrogation Room”

Zhao Ke propped one hand on the observation room’s table, staring through the one-way glass at Lin Yutong in the interrogation room.

This was her third day turning herself in. The interrogation had reached a stalemate. This young forensic intern, a brutal murderer and dismemberer, who at first could calmly state a few words, had now gone completely silent. Even the experienced pretrial officers took turns, but she kept her gaze lowered, unmoved.

“Has the victim’s identity been confirmed?” Zhao Ke asked without looking away.

“Yes, confirmed.” A young officer handed him a file. “The victim is Lu Yang, twenty-six years old, working in import-export trade, financially well-off and generous. Apart from the townhouse where the incident occurred, he owns several other properties in the city.” He paused, lowering his voice: “Also… his father is a section chief at the Finance Bureau, and his mother works as an insurance agent. Right now they’re downstairs with several media reporters, very emotional, demanding severe punishment for the killer.”

Zhao Ke quickly flipped through the file: “Have Lin Yutong’s and Lu Yang’s social connections been cross-checked?”

“Initially checked once. Their life paths and social circles don’t overlap at all. From any existing records, they… shouldn’t know each other.”

Someone nearby murmured: “Could it really be a random indiscriminate killing?”

Zhao Ke snapped the file shut, thought for a moment, and slowly shook his head: “Doesn’t seem like it.”

All eyes turned to him: “Captain Zhao, what’s your judgment?”

“Intuition.” Zhao Ke’s gaze was sharp, still fixed on Lin Yutong on the other side of the glass. “She’s so calm, so meticulous. Would she suddenly give up a bright future to commit a crime of passion? After performing such a difficult dismemberment, she still voluntarily turns herself in? Logically, it doesn’t make sense from start to finish.”

Zhao Ke straightened up, his tone firm: “Lin Yutong must know Lu Yang. I’ll go see her myself.”

~

“Film Studio”

Shi Yin closed her eyes, letting the makeup brush sweep gently across her face. Today, her makeup needed to show Lin Yutong’s exhaustion after continuous interrogations—the dark circles under her eyes, dry lips, and that bone-deep fatigue.

Shi Yin’s lips moved silently, repeatedly reciting her lines, occasionally shifting her body. The chairs in the interrogation room were extremely uncomfortable, with cushions deliberately removed and angled backs that strained her. After days of filming, her back ached slightly. The cold metal handcuffs made soft “click” sounds with her slight movements.

The makeup artist looked at her murmuring and couldn’t help but chuckle: “Nervous? Afraid you’ll forget your lines?”

“Mm,” Shi Yin half-opened her eyes, candidly: “Mr. Duan’s performance is too good. I’m afraid I can’t match him and will slow down the progress.”

Her mind replayed Duan Wenting’s earlier performance. His control was effortless—every pause of the eyes, subtle facial movements, even the pressure and rhythm of his fingertips flipping the files—seemed precisely calibrated, like a textbook example of acting.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Duan is very easygoing,” the artist whispered gossipingly. “When Zheng Ruwei filmed this scene, she flubbed more than ten times. He didn’t get angry and patiently went through the lines with her.”

Shi Yin: “…Thank you for the reassurance.” But I really don’t want to flub ten times!

“Lighting, bring the top light down a bit, it’s too bright now.” Qu Ping frowned slightly, staring at the monitor.

Low, clear sounds of preparation echoed across the set:

“Props team, confirm the file documents. Make sure close-up shots capture them.”

“Actors, please take your positions.”

The studio was enveloped in a busy, orderly atmosphere. Duan Wenting stood with arms crossed near the interrogation room door, occasionally exchanging a few low words with the assistant director, habitually scanning the camera placements, confirming shooting paths.

“Scene 32A, 1 camera, 1 take!”

The clapperboard snapped shut crisply.

~

“Interrogation Room”

Lin Yutong lifted her eyelids, her gaze falling on the officer who had just seated himself.

Zhao Ke: “Lin Yutong, right? Tell me again the full sequence of events the day you killed Lu Yang.”

Lin Yutong licked her dry lips, her voice hoarse: “That night I went to a bar and met Lu Yang…”

“Which exact day? What time? Did you go alone?” Zhao Ke interrupted appropriately.

“I don’t remember exactly. It was a Saturday, around ten at night, I went alone,” Lin Yutong answered.

“Continue.” Zhao Ke flipped through previous records. The case files noted that the bar Lin Yutong mentioned was in a secluded alley, and all surrounding cameras were broken—leaving no visual evidence.

“…He flirted with me, so I went home with him. Later we argued, and I killed him.”

“An argument and you kill someone?” Zhao Ke tapped his fingers on the table, staring at her. “You young people really lose your temper that easily?”

“I was very angry at the time. I couldn’t control myself.”

“How did you kill him?”

“I took a knife from the kitchen. He didn’t notice, so I stabbed him.”

“What kind of knife, and how many times did you stab?”

“An ordinary bone-cleaving knife, stainless steel. I stabbed thirty-two times, avoiding vital areas,” Lin Yutong said, suddenly revealing a cold, thin smile. Her delicate face was coated with frost. “He writhed in pain on the floor, and only the last stab killed him.”

—The final stab pierced Lu Yang’s heart.

Zhao Ke paused briefly with his pen on the paper: “You held the knife with your bare hands?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do after killing him?”

This was the question Zhao Ke focused on—the scene had been cleaned extremely thoroughly. No fingerprints, footprints, sweat, or hair were left. Apart from the confession, there was almost no direct evidence pointing to Lin Yutong, which was why the police couldn’t close the case.

“I was very scared,” Lin Yutong tilted her head, her expression showing not a trace of fear. “Later I calmed down, cleaned the scene, changed clothes, ran away, and returned the next day to handle the body.”

“Explain the dismemberment process in detail.”

Lin Yutong began recounting mechanically. Zhao Ke interrupted multiple times, sometimes asking her to repeat a detail, sometimes tracing the timeline, sometimes confirming specific phrases repeatedly. Perhaps the long days of interrogation had worn her patience down; this time she did not remain silent and answered all questions cooperatively, though her mood grew increasingly somber.

When the interrogation ended, Zhao Ke capped his pen and pushed the record toward her per procedure: “Look it over, confirm it’s correct, and sign.”

“Okay, Officer Zhao.” Lin Yutong read carefully and signed at the bottom.

Zhao Ke tucked the record under his arm and turned toward the door. As he reached for the doorknob, his movement froze.

A detail he had overlooked flashed through his mind:

—Did I just say my surname is Zhao?

Zhao Ke’s gaze sharpened.

He slowly turned back, only to find Lin Yutong quietly watching him.

~

“Film Studio”

After Qu Ping shouted “Cut,” Duan Wenting strode back quickly. His eyes sparkled as he pointed at Shi Yin from a distance, a wide, genuine smile on his face.

“Method acting?” Duan Wenting spoke quickly, excited to find a kindred spirit. “Are you a student of Teacher Zhao? Which class?”

The Zhao he mentioned was Zhao Peici—the legendary figure of the Central Academy of Drama’s Acting Department, Duan Wenting’s former mentor and a flagbearer of method acting in China.

“No,” Shi Yin lifted her face, her gaze clear as a mountain stream. “I took acting classes on my own, learned from videos and books, then… practiced repeatedly.”

This answer made Duan Wenting’s surprise deepen, then shift to sincere admiration: “To reach this level on your own… you’re really impressive. Young and formidable.” His praise carried no senior-to-junior politeness, only peer respect. “Let’s exchange more and learn from each other whenever we can.”

Shi Yin obediently nodded, her eyes casually sweeping past the top of his head.

Goodwill +1

Duan Wenting’s admiration was genuine.

~

“Office”

Zhao Ke flipped through photos of the dismembered flesh in the autopsy report, his expression unusually stern.

Suddenly, his finger stopped on a page.

“This stab wound…” Zhao Ke traced the chaotic gash in the photo, his voice low. “Too sloppy. Not like the work of a forensic doctor.”

He raised his eyes, scanning the busy colleagues in the office, half to himself, half as a question: “Lin Yutong is a forensic doctor. If she really wanted Lu Yang dead, one stab would have sufficed. Why, out of some grudge or resentment, did she need to cut him thirty-two times?”

“…You didn’t get lucky with a hookup, huh?” a young officer tried to lighten the mood with a joke. “Forensic students are just ruthless.”

No one responded. The office was silent except for the rustle of paper.

Zhao Ke pinched the bridge of his nose as if trying to extract clues from the chaos. “Not just that… thirty-two stabs weren’t enough. She still had to crush the bones, burn them, put Lu Yang in the furnace…”

He snapped awake. “Bone fragments! Why would Lin Yutong throw away the bones? If she had buried them, even just hidden them in the villa, the risk of exposure would have been much lower!”

Zhao Ke jumped to his feet, grabbed a whiteboard marker, and wrote quickly: “Crime of passion, returning to the scene to dismember, burning the bones, deliberately discarding them… the last step is too strange.”

He paused the pen heavily on the whiteboard, turned, and a sharp light flashed in his eyes. “What if the purpose of throwing the bones was to deliberately expose herself? That’s why she ‘turned herself in’! But why would she do that?”

He clapped his hands in excitement, startling everyone: “Is it possible—Lu Yang wasn’t even killed by her! Lin Yutong caused all this commotion to help the real killer cover it up!”

The office fell into instant silence. Several young officers shivered. “Captain Zhao, you—you’re scaring us!”

If there was another killer, all of their investigative directions would be completely overturned.

Zhao Ke remained silent, lowering his head into deep thought.

“Old Zhang, what are you thinking about again?” someone patted Old Zhang’s shoulder, who was staring blankly.

Old Zhang stared at the goji berries floating in his tea and muttered, “I was thinking about Hui County…”

“Huh? Brother Zhang, are you going back home?” Xiao Huang instinctively asked.

“Going home?!” Old Zhang waved his hand, his expression unusually grave. “During the first interrogation of Lin Yutong, she strangely mentioned Hui County. At the time, I thought she was deliberately diverting the topic. Now, thinking back…”

Lin Yutong mentioned Hui County?

Zhao Ke’s whole body jolted—he had been transferred from Hui County! He recalled Lin Yutong’s cold smile, that abrupt “Officer Zhao”… countless fragments suddenly converged in his mind.

“Check Lu Yang’s former names! Check his family’s connection with Hui County!” Zhao Ke’s tone was urgent and authoritative.

The office immediately sprang into action. In less than ten minutes, a file was slammed onto the desk. “Captain Zhao! Found it! Lu Yang’s original name was Lu Yan. His father worked in Hui County ten years ago!”

“Hui County… Lin Yutong… Lu Yan…”

Zhao Ke grabbed his car keys and dashed to the door.

“Captain Zhao, where are you going?”

“Back to Hui County!” Zhao Ke’s voice was resolute. “I need to find an old case file!”

~

Because she needed to coordinate with Duan Wenting’s schedule, Shi Yin had taken two days off this week. By the time all the reshoots for Saints in the Fog wrapped, she hadn’t seen Prince in four full days.

That day, she woke naturally, leisurely ate lunch, and took a ride to Minghu Villa. Even though she was technically on leave, thinking about the 20K monthly part-time salary made her slightly uneasy, so she decided to work voluntarily.

Before leaving, she specifically sent Kevin a message, asking him to bring the stroller stored at the villa.

Less than ten minutes after sitting in the living room, the servant had refilled her tea three times. Shi Yin noticed there were more people than usual in the villa today, including burly security, when she heard the familiar, cheerful footsteps approaching—

Prince had arrived.

“My little prince~” she opened her arms and caught the Border Collie, laughing as she rubbed its fluffy head. “Did you miss me?”

She looked up but didn’t see Kevin, and muttered softly, “Kevin? Didn’t I tell him to bring my strol—”

The last word “stroller” got stuck in her throat.

A sleek smart wheelchair silently glided to her side. Li Xuan’s face, pure and detached from worldly desires, suddenly appeared, and the air seemed to freeze.

Shi Yin froze for a moment, released Prince, and lifted a perfectly-timed smile. “Li Xuan, you’re back! Haha, long time no see.”

Li Xuan’s dark eyes were calm and unreadable, his voice flat. “Don’t let Prince pull you. It’s dangerous.”

Shi Yin gasped and immediately sat up straight, admitting her mistake smoothly. “I’m sorry! Sorry! Prince just really likes playing with this… it’s my fault. I should have prioritized its safety…”

Li Xuan: “…”

He paused in silence, then spoke with a hint of helplessness: “When I say dangerous, that includes you.” He paused again. “The stroller’s chassis isn’t stable. If you don’t watch the road, you could fall.”

Shi Yin froze. “…Ah? So I… thank you for your concern?”

She awkwardly touched her cheek.

Why does this calm guy always omit the subject when he speaks? Last time he said it to the dog, and now he’s talking to her? Can she really be blamed for misunderstanding?

But… how did Li Xuan know she rides the stroller without watching the road?

Shi Yin raised her head, suspicious.

“Prince used its growth fund,” Li Xuan explained calmly. “The bank sent a transaction notice, so I checked the surveillance.”

“Oh, that was Prince treating me to breakfast,” Shi Yin immediately laughed, her cheerful and generous personality shining through. “Did it use up all its allowance? Should I transfer… to you?”

—She had no idea that Prince’s “growth fund” totaled seven million.

“No need.” Li Xuan’s response was still brief.

At this moment, Kevin arrived, holding a professional training plan sheet. “Mr. Li, Miss Shi, here’s today’s exercise plan. We’ll check off each item as it’s completed.”

“Okay, okay,” Shi Yin quickly stood up. “Shall we start now?”

She followed Kevin briskly. Her foot injury had long healed, and she could now run and jump, moving even more nimbly than before.

“Shi Yin.”

Li Xuan’s voice sounded again, neither high nor low, but it made her pause.

“After today’s training, please come to the AV room.”

Shi Yin’s spine stiffened slightly. “…Oh.”

The AV room? He’s not going to play back the last two weeks of footage, frame by frame, to find her mistakes and dock her pay, is he?

Wow, truly a heartless capitalist!

Once the three of them—the two and the dog—moved away, Li Xuan tapped his phone a few times: “Find a few videos… hmm… connect to the AV room.”

An hour later, Shi Yin, guided by a man claiming to be the “butler,” gently pushed open the AV room door.

At first glance, she felt Li Xuan had been too modest.

This wasn’t an AV “room” at all. It was a dreamlike private home theater. The space was carpeted with plush, high-end handmade rugs—sound-absorbing yet luxurious. Most striking was the micro-perforated giant screen at the front, almost spanning the entire wall, estimated to be over three meters wide, with a stunning visual impact.

A set of immersive audio equipment, of a brand Shi Yin couldn’t recognize, was seamlessly embedded in the walls and ceiling. The speaker exteriors had no covers and blended perfectly with the decor, clearly using advanced acoustic technology. The space met industrial-grade screening standards yet felt cozy under the warm lighting. Two wide professional leather seats were arranged side by side in the middle-rear of the room, and Li Xuan sat quietly in one of them.

Compared to this AV room, Shi Yin felt her own home was as shabby as a “slum”!

She felt defeated—why can’t the world’s wealthy just give me one more?

Her face smiled, but her mind cursed as she walked in.

On the giant screen, a large dog’s head suddenly appeared, followed by a title line—

“Safe Dog-Raising Educational Video”

Shi Yin’s eyes went wide. “??”

Author’s note: Li Xuan: Forgot to provide pre-job training for employees…