`Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Last year, domestic suspense dramas were once harshly criticized by viewers as “the year of bad dramas,” with average Douban scores dropping to 5.2—almost every series “bombed completely.” Complaints such as “police look greasy and overdone,” “cases never get solved, everyone is busy falling in love,” and “premise hyped up, later collapses into trash” were endless, and both market and reputation sank into a slump.

However, the moment Saints in the Mist went online, it quickly reversed the decline—within an hour of airing, it shot to the top of Butterfly Video’s trending chart, and heat quickly surpassed 20,000. Two hours later, the heat continued to climb to 22,000, ultimately reaching a peak of 27,088 on the night of release, making it the highest-trending drama on the platform on its premiere day, breaking the platform’s record.

Two days after the release, the heat remained steady above 27,000. Even more exciting, the Douban score soared to 8.7, not only the highest opening score for a domestic drama this year but also topping the suspense category for the past three years, making it a true “word-of-mouth dark horse.”

Seeing that Saints in the Mist was performing well, Shiyin Yin finally relaxed. The next day, she arrived punctually at Minghu Villa—there was no other way. Even though she had now reached the “stubborn bronze” level of 16.5-line in the entertainment circle, she was still poor with justification! Not only did she have to support herself, but she also had to pay the outsourced team out of pocket. Without working hard, she would truly be buried in debt.

As usual, Prince took her on a leisurely stroll around the villa. After returning, Shiyin washed her hands and sat in the living room, carefully peeling an autumn moon pear. Suddenly, a deep engine sound came from outside.

Prince, who had been lying on the floor, perked up his ears and shot out like a cannonball. Shiyin walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and indeed saw the familiar Yue A88668 parked in the yard. The rear door opened automatically, and a gently sloped ramp was lowered. Then, a silver light wheelchair slid out steadily.

Li Xuan had arrived.

The butler and Luo Wensheng set up the ramp and then stood quietly, not moving forward to help. Li Xuan controlled the wheelchair himself, slowly and steadily reaching the ground. Prince excitedly ran around him, jumping up and down, nudging his wet nose into his hand.

It was midsummer. Prince came out sweating, and it had been a while since his last bath—dogs shouldn’t bathe too often—so he radiated the purest “dog scent.” Li Xuan raised his hand, accurately pinched the loose skin on the back of the dog’s neck, pushing the over-enthusiastic head slightly away, while patting its back with the other hand, and in a calm voice issued the command: “Go wash.”

Prince let out a few pitiful whimpers but obediently followed Kevin.

The entire villa was designed barrier-free, and Li Xuan glided into the living room without obstruction. Shiyin was standing by the window, still holding the fruit knife she had used to peel the autumn moon pear. She politely nodded to this “patron” in another sense.

Li Xuan paused slightly.

His gaze swept over her fingers, the corner of his eyes reflecting an ambiguous emotion—the slender, sharp blade glimmered coldly.

Shiyin felt a chill under his gaze. She instinctively placed the knife on the coffee table, tilted her head, and used her eyes to send a silent question: “?”

Li Xuan withdrew his gaze, his voice calm: “I watched it.”

“Watched what?” Shiyin didn’t react immediately.

“Saints in the Mist.”

Only then did she remember the forced recommendation she had given earlier. Her eyes lit up, slightly nervous, and she leaned half a step closer: “What do you think? Don’t hold back, just be honest—I can take any critique!”

Though her words sounded casual, her bright eyes clearly reflected: Praise me! Praise my performance!

Li Xuan watched her silently for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words at her unmasked expectation. Finally, he uttered a single word: “Good.”

Shiyin blinked, full of hope, and asked eagerly: “Hmm, and then?”

“…” Li Xuan remained silent, as if reorganizing his words. After two seconds, he spoke again, tone still calm, but the words clearer: “I think it’s good. You acted very well.”

Shiyin only then realized—his earlier “good” was already the highest praise. She awkwardly touched the back of her neck and murmured quietly: “…Oh.”

Li Xuan maneuvered the wheelchair to turn and asked simultaneously: “Do you have time?”

“Yes.” Shiyin blurted out. With no filming and no school, time was the one thing she did not lack.

“I’ll change clothes,” Li Xuan invited, “Do you want to watch together? You can see the ending.”

“Saints in the Mist?” Shiyin was stunned. “The platform has only updated to episode eight! The superpoints aren’t even open—where did you get the ending?” She seemed to realize something; her expression turned complicated, voice lowered: “…You didn’t watch a pirated version, did you?”

That was not allowed!

Li Xuan looked at her, tone calm and unflustered: “I had Wensheng ask the platform to purchase it.”

Shiyin was shocked: “…You can actually buy it?”

Butterfly Video was so unreliable. Could unreleased, top-secret sources really be leaked just for money?!

Li Xuan seemed to consider her question seriously, then gave a flawless answer: “Yes, the payment was sufficient.”

Shiyin: “…”

Once again, she was deeply shocked by the plain yet powerful “money ability” of the “calm guy.” A classic scene from a superhero movie flashed in her mind—The Flash asks Batman his superpower, Batman smiles calmly: “I'm rich.”

Re-entering the absurdly luxurious home theater, Shiyin felt much more composed than before. The butler silently brought a delicate fruit platter and tea, placing a steaming pot of floral tea in front of her, while Li Xuan’s preparation included a black insulated cup with no visible contents.

Shiyin sank comfortably into the wide chair as the big screen began playing the opening of episode nine.

Li Xuan positioned the wheelchair parallel to the sofa, skillfully adjusting the height to align nearly perfectly with the wheelchair seat. Then, he placed his arms firmly on the sofa armrests, using core and upper body strength to move his body steadily and neatly. Once seated, he leaned forward, placing his legs in order.

He completed the process with exceptional calmness, expressionless, as if merely executing a routine repeated hundreds of times, as natural as breathing.

Shiyin Yin had always been sensitive, with a strong capacity for empathy. Watching him move silently and skillfully, an inexplicable sting of tight, sharp sadness rose in her chest. She instinctively lowered her eyelashes, no longer looking toward Li Xuan.

Only when the sound of the film starting filled her ears did she lift her gaze again, softly reminding: “It’s starting.”

Li Xuan gave a low “hmm,” his eyes fixed on the screen.

Shiyin said no more, hugging a soft pillow, quietly immersing herself in the next four episodes.

~

Zhao Ke, heading to Hui County to investigate the case files, encountered unprecedented resistance. The local archive’s administrator was perfunctory, the system “happened” to malfunction, and the paper case files were “temporarily inaccessible.” After three consecutive days of being turned away, he finally decided to camp outside the county bureau.

Duan Wenting delivered an exquisitely detailed performance here. He deliberately preserved the genuine fatigue accumulated from consecutive days of shooting: dry, chapped lips; bloodshot eyes; messy hair clinging to his forehead; his entire being exuding a stubborn, worn exhaustion. In the shot, he squatted by the curb, mechanically chewing on hard bread, swallowing forcefully with mineral water. Every swallow seemed rigid and numb.

Finally, after his near-obsessive persistence, an intentionally forgotten old case file resurfaced.

It was a case handled by his mentor years ago—

Three junior high school boys, Lu Yan, Chen Wenbo, and Zhao Tianci, had brutally beaten a scavenging old man in the street for a long time, ultimately causing his death.

However, because all three perpetrators were under fourteen, and the crime scene was remote, lacking witnesses and key evidence, no direct causal link between the beating and the old man’s death could be legally established. In the end, the case closed with a mere “admission of hitting”; the boys received verbal education, their guardians paid a small compensation, and no one faced criminal charges.

Zhao Ke’s gaze locked onto the complainant field, which recorded a name long buried by time: Lin Yutong.

—She was the granddaughter of the scavenging old man who had been beaten to death.

The camera slowly pushed in. The small name blurred in the glow, as if a hoarse cry was breaking through the abyss of memory.

~

Lin Yutong sat quietly in the corner of the art studio, carefully wiping each used tube of paint and neatly storing them in a wooden box. Early spring sunlight streamed through the window, casting a gentle halo on her plain school uniform. Her expression was calm and serene, starkly at odds with the noisy surroundings.

“Damn! This is outrageous!” Several classmates huddled over a phone, suddenly rising indignantly, slapping the table.

“Totally animals! They even hit an old man!”

“Wait… some comments say the old man isn’t a good person, often stealing women’s underwear left out to dry—he’s an old pervert!”

“Stealing justifies beating him to death?! That’s way too harsh!”

“Exactly! Besides, is there any proof he stole underwear? Who knows if it’s true or just rumors?”

“Rumors don’t come from nowhere, okay? And look at his tattered clothes; he clearly isn’t a decent person…”

“Yutong, come look!” a classmate shouted toward the studio corner, “Trash from our school is beating an old man in the street!”

In the frame, Lin Yutong responded lightly and got up, approaching the crowd, her eyes casually scanning the phone screen—then, in the next moment, her pupils constricted. She snatched the phone violently.

On the video, three boys in their school uniforms were mercilessly beating a curled-up old man. One stepped back for a running start, then kicked the old man’s head viciously in midair!

“Creak—”

The chair scraped violently backward from the movement. Lin Yutong shot out of the studio like an arrow from a bow, leaving only a flustered back behind.

The camera followed her staggering figure. She ran wildly, falling hard twice along the way, scraping her knees and bleeding from her elbows, yet remained oblivious. She pushed open the old man’s door—it was cluttered with scrap newspapers, jars, and old clothes but arranged neatly. Cardboard boxes were stacked to the ceiling; miscellaneous items sorted carefully on shelves.

Lin Yutong slowly stepped inside. The camera swept past her trembling shoulders, focusing on the old man’s stooped back. He clutched his stomach, the bandages haphazardly wrapped on his head soaked with fresh blood.

“Grandpa!” Lin Yutong’s tears sprang instantly.

“School’s out?” the old man weakly pushed her hand away, “Don’t dirty your uniform… I see you’ve used up your paints. Go buy new ones today…”

“Did someone hit you? Those three beasts?” Lin Yutong’s voice trembled as she rolled up his sleeve, choking on her words, “Did you call the police? Did you go to the hospital?”

“The police came and took them away,” the old man said weakly, forcing a smile to comfort his granddaughter, “Also went to the clinic, got medicine. Don’t waste money…”

“No! We must get checked again!” Lin Yutong looked at the bandages on his head still soaked in blood, speaking through sobs, “You’re still bleeding!”

“No need…” The old man gently pushed her hands away. His cloudy eyes were full of stubbornness. “That medicine… is enough. You’ll need money next semester to buy art supplies…”

No matter how much Lin Yutong pleaded, the old man only shook his head. His frail hands clutched the crumpled clinic receipt as if it were the weight this household could not bear.

Late at night, the old man’s stifled moans occasionally echoed in the shabby house. Lin Yutong, eyes red, stayed by the bed, wiping his cold sweat from his forehead repeatedly with a damp towel. By early morning, exhaustion finally overcame her. Holding her grandfather’s hand, she slumped against the bed, half-asleep.

The first light of dawn.

When the first rays of morning streamed through the window onto the old man’s peaceful face, Lin Yutong suddenly awoke.

Her hand felt ice-cold.

In the solemn courtroom, the air seemed to be split into two worlds.

The honest and humble Lin family uncle and aunt sat awkwardly in the plaintiff’s seat, their rough fingers tightly intertwined. Across from them, in the spectators’ section, the three boys’ parents were dressed smartly, whispering casually to each other, faint smiles playing at their lips.

Lin Yutong sat in the back row, listening to the defense lawyer eloquently trying to paint a violent act as “youthful mischief,” watching the three perpetrators smirk with their heads down, their shoulders slightly rising in relief.

“The court hereby sentences the defendants Lu Yan, Chen Wenbo, and Zhao Tianci… due to the minor severity of the offense and their failure to reach the legal age for criminal responsibility, no criminal liability shall be pursued. They are released immediately.”

As the gavel fell with a crisp sound, suppressed sighs of relief echoed through the spectators’ section. One mother even smiled on the spot, patting her chest as if grateful to survive. And her grandfather, a lifetime of kindness and diligence, could only rest forever, cold, in the ground.

Justice had not arrived. What came was bare, nauseating favoritism.

Lin Yutong sought out the police officer handling the case. He explained awkwardly: “The coroner’s autopsy concluded sudden cardiac arrest. While Lu Yan and the others did assault your grandfather, it cannot be proven as the direct cause of death. Moreover, your grandfather was elderly and had multiple chronic illnesses…”

“My grandfather was beaten to death by them!” Lin Yutong shook her head stubbornly, her whole body trembling with anger. “There’s evidence… witnesses! Grandpa said he saw them bullying a girl, so he spoke up… Go find that girl, have her testify! She was there, wearing the school uniform!”

“We’ve checked with the school, no one claims to have seen it,” the officer looked away sympathetically.

“That’s impossible… Did you miss someone? Please ask again, one by one!” Lin Yutong lunged forward, grabbing his sleeve, knuckles white from the grip, her voice desperate and choked with tears.

Nearby, the young Zhao Ke couldn’t help but interject: “Master, maybe… that girl doesn’t want to testify? She might feel embarrassed or afraid of retaliation…”

The old officer glared at him. Zhao Ke immediately realized his mistake and fell silent sheepishly.

“Doesn’t want… to testify?”

Lin Yutong muttered the words, as if all strength had been drained from her. The light in her eyes dimmed little by little, finally extinguished entirely.

“But my grandfather… he did it to help her.”

She didn’t cry anymore, nor did she argue. She slowly released her white-knuckled fists, lowered her head, and walked out of the police station step by step. That small, thin figure disappeared at the end of the dim corridor, like a sapling bent by a sudden storm.

The camera abruptly cut back to Zhao Ke’s face—he froze in place, as if struck by an invisible hammer. A ringing filled his ears, a sharp intake of breath stuck in his throat.

The long-buried case files seemed to come alive in an instant, each word reeking of blood. Instinctively, Zhao Ke pulled out his phone, fingers trembling as he dialed. As soon as the call connected, he urgently shouted:

“Old Hu! Are you still in the household registration office? Help me check two people, Chen Wenbo and Zhao Tianci, local to Hui County, should be around twenty-six or twenty-seven now. Yes, immediately!”

A chilling sense crept up his spine. Zhao Ke clenched the phone and paced in place. He looked up at the sky outside—unlike Fog City’s perpetually gloomy weather, Hui County was bathed in sunlight. Yet he felt a piercing cold; sweat had already soaked through the back of his shirt.

Less than half an hour later, Old Hu’s return call sounded like a death knell:

“Old Zhao, the two people you want to check… are already dead, their household registrations canceled.” His voice carried the same incredulous gravity. “Chen Wenbo died in a street racing accident. The car went into the river, the door jammed, he couldn’t escape… when retrieved, the body was unrecognizable.”

“Zhao Tianci’s case is even stranger. He argued with his girlfriend at a wildlife park, got out of the car in a fit, and coincidentally encountered a tiger that had been hungry for days… he was mauled beyond recognition, couldn’t be saved.”

…

Shiyin Yin pressed a tissue to her eyes, looking down, when the screen suddenly froze. She lifted her reddened eyes, muffled, “Why did it stop?”

“I apologize,” Li Xuan’s voice sounded unusually clear in the quiet home theater.

“Apologize?” Shiyin blinked, confused, “Why apologize?”

Li Xuan paused.

He recalled this afternoon—Shiyin standing in the living room, gripping that fruit knife gleaming coldly. At that moment, uncontrollably, his mind flashed the image of Lin Yutong calmly dismembering Lu Yang from the series.

Zhou Yunfeng hadn’t been following the series, so he couldn’t understand that instant of alertness. Li Xuan thought, if Zhou Yunfeng had watched it, he probably would have reflexively reacted to Shiyin.

She truly acted “Lin Yutong” too well—so well it created illusions.

“After this episode airs,” Li Xuan said, averting his gaze subtly, his tone returning to usual calm, “Lin Yutong’s reputation will be completely reversed.”

Shiyin nodded heavily, eyes still glistening, her face still expressing complete confusion, “I… have no idea what you just said.”

Author’s note: The most frightening sentence when watching artistic works: This story is adapted from true events. Similarly, the plot of three boys beating the scavenging old man is based on a true incident…