Chapter 20

Chapter 20 Chapter 20: Fated Enemies on a Narrow Road.

Jian Qing felt that He Linfeng had a kind of miraculous ability.

If today someone else had said this in front of him, that person would probably already have been kicked out of the car on the spot and added to his permanent blacklist of people he would never interact with again.

But He Linfeng…

The other party always managed to bypass his danger radar.

Over the next three days, Beijiang City was calm and uneventful. Even the “evidence cat” Mimi, temporarily fostered at the Municipal Public Security Bureau, had gained a little roundness and its fur had gradually become glossy and smooth.

Completely the opposite were the members of the Major Crime Unit.

They had already thoroughly visited and investigated Xiang Yun’s social network—her ex-boyfriend and colleagues, and the web of relationships. All possible people who might have had a conflict with the deceased had provided perfect alibis.

This included the “investor boss” who had organized the karaoke session that night.

The murder weapon, a surgical scalpel, could be found everywhere online and offline. Taobao alone had tens of millions of users. Relying on this alone, it was impossible to effectively narrow down the suspects.

“This is insane,” Wang Lai, completely forgetting he was still wearing a mostly dried facial mask, suddenly stood up, revealing a ghostly white face, “Even the most cunning murderer has to follow science, right? If they didn’t know her, and didn’t stake out the place in advance, how did this person know where Xiang Yun lived?”

The surveillance footage before and after the incident had been reviewed several times by Wang Lai. Everyone who repeatedly appeared near the scene were long-time residents of Ping’an Road, each of whom could withstand questioning.

To ensure nothing was missed, he even thoroughly interrogated Xiang Yun’s landlord. The landlord was on a business trip in another city at the time, accompanied by several colleagues. Their alibi was beyond clean.

“Could it really be a random killing?” Zhou Shan wondered. “The killer had no specific target, just happened to see a lone victim, evil impulse took over, and one stab hit a fatal spot.”

Cases like this were always the hardest to solve—no motive, no relationship, time-consuming and labor-intensive, and the results were often not ideal.

Irritated, Wang Lai forcefully tugged at his messy hair: “A very reasonable inference. I’d like to believe that too. But a random killer just so happened to overlap minds with Chen Yang, used the same blade Chen Yang had used, harmed a patient Chen Yang had injected, and even wanted to disfigure the victim just like Chen Yang did.”

“There are so many places on the body—heart, liver, spleen, lungs, kidneys—but he specifically stabbed the throat that Chen Yang wanted to stab.”

“That probability… if you call it coincidence, Old Zhou, do you even believe it yourself?”

Zhou Shan choked, and after a long moment, honestly shook his head.

Song Xiaotong, who had been listening attentively, raised her hand to join in: “A copycat offender?”

Wang Lai rejected it again without mercy: “When Jian Qing was attacked, not even his face or throat was scratched. Chen Yang’s plan was in a memo, local, heavily encrypted—there wasn’t even a chance to copy it.”

“Besides, everyone Chen Yang had ever chatted with or called, and everyone with a medical background—his classmates and colleagues—Captain Yan has basically gone through them all. And the result, you know.”

There was still no suspect who matched the offender profile at all.

For the first time encountering a situation like this, Song Xiaotong felt lost: “Then what do we do now?”

Wang Lai sighed: “Even though it sounds strange… objectively speaking, the most helpful thing for solving the case right now is for the killer to commit another crime.”

It was just that no one would actually wish for such a tragedy to happen again.

Except the killer themselves.

“Where is Consultant He?” Zhou Shan, remembering the other party’s last moment of sudden insight, looked around expectantly. “Does he have any ideas?”

Wang Lai tried to recall: “Uh.”

“Think from a different angle?”

Song Xiaotong asked curiously: “What angle?”

Wang Lai paused: “…from the criminal’s perspective.”

“He seems to be very carefully selecting the next victim.”

Beijiang City, Baisha Street.

He Facing Wind did not drive his flashy jeep tonight. Instead, he casually grabbed a shared bicycle from the roadside, one long leg supporting him, looking like a campus student—youthful and strikingly handsome.

Police work had many rules, but he was a nonconformist who always took an unconventional path. To avoid causing trouble for his superiors and colleagues, sometimes he inevitably had to act as a lone “private detective.”

But he had never expected that he would run into Simple Green here.

—Or rather, run into Simple Green’s car.

With the tip of his shoe lightly touching down in a perfect foot brake, He Facing Wind raised his hand and smiled as he knocked on the window with its privacy film.

If he remembered correctly, just two hours ago, he and Simple Green had said goodnight to each other downstairs at Simple Green’s apartment.

Simple Green, who had been caught red-handed just by randomly stopping his car: …

Fated enemies on a narrow road.

“Consultant He,” he slowly rolled down the window and struck first, “what are you doing here?”

He Facing Wind answered without hesitation: “Eating rice noodles.”

Simple Green nodded calmly: “What a coincidence, so am I.”

Even though they both knew the other was lying, they tacitly chose not to expose it. Their eyes met. He Facing Wind decisively abandoned the shared bicycle that had carried him for a while, scanned and paid to end the ride, then opened the door and got into Simple Green’s passenger seat.

“Today is the fourth day since Xiang Yun’s murder, and the eighth day since you were attacked,” He Facing Wind said straight to the point. “I think the killer will strike again.”

“There’s a girl living on Baisha Street named Bent Peach, 22 years old. She has a sweet appearance and is currently a small streamer on Zimu Station. Two years ago, she received a hydrating skin injection at Xinzi Aesthetic Medicine.”

“That’s the rough outline of my reasoning, and also the real reason I came to Baisha Street.”

“So, Mr. Simple Green, do you want to talk about it?”

Simple Green fell silent.

Of course, he could insist he was just out for a casual drive. After all, no law stated that Simple Green could not come to Baisha Street or take a nighttime drive.

But He Facing Wind had already honestly revealed his cards.

The other party was sharp, powerful, possessing an almost beast-like accurate intuition, certain that he was here for the same purpose, and even gave him room to refuse conversation.

Continuing to argue would be both disrespectful to the opponent and embarrassing to himself.

So he could only remain silent.

The existence of the transmigrator and the system was a secret he had chosen to take to the grave. Moreover, how was he supposed to tell He Facing Wind, “You are just a character in a novel”?

Too cruel, too absurd—any normal person would only think he was insane.

Yet the other party gave him ample patience, neither anxious nor agitated, neither urging nor pressuring, as if, even if he refused, he would quietly wait until the end of time.

Tick.

Tick.

Before the hands of the clock slowly ticked to the next number, Simple Green spoke: “I am not the murderer.”

This was the sentence he had said most often to the police.

“I know,” He Facing Wind, completely unprepared to hear such an answer, laughed helplessly. He casually pulled open his collar and pointed at his neck. “If you were the murderer, you’d be drawing a knife and cutting here right now.”

“Not letting your curiosity spread like this.”

Simple Green found it hard to understand.

He suspected that He Facing Wind had been transferred to Beijiang precisely because he was too easily trusting, got deceived by suspects, and then made mistakes that led to his demotion.

After all, when Wang Lai was the one giving him rides to and from work, he had heard a lot about He Facing Wind from him—part of it being that man’s glamorous résumé.

A young “hot commodity” who repeatedly solved major cases—how could he suddenly be “taken in” by Bureau Chief Zhao for no reason?

Beijiang was not like Yanjing; it did not naturally attract talent.

“I am very suspicious,” Simple Green emphasized seriously. “Next time at least you should…”

But he was gently interrupted by He Facing Wind: “Simple Green, I can tell right from wrong.”

After a brief standoff, he called his name again.

Simple Green felt inexplicably uncomfortable.

His index finger unconsciously rubbed the steering wheel as he asked: “What about Bent Peach?”

“She went home. I saw her enter the residential complex myself.” Taking out his phone and fiddling with it for a few moments, He Facing Wind muted a livestream and placed it in front of Simple Green.

On the screen was a young girl wearing pink headphones. The camera was tucked into the corner on the right, while the main display showed a game Simple Green had never played.

Judging from the scrolling comments, her skill level seemed to be quite high.

“She usually streams until around midnight,” He Facing Wind explained, clearly well-prepared. “Sleeps in the morning, streams again in the afternoon, and occasionally posts cute pet videos.”

Simple Green shifted his gaze to the top-right corner of the screen.

9:58 PM. Normally speaking, she would not be going out again tonight.

Chen Yang chose himself as the first target precisely to create chaos and fear by making a big incident. Dumping the body along the streets afterward followed the same logic.

If the transmigrator wanted to repair the plot as much as possible, he had to act according to the original murderer’s logic. Breaking into homes carried higher risk and lower impact. So even if Simple Green could not determine the exact crime scene, he could infer it would not be inside an apartment building filled with surveillance cameras.

Had the plot changed?

Or was there something he had overlooked?

The murderer had not yet been caught, and Simple Green could not truly relax. Turning his head slightly, he said: “I want to drive around.”

“Sure. I wanted to go for a drive too.” For some reason, He Facing Wind pulled out a small phone stand and propped up the phone, then leaned his seat back. “Cyber stakeout. You drive wherever you want.”

Simple Green, who had failed to evict him: …

After several days without proper rest, he had been relying entirely on coffee and sheer stubborn will to stay alert. Too tired to argue further, he instructed:

“Be quiet.”

Conversations between the transmigrator and the system would overlap with real-world sound. If they landed right on the edge of the reception range, they could easily be missed.

He Facing Wind obediently made a gesture of zipping his lips shut.

The buildings were old. Baisha Street was also located in the old urban district; it did not have much nightlife. After ten o’clock, aside from a few barbecue shops, most stores had already closed.

Driving around in circles in a place like this “for a drive”—unless someone was possessed or had something wrong with their brain, Simple Green could not think of any more reasonable explanation.

Yet He Facing Wind asked nothing.

At 12:15 a.m., in the screen, Bent Peach turned off her game and ended her livestream with an energetic wave.

“It seems my reasoning was wrong. Worth celebrating a bit,” He Facing Wind said, his gaze sliding over the young man’s increasingly sharp jawline over the past two days as he stretched lazily. “Switch?”

“Grab some late-night food, then I’ll take you home.”

Simple Green shook his head in refusal.

Xiang Yun’s time of death was in the early morning. He usually waited until the sun came up.

“Still switch,” He Facing Wind said, unusually forceful yet reasonable, even though he didn’t fully understand but still respected it. “Even police surveillance shifts. You should take a nap first.”

Simple Green was indeed somewhat tired.

But he did not intend to sleep.

Leaning back in the passenger seat with his eyes closed, he could almost clearly hear his own heartbeat, one beat after another. He did not know how long had passed when the young man’s lowered eyelashes suddenly tensed, his spine straightening.

A faint, distorted angry shout came from beside his ear:

[“Damn system!”]

[“This woman bit me!”]