Chapter 12

As Ruan Mingxi turned, his eyes fell on the desk calendar.

The calendar was stopped on the seventeenth of this month — the same date Professor Yan had mentioned as the day Yan Zhan left home.

What was strange, however, was the small red flag marking that page.

Normally, one wouldn’t mark a calendar unless there was something special planned for that day.

Ying Shi turned and noticed Ruan Mingxi staring intently at the spot.

Following his gaze, he too saw the calendar.

“Marked on the seventeenth… he must have had something important to do that day,” Ying Shi said, echoing Ruan Mingxi’s thought.

Ruan Mingxi paused. “On the sixteenth, Yan Zhan told his teacher at school he wanted to drop out. He went home and argued with his family, then left on the seventeenth. Before that, there were no signs at all. That doesn’t fit his usual habit of planning things.”

Ying Shi immediately understood. Combined with the issue of the chain lock, it was clear they needed to ask Yan Xin for more details. “I’ll go find Director Yan.”

Ruan Mingxi nodded. The deeper they investigated, the more secrets about Yan Zhan they uncovered.

After Ying Shi left, Ruan Mingxi looked at Jiang Xuzhou, who was standing by the door, lost in thought. “What’s on your mind?”

Jiang Xuzhou quickly snapped back. “Several doubts. First, why did Fan Lingfang avoid answering questions about Yan Zhan’s relationship with Yan Xin? Second, Yan Zhan claimed he wanted to play e‑sports, but neither his classmates nor his belongings show any trace of a game name. Third, the chain lock on his room door. Fourth, why did he risk climbing out of the building instead of leaving normally?”

Each of these questions on its own was puzzling, but taken together they seemed even more contradictory and fragmented.

Before they could discuss further, colleagues from the bureau arrived.

“Captain Ruan, there’s something under the bedboard,” one of them suddenly called out. Ruan Mingxi and Jiang Xuzhou’s expressions darkened at once.

First it was something hidden under the desk, now under the bedboard — Yan Zhan clearly had things he was concealing.

As the bedboard was lifted, a sharp intake of breath echoed through the room.

What met their eyes were countless bloody handprints, scattered across the wooden board like stamped patterns. They were so dense that even a single glance made one’s scalp prickle.

At the sight, Jiang Xuzhou’s face immediately changed.

Seeing crime scene photos in a file was one thing, but witnessing blood in person was on a completely different level of shock.

For a moment, it felt as if his heartbeat skipped several beats; when it resumed, the surge of adrenaline made his ears ring.

After that brief moment of stunned silence, Ruan Mingxi’s gaze fixed on a small photograph stuck to the center of the bedboard.

It was a tiny Polaroid print. Time had blurred parts of the image, but the contents were still recognizable.

Ruan Mingxi removed the photo, while a colleague nearby frowned so deeply that his features seemed to fold together.

"This painting looks strange.”

In the blink of an eye, the red and black colors flashed before them.

Jiang Xuzhou fixed his gaze. “May I see that photo?”

At his words, several forensic colleagues turned toward him, wondering who he was.

Just then, Ruan Mingxi walked over holding the photo he had removed.

The moment Jiang Xuzhou saw the image clearly, his face changed instantly.

Ruan Mingxi asked, “Is there something wrong with the painting?”

“This is The Scream by the Norwegian painter Edvard Munch,” Jiang Xuzhou recognized it immediately.

“Do you know what it means?” Ruan Mingxi pressed.

Jiang Xuzhou’s eyes lingered on the photo. “I know a little. It represents fear, loneliness, and anguish.”

“Munch painted it in 1893. The absence of the distant boat and the church spire reflects the depths of his inner terror.”

Jiang Xuzhou knew what the painting was and had some idea of its background, but to analyze it in depth would require someone more specialized — after all, he wasn’t an art history student.

Under Yan Zhan’s bedboard, bloody handprints covered the surface, yet the small photograph remained perfectly clean. This suggested his mental state was far worse than they had initially imagined.

In addition to the handprints, the forensic team also found numerous scrape marks left by sharp objects beneath the bedboard.

When Ying Shi returned with Yan Xin, both were stunned by the scene in the room — unsure whether to marvel at the speed of their colleagues’ work or to be shocked by what had been uncovered.

…

No one expected the second round of questioning to come so quickly.

But the outcome was silence: no matter what they asked, Yan Xin’s replies were always “I don’t know” or “I’m not sure.”

Only when the subject of the chain lock on Yan Zhan’s door came up did Yan Xin lose control, showing visible anger.

He admitted that the lock had been broken many times — by him, kicking it apart — because he couldn’t stand the sight of his son acting so petty, as if guarding himself against everyone.

Apart from that, the second round of questioning yielded nothing, and since it was already late, Ruan Mingxi and his team finished checking what needed to be checked and left.

By nine‑thirty in the evening, after confirming the inspection tasks, Ruan Mingxi decided they should get dinner.

At the corner of the street was a small wonton stall, quiet and run by a middle‑aged couple.

Seeing the three of them, the owners greeted them warmly with bright smiles and quickly invited them to sit.

“Boss, three bowls of wontons. For one of them, no scallions, no ginger, no garlic, no chili oil — extra cilantro,” Ruan Mingxi ordered with familiarity.

Ying Shi was stunned. “Captain, since when are you so picky?”

Ruan Mingxi chuckled, fishing three hot tea eggs out of the pot. “Mind your words. Young Master Jiang just has more unique tastes.”

Jiang Xuzhou’s lips curved slightly, accepting the “compliment” with ease. “That’s right — I’m just more devoted.”

Realizing his words might have sounded rude, Ying Shi quickly apologized to Jiang Xuzhou.

Jiang Xuzhou smiled back. “It’s fine. I really am particular about food.”

Although Ying Shi had already explained himself, he still felt a bit embarrassed — so much so that he overlooked the fact that Ruan Mingxi hadn’t asked anything, yet could still pinpoint Jiang Xuzhou’s exact food preferences.

After a few casual exchanges, the conversation inevitably circled back to the case.

“Don’t you find it strange? Director Yan’s attitude toward Yan Zhan doesn’t feel like that of a father at all. It’s more like he’s treating him as an enemy.”

Ruan Mingxi wrapped the eggshell in a napkin. “It is odd, but maybe it’s just that Director Yan is a strict father, expecting more from his son.”

Then he turned to Jiang Xuzhou. “Consultant Jiang, any insights we could learn from?”

Jiang Xuzhou shot him a glance. “Are you mocking me?”

Ruan Mingxi immediately grinned. “Not at all — I’m sincerely asking for guidance.”

Seeing his slick, playful manner, Jiang Xuzhou kicked him under the table.

Ruan Mingxi took the kick without complaint, smiling instead — as if he had predicted it all along, secretly pleased at being right, his expression mischievous and provoking.