Chapter 13

“Do you remember what Director Yan said this afternoon when we mentioned Yan Zhan?” Jiang Xuzhou didn’t answer directly but instead brought up the earlier conversation.

Ruan Mingxi thought back carefully, not quite sure what Jiang Xuzhou was getting at. “I remember. Why?”

“When you suggested talking about Yan Zhan’s situation, Director Yan’s first reaction was that Yan Zhan had caused trouble and wasted police resources,” Jiang Xuzhou explained.

His instinct was immediately to assume his own child was at fault. He didn’t even listen to words before making a definitive judgment. Subconsciously, he doesn’t trust Yan Zhan.

Jiang Xuzhou continued, “Or rather, in his mind, once Yan Zhan is outside his control, he will inevitably make mistakes. That’s a clear sign of deep mistrust.”

“From this perspective, Director Yan is very likely a father with strong controlling tendencies. He demands that Yan Zhan excel in studies, in character, in everything — all under his supervision.”

Jiang Xuzhou’s tone was calm as he analyzed: “Any act of resistance from Yan Zhan would feel to him like the spark that could ignite a bomb.”

Ying Shi recalled what they had found. “The chain lock in Yan Zhan’s room was his silent act of resistance. That’s why Director Yan was so furious, kicking the door and breaking the lock several times.”

“The lock was a signal. Yan Zhan was trying to resist his father, to carve out a space to breathe. Locking the door wasn’t just about the room — it was about protecting a fragment of his own freedom.”

Jiang Xuzhou’s words were like a breeze, dispersing the clouds that had been blocking the sunlight.

Ruan Mingxi rubbed the tissue in his calloused hand without speaking.

Moments later, the stall owner arrived carrying a tray with three bowls of wontons.

“Wontons are ready — eat them while they’re hot.”

The sudden interruption brought their conversation to a halt.

…

After dinner, it was already late. At Ruan Mingxi’s urging, Jiang Xuzhou packed up and went home.

Back in the meeting room, Ruan Mingxi sat before the surveillance monitors, watching frame after frame with a stern expression.

The video team continued combing through footage from around the crime scene. After leaving the residential complex, Yan Zhan boarded a bus.

But the bus stop cameras were too blurry to identify which bus he had taken.

Several colleagues worked on enhancing the footage, hoping to find clues from the bus.

Ruan Mingxi studied the monitors, sketching his deductions on the small blackboard.

The dismembered remains had been dumped, and the filthy environment of the trash bins made it impossible to determine the exact time of death from current evidence.

Worse still, their check of missing persons records in the city showed no reports of a missing teenager around 17 years old.

If not for Yan Peiliang’s unease about his grandson being alone outside, and his chance encounter with Jiang Xuzhou that revealed inconsistencies, they wouldn’t even have been able to confirm the victim’s identity.

“Captain Ruan, we found the game account.”

The voice of a technician snapped Ruan Mingxi back to focus.

At another computer, he saw dozens of saved gameplay videos.

It seemed Yan Zhan had hidden his games deep within the system to avoid being discovered — even creating multiple accounts.

Amid a jumble of numbers that looked almost like gibberish, they searched for a long time before finally finding his game account and password.

Ruan Mingxi reached for the mouse and clicked open one of the saved game videos.

It was a first‑person shooting game: a hundred players dropped into the same map, and whoever survived to the end was the winner.

The rules were simple, but Yan Zhan showed no talent at all.

He seemed like a blind man lost in unfamiliar territory, moving cautiously, afraid of being noticed.

Whenever another player appeared in front of him, within ten seconds the screen would turn gray — game over.

“Seriously? Playing like this, how could he ever hope to go pro in e‑sports?”

They watched seven or eight videos in a row. The maps were different, but the results were always the same.

Yan Zhan’s longest survival time was barely ten minutes, and he was eliminated early every round.

“Check the login IP for the account. Track the location,” Ruan Mingxi ordered.

The tech team immediately responded, “Got it.”

Ruan Mingxi couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Judging from the videos, gaming should have been joyless for Yan Zhan — so why was he so impulsive, even to the point of wanting to drop out of school?

“IP tracking shows two frequent login locations: one at the Laiyang residential complex, and another at an internet café about five hundred meters away.”

The technician shifted aside, giving Ruan Mingxi space to look.

He studied the login addresses and timestamps: every Friday night at half past midnight.

And the last Friday was the 17th — the very day Yan Zhan left home. Did he escape just to go to the internet café?

“Someone come with me,” Ruan Mingxi said. “I’m going to check the café. If there’s any news, call me.”

Ying Shi had been on duty at the bureau the previous night, so tonight he was off to rest. Ruan Mingxi called on another colleague who was also on duty to go with him.

At midnight in Jinghai City, the streets were still busy, and on the way to the internet café they even ran into two traffic jams.

“Manager, one bucket of braised beef instant noodles with a sausage, and a pack of cigarettes.”

“Coming right up!”

The moment Ruan Mingxi stepped inside, the stench of secondhand smoke mixed with food hit him, making him frown.

The haze of smoke was so thick it looked almost otherworldly. The clattering of keyboards was loud enough to sound like they might break, and every so often curses rang out.

The officer following behind him coughed from the smoke. From the outside, the café looked decent in size, but inside the environment was shockingly poor.

The manager had just delivered noodles to a customer when he noticed Ruan Mingxi and officer Lin Cheng at the counter. He casually opened the computer screen: “Two machines, how long do you want?”

Ruan Mingxi glanced around. Many of the players were clearly underage kids, sitting there gaming.

Lin Cheng was about to pull out his police ID, but Ruan Mingxi stopped him.

“Captain?”

“Letting minors into an internet café is against the rules. If you flash your badge, the manager will bolt in a second. Better to finish asking questions first, then call the security division to handle it.”

Lin Cheng nodded.

“What are you two whispering about? You want to play or not?” The manager eyed them suspiciously.

Ruan Mingxi immediately turned back with a smile, leaning casually on the counter. “No rush. I wanted to discuss something with you.”

The manager narrowed his eyes, wary. “What is it?”

Ruan Mingxi smiled, pulling out a cigarette to offer. “Nothing serious. My nephew’s been skipping class to come here. This is the café he sneaks off to.”

“He’s supposed to take the college entrance exam this year. It’s not easy for the family to support him, and we can’t just watch him go astray.”

He sighed, putting on the look of a weary parent. “We’ve scolded him, even beaten him, but he won’t listen. Next time he shows up here, could you give me a heads‑up so I can catch him?”

With a smile and a cigarette in hand, Ruan Mingxi looked every bit the street‑wise but concerned parent — the kind who seems careless himself but desperately wants his kid to succeed.