Chapter 2

As soon as the car stopped, Ying Shi rushed out, crouched by the roadside, and retched violently.

Ruan Mingxi paused, speechless. That’s a bit much.

“Is it really that exaggerated?” he muttered, puzzled. Jiang Xuzhou, who was far more delicate, hadn’t reacted at all. This shouldn’t have been the case.

Ying Shi tried to respond but was overcome by another wave of nausea. He waved his hand weakly instead.

Ruan Mingxi tossed him a bottle of mineral water. “If you’re going to vomit, make sure you clean it up afterward. Don’t stink up my car.”

Ying Shi: "....." Was that even human language?

When Ruan Mingxi returned to the team, he heard someone crying loudly.

Inside, a woman was wiping her tears, muttering endlessly. “It’s really damnable. Who could be so cruel as to throw a corpse in the trash? Isn’t this meant to scare me to death?”

Hearing footsteps, Yao Panpan, the officer comforting her, looked up and spotted Ruan Mingxi. Relief washed over her face as though she had seen a savior.

“Captain, you’re back.”

Ruan Mingxi took a large bite of a cold bun from the table. He had brought Jiang Xuzhou along after leaving the anti-drug brigade, and the two had originally planned to eat together. But the case had intervened, and neither breakfast nor lunch had been touched.

“I’ll borrow this bun,” he said, swallowing with difficulty and nearly choking. “I’ll buy you another when I get the chance.”

Yao Panpan quickly reassured him. “It’s fine, Captain. I already ate this morning.”

Ruan Mingxi exhaled deeply. “What’s going on?”

Zhao Baozhen, the woman who had discovered the body, froze when she saw him.

Yao Panpan explained that after Zhao and her husband had found the corpse and called the police, they had been unstable, repeatedly asking if someone was trying to harm them. The officers had brought them back to the bureau, where Zhao’s crying had eased somewhat compared to earlier.

“You’re the captain of this team?” Zhao Baozhen suddenly cried out, her lips trembling before she began to wail again. “Captain, you must stand up for us poor folk! Someone is trying to harm me and my husband!”

Yao Panpan’s temples throbbed. She had nearly calmed Zhao down, but now the woman had returned to her earlier hysteria, repeating the same lines.

At first, Ruan Mingxi listened patiently, hoping to glean some useful information. But Zhao only repeated herself, circling back to her hardships no matter how he tried to redirect her. After three attempts, he realized she had nothing more to offer beyond her lamentations.

—

Jiang Xuzhou was a graduate student majoring in criminal psychology. When Professor Wei called, he only urged Jiang to come immediately, offering no explanation over the phone.

After some thought, Jiang assumed it might be related to the professor’s recent research project. Perhaps another faculty member had taken interest, which would explain the urgency.

But when he arrived at the university, Wei Wenshan introduced him to someone else entirely.

“Xuzhou, this is my old friend, Professor Yan Peiliang, from the Sociology Department at National Chengchi University.”

Jiang Xuzhou greeted politely. “Hello, Professor Yan.”

“Hello,” Yan Peiliang replied, studying him carefully. “So this is the prized student you often mention. Very good.”

Jiang Xuzhou was striking at first glance—handsome, refined, with gold-rimmed glasses that gave him a scholarly air. Yet a closer look revealed bright, spirited eyes. Though he appeared tired, there was sharpness in his gaze.

He carried himself with composure, neither humble nor arrogant, showing no trace of nervousness under scrutiny. His temperament was steady, his brilliance carefully concealed. Combined with Wei Wenshan’s evident pride in him, Jiang Xuzhou came across as capable but not boastful—an impression that easily won favor.

After the introductions, Yan Peiliang explained his purpose. He wanted Wei’s help in finding someone.

A few days earlier, his grandson had quarreled with his father after demanding to drop out of school to pursue e-sports. The father, furious, slapped him, and the boy ran away from home. He had not returned since.

Yan Peiliang’s son was stubborn and refused to search for the boy, nor would he involve the family. Yan himself was deeply worried about the child’s safety and hoped Wei could analyze where the boy might have gone.

They had not asked the police for help because Yan’s son was the director of the local precinct. Without his consent, the bureau would not intervene. Moreover, the boy had sent occasional messages to his mother, so technically he was not considered missing—merely a runaway. It seemed wasteful to use police resources when the child was still in contact.

The quarrel between father and son had become a source of embarrassment, and Yan Peiliang sighed repeatedly, helpless.

Wei Wenshan had brought Jiang Xuzhou along partly to introduce him to his old friend, and partly to ask for his assistance. It was not that Wei himself could not analyze the situation, but he could not resist showing off his talented student.

    Jiang Xuzhou accepted the file bag Yan had prepared, holding it carefully with both hands. Inside were recent chat records between the boy and his mother.

At first, the mother advised her child not to be angry and to come home early, assuring him that everything could be discussed calmly.

But as the conversation continued, the tone shifted. It wasn’t that the topic changed suddenly, but Jiang Xuzhou could sense from the text that the child’s emotions were spiraling—becoming unstable, extreme, and difficult to control.

While Wei Wenshan and Yan Peiliang chatted nearby, Jiang Xuzhou carefully flipped through the chat records page by page. After a while, the sound of turning paper ceased, and Wei looked toward him.

“Xuzhou, did you find anything?” Wei Wenshan asked.

At the question, Professor Yan straightened in his seat, tense with anticipation.

Jiang Xuzhou placed two screenshots of chat records on the table. “On this particular day, the messages sent to the mother suddenly included punctuation. Before that, aside from repeated exclamation marks and question marks, none of the messages had proper ending punctuation.”

Yan Peiliang frowned. “Punctuation shouldn’t be such a big issue.”

Jiang Xuzhou didn’t refute immediately. Instead, he pointed out another detail. “From that day onward, the child’s replies carried a distinctly pessimistic tone. His mother tried to comfort him, but his responses grew increasingly agitated—almost collapsing emotionally. His words became sharp and defiant.”

He paused, then added, “When emotions are collapsing, a sudden shift in typing habits—such as consistently using full punctuation—is unusual in itself.”

“The third point,” Jiang continued, “is that from that day forward, the topic of e-sports disappeared entirely. Instead, the child focused on the oppression he felt from his family, especially his father.”

Wei Wenshan’s expression grew complicated.

Yan Peiliang scanned the records again, his eyes darting nervously. “Then what should I do now? Can you analyze these traces to locate him?”

Jiang Xuzhou shook his head. “Judging from the current information, I believe that from this day onward, the account was no longer operated by your child. If you want to find him quickly, I recommend contacting the police.”

Yan Peiliang looked to his old friend. Wei Wenshan clearly agreed—given the circumstances, the situation was far from optimistic. Calling the police was the safest choice.

Yan immediately phoned his son, but the response was chilling. After a brief pause, his son snapped, “I’m busy. That brat dared to leave home—ignore him,” and hung up.

The abrupt dismissal left Yan furious. His son, the precinct director, refused to act, and the bureau would not intervene without his consent.

Wei Wenshan stepped in, making another call on Yan’s behalf. To expedite matters, Jiang Xuzhou accompanied the old professor to the police station.

Meanwhile, Ruan Mingxi had been watching surveillance footage for hours, his eyes strained to the point of seeing shadows. He reached for his cup, pouring water to steady himself.

Suddenly, the screech of brakes jolted him. The hot water sloshed violently, burning his lips.

He thought he was seeing wrong, but he didn’t expect it to be him.

Ruan Mingxi walked over carrying a glass of water, but Jiang Xuzhou, seated in a chair with his eyes closed, did not stir. He was resting, though his steady breathing told Ruan Mingxi he was not asleep.

The glass was set down on the table with a dull dong.

“Why are you here?” Ruan Mingxi asked.

Jiang Xuzhou drew a deep breath before opening his eyes. He looked exhausted.

“I came to accompany Professor Yan,” he replied, glancing at the cup in front of him. It was a cup he recognized immediately—one he had bought himself.

Looking at Ruan Mingxi, Jiang added, “I’m thirsty. I want some water.”

Ruan Mingxi smirked. “The cup is right in front of you. If you’re thirsty, take it yourself. Or do you expect me to feed it to the young master’s lips?”

The corners of Jiang Xuzhou’s mouth lifted faintly. “You can’t just take the owner’s cup without asking. If he doesn’t agree, I won’t be able to grab it back.”

Ruan Mingxi snorted. “Look at you—fair-faced enough to play a haunted house NPC without makeup, yet still putting on an act of being pitiful.”

With that, he picked up the cup and handed it to him.

Jiang Xuzhou took a sip. The warmth of the water stung his cold fingers as he held the glass.

“How long have you been here? Is the matter serious? Do you want me to take a look?” Ruan Mingxi asked.

Jiang Xuzhou hesitated. Yan Lao * had been inside for a long time, and he wasn’t sure whether to ask Ruan Mingxi to inquire further.

(The word Lao (usually written as 老 / lǎo) literally means "old" or "elderly". Placed before titles or surnames to show veneration and seniority (e.g., lǎoshī for "teacher", or adding it to an elder's last name).

Before he could decide, Lin Peixin, chief of the forensic department, approached. “Captain, the test results are out.”

Lin Peixin glanced briefly at Jiang Xuzhou, noting the unfamiliar face, but said nothing more.

Jiang Xuzhou signaled with his eyes that Ruan Mingxi should go ahead. Ruan Mingxi rose and walked toward Lin Peixin.

“The deceased was a male, approximately seventeen years old,” Lin reported quietly. “Judging by the bones recovered, the victim’s height was about one point seven meters.”

    Lowering his voice, Lin seemed wary of others overhearing details that were not meant to spread.