Shi Ting seemed to read her hesitation. “I know what’s troubling you. The killer made Leng Yu swallow cotton and Fan Dongping swallow thumbtacks — there were acts of cruelty in both cases, which is what led us to conclude from the start that this was a revenge killing. But Leng Yu and Fan Dongping’s relationship with the comprador was purely transactional — mutually beneficial. Even if a dispute arose, the man might kill them, but there would be no reason for him to torture them. Nor would there be any need to stage a ghost killing and create such an elaborate misdirection.”

Yan Qing admired Shi Ting greatly. His thinking was precise and composed under pressure.

“I still believe this is a revenge killing.” Yan Qing trusted her reading of the bodies — because bodies don’t lie.

“I agree with you.” Shi Ting’s response caught her off guard. “This is indeed a revenge killing. And while I’m confident the comprador is not the killer we’re looking for, finding him is how we follow the trail to whoever is.”

Yan Qing’s expression of surprise remained a moment longer.

Shi Ting raised an eyebrow slightly. “You trust your instincts. I trust my own judgment just the same.”

He flicked open his pocket watch. “I’m sending Zheng Yun back to the school for another round of investigation right now. The informant is almost certainly hidden within the school, and there aren’t many people who had direct contact with both Leng Yu and Fan Dongping. Finding that person won’t be difficult.”

Yan Qing had every confidence that with Shi Ting’s capabilities, he would root out the person soon. He gave her more and more of the impression of that criminal investigation captain in S City — the one whose name made people shudder. If he had been born in the modern era, he would have made an excellent detective.

“Cough — cough!” Yan Qing felt a sudden irritation in her throat, as if from the disinfectant smell, and broke into a harsh fit of coughing.

“Are you all right?” Shi Ting’s eyes showed concern. “Take a rest for a while — let E’Yuan handle things here.”

“I’m fine, cough — cough—” Yan Qing’s gesture of dismissal was cut short by another coughing fit.

It wasn’t the disinfectant after all — it was her illness, still not fully healed. She thought of her former self — quick and decisive, never flagging at a crime scene, able to work sleeplessly through the night and bounce back after a single good sleep.

But this Sixth Miss had an utterly fragile constitution, and she was having to slowly adjust to this sickly version of herself. At moments like these, she couldn’t help but think: what was so wonderful about being delicate and frail? To be hale and hearty — that was what brought true happiness. As for the romantic ideal of beautiful illness, she had no interest in pursuing it.

Shi Ting gave Yan Qing no chance to refuse. He stepped forward, took hold of her wheelchair, and pushed her out of the examination room, turning down a corridor toward his own office.

“Rest here for a while.” Shi Ting poured a cup of hot water. “I’ll let you know when there’s news.”

He pressed the cup into her hands, then picked up a thin wool blanket. “Would you like to lie down on the sofa?”

“No, thank you.” A warmth spread from the cup in Yan Qing’s hands, reaching even her lips. “I’m honestly not tired. If you have a book I could borrow, that would do.”

Shi Ting turned and took a novel from the bookshelf. “I don’t know what you like — just take this one.”

Yan Qing took it and glanced at the cover, then smiled. “So Director Shi has a taste for romantic tales?”

Shi Ting was unmoved. “A friend who runs a bookshop gave it to me.”

He checked his watch. “I’m heading to the school. If you need anything, use this telephone. All the extension numbers for every department are in the directory on the desk.”

After Shi Ting left, Yan Qing flipped through a few pages of the novel but found she had no interest in reading. One question kept circling endlessly in her mind: how exactly had the killer done it? How had the victims been killed?