You Mingxu’s eyes snapped open, feeling cold sweat seeping from every pore. Her mind was still foggy, unable to distinguish whether the tire tracks she’d just seen were from her dream or something she’d actually witnessed earlier that day.

Or perhaps she hadn’t seen them clearly during the day, and these overlooked details had just surfaced in her mind?

She sprang up, glancing at her watch—only 3:50, just 20 minutes had passed. Looking into the interrogation room, she first saw Yin Feng, deeply focused as he watched Fu Wenxiu, his pen moving rapidly across the paper. He had transformed into a different man again.

Fu Wenxiu was surprisingly compliant under his questioning, though that unsettling cold smile still played at his lips as he spoke.

They still needed time to complete the polygraph test. But You Mingxu couldn’t sit still anymore. She turned and went downstairs, driving alone into the murky night.

These streets had seen increased police presence. Even at this hour, You Mingxu passed several police cars and officers on duty. She lit a cigarette, smoking it slowly as she drove. When she reached the Deng residence, she parked silently and discarded the cigarette butt.

Standing outside the Deng family’s courtyard wall, she saw no lights inside—they were probably all asleep. The wall wasn’t particularly high. She backed up a few steps, kicked off the wall, and climbed up, lying flat on top.

The moon hung bright overhead, illuminating the vast courtyard in dim visibility. You Mingxu immediately spotted the van under the tree—a grayish-white, half-worn Golden Cup model.

You Mingxu’s heart thundered, her palms sweating. But there was no time to carefully sort through her thoughts—she couldn’t wait another minute. Just as she was about to jump into the courtyard, some instinct made her pause. She pulled out her phone and sent Yin Feng a message: “Come to Deng’s house.” After setting her phone to silent, she jumped down.

The several rooms were pitch black, without a sound. She slowly walked to the van and peered through the window. Despite the dim light, she could still make out suspicious dark stains, now dried, scattered across the compartment and seats.

You Mingxu stood still for a few seconds, looking toward the slaughter room. She crept over, finding the door unlocked, and opened it a crack. The air carried an extremely faint “creaking” sound.

She immediately turned to look at the other two rooms—no movement. She remained still, lowering her head and waiting for a minute or two. The courtyard remained silent, so she finally slipped into the slaughter room.

The room was dark, and nothing was visible. The tools and meat she’d seen earlier were now just vaguely outlined shadows. Only thin moonlight filtered through the old windows.

You Mingxu had a flashlight in her pocket but didn’t use it, moving forward slowly step by step. Even in darkness, the knives were arranged with perfect precision, like soldiers waiting for their master’s arrival. You Mingxu recalled Yin Feng’s analysis: “In his workspace, everything will be perfectly arranged as if done by machine. It’s OCD developed from years of manual craftwork.” A chill seeped through her heart as she reached about a third of the way into the room and glimpsed something on the butcher’s block.

She was certain that the object hadn’t been there during their previous visit.

It was a hammer. Medium-sized, very dark in color. She couldn’t yet make out if there were bloodstains or if the details matched the one from the surveillance footage. But instinct told You Mingxu this was it.

Standing in the silent, pitch-black slaughter room, You Mingxu felt an icy presence closing in from all sides. The four suspects from ordinary backgrounds all matched the profile sketch. One true, three false, leaving no obvious clues. Just as the killer had hidden in plain sight for the past year, too ordinary to distinguish.

In the end, it was tiny tire tracks in the mud that exposed the truth. Life took many forms, and many people looked guilty. But it wasn’t the similarly strong yet slow-witted carpenter, nor the veterinarian with sexual offense tendencies, nor the mentally unstable fish seller with worn fingerprints.

A kind of cold, hard, intense resolve suddenly rose in You Mingxu’s heart, despite her being a woman. Her entire body became alert and tense, like an eagle with folded wings, perched on a cliff-edge branch, creeping forward.

But this resolve shattered, crumbling to pieces when she saw the person lying on the butcher’s block ahead.

She sprang forward, running over.

Above the block where Fan Jia lay, a window let in some light. You Mingxu could see her face was completely bloodless, her body covered in horrific wounds, with lividity already appearing.

You Mingxu reached out to check for breath and pulse, only then realizing her hands were shaking. Tears were already flowing, though she hadn’t noticed. She collapsed to her knees beside the block, one hand gripping Fan Jia’s, the other pressed against her face.

The darkness of the room seemed to crash into her all at once. She heard herself cry out—a sound she’d never heard herself make before, shrill and choked, eerily similar to someone crying through a gag. For the first time in many years, she completely lost control. At that moment, everything else vanished from her mind. Her body had no strength left as she sat collapsed on the ground, tears pouring down, only her hand still tightly gripping Fan Jia’s pale, stiff fingertips.

The sky had fallen. She thought it had truly fallen.

How else could a child like Fan Jia be sacrificed?

Sacrificed under a criminal’s butcher knife.

And she, as Fan Jia’s team leader, the person Fan Jia had relied on most, hadn’t found her before she died, couldn’t save her from that terrible darkness.

What had she endured before death? Had this police officer suffered all the inhuman, insane tortures that the other victims had experienced? And worst of all, had she clung to the hope of rescue only to watch it slowly extinguish before her eyes?

You Mingxu suddenly let out a roar, or more accurately, a scream. It was unimaginable that such a tough woman could make such a fragile, completely broken sound.

Then she stood up, bent down, forgetting all principles and caution, wanting to carry Fan Jia away.

A violent rush of air came crashing toward the back of her head.

Normally, even against someone with bull-like strength, You Mingxu could have avoided this if she’d been careful. But now she was completely dazed, utterly unaware of external dangers. When she heard the rushing air, only her body’s instincts from years of training responded, her upper body ducking down.

The iron hammer struck her back. A thunderous pain shot through her back as You Mingxu stumbled, crashing into the butcher’s block, Fan Jia’s body slipping from her arms.