A colleague transferring from narcotics would either be due to health reasons, for their protection or because they were no longer suited for drug enforcement—likely a veteran. Yue Mingxu pictured a tanned, serious, stubbly middle-aged man, similar to Ding Xiongwei but less imposing.

“Yeah,” Yue Mingxu replied, “When they arrive, let’s welcome them with a hotpot dinner!”

After returning from the police station, Yin Feng went back to bed to catch up on sleep. He used to be extremely particular about his health, meticulous about his food and appearance, surrounded by a group of devoted zealots who took excellent care of him. Now, after waking from his two-year slumber, his complexion had darkened somewhat, his skin had roughened, and he had developed persistent dark circles under his eyes—undoubtedly the result of running around with that woman lately.

He slept until dusk. In his dreams, there were many familiar yet hazy scenes. He desperately wanted to see them clearly, but everything seemed shrouded in thick fog. After waking in a cold sweat, all that remained in his mind and body was an intensely passionate, sweet, and painful sensation. As if he had once loved someone deeply, yet had lost them in confusion.

Yin Feng sat on the bed, holding his head in his hands. When Yue Mingxu’s image appeared in his mind, the blocked feeling grew stronger. He told himself it was just a dream, just a dream born of emotional deprivation.

After this interpretation, he smiled self-mockingly and got up.

Chen Feng had been waiting in the villa all day. Knowing Yin Feng was now awake, he first arranged dinner and then brought the items Yin Feng had requested earlier to the study.

The spacious study was quiet and bright, with soft lighting. Those dolls stood in various poses in the distance, rows of bookshelves lined the walls, and through the large floor-to-ceiling windows, the peaceful night scene of moonlight dancing on lake water stretched out before them.

However, the matters the master and servant were investigating were far from peaceful.

Yin Feng sat behind the massive desk, with Chen Feng sitting opposite. At times like these, Chen Feng could always sense his master’s complex, indefinable aura, and the subtle dangerous pressure that even a psychopath like himself could feel.

“That case has reached a temporary conclusion,” Yin Feng said.

“Any leads?” Chen Feng asked.

Yin Feng looked at him and shook his head. That single glance made Chen Feng’s heart flutter slightly, though he couldn’t explain why. But as a psychopath, he enjoyed this feeling of being under his master’s control. And Master Yin seemed to understand this perfectly.

“Let’s set aside that case for now,” Yin Feng said. “Let’s carefully go through what happened during my period of memory loss.”

Chen Feng nodded. Earlier, when Yin Feng was in the hospital, there were too many people around to discuss details, so they only talked briefly. Right after discharge, he’d immediately gotten involved in Xiang Rong’s case. That’s why Chen Feng had been waiting to discuss everything in detail.

Yin Feng asked, “What day did I leave for Guizhou?”

Chen Feng answered, “February 25th.”

Yin Feng: “Who took me, and where to?”

Chen Feng answered, “Me, Tuya, and Guan Jun. We took you to Xiangcheng Airport. You told us not to follow. You flew directly to Guiyang Airport, where a car was arranged to take you straight to Longyan Town in Guizhou. We’d rented an old house there, with a weekly cleaning service arranged. You said you’d handle meals yourself.”

Guan Jun was the name of the villa’s gardener. His surname was Guan, given the name Jun.

“Who knew about this trip of mine?” Yin Feng asked.

Chen Feng hesitated before answering, “Just us few.”

Yin Feng raised his eyes, held his gaze for a few seconds, and smiled. This indeed matched his typically capricious style. He asked further, “How did we communicate while I was in seclusion writing?”

Chen Feng answered, “Same as before—daily WeChat, phone calls, sometimes video calls. During your seclusion, you didn’t contact me much, sometimes only once a week.”

Yin Feng nodded and asked, “You mentioned last time that the house was surrounded by surveillance cameras.”

Chen Feng answered, “Yes, and the security system was remotely connected to our end here. If any stranger broke in, it would alert us immediately.”

“What day did I leave that house, depart Guizhou, and go to Tibet?”

Chen Feng answered, “June 8th.”

Yin Feng’s interlocked fingers slowly rubbed together: “Eight days after the Gu Tiancheng case, three days after fleeing to Tibet… Chen Feng, how are you certain that the person who left that house for Guizhou that day was me? And not someone else pretending to be me?”

Chen Feng’s heart jumped, and he answered, “You… sent me voice messages, and later called.”

Yin Feng: “Phone.”

Chen Feng immediately took out his phone, scrolled up quickly to find the chat records from that day, and handed it to him.

Yin Feng pressed speaker: “Chen Feng, book me a flight ticket, I’ll send you the flight details later.” It was unmistakably his voice.

Then there was a text message specifying the flight number, and adding: I’m going to Tibet to collect firsthand material on the serial killing case. Rent a car for me, leave it at Lhasa Airport, and stock it with essential supplies. Don’t follow.

It was his usual tone.

After Chen Feng had arranged everything and messaged him, he replied with a voice message saying: “Good.”

Yin Feng put down the phone, his lips curling almost imperceptibly, and asked, “Is there any other evidence proving that person was me?”

For some reason, Chen Feng’s back was breaking out in cold sweat. He said, “I’ll check the surveillance footage right away.”

Chen Feng immediately called Guan Jun—the former high-tech financial fraudster who was responsible for the surveillance and security systems of both this villa and the old house in Guizhou. Soon, a surveillance video clip arrived on Chen Feng’s phone.

They opened it together.

It showed the courtyard of an old house, the black and white camera capturing a long row of intricately carved wooden eaves under the skywell, along with the bluestone slabs below, covered with a thin layer of moss.

It had rained that day, and the stone slabs were wet.

After a few seconds of stillness, a person wearing an outdoor backpack walked into the frame. He was 1.85 meters tall, wearing dark-colored outdoor gear—the international brand Yin Feng preferred and often wore. It was even the same outfit that Gu Tiancheng had stolen to wear after the incident in Tibet.

The person was facing away from the camera, and though they couldn’t see his face, both the build and manner were extremely familiar to both men—he looked exactly like Yin Feng. The person took a bottle of mineral water from the cabinet by the courtyard, unscrewed it, and twirled the cap between his fingers—a characteristic gesture of Yin Feng’s. Then he tilted his head back and took a long drink. From the camera angle, only a small portion of his profile was visible.

Chen Feng paused the video, glanced at Yin Feng who showed no objection, then used his fingers to zoom in on the image. Although they had installed relatively high-quality cameras because the person was standing far from the camera and there was mist in the air, only a few lines of the profile were visible. But to Chen Feng, they matched Master Yin’s features exactly.

Seeing no reaction from Yin Feng, Chen Feng continued playing the video.