You Mingxu suddenly remembered something Yin Feng had once said:

“I always feel like someone’s there, watching me, staring at me, threatening me…”

“Like a dark cloud, constantly following me…”

She walked back to the guest house entrance, stubbing out her cigarette on the garbage bin lid, a cold smile on her face.

So, they were coming for her now?

She hoped they would. How else could she flush out the demons surrounding Yin Feng?

She made up her mind—once this case was over, she’d dig deep into Yin Feng’s past.

If there was any dirt, she’d clean it all up for him.

You Mingxu walked to Yin Feng’s door and had barely knocked twice when it opened.

Her eyebrow twitched slightly.

The air conditioning was on, and Yin Feng wore only a black undershirt and black pants. Ignoring his face, from the neck down, every line of his body was precisely defined. Broad shoulders, chest muscles firm yet proportionate, a slim waist tapering down to the solid, curved posterior she’d grown accustomed to. His bare feet in slippers completed the image of masculine maturity.

When her gaze returned to his face, she found, predictably, a brilliant smile—innocent as a rabbit. Her appetite instantly vanished, and she walked in without a sideways glance.

Chen Feng and their family chef were also there. They’d somehow procured a long table, covered with dishes. The middle-aged, handsome chef wore a white hat and uniform, looking like a Michelin executive chef who’d descended upon their shabby guest house.

Too extravagant, far too extravagant. You Mingxu thought she’d need to find a way to curb both Chen Feng’s and the old Yin Feng’s remaining habits—they couldn’t be allowed to corrupt him further.

Seeing her enter, Chen Feng promptly retreated with the chef. Yin Feng took You Mingxu’s hand, leading her toward the bed: “I want to show you something.”

But You Mingxu looked up at the window, seeing nothing outside, and asked, “Did you notice anything suspicious earlier?”

Yin Feng paused, then mimicked her, staring out the window.

After they’d both stood quietly looking for a while, You Mingxu asked curiously, “What are you looking at?”

He answered, “I don’t know.”

You Mingxu’s temple throbbed again. Somehow, she’d noticed herself becoming increasingly prone to emotional fluctuations around Yin Feng lately, easily irritated.

She calmed herself and changed the subject: “What did you want to show me earlier?”

He pointed.

By the bed sat a new 20-inch black suitcase containing—one of his wooden dolls. The doll’s joints could move freely, and this one was similar in build to the victims. But being made of wood, it was stiffer, and while it could be forced in, about half remained outside.

You Mingxu asked, “What’s this for?”

Yin Feng crouched down, slightly tilting forward, staring at the suitcase with apparent profundity: “Mimicking his actions, understanding his psychology.”

You Mingxu felt irritation rising again. As she started to stand, he grabbed her hand. “Ah Xu, help me with something.”

“What?”

“Try lying in it yourself.”

You Mingxu paused briefly, then gestured with her chin. Yin Feng, having been her assistant for so many days, had grown more perceptive—he immediately removed the wooden doll. You Mingxu crawled into the suitcase, feeling extremely confined, and recalled the victim’s photos to mimic the position. Despite her flexibility, her height meant her calves still stuck out.

“This is as far as I can manage,” she said.

The woman lay submissively curled in the small suitcase, looking up at him with clear eyes and a soft voice.

Yin Feng had been studying her posture with his hand on his chin, but gradually his attention wandered, lingering on her well-defined jawline, then her chest, waist, and legs. Inexplicably, his throat went dry.

He wasn’t sure what he intended, but his body moved on its own, hands gripping the suitcase edges as he leaned over her.

You Mingxu stared back at him.

With the light behind him, his muscular frame loomed over her, effortlessly trapping her within his arms. He wasn’t smiling now, and there was nothing foolish about him. His eyes were clear and focused as if fixed on something vitally important.

“Ah Xu…” he said softly, “you look so small like this.”

You Mingxu’s throat felt dry too, and for a moment, a familiar impulse surged through her. Yes, as he said, she’d never been this low, this small before him, confined within his arms…

What the hell am I thinking?

Almost simultaneously, from the corner of her eye, she noticed his fingers tightening on the suitcase edges.

You Mingxu raised her leg and planted her foot squarely in his handsome face. Though his eyes and nose were stepped on, his mouth broke into a smile. Who knew what he was smiling about?

The irritation surged back, and she delivered another kick, shoving him aside before climbing out of the suitcase.

Behind her, he asked, “What did I do wrong to deserve being kicked?” His voice was unhurried.

You Mingxu said coldly, “I kick when I want to. Do I need a reason?”

He was quiet for a moment. “Oh.”

She turned to look and saw him rubbing his nose and shoulder, both hands busy, head lowered, looking somewhat pitiful. You Mingxu felt better—yes, this was how he should be. He’d made her feel a man’s predatory nature for a moment; that was going too far. He needed to be put back in his place.

Just then, You Mingxu’s phone rang with a video call from an unfamiliar number. Seeing it was from America, she quickly tidied her hair and clothes before answering.

A woman in her fifties with graying hair appeared on screen. This must be Ding Xiongwei’s “old classmate,” the famous criminal psychologist Fan Shuhua. Professor Fan had kind features but retained a scholarly air that immediately endeared her to You Mingxu.

“Hello, Xiao You. I’m your Captain Ding’s classmate, Fan Shuhua.”

“Hello, Professor Fan!”

Professor Fan seemed to study her through the screen for a moment before showing an approving smile: “I can tell you’re a capable young woman. About this case you’re investigating—I hope you don’t mind my interference. Xiongwei showed me the materials, and I found them quite interesting. I have some thoughts to share, just for your reference.”

You Mingxu said, “Professor Fan, you’re too modest. I’m lucky to receive your guidance.”

Professor Fan’s smile deepened as she nodded and said, “From the current materials, we can create a preliminary psychological profile of the perpetrator:

He’s between 25 and 40 years old, a resident living within a 5-kilometer radius of both victims. He comes from a working-class background with limited education and modest economic means. Additionally, he works in a trade requiring manual skills. For example veterinarian, butcher, carpenter, blacksmith, hospital orderly, or similar professions.”