Yan Qing lay down on the sofa, but her eyes remained open, cold and lifeless bodies crossing and recrossing behind them.

She was not afraid. Only filled with sorrow.

When would the time come when human beings no longer turned to killing to resolve their problems?

She knew it was a question with no answer — and one that perhaps needed no answer at all. For human nature itself determined that such things were inevitable.

Shun Cheng in this season was still cold indoors. Back at the Yan Mansion, underground heating kept the rooms warm. Here, there was only an open, bare room. Even with the windows sealed shut, the cold slowly seeped in.

Instinctively, she tugged the blanket higher, pulling it up over half her face.

Shi Ting was a man of meticulous habits — not only in the way he worked, but in the way he maintained his belongings. Even this blanket was a reflection of that: clean and neatly kept.

She thought of the detectives back at the bureau in City S, not a single one of them who wasn’t disheveled and bleary-eyed. Set beside Shi Ting, the contrast could hardly have been more stark.

Yan Qing didn’t quite understand why that thought had occurred to her at all. But drifting along with these wandering reflections, she gradually drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, she was roused by an urgent knocking at the door.

Her years in the profession had left her a light sleeper — the smallest disturbance was enough to bring her fully awake.

She opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was Shi Ting.

He was reclining in the chair behind his desk, a uniform overcoat draped across his body. Exhaustion must have taken hold — he had not stirred at the knocking.

Even in sleep, this man seemed restless. His brow was still faintly furrowed, which only made the depth of his eye sockets appear more pronounced.

The knocking came again, and Shi Ting’s eyes snapped open instantly — fully alert, not a trace of sleep left in the dark, bright depths of his pupils.

“Come in.” He adjusted his posture and set the overcoat to one side. Noticing that Yan Qing was watching him, he gave a natural, easy nod in her direction and said, “Good morning.”

Yan Qing had no idea when he had come in. She hadn’t heard a sound.

Had she unwittingly spent the entire night in the same room as this man, without realizing it?

When Zheng Yun entered and saw Yan Qing on the sofa, his expression flickered for just a moment. But he recovered quickly and crossed to Shi Ting’s desk.

“Seventh Brother, the surveillance team just reported that Qiao Guang has not left his residence today.”

Qiao Guang was a full-time employee at the trading company and was expected to arrive at work at a regular hour each day. There was no five-days-on, two-days-off arrangement in this era, and today was not the weekend either.

“He wakes up every morning at six, leaves by half past six to catch the electric tram to work. It’s already past seven now — when the surveillance officer saw he hadn’t come out, they knocked on the door. No answer.”

Shi Ting rose from his seat and picked up the police cap from the desk. “Qiao Guang has a serious drinking habit — could he have drunk too much and not woken up?”

“That’s possible.”

As he passed the sofa on his way out, Shi Ting said, “I’ll have someone bring breakfast over for you shortly. Eat first. E’Yuan comes on duty at eight — once he arrives, the two of you can continue with the autopsies on the other two bodies.”

Yan Qing agreed, watching the two of them leave.

She had a feeling — Qiao Guang was in serious danger. The killer had already grown impatient, poised to strike him down and complete their final act.

Qiao Guang lived in Building 11 on Tongtai Street.

It was a half-new three-story building with five units, each housing two residents. The corridors were built along the exterior of the building, stacked one above the other in open, cantilevered tiers. On each floor, the tenants shared a common toilet; many households had also set up their cooking stoves in the corridor, while those without stoves had their railings draped with hanging laundry.

Shi Ting and Zheng Yun made their way to Unit Four, Room 201, where Qiao Guang resided. The surveillance officer who had been posted there was still knocking continuously at the door.