Even after Yan Qing returned to the school, her mind remained fixed on the case.

But the military police’s investigation was not going smoothly. The file for the female student Yu Xiaozhen, who had hanged herself, had vanished from the school’s records without a trace. Several classmates who had known her described her as beautiful and kind-hearted, but said she rarely spoke and never mentioned her background to anyone.

Someone mentioned that the direction she walked home in pointed toward Poyao, which was Shun Cheng’s notorious slum — a place packed with the destitute, without a single proper building to speak of, just a tangle of ramshackle shelters crammed together, filthy and chaotic.

Even knowing she had lived in Poyao, how would one go about finding an ordinary young woman in a place teeming with transient residents who barely knew each other?

Still, for the military police, even the faintest thread of a lead had to be followed. Only by finding Yu Xiaozhen could they hope to find the real killer.

“Yan Qing, what are you looking at?” Jing Lan came over hugging a white porcelain cup, her curious gaze landing on the object in Yan Qing’s hands.

“Old exam papers.” She set down the one she’d been holding and opened another.

“Old exam papers? No wonder there’s that disgusting ink smell.” Jing Lan waved her hand with distaste, then held out the cup. “Your hot water is ready. Drink it while it’s warm.”

“Thank you.” Yan Qing smiled and reached for it.

Jing Lan sat down beside her. “Is there anything I can help with?”

“Help me look for the exam papers of a student named Yu Xiaozhen.”

“Yu Xiaozhen?”

“Yes.” Yan Qing took a sip of hot water. “She’s the female student who hanged herself in Classroom 104 last year.”

Jing Lan gave a startled jump. “Why are you looking for a dead person’s papers? Have you forgotten that shadow on the window? People say it was Yu Xiaozhen’s ghost — aren’t you afraid of attracting a haunting?”

Truthfully, Yan Qing herself wasn’t sure whether digging through these old exam papers would lead anywhere. But she couldn’t sit by and do nothing.

Shi Ting and the others were combing through Poyao — enduring wind and rough conditions — searching for one ordinary person among thousands. This was the only thing she could do, even if it all turned out to be useless in the end.

“Fine, I’ll help you look.” Jing Lan sighed with resigned helplessness and shook her head. “I genuinely don’t understand where you get the nerve — you’re actually helping the military police solve cases. Don’t you get scared looking at all those bodies?”

“I was frightened the first time. After a while, you just get used to it.”

Jing Lan said, “Yan Qing, honestly — I feel like you’ve been different since you came back this time. Before, you were always kind-hearted. When everyone called me ugly and refused to play with me because of how my face looks, you were the only one who didn’t mind. But back then you were quite timid — Yan Qin and Shi Yutong always bullied you. Now neither of them dares to trouble you so easily.”

“You’re not ugly.” Yan Qing looked at her with sincerity. “Jing Lan, a person’s face reflects what’s within. The reason I became your friend is because of your character — nothing to do with your appearance.”

It was a pity this era had no advanced technology. The large birthmark on Jing Lan’s face could have been removed with a laser in another time.

“Thank you.” Jing Lan smiled, a vivid brightness lighting up her eyes. “I hope we can be the best of friends for the rest of our lives.”

She picked up a thick stack of papers. “How long have these been sitting here? The smell really is dreadful.”

“Let’s keep looking.” Yan Qing lowered her head and turned her attention back to the pages.

By the time darkness fell, neither of them had found Yu Xiaozhen’s papers. Yan Qing felt a pang of disappointment, and her spirit sagged.

Would searching this blindly — this aimlessly — really uncover anything connected to Yu Xiaozhen?

—