Shi Ting said, “She disguised herself as You Xiaozhen.”

At Jing Lan’s residence, he had found the wig and a small collection of simple cosmetics. Jing Lan and You Xiaozhen were sisters, and their appearances resembled one another by sixty or seventy percent. But Jing Lan had a large birthmark covering the left side of her face from birth, which had shaped in her a timid, self-doubting personality — quite unlike the open and cheerful You Xiaozhen. She almost never went outside.

To successfully kill Leng Yu and the others, Jing Lan had covered the birthmark with white paint, then shaped her brows and eyes to match You Xiaozhen’s, put on red garments, and donned the wig. If one didn’t look closely, there was no telling her apart from You Xiaozhen.

Jing Lan gave a soft, low laugh. “Commander Shi really is clever.”

As she spoke, her gaze drifted to some distant point, her eyes empty and unfocused, as though she had lost all depth.

“I put a sleep-inducing substance into the doorman Jiuwan’s tea. While he slept, I took his key ring. I had copies made of every key in the school and hid them at my residence. I first spread the rumor that Room 104 was haunted, then deliberately let people catch glimpses of the ghost — and once everyone was fully convinced, I set my plan of vengeance in motion.”

At those words, her voice dropped and took on a biting edge, as if she were speaking through clenched teeth.

“When Leng Yu tormented my sister, she repeatedly held her head down into a washbasin, which is why my sister was still coughing up blood in the days before her death. So I wanted Leng Yu to know what it felt like to live a fate worse than dying. I unlocked the headmaster’s office, emptied the fish tank, then fitted pulleys to the tank and had it moved to Classroom 104 in advance, where I refilled it with water. Once everything was in place, I lured Leng Yu into Classroom 104.”

“Why would Leng Yu go to Classroom 104?” Yan Qing couldn’t help but ask. “She wouldn’t have gone there willingly just because you told her to.”

“That was simple enough. I left a letter for Leng Yu, telling her to meet me — or else I would expose her sordid affairs with Qiao Guang for all to see. Leng Yu saw the letter and came to the meeting obediently. And to prevent her dirty secrets from coming to light, she would destroy the letter herself — leaving no written evidence. Leng Yu came to Classroom 104 and saw me disguised as You Xiaozhen. She was immediately frightened out of her wits. I forced her to swallow cotton, then repeatedly plunged her head into the tank. She was already so terrified she had lost her senses — she didn’t dare resist at all. Ha ha ha — you weren’t there to see the look on her face. Ha ha ha.” Jing Lan erupted into wild, frantic laughter, her eyes blazing with a hysterical light. “I watched her struggle, inch by inch toward death, until she was nothing but a corpse.”

Jing Lan paused, then fixed her gaze on Shi Ting. “Commander Shi, I’ll wager you don’t know this — the method I used to kill them. Yes, you certainly don’t know. My method was foolproof, completely impossible to trace. I wanted everyone to believe that Leng Yu had been killed by a ghost…”

“Air injection,” Shi Ting interrupted Jing Lan’s self-satisfied monologue.

Jing Lan was taken aback, disbelief written across her face.

“Every crime leaves traces. No matter how clever the criminal, they will always make a slip. What you imagine to be undetectable will, when exposed, turn out to be laughably transparent.” Shi Ting said evenly. “One hundred milliliters of air injected into the bloodstream is lethal. A needle inserted beneath the armpit evades a forensic examination. We found the modified syringe — the murder weapon — at your residence.”

That Shi Ting had accurately stated the lethal dose of one hundred milliliters left Jing Lan visibly shaken, her astonishment impossible to conceal. “You — how could you possibly know?”

“How I know is beside the point. What I need you to answer now is this: in order to determine the lethal dosage of air, did you conduct experiments on a human subject?”

The question was sharp and direct. After hearing it, Jing Lan sat in momentary bewilderment. In her eyes, Shi Ting saw the conflict between pain and anguish.

He had a vague sense of what the answer might be, and instinctively his eyes met Yan Qing’s.

“I did.” Yan Qing had expected Jing Lan to refuse to answer. But after a moment of bowed silence, she answered honestly — perhaps it was less a reply and more an act of self-confession and atonement. “I knew that injecting air into the human body could cause death, but I searched through every source I could find and could not determine the precise dosage. I wanted to mimic the killing of a ghost — perfectly untraceable — to create genuine confusion. If the dose was too small, it wouldn’t kill; if the dose was too large, the body might present obvious signs that would expose my plan. I racked my mind over the question of dosage for a long time.”

She pressed both fists down onto the surface of the table, the veins on the backs of her hands standing out in blue-green ridges.

“One day, my father asked me suddenly whether I intended to avenge my sister. I was stunned — I thought he had no idea. But I was wrong. He had not only read the diary my sister left behind, he even knew what I had been doing all this time. He said he was a useless man who had only ever been a burden, and that if he could help me in any way, he was willing. I was firmly opposed at first. But eventually, he persuaded me. My sister and I learned embroidery from a young age and did piecework for the embroidery shops. After my sister was gone, I could barely support myself, let alone my bedridden father. I began conducting experiments on him — starting with small amounts of air and gradually increasing the dose. Several times, he nearly died, struggling terribly. But each time he survived. Until the day I tried one hundred milliliters…”

Jing Lan pressed her forehead against her clasped fists. Tears poured steadily from her eyes.

“He died — peacefully. He said he was going ahead to keep my sister company, and that the rest was up to me.”

Jing Lan let out a long, slow breath. “From the moment my father died, I knew I had become a machine of vengeance entirely. My eyes held nothing but hatred — no light at all. I didn’t mind enrolling in the school. I didn’t mind people calling me ugly. I had only one goal: to make those who destroyed my sister pay with their lives. I used the same method to kill Fan Dongping and Luo Baimi. I thought I had done it flawlessly — but the Jinlin Guard grew suspicious about the ghost killings. To clear my name, I bought fine wine and food and left them at Qiao Guang’s door. He was a drunkard who would risk anything for a drink. I timed it carefully, used the key I had taken from Luo Baimi’s bag, and entered Qiao Guang’s home with ease. I dragged Qiao Guang into the inner bedroom — ha, a drunk man is heavy as a pig. I took a fruit knife from the kitchen and severed his artery. He let out a small cry of pain, but he was so drunk he had no strength to resist. I sat to one side and watched his blood drain out of him, until it had soaked the entire floor.”

Jing Lan’s eyes shone with a bright, fierce light, as if she were still reliving the scene of the killing. “Qiao Guang was dead. My revenge was complete. Even if your Jinlin Guard caught me, I would have no regrets.”

She then turned a gaze softened by warmth toward Yan Qing. “Yan Qing, I have a question I want to ask you. Will you answer me honestly?”

Yan Qing suppressed the tide of emotions rising within her and gave a gentle nod. “Ask.”

Jing Lan smiled. “Yan Qing — did you ever truly consider me a friend?”

“Yes.” Not a moment’s hesitation in Yan Qing’s reply.

“Then you must be very disappointed in me.”

“It’s heartbreak.” Yan Qing’s eyes shimmered faintly, touched with moisture. “Meeting violence with violence has never been the way to solve anything. You succeeded in avenging You Xiaozhen — but in the end, you destroyed yourself in the process. Jing Lan, do you think it was worth it?”

Jing Lan let out a bitter smile. “Yan Qing, you’re simply standing on the moral high ground and passing judgment on me. If someone you loved and cared for had been killed, wouldn’t you want revenge?”

“I would. But I wouldn’t go out and kill them myself. I would put them on the chopping block with my own hands — through the law.” Yan Qing thought of the anguish when Shen Liang had cut her throat, pain that had followed her across death and rebirth. If she could return to that era now and face Shen Liang again, she would still feel hatred — but she would never raise her own hand to kill him.

This was perhaps the principle and conviction she had upheld throughout her years as someone who served justice — and having lived it herself, she could speak those words with the right to be believed.

As she spoke, Yan Qing failed to fully conceal her emotions. The intensity on her face drew Shi Ting’s gaze to her.

Probably sensing his eyes on her, she exhaled softly. “I’m sorry, Jing Lan. If I had noticed the signs in you sooner, perhaps I could have stopped you.”

“You couldn’t have stopped me, Yan Qing. No one could have.” She smiled gently. “But I am glad — during that stretch of lightless days, you were a ray of moonlight to me. Only it could warm me, not save me. If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me.”

Yan Qing stepped out of the interrogation room, Jing Lan’s final words — “Thank you” — still echoing in her ears.

Her wheelchair stopped in the middle of the corridor, unmoving.

Footsteps approached from behind — steady and unhurried. He stopped just behind her and stood without moving.

After a long while, Yan Qing spoke. “Shi Ting, I have a request — a selfish one. Will you grant it?”

“I grant it.”

Yan Qing turned her head, and her eyes met his — deep as still water. His gaze was unfathomable, yet seemed to carry a faint, barely perceptible tenderness.

“You don’t even ask what it is?”

“No need.” His words were few, his meaning complete. He gave her a look that said: be at ease. “As you wish.”

—

Seven days later. The waterfront park along the banks of Liao He.

The park had been built along the river. A path of colored bricks ran beside the water’s edge. Because of the pleasant surroundings, it was a popular spot for people to run and stroll.

Yan Qing’s wheelchair stood at the riverside. Willow branches stretched out from the bank and brushed lightly over the water’s surface, their reflections shifting and dappled.

The young man standing beside her was tall and slender, his features striking, his face sculpted to near perfection. A black uniform completed the picture, lending him an air of vigorous, commanding presence.

His long fingers held out a rectangular box — plain and ordinary, the kind found in every funeral shop in Shun Cheng.

“Thank you.” Yan Qing accepted it and gently settled the box in her lap.

Jing Lan had committed a crime punishable by death by firing squad, and once the conviction was upheld, the sentence was carried out immediately.

Jing Lan had no family. After death, her remains would be cremated, then handed over to the local funeral parlor to be treated as unclaimed ashes.

The request Yan Qing had made of Shi Ting that day was to claim Jing Lan’s ashes.

She had already purchased a burial plot for Jing Lan. Once the ashes were in hand, the interment could proceed. Jing Lan had lived a life of darkness and sorrow — Yan Qing hoped that by doing what little she could, she might give her some peace in what remained.

“I came to find you today because there is something else I wanted to tell you.” Shi Ting’s gaze rested on the surface of the river in the distance, where a few sails flickered in and out of view.

—