Yan Tuo never imagined that he would appear in the same camera frame as Han Guan.
When did that happen?
Then he remembered—it was when Nie Jiuluo brought him back to the hotel after he was injured by the grasshopper, and used her innate fire to cauterize his wound. When he left the hotel that night, it was already dark, and the moment he stepped out of the main entrance, snow started falling heavily from the sky.
It turned out Han Guan was checking in at that exact time.
Yan Tuo’s lips felt dry. Though he knew Xiong Hei was watching him, he pretended not to notice and continued staring at the projection. Finally, he mumbled, “People really shouldn’t lie.”
He turned to look at Xiong Hei, patted his thigh, and said in a low voice, “Whatever you do, don’t tell this to Aunt Lin.”
After speaking, he picked up some mixed vegetables with his chopsticks, put them in his mouth, then pulled open a beer can and took a big gulp.
Xiong Hei was completely puzzled. “Wait… what am I not supposed to tell her?”
Yan Tuo spoke indistinctly while chewing, “You’ve already figured it out, haven’t you? It’s so obvious.”
Figured what out?
Xiong Hei felt lost in a fog. Nevertheless, he tried to piece things together: The day Han Guan arrived in Shi He, he was busy leading a team to capture Jiang Baichuan’s group. He had received a call from Yan Tuo on the way but was too busy to deal with it, so he just sent A Peng’s address to Yan Tuo.
The day before that, he had “lost contact” with Yan Tuo in the reed marsh because he had to deal with Lao Dao and that useless dog…
He said, “Didn’t you say you ran into some thugs, your phone got broken, and you had it repaired?”
Yan Tuo replied, “Yeah, that’s right.”
Xiong Hei: “You got it repaired at the hotel?”
Yan Tuo couldn’t help but laugh, “Are you stupid? We separated late at night and got back in touch the next evening. Do you think dealing with a few thugs and fixing a phone would take that long? I did other things too.”
Xiong Hei felt a bit dizzy from his roundabout explanation. “What other things?”
Yan Tuo’s expression darkened. “Brother Xiong, are you playing dumb? You have it all on video, why are you still asking?”
Well, now he’s getting angry.
Xiong Hei felt he needed to think this through: disappearing for a night, being caught on hotel surveillance, getting angry when asked about it, and not wanting Lin Jie to know…
His eyes widened. “You went to… get a room… with a prostitute?”
Yan Tuo covered his face with his hand. He decided it was better not to say anything, even if Xiong Hei suggested he was the one selling services…
“You weren’t selling, were you?”
Yan Tuo was cursing internally. He really shouldn’t have let Xiong Hei’s imagination run wild.
The more Xiong Hei thought about it, the more logical it seemed to his enlightened mind: “Damn, Yan Tuo, in that video Lin Ling collected last time when you disappeared, I saw it. That driver, Old Qian, said you were in the… adult service industry. We all dismissed it, thought it was just a one-night stand, teasing that driver.”
He moved closer to Yan Tuo: “Do you have some kind of psychological disorder? I get it now, why did you dump that woman in such a remote mountain area? You felt disgusted with yourself afterward. But you can’t control it, it’s called… personality splitting…”
Before he could finish, Yan Tuo grabbed his collar and slammed him against the back wall.
The entertainment room fell silent. On the projection wall was a large image of Yan Tuo, while up close, Yan Tuo’s face was backlit and hidden in shadows.
This face, usually so familiar, suddenly seemed strange, not just strange but distorted, fierce, and vicious.
Yan Tuo spat through clenched teeth: “If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll kill you.”
So he hit the mark?
Xiong Hei sighed deeply. Life truly was like a play—tonight, with all their intentions focused elsewhere, they hadn’t discovered a single clue about Han Guan but instead had uncovered Yan Tuo’s secret.
He slowly raised both hands in surrender and tried to comfort Yan Tuo: “Relax, I’m not a gossip. Let’s just pretend nothing happened, okay?”
Yan Tuo stared at him for a while, then let out a cold laugh and released him. He sat back down at the small table and took another gulp of beer from the can.
His palm was slightly damp with sweat.
This wasn’t the excuse he had planned—he had thought of admitting he went to reconcile with Nie Jiuluo…
Though Xiong Hei’s assumptions were absurd, they had their internal logic. Whatever, as long as it got him off the hook.
Putting down his beer, he casually called out to Xiong Hei: “Brother Xiong, shall we continue? We still have lots of footage to go through.”
These rapid changes in expression…
Xiong Hei sat back down at the table: People truly are multifaceted—only through extended interaction can you discover their unknown sides.
He pressed play.
Accompanied by the faint projection sound, the video continued normally: Han Guan completed check-in, went to the elevator in good spirits, and even took a piece of candy from the front desk’s candy dish.
Xiong Hei didn’t connect Yan Tuo to Han Guan’s disappearance: after all, when Yan Tuo passed through the lobby, he didn’t even glance at Han Guan, and that night, Yan Tuo had already checked in at A Peng’s place.
They both faced the projection, each lost in their thoughts.
After a while, Xiong Hei cleared his throat and stared straight ahead: “You know, for this kind of thing, you should see a doctor early on and get it under control.”
Yan Tuo kept staring at the projection without turning his head. After a long while, he gave a brief response.
By the time they finished reviewing the footage, it was midnight.
During this time, Li Yueying and Yang Zheng had both sent messages to Xiong Hei, saying they had finished watching and found nothing unusual. Only Feng Mi remained silent. Xiong Hei couldn’t help but call to hurry her up. After a brief chat, he hung up angrily, cursing, “Damn it.”
With three out of four videos cleared, Yan Tuo felt somewhat relieved but remained tense: “What’s wrong with her?”
“Says she works nights and has a different schedule than us. She’s fucking livestreaming songs right now, says she’ll watch after her shift.”
That was as far as they could get for now—there was no point in hanging around at Xiong Hei’s place waiting for the latest developments.
…
Back in his room, Yan Tuo took a quick shower. He thought about sending his routine greeting to Nie Jiuluo but decided against it given the late hour.
After a while, he opened the short video app on his phone.
Feng Mi was a locally famous bar singer. When Xiong Hei said she was “live streaming songs,” it probably meant she was on one of the most popular apps.
He opened them one by one, cross-referencing “Feng Mi,” “currently livestreaming,” and “location: Xiamen.” Sure enough, it didn’t take long to find her.
She was indeed livestreaming. Though she didn’t have many fans—just over twenty thousand—the atmosphere was lively. Many people were posting comments, some rather vulgar, shouting “Beautiful lady, can you wear less?”
Feng Mi would read these comments out loud, take a sip of red wine, adjust her blouse collar, and say, “Depends on how many gifts you send.”
Some viewers sent gifts to request songs like “Love Me, Hug Me,” “Magic Castle,” and “An He Bridge.”
Feng Mi hadn’t lied—she was a good singer, especially after drinking. Her voice carried a hint of tipsiness and a touch of hoarseness. Her young face gradually showed signs of world-weariness that shouldn’t have been there.
Number 009 Feng Mi—her number was even earlier than Chen Fu, Yang Zheng, and Han Guan’s.
Can’t be fooled by that face; she’s also a veteran.
Yan Tuo topped up his account and immediately sent a Porsche—the website’s Porsche wasn’t expensive, but among the fans sending flowers and beers, it stood out like a crane among chickens.
And he didn’t stop at one—he sent one every few minutes, ten in total.
He knew Feng Mi could see these gifts, and more importantly, his account used his real name. Only during his middle school phase had he used usernames like “King Tuo”; after that, he mostly used his real name.
Sure enough, before long, Feng Mi’s expression became somewhat peculiar, constantly glancing at the screen.
For the final gift, Yan Tuo sent a pumpkin carriage.
Feng Mi leaned closer to the screen, smiling: “We have a fan named Yan Tuo who sent many cars. Thank you! Let me sing a song for you—one I often sing at the venue, ‘I’ve Been Waiting for You So Long.'”
It was a very sweet love song. Yan Tuo quit the livestream before it finished.
Soon after, as he expected, a message came through. It was from Feng Mi—no words, just a phone number.
Yan Tuo called the number ten minutes later.
Sure enough, it was Feng Mi who answered. In the middle of the night, her voice was sweet as honey: “Yan Tuo?”
Yan Tuo asked, “Done with work?”
“Left early. Got tired of singing for those idiots. How did you end up watching my livestream?”
Yan Tuo smoothly steered the conversation toward the main topic: “Just finished watching surveillance footage with Brother Xiong. Heard you haven’t submitted your report yet. Since you’re off work now, thought I’d check if you can get to it?”
Feng Mi asked curiously: “You were watching surveillance footage with Brother Xiong? What’s interesting about men watching surveillance footage together?”
Yan Tuo replied, “I wish he was a beautiful woman, but unfortunately, he’s not.”
Feng Mi giggled: “Then keep me company instead. I am one.”
Yan Tuo: “Sure.”
Feng Mi was taken aback, hesitating before saying: “Aren’t you afraid I’ll get the wrong idea?”
Yan Tuo countered: “What’s there to misunderstand? I kept Brother Xiong company, and he didn’t misunderstand.”
Feng Mi let out a coquettish huff: “Then why did you send me so many gifts?”
Yan Tuo: “You know my financial situation, don’t you? That small amount isn’t even worth mentioning.”
Feng Mi was speechless. Yan Tuo was always like this, every other sentence was a jab. It irritated her to no end, but there was nothing she could do about it. After a pause, she asked: “How will you keep me company? Coming to the club?”
Yan Tuo: “We’ll do it remotely. We can chat while getting work done. Isn’t that good?”
Feng Mi was disappointed: “Remotely?”
Yan Tuo: “Then I’m hanging up.”
Before Feng Mi could respond, he ended the call.
Feng Mi called back quickly. This time, Yan Tuo connected his earphones.
She started with a hint of grievance in her voice: “Yan Tuo, why are you so petty? Hanging up just because of one wrong word. I never said the remote wasn’t good, I was just worried you’d get bored. There’s so much footage to go through—you’ll stay on the call the whole time without hanging up?”
Yan Tuo made an affirmative sound.
Feng Mi: “You promised.”
…
It sounded fine in theory, but once they started watching the videos, Feng Mi began feeling awkward. She was fine since she had videos to focus on, but what about Yan Tuo on the other end, just holding his phone and listening to her keystrokes? How boring must that be?
She said sheepishly: “If only you could see what I’m seeing, we could discuss and analyze it together.”
Yan Tuo: “We can. Haven’t you heard of ‘screen sharing’?”
Following Yan Tuo’s instructions, Feng Mi downloaded the software and clicked share. Once the connection synchronized, the “companionship” became much more interesting.
She controlled the main screen and pace, allowing her to chat with Yan Tuo about Shi He’s streetscape, the hideously ugly buildings, illegally parked cars, and their idiot drivers.
Traffic surveillance didn’t have as many cameras as the hotel, nor was the quality as high.
After one round of viewing, Yan Tuo sensed the risk.
Feng Mi had clearly noticed something too. Initially, during the screen share, she had been joking and chatting randomly with him, but now she has grown quieter, and several times she returned to previously viewed footage, watching it repeatedly.
Yan Tuo’s heart rate gradually increased: The real risk to Nie Jiuluo wasn’t in the hotel surveillance or the irretrievable restaurant footage—it was here.
After a while, Feng Mi’s voice came through the earphones: “Yan Tuo, comparing the footage, haven’t you noticed that Chen Fu’s group’s car seems to be following the car in front?”
Yan Tuo tried to deflect: “Really?”
“Yes, you can tell if you watch several intersections,” Feng Mi spoke while opening videos on the computer screen and dragging them to key positions. “Look, there’s a taxi that’s always in front of them. Brother Xiong told me to watch carefully if any cars were following Chen Fu’s group, but if you think about it differently, maybe Chen Fu’s group was following someone else?”
Yan Tuo’s throat went dry as he softly replied: “That makes sense.”
Feng Mi: “Let me zoom in and look.”
As she zoomed in on her end, Yan Tuo could see it too. He quickly grabbed paper and pen, first noting down the taxi’s license plate number.
When he and Nie Jiuluo had exchanged information, they’d barely mentioned this taxi, only saying the luggage was left in the car and they’d noted the driver’s phone number to retrieve it later—neither had imagined this car would become a problem.
On-screen, the image continued to zoom.
Feng Mi: “Let me see if I can make out the passengers…”
Thank heavens the traffic cameras weren’t that capable. Yan Tuo sighed in relief: “The license plate is enough. But you know, since you’re not familiar with Shi He, but I’ve been there several times—judging by the route, both the taxi and Chen Fu’s group were heading out of the city. The matching routes might be coincidental. You should check the surveillance footage after they left the city before concluding.”
Li Yueying was responsible for the footage outside the city, and she had already told Xiong Hei there were no issues.
Feng Mi said bitterly: “Sister Li won’t look carefully. She thinks the whole world has wronged her. Brother Xiong must have been blind to give her this task.”
Yan Tuo smiled: “Congratulations on finding something. My supervision wasn’t wasted after all. You can discuss the rest with Brother Xiong. I better not get involved. Hanging up now.”
The call ended, but the screen share remained active.
Yan Tuo’s heart was pounding. He immediately opened the self-destructing message app and sent a message to Nie Jiuluo.
—You left your luggage in a taxi. Need that driver’s number, quickly.
He had to work with the time difference: even if Feng Mi contacted Xiong Hei immediately, they only had the license plate number for now. Finding the person would take time, but with a phone number, they could contact them instantly.
At this hour, Nie Jiuluo should have been asleep, but just as Yan Tuo was about to call directly, surprisingly, she sent the number back.
That was good enough. Yan Tuo didn’t waste a second and immediately dialed the number.
…
By the time the call ended, it was three in the morning.
The screen share had ended, and the computer screen was dark. Yan Tuo let out a long breath, resting his forehead on the desk for a while.
This night had been as exhausting as fighting several battles.
Suddenly he thought of something: why was Nie Jiuluo still awake so late?
He picked up his phone and saw that while he was on the call, she had sent two more messages.
—Did something happen?
—Since you haven’t replied, I’ll tell you in person about today’s progress. Too tired now, good night.
Self-destructing messages were both good and bad—they didn’t allow you to savor the words, disappearing instantly into smoke.
Nothing more to worry about, for now, he could sleep peacefully.
Yan Tuo replied with two words.
—Sweet dreams.