06 Nickname

Looking at the old photograph in my hand and connecting the possibility that Hao-hao might actually be my transgender girlfriend, Fang Lin, I was utterly stunned for a moment.

Previous clues had already suggested that Huang Feifei's perverted humiliation case might be linked to me. Now, the apparent acquaintance between Huang Feifei and Fang Lin made this possibility feel increasingly real.

Thus, I deliberately fixed my gaze once again on the child in the center of the photo, trying to determine whether he truly resembled Fang Lin in her childhood.

It was a small boy, around five or six years old, with delicate and pretty features resembling a little girl. Although he was very young, primed by my prior suspicion, I recognized him at a glance. He truly seemed to be my girlfriend Fang Lin in her childhood.

At that moment, the Fatty suddenly blurted out, "I know who the killer is!"

Curious, I asked him who it was. He continued, "It has to be one of the other two people in the photograph."

I replied flatly, "The person in the middle is out of the question. He's dead."

Hearing my words, the Fatty gasped, letting out a startled cry. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he immediately craned his neck to peer at the tombstone. I figured he must have thought the name on the tombstone was Hao-hao, especially since I had just mentioned that Hao-hao was dead, and the group photo had been found inside a coffin in the graveyard.

Very quickly, the Fatty saw that the tombstone bore the name Chen Mu. In that instant, he recoiled backward two paces, his feet tripped over each other, and he crashed heavily to the ground, sprawling over an adjacent grave.

He pointed a trembling finger at me, his mouth agape, too terrified to utter a single word.

Taking a stride forward, I stepped right in front of the Fatty and gave him an exasperated kick in the rear. "Fatty, why are you so useless?" I scolded. "How can you be a criminal police officer when you're this easily frightened? Don't you see I'm standing right here alive and well? The name on this tombstone is just a coincidence."

Only then did the Fatty spring up in a carp-like leap and say to me, "Chen Mu, don't blame me for being cowardly. It's genuinely terrifying at first glance. Besides, this has nothing to do with me being a cop. I wouldn't be afraid if you showed me a bloody, horrific murder scene, but these ghost and spirit things terrify me—I'm no Taoist priest."

I couldn't be bothered to lecture the Fatty on atheism. Brushing the dust off his trousers, he went on, "In that case, the killer has to be 'Left Eye,' the last kid in this group photo. 'Left Eye' must be his nickname."

I challenged him, "What makes you draw that conclusion? Would a killer deliberately place a photo in a grave for us to find, practically announcing that he's the killer? Is the murderer really that much of an idiot?"

The Fatty looked at me and retorted, "Good grief, Chen Mu, did you get into the provincial police department through the backdoor? Have you never heard of a taunting-style crime? Didn't they teach you that in police academy? The killer must have done this intentionally so that we would know it was him, while remaining unable to catch him. That's the only way to satisfy his twisted criminal psychology."

I glared at him. "I never went to the police academy. I used to be a special operations soldier in the Flying Eagle Special Forces."

As soon as the words left my mouth, the Fatty instantly fell silent. He scratched his head repeatedly, flashed me a flattering, ingratiating smile, and stammered, "Ha, just kidding, just kidding. Brother Mu, you were just testing me, of course you'd know about this. By the way, Brother Mu, how do you think this photo connects to the case?"

Actually, I felt the Fatty made a valid point; the photograph and the case were undoubtedly connected. Consequently, I began studying the picture of the final child, feeling a vague sense of recognition that might help me place him.

This also appeared to be a young boy, but much like Fang Lin's childhood picture, he looked remarkably delicate and fair-skinned, possessing a striking, refined beauty even at such a tender age.

As I stared into his eyes, however, my heart gave a sharp, violent jolt, and suddenly I realized whom he resembled.

It was somewhat unexpected, yet entirely within reason: this pretty little boy must be Jin Ze. The resemblance was truly uncanny.

At that moment, the Fatty seemed to have caught on as well. He immediately whispered to me, "Brother Mu, Idol Jin and Huang Feifei came from the same orphanage, didn't they? Take a look at this kid—doesn't he bear a strong likeness to Idol Jin?"

I nodded slowly. "Yes. Surely you aren't suspecting Jin Ze of being the killer? Do you think that's even possible?"

The Fatty seemed genuinely devoted to Jin Ze. Looking displeased, he blurted out, "Of course not! I was just making a wild guess earlier. There's an even bigger possibility: a clue-based crime. In serial murder cases, some perverted killers love to toy with the police by leaving a clue at every crime scene. Once you decode that clue, you supposedly discover the identity of their next target. Of course, in reality, by the time the police track that person down, they're usually already dead. That sense of absolute despair is what the killer feeds on."

Hearing the Fatty's words, a knot tightened in my chest. I immediately whipped out my phone and dialed Jin Ze's number, fearing he might be the killer's next target.

To my surprise, Jin Ze's phone was turned off. In the end, I had no choice but to call Miao Miao, asking her to send another forensic team to handle the crime scene. Once I handed over the responsibility, I rushed directly back to my dormitory.

Back in my room, I tried calling Jin Ze again, but his phone remained powered down. Ultimately, I could only send him a text message urging him to turn on his phone and call me back before I went to bed. Since Jin Ze was far more capable than I was, there wasn't much I could do to help him, and lacking his home address, I had no way of finding him in the dead of night.

As I drifted off into a hazy, half-conscious sleep, a faint buzzing sound jarred my senses. Believing it might be Jin Ze returning my call, I bolted upright in alarm.

Yet, upon waking, I found my phone resting quietly on the bedside table, completely silent.

I assumed it was my imagination or that I had simply been dreaming.

Just as I prepared to close my eyes again, a sudden realization struck me: the buzzing sound was still persisting, and it was undeniably the vibration of a mobile phone.

However, the vibration was coming from underneath my bed. In other words, there was a phone under the bed, though I knew for a fact that I owned only one.

Instantly, my entire nervous system went taut, because this implied there was a very high probability that someone was hiding beneath my bed.

A cold sweat broke out all over my body. Yet, I wasn't as cowardly as I used to be; gripping a police baton by the head of the bed, I prepared to roll off and leap to the floor.

Right at that very second, the phone on the bedside table suddenly started buzzing violently. Good grief, that abrupt shock nearly made my heart leap straight out of my throat.

The sensation at that moment was utterly surreal—it was as if my phone had experienced a delay, with the phone under the bed ringing first, followed by the one on the bedside table.

Glancing at the phone screen, I saw the caller ID displayed as Jin Ze.

Hesitation paralyzed me for a fraction of a second: should I answer the call first, or get off the bed to subdue whoever was lurking underneath?

Ultimately, I chose to answer the call first. That way, if someone really was hiding beneath the bed, the sudden noise might cause them to bolt, allowing me to strike the back of their head with the baton as they fled.

Lifting the receiver, I said, "Hello, Jin Ze? Why have you kept your phone off?"

He replied, "I've been dealing with something."

Pressing on, I asked, "Where are you then? I have something important to tell you."

The moment those words left my lips, an uncanny, creeping sensation washed over me—a chilling intuition so bizarre it felt less like a phone conversation and more like speaking to someone face-to-face, as if the person on the other end was whispering directly into my ear.

Just as this ominous feeling overwhelmed me and I instinctively pulled the phone away from my face, Jin Ze's voice sounded once more: "I'm right under your bed."

This time, I was entirely certain the voice hadn't traveled through the earpiece of the phone. It resounded directly inside my room.

To be precise, it came from beneath my bed.

Terror seized me completely. With a violent jerk, I sprang off the bed, leaping a full two meters away to the opposite side.

Crouching down, I peered cautiously beneath the bed frame. There, stretched out flat, was indeed a figure.

The person wore a tailored white suit paired with a black jester mask, lending them an aura of eerie and profound mystery.

The sight of him immediately brought White Night to mind, leaving me paralyzed between advancing and retreating—undecided whether I should attempt an arrest or flee for my life.

Amidst my hesitation, Jin Ze's voice echoed from behind the mask: "Don't be afraid. It's me. I am Jin Ze, nicknamed Left Eye."