18. Breaking the Rules

When that deep voice rang out, all of us—Jin Ze, He Ping, Miao Miao, and myself—immediately turned to look. There was no helping it; the voice carried an overwhelming authority, impossible to ignore or refuse. I couldn’t help but wonder who in the police station dared to speak so boldly. Could it be the chief himself?

He was a man in his thirties or forties, refined in appearance, which instantly reminded me of the actor Chen Daoming. He strode directly toward us, and as he approached, Jin Ze called out “Leader.” He Ping and Miao Miao both nodded respectfully. Only then did I realize the man’s status was indeed significant. He was the leader of the Cold Case Unit. Later, I learned his name: Fang Qinghe. The Cold Case Unit was rather special, almost above the police station itself. Fang Qinghe’s influence extended beyond even the chief’s.

Standing beside me, Fang Qinghe spoke again, “This is nonsense. Release him.”

He Ping, a seasoned detective of comparable age, questioned, “Leader Fang, he’s a suspect, with evidence to back it up. Isn’t releasing him inappropriate? Unless you have proof to clear him?”

Fang Qinghe replied instantly, “First, I’ve reviewed these cases—they’re exceedingly bizarre. Chen Mu has no motive whatsoever. The case is far from simple. Arresting Chen Mu would only let the real culprit escape, maybe even mock us.”

I couldn’t agree more with Fang Qinghe, and my impression of this refined gentleman soared.

He continued, “Second, I’ve consulted several renowned experts in psychiatry. They’ve confirmed Zhang Wentong’s diagnosis is correct. Since Chen Mu doesn’t have dissociative identity disorder, it’s impossible for him to kill during sleepwalking. His actions—retrieving organs and the like—were guided by the criminal. In a sense, Chen Mu is just a pawn, manipulated by the perpetrator to mislead the police. Locking him up prevents us from luring the snake from its hole; how can we solve the case?”

After hearing his second point, I found myself somewhat enamored with this uncle. This was true deductive prowess—sharp, incisive, no wonder he led the Cold Case Unit.

Finally, Fang Qinghe slammed the table, “Third, and most importantly, this case is now under our unit’s jurisdiction. If I, Fang Qinghe, say he’s innocent, then he is. Release him.”

Refined yet commanding—at that moment, I truly admired him.

To be honest, I was a little bewildered. A stranger like Fang Qinghe trusted me so readily. I wanted to ask why, but I wasn’t foolish enough to do so. Why invite trouble?

In the end, He Ping said, “Alright, I hope Leader Fang can solve the case quickly and bring the real killer to justice.” Then he told me I was free.

As I finally exhaled in relief, Fang Qinghe suddenly asked, “Chen Mu, what do we do next?”

His question left me momentarily stunned. He soon smiled and added, “Don’t be nervous. I mean, since the killer keeps connecting the case to you, it shows he understands you well, maybe thinks like you. I’d like your advice.”

Fang Qinghe’s attitude was sincere, and I felt no threat. After pondering, I responded, “The greatest link between me and the killer is that he keeps making me send heads to the crematorium. The head is key. I’m curious how the police-monitored corpse was decapitated, so we must figure out how it was done. There might be a mole in the station.”

I wasn’t aiming this at He Ping; I didn’t really suspect him. He was probably just exploited by the killer. But I was genuinely curious how Zhang Wentong’s head was cut off and hidden under the bed without anyone noticing. Since I was told to keep sending his head, I was naturally very concerned about it—I certainly didn’t want to end up dead myself.

Fang Qinghe nodded, signaling me to continue, so I went on, “Also, about the elevator in Zhang Wentong’s building—I swear I wasn’t lying. Someone tampered with it. You should check the elevator control room for clues. I didn’t have the chance to mention this earlier when I was mistakenly suspected.”

When I finished, Fang Qinghe patted my shoulder, praised my talent, and said he’d find time to read my novel.

He then assigned tasks: first, he sent people to the elevator dispatch room in Zhang Wentong’s community; then he told He Ping to retrieve footage near the autopsy room. Since Zhang Wentong’s body needed to be autopsied, it wasn’t sent to the morgue but placed in the autopsy room—the surveillance there was most crucial.

As we prepared to check the surveillance footage, suddenly all our phones rang—I, He Ping, Jin Ze, all received the same online message: “You’ve taken Zhang Wentong’s head. You’d better have Chen Mu send it to the address I gave, or I’ll break the game’s rules for the first time.”

Jin Ze and I exchanged glances, and Jin Ze handed the message to Fang Qinghe.

After a quick look, Fang Qinghe said, “Let’s check the surveillance first,” so we headed to the monitoring room.

The footage near the autopsy room was much like the morning’s: inexplicably tampered with, not destroyed but shrouded in darkness—probably blocked by something. As for the autopsy room itself, since there hadn’t been surveillance there earlier, cameras were installed afterward, but the killer had already anticipated this and covered them up.

Just when I thought we’d get nothing useful, suddenly the feed came to life, clear and crisp, showing the autopsy room.

Zhang Wentong’s body lay on the autopsy table—the very bed Liu Yang and Fang Lin’s transgender corpse had occupied that morning. The transgender corpse had reportedly been sent to cold storage.

The room was silent, just a single bed and a corpse. Zhang Wentong’s head was still intact.

I hardly dared to breathe, watching nervously, eyes fixed on the door, hoping to catch the decapitator entering.

As I stared at the door, He Ping and the others suddenly stiffened. I instinctively looked at the autopsy table, and a chill ran through me.

God—a hand suddenly emerged from beneath the autopsy table, gripping a sharp knife. It looked as though the table itself had grown a hand.

I was terrified, but quickly realized: the killer had been hiding under the autopsy table all along. There were straps beneath it; if he was strong enough, he could hang there, concealed by the sheet, invisible.

Soon, the hand wielded the knife, slicing Zhang Wentong’s neck. Though the killer couldn’t see the bed, his technique was precise, swiftly severing the head.

He grabbed Zhang Wentong’s hair, and I stared motionless, thinking he’d have to reveal himself to leave with the head.

Unexpectedly, the hand tossed Zhang Wentong’s head toward the door. The head rolled across the floor, heading for the entrance.

My gaze followed the rolling head, and when I saw the doorway, another chill gripped me—a shadow had somehow appeared at the entrance. I could see a leg sticking out, someone leaning against the wall, hiding.

When I saw the leg—and the shoe—I was instantly horrified. The pants and shoes were identical to mine, and I was wearing them right then.

My heart clenched. Was the person at the door me? Unbelievable, but theoretically possible, since at that time I was on my way home to sleep. If I’d been sleepwalking, I could have appeared.

The detail didn’t escape Fang Qinghe, Jin Ze, and the others; they immediately glanced at my shoes. Fang Qinghe, however, said nothing, which let me breathe easier.

I continued watching. Soon, the person wearing shoes like mine bent down, grabbed Zhang Wentong’s head, and in the next moment, the footage went dark again—blocked once more.

He Ping then spoke, “See? Chen Mu is too strange—the one who took the head looks like him.”

I was left speechless, but Fang Qinghe said, “Wearing the same shoes doesn’t prove it’s him. After all, we didn’t see the face. Even if it was Chen Mu, it doesn’t mean he’s the killer. In fact, it shows Chen Mu is even more important to us. We must protect him—he’s key to solving this case.”

Just then, He Ping’s phone rang; they’d found clues in the elevator dispatch room at Zhang Wentong’s home. We all hurried over.

Upon entering, I saw a line of blood-red writing on the floor: “You didn’t cooperate with my killing game, you didn’t have Chen Mu send the head as I instructed, so I’ve decided to break the rules and kill someone unrelated.”