Hanke luggage.
The brand was seared into Qin Guan's memory.
All thanks to Qi Min—the woman who had carried a Hanke suitcase on her doomed business trip. The same suitcase he'd used to stuff her "corpse" into during the staged drowning at the lakeside villa.
Hanke was Qi Min's obsession. Mini cases for short trips, oversized ones for long journeys, even Hanke gym bags—he'd often overheard her praising the brand at the law firm. Two of her Hanke suitcases had been his gifts.
This vain woman insisted on flaunting luxury brands for all visible possessions. Hanke's prices were steep.
But Xu Ruyi had never owned Hanke—not due to cost, but style. Hanke's bold, flashy designs clashed with her preference for muted, vintage aesthetics. Qin Guan recalled accompanying her past a Hanke store once. When he'd asked if women liked such luggage, she'd wrinkled her nose: "It's screaming 'look how expensive I am'—so tacky. I'd never buy it."
Yet here in the study's trash bin lay a freshly clipped Hanke tag.
Who bought the suitcase?
The in-laws were dead. The apartment had been locked. Only one person could've done this—Xu Ruyi.
Qin Guan's heart lurched. He tore through rooms, yanking curtains open. No Hanke cases in sight. The Jiayuan apartment needed no new luggage, and his Guanlan Court home certainly had none—he'd just ransacked it. The last Hanke suitcase he'd seen there arrived a month prior.
The day forever etched in his mind—a week after drowning Qi Min. A deliveryman had brought a black Hanke suitcase to his doorstep, identical to the one submerged in the lake. That same day, Zeng Demei's extortion letter demanding 300,000 yuan arrived.
He'd assumed both came from Qi Min's scheming. The timing—the suitcase's sudden reappearance—had felt like a ghostly taunt.
He'd been wrong.
Staring at the crisp tag in his trembling hand, Qin Guan's worldview crumbled. The apartment sat silent, windows sealed, yet an icy dread seeped into his bones.
The delivery boy caught with Zeng Demei's gang had genuinely seemed confused when questioned about the suitcase. Even Qi Min, during their final confrontation in the mountains, had denied involvement. He'd dismissed their denials as cowardly lies.
But the evidence glared at him now—Xu Ruyi had purchased this identical suitcase. Stored it here. Orchestrated its delivery to their home.
Why?
To terrorize him. To prove she knew.
Qin Guan collapsed into the study's hardwood chair, the unyielding seat jabbing his spine. Memories flashed—Qi Min wheeling that suitcase into their home the morning of her trip. Xu Ruyi offering to help carry it, complimenting its design with feigned sweetness.
No. His fists clenched. This went deeper.
For Xu Ruyi to weaponize that specific suitcase, she must've known everything—the lakeside villa affair. The staged drowning. The suitcase's role in disposing "evidence." Even the mock strangulation on the villa bed.
Summer sunlight blazed through windows, yet Qin Guan shivered as if frost crept through his pores. How? How had she uncovered it all?
As he reached for the door, his mother-in-law's ghostly whisper echoed: "We need to make a will… There's something I must say…"