Qin Guan staggered, clutching the desk to avoid collapsing. His legs gave way, dropping him into his father-in-law's rigid chair. Though the room remained unchanged—furniture in familiar positions—everything now seemed warped. The air felt vacuum-sealed, his mind paralyzed by this revelation.
If his new theory held—if Xu Ruyi had known about Qi Min's staged death at the lakeside villa from the start—
His numb brain couldn't yet grasp how she'd uncovered the truth. But her subsequent actions confirmed it:
She'd known about Qi Min's phone, seizing it at the perfect moment.
She'd self-harmed, framing Qi Min to push him into confrontation.
She'd stolen the black stockings from his car.
This scheme had begun the day he returned from his trip—or earlier.
No wind stirred the sealed room, yet icy drafts seemed to pierce Qin Guan's skin. Cold sweat trickled down his spine.
Impossible. He refused to accept it. The Xu Ruyi he'd known since her teens—spoiled, empty-headed, obsessed with trivial romance—could never orchestrate this. Even if she'd discovered his affair, she lacked the cunning.
Besides, she'd been home during his trip, video-calling daily.
Clutching at straws, he tossed the Hanke tag aside and ransacked the apartment again. He'd prove this a coincidence—maybe a gift from friends. But reason whispered: Accept it. You've been outplayed.
Xu Ruyi had become a wolf lying in wait.
"Hanke… Hanke…" he muttered, tearing off dust covers. He searched every corner—bedrooms, kitchen, bathroom—knocking the rice cooker to the floor with a crash.
Nothing.
No suitcase. The tag's presence confirmed it—Xu Ruyi had sent that identical case to their doorstep.
Where did she hide Qi Min's phone and stockings? What's her next move? Was this tag left deliberately?
Knock-knock-knock.
"Qin Guan! Open up!" The officers' voices sliced through his panic.
Smoothing his hair, Qin Guan pocketed the tag and feigned calm. The policemen barged in, claiming to escape the heat but clearly monitoring him. Their stares clung like sweat.
Qin Guan rambled about searching for a "lost USB drive," mind racing. The Hanke tag could expose Xu Ruyi—store cameras, purchase records, delivery logs. But revealing it meant confessing to Qi Min's staged death.
Wait. If police found traces of Qi Min at Xinhe Hotel, the narrative would shift. He'd pin everything on Xu Ruyi later.
As he offered water, an officer's phone rang. Returning minutes later, the man cut to the chase: "You claimed to meet Qi Min at Xinhe Hotel's back door?"
Qin Guan nodded, rehearsing his alibi: "By the alley, under an old streetlamp. She said she stayed in Room 201, but I never entered—"
"No fingerprints," the officer interrupted. "No trace of Qi Min in that room." He leaned closer. "She never stayed there. She never returned, did she?"
Qin Guan's mask held, but the ground beneath him fissured.
As he reached for the door, his mother-in-law's ghostly words echoed: "We need to make a will… There's something I must say…"