A patch of brown bloodstain.
A bloodstain Qin Guan knew all too well.
The shape of the stain was oddly familiar, resembling a dog missing one leg. The first time this bloodstain had appeared on the doorframe, Qin Guan had immediately thought of that dog—the one that had trailed him relentlessly during his childhood.
He never knew where the dog had come from. It was a stray, filthy and ugly, with sparse, matted gray-black fur riddled with mange and bald patches. Its belly bore a festering wound that oozed yellowish-red pus. One of its front legs, broken long ago, hung limply shorter than the others, causing its body to jerk spasmodically as it walked—a grotesque, pitiful sight.
A disgusting, repulsive creature.
The mangy dog had hobbled after Qin Guan for one simple reason: his mentally ill mother, who couldn't even recognize her own son, had taken a peculiar liking to strays. She'd often dump her own meals onto the ground for the dog, oblivious to her son's humiliation.
Qin Guan loathed the animal. It drew more mockery his way.
"Qin Guan, you and that dog are two peas in a pod! Look how it limps—just like your mom!"
"Why kick it? It'll never leave. Dogs know their own kind!"
"Crazy mom, idiot dad, crippled dog—Qin Guan, you've hit the trifecta!"
"What's this?" A sharp-eyed officer crouched, scrutinizing the stain. "Qin Guan. Qin Guan! Is this blood? Human blood?"
Qin Guan swallowed hard, his throat dry. He was losing control. Why now, of all times, was his mind flooding with memories of that wretched dog?
The dog had shadowed him everywhere—up hills, through fields, to school. In secluded spots, he'd unleash his fury, kicking its pus-filled belly and shouting: "Get lost! You filthy thing! I'll kill you!" But it always returned.
One scorching afternoon, while Qin Guan hacked at weeds with a sickle, the dog lay panting on a ridge. A passing farmer jeered: "That mutt really loves you! Why not adopt it? Your mom never gave you siblings!"
By sunset, only the sleeping dog remained. Its twitching, mangled body filled Qin Guan with revulsion. Gripping the sickle, he crept closer—
"Whose blood is this? Answer me!" The officer's bark snapped him back.
Qin Guan stood paralyzed. His silver tongue, so deft in courtrooms, turned to lead. He stared at the stain—that damned dog-shaped blotch—unable to tear his gaze away.
How? He'd hidden this so perfectly. The wall had been repainted with premium漆 he'd personally selected. The flirty paint store owner had assured him: "Only the best for a big-shot lawyer like you!"
The paint cans had originally been bought to refresh his in-laws' aging home. But plans changed—first Xu Ruyi's pregnancy, then her mother's illness. Later, when his mother-in-law secretly plotted to disinherit him, Qin Guan had already begun countermeasures: sweet-talking his wife, securing assets, building secret funds.
Now, as officers waited, the past bled through like a fresh wound. That broken dog. The sickle's arc. The gurgling yelp—
"Qin Guan!" The officer's impatience crackled. "We need answers now."
But the bloodstain held him captive—a snarling reminder that some secrets refuse to stay buried.