“This thing…” The girl's dazzling smile drew in like a tide, yet her feeling overflowed like a brimming glass of rippling honey. “It’s mine—Mu Ling’s—ID, okay?”

She said it still smiling, her voice like sunlight through leaves.

Right then, wind slipped in with threads of rain. Her sleek hair and the fine drizzle lifted together like willow fronds, and her smile, under the hazy glow of the incandescent lamp, flickered in and out like a paper lantern—strangely, almost translucent.

As if it might evaporate without warning.

Ye Weibai held his breath, like standing beside a quiet lake at dawn.

From the moment he first opened his eyes and saw her, he’d seen that sun-bright, contagious smile more than once—yet none of them matched Mu Ling’s smile now, soft as silk, light as dandelion fluff.

So pale, and yet so heart-stirring it hurt, like a string plucked until it hummed.

A single drop of rain fell into his heart-lake, spreading ring after ring, gentle and unending.

It was a smile inked in pure sincerity.

“Hm? What’s up?” That frailty lasted only an instant, like a mirage. The next beat, she grinned sly as a little fox, leaned in, tilted her head. “Senior, that look—did you finally notice my charm?”

He curled his lip, like a cat refusing milk. “Too bad. You’re just a hair short.”

“What?”

He met the girl’s eyes, close enough to feel the warmth, and smiled. “Little Bell, I think if you could sit still, you might be surprisingly popular.”

“Don’t be silly, Senior.” The little fox laughed, body leaning back like a reed in wind, dodging his flick to her forehead. “I’m already popular at school, okay.”

“Uh-huh.” Ye Weibai smiled, the sound light as a pebble dropping.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mu Ling wrinkled her nose like a rabbit. “And anyway, being chatty is a cute point, okay? The real world doesn’t favor ‘bookish girls’ or those cold, stoic types—that kind of cute only exists in the second dimension. In real life you just suffer and end up unhappy.”

Ye Weibai lifted his gaze to her, pupils calm as still water. “That—I agree with half.”

“Half?”

“Suffering you bring on yourself—hard to avoid.” His tone was mild, like cloud-shadow crossing a field. “But being unhappy—doesn’t have to follow.”

“Hmm?” For no clear reason, Mu Ling’s look turned serious like a child hearing thunder. She dragged over a stool, sat, knees drawn close, ready for a heart-to-heart. “Self-inflicted suffering isn’t hard?”

“The suffering comes from others, or—society.” Ye Weibai’s eyes drifted to the window, where a leaf rode the wind like a small boat and settled on the sill. “But happiness—comes from yourself.”

“These two—spring from different sources. So there’s no automatic link.” He paused, then looked at the girl whose eyes held a touch of fog. “Did you get that?”

“Uh… I guess… kind of.” Mu Ling wore the exact face of “I understood nothing,” like a kitten caught in rain.

“Heh.” Ye Weibai laughed, soft as embers. “It’s fine if you don’t. Just remember—All things reside within one heart.”

“All things reside within one heart?” Mu Ling repeated the phrase, tongue tripping like over pebbles.

“Yeah. Roughly: whatever you see in the World, whatever your true heart perceives—that’s what it is.”

Mu Ling’s eyes widened like a starling startled. “Eh? That’s so idealist. Not something a Detective should say!”

Ye Weibai smiled a little, a ripple that faded without a splash, and didn’t explain. After the World of Monstrosity, many notions shifted like continents. So-called Monstrosity—if a human heart doesn’t waver, even if the body turns into a Monstrosity, the plague-black spirit won’t invade. Like Ye Weibai, who was already a Monstrosity from the start—yet, until he realized it, he had none of a Monstrosity’s bloodlust or gluttony.

Even those words—on any ordinary day, he wouldn’t toss them into casual talk. He’s always believed people can only save themselves, not by his three words and two sentences smashing the heavy gloom pressed on someone’s chest.

Words, more often, bully than save.

And yet, watching the girl in front of him, eyes crescented into smiles, his mood loosened like a knotted rope in warm rain. He spoke without thinking.

His hand moved on its own into his pocket, found a cigarette, and held it at his lips; then he blinked hard, smiled bitterly, and tucked it back into the pack.

He doesn’t smoke—that’s Bai Ye’s habit, like a shadow on the wall at dusk.

“Senior?”

“No, it’s nothing.” Ye Weibai shook his head, wind through pines. “Come on. Step out with me for a bit.”

“Eh? Where?” The girl, twirling her hair like ivy, lifted her head.

“Shopping.”

“A date?”

He glanced at Little Bell’s sudden joy, and his smile softened like bread fresh out of the oven. “If you’re happy, that’s enough.”

“Geez.” Mu Ling pouted, lips like a petal. “Senior, you have no sense of romance.”

“Eh.” Ye Weibai stood, fatigue draped like a coat, and walked to the door. “Find your boyfriend if you want romance. We’re going to work a case.”

The word case lit her up like fireworks. Heaven knows how a college girl turned so fascinated with a child-molestation case.

Before—well—before, other cases.

Ye Weibai skimmed prior memories like leafing through files—other cases didn’t see Little Bell this often.

The girl hopped up, tilted her head, then pointed at the door like a compass. “Senior, you go first.”

“Huh?”

“I need to change.” She ran over and pushed at Ye Weibai’s chest toward the door.

Honestly, the little thing’s strength was laughably light—like pushing against air.

But watching the little tiger lower her head and shove with all she had, Ye Weibai let her be. He opened the door, and before stepping out, glanced back. “Change into what? Isn’t this fine?”

“Heh-heh-heh.” Her fox-smile bloomed in the crack, eyes crescented, lips curved like a new moon.

“This—ain’t standard issue.”

…

…

“Boss.”

“Morning, Boss.”

“Morning, Captain Bai.”

Just like yesterday, the moment he stepped into the public office area, the Detective Agency crowd looked up and greeted Ye Weibai with warm waves like a market at noon.

Bai Ye’s temperament might be lazy like a cat in sun, but as a boss, that don’t-stir-trouble, no-airs, no-nonsense way made people like him, the way a clear stream draws thirsty birds.

“Boss. Good morning!”

A girl jogged over, cheeks rosy like apples, short chic hair curling at the ends like fern tips, a light see-through fringe shading her moist eyes. She was one of the agency’s mascots—Fang Xiaomeng.

“Yo, Lucky—no, Xiaomeng. Morning to you too.”

“Boss, I found the materials you asked for yesterday. Should I bring them to your office?” Xiaomeng hugged a thick stack of files, the soft curve at her chest resting atop them like a cushion.

“Uh, no need yet.”

Ye Weibai opened his mouth, but couldn’t say, “There’s a girl changing inside.” “Let me see them first.”

“Okay. They’re a bit heavy.”

“It’s fine.” He shook his head, took the files, and set them on an empty desk like laying down firewood.

“Boss, then I’ll get back to work.”

“Hold up.”

“Hm?” Xiaomeng looked back, a little dazed, like a deer in brush.

“There’s something very important I need you to understand. You—” Ye Weibai’s expression turned stern, clouds building over a ridge.

“Huh? O-okay!” Xiaomeng stiffened, eyes round, matching his seriousness like a mirror lake.

“—Your hairstyle’s great today. I’m giving you a perfect score.”

“Eh? Eh-eh-eh?” Expecting an order, Xiaomeng flushed and stammered, pink spreading like dawn. “B-Boss—you’re doing it again!”

It’s precisely that apple-red face that makes teasing worth the sin!

In that instant, Ye Weibai and Bai Ye’s bad taste overlapped perfectly, two shadows merging at sunset.

Ye Weibai couldn’t help smiling.

Around them, others laughed like wind through bamboo.

“Oh, oh, it appeared! Xiaomeng’s signature line!”

“Boss’s move never fails.”

“Heh-heh, I wanna be teased like that too.”

—Hey! You nine-foot tower of a man! What are you even saying, sounding all camp?

“I’m not talking to you guys!”

Xiaomeng puffed her cheeks like a goldfish, stomped off to her desk in a huff.

Still smiling, Ye Weibai shook his head, picked up the top dossier, paper whispering like dry leaves.

A beat later, his face changed, shadow crossing like a hawk’s wing.

“This is—?”