“Not the same.”

Dossier in hand, Ye Weibai’s face tightened, a chill rippling first, then a murmur slipping out.

The contents weren’t the same. Not the same as [yesterday].

He remembered clearly: the same stack of dossiers sat on his desk. He’d grabbed the top file, tossed it to Mu Ling, told her to read it aloud.

He’d glanced at the cover—case no. 090201. No mistake. The string of digits he’d glimpsed [yesterday] was exactly these.

Except—the contents were starkly different.

Yesterday’s file said the victim—a little girl—was found by police in an unknown forest cave. Kiss-marks and whip-welts mapped her skin like bruised petals; she’d been unconscious for a long while. The suspect had already slipped away, evaporating into thin air, even with a dragnet stretched across the city.

Half the precinct mobilized; the net still came up empty. Anger rolled like thunder through the station. The case lead was severely punished, swearing to catch that man no matter what.

After that escape, the man seemed to sense the storm and burrowed down—no new incidents for a long stretch. People decided he’d slipped to another city in the fog of days; anger cooled into a dull ember.

Until recently, a string of “child molestation cases” surfaced again. Anyone who saw the scenes agreed: the disguise, the method, the habits mirrored that suspect. The police confirmed it was the same killer, launched a heavy bounty, and invited the city’s Detective agencies to join.

Bai Ye’s Greedy Fox was among them.

Yet even now, the killer lived fine and free, crimes dripping like rain from eaves, as if he were taunting both police and Detectives on purpose.

Ye Weibai stared at the dossier, solemn. But his weight wasn’t about the suspect’s arrogance—it pressed on the question of why what he saw [today] didn’t match what he saw [yesterday].

[today], the case was still one of that man’s molestations, but the location had shifted—to an abandoned factory. Again, a girl of about ten, bound to a rotting wooden chair; when found, she was already unconscious; every inch of skin feathered with whip-welts and kiss-marks.

“Is it a flaw in time flowing backward… or is Time hinting at something?” He pinched his brow, the options lining up like chess pieces, tension first, logic after. “Think. What’s different between the two scenes? Could it be—”

“Senior!”

A light tap on his shoulder. Then a girl’s scent drifted over, cool as tea leaves in rain.

He turned—and the sight of Mu Ling’s outfit caught him short.

The lively girl had let down her side ponytail and tied a straight one at the back—youth unchanged, but suddenly more luminous. And she wore a middle-school uniform that shaved a few years off her age like spring wind.

Outside: a black jacket with white trim, left unbuttoned, raining open like a curtain, revealing a fitted white shirt underneath. The shirt ran just a bit tight, sketching youthful curves; a red-and-white tie at her collar added a brave stroke of color.

Below: the classic red-and-white plaid skirt. It covered full, fair thighs, brushing one inch above the knee. Long black socks flared up from black leather boots, swallowing her calves, leaving a strip of bare thigh like soft light in shadow.

The outfit, wherever she’d found it, fit oddly—the shirt snug, the jacket too big. Sleeves ran long, so Mu Ling’s hands could barely poke out two fingertips, pale doll-like in the air.

“How is it?” She stretched and spun; her hair nearly whipped Ye Weibai’s cheek. She grinned, bright as a fireworks spark. “Heart racing, right?”

“Ha—ha—ha.” His laugh was dry, a stone skipping across water.

She grinned fox-bright, tapped his chest, and teased, “Just admit it! Guys your age—uncles—this is exactly your taste. ‘Current college student’? I know you—one mention and your heart goes thump-thump, yeah?”

She babbled and swayed; the ponytail wagged like a happy puppy.

Sorry, I’m not an uncle—Bai Ye is.

Smiling, Ye Weibai flicked a quick finger to her not-yet-recovered red forehead. She flinched, hand flying up, one step back. He didn’t hide his laugh. “That’s my preference.”

“Mm!” Her cheeks puffed. “An S-type isn’t fun at all!”

“Let’s go.”

He pointed toward the door.

“The rain’s eased. Now’s our window.”

He snagged a long black umbrella and stepped out first.

“Oh, oh!” Mu Ling hurried after him.

He didn’t see the small figure behind—the girl called Xiao Meng—who’d been peeking at him. As he left, her eyes on his back turned oddly shadowed, like wind on deep water.

…

“Where’s your umbrella?”

The rain had thinned, still lingering like silk. Ye Weibai opened the umbrella; the girl slid in with a giggle, and his arm felt her softness like warm moss.

“Don’t ask dumb things. Kills the mood!” Mu Ling scolded with comical sternness. “A man and a woman, rain falling, the girl ‘forgets’ her umbrella. Isn’t the reason obvious? And you still ask?”

“Because the girl’s wearing a raincoat?” Ye Weibai said casually. “Is this a riddle?”

“…You almost made me trip.” Mu Ling wrinkled her nose. “You’ve got zero sense of romance, Senior!”

“Then don’t squeeze in—like a puppy.” He kept his face flat, but tilted the umbrella a touch, covering the petite Mu Ling better, a quiet arc against the rain.

Mu Ling noticed. She blinked up at him; her eyes shimmered, a wet sheen for one breath. Then it melted away. She ducked and giggled, and pressed even closer, shameless as a cat in sun.

“What?”

“Hehehe. A bit cold.”

“If you’re cold, button your jacket.”

“That ruins the standard look!”

“…I don’t get you young folks.”

Rain veiled the street, soft as silk, dim as smoke.

On both sides, tall green cypresses rose; their needles darkened by rain, brighter for it. Beneath them, the gray stone walkway ran like a riverbed. The black cloth umbrella parted the rain gently, a slice of night moving through mist.

Under the umbrella, a man and a girl walked.

…

“End of the ride.”

Ye Weibai stepped out first, umbrella opening with a soft bloom. He bent, peering into the taxi at the girl spaced out by the window. “What’re you daydreaming about?”

“Ah. Oh—oh!” Mu Ling tore her gaze from outside, jumped down; her skirt fluttered like a small flag. She ducked under the umbrella.

“Nothing. Just thinking this small city… is kind of pretty.”

Ye Weibai glanced at her, puzzled. “You see it every day. Doesn’t it get old?”

“True…” She blinked, then laughed, sweet and a little silly. “If I saw it every day, it would.”

“Where is this?” She looked around.

They’d driven straight from the Detective Agency toward the city center, then stopped—at Jinming Complex.

“A residential compound?”

“Mm. A compound.” Ye Weibai’s smile thinned, like ink spared on a final stroke. “My brother’s home.”

Bai Shaohan’s—home.

Come then. Let me see what’s hidden inside—what nest of shadows waits behind that door.