Some things are already crystal clear.
In truth, none of this—not just the child molestation case, but the most vital, most lethal [Misfortune]—is that fogbound or storm-tossed; brush off the thin dust, and the clues gleam like wet pebbles.
Compared to the mist-draped, peril-laced [Philia] World, this [Detective] World sits quieter, like a pond at dawn; the hardest point was laid bare from the start—a sunlit open scheme—with Ye Weibai’s soul chained inside Bai Ye’s body.
A body edging into middle age, worn by smoke and drink like leather scuffed by grit; the brain begins to rust, reflexes slow like winter sap—normal, isn’t it?
Of course not.
Bai Ye isn’t a sixty-year-old with Parkinson’s; he’s a Detective, a hunter under moonlight; youthful thought matters, but sedimented experience is gold sifted by years, the stat points time alone grants.
Bai Ye shouldn’t be this slow; many things, Ye Weibai believes—even if not him, Bai Ye himself—should read them as plainly as ink on snow.
He simply refused to look.
Curled tight in the cramped backseat like a snail in shell, his limbs folded but his thoughts unfurled like wind in a field; his mind turned lucid, a tomorrow sun hidden under bone, chasing down every thread and phantom until none could burrow away.
In that brightness, all the previous doubts and blind spots lit up like constellations—each star pricked into place—sketching a dim yet definite star-path through the dark, stringing together the faint pulse of [Truth].
[Truth] that almost answered when called, but—
His right hand loosened from the silver bell in his pocket, metal cool as moonlight; Ye Weibai’s face stayed still, and his gaze slipped to the far sky, twin pupils mirroring a pitch-black night. But—not yet.
Not yet time to lift the veil.
Sometimes knowing [Truth] isn’t enough; how you speak it matters like blade angle and dose—blurted words, used wrong, turn to poison and knives.
Yet—
Still, no matter what—
Under the dim pavilion, starlight seemed to flicker behind his bangs; Ye Weibai’s mouth curved again, a light, clean arc, like winter sun or summer wind—unadorned, pure, and bright—an arrow of joy fired when a glimpse of beauty cracks the world wide open.
This smile had shown itself countless times—Li Mengguo, Ye Fei, Xiao Tong, Rin, Philia—whenever he found something [Interesting], and an [Interesting] thought sparked, he bloomed this same expression.
It will be very [Interesting], this next act.
...
“Gone?”
“Mm. Probably won’t come back.”
“Huh?”
Got what he wanted.
When Ye Weibai waved to the old security guard and walked out the school gate again, a dossier had sprouted in his hand like a dry leaf found in rain.
He’d taken it in Mangfu Elementary School’s archive room—a set of documents from decades ago—recording a major event that happened back then.
Why the folder from ten years ago, not another year? He plucked it by “intuition,” a fish-hook tug in a sea of files.
He knew he wouldn’t miss; and if he did, [someone] would correct him—that someone was Bai Ye.
Sure enough, after a casual skim, Ye Weibai knew he and Bai Ye had both gotten what they wanted, like two hands drawing the same card.
Had Bai Ye’s soul truly dissolved? No matter; his inner obsession clearly still steered the current.
He wanted something, and he guided Ye Weibai to Mangfu Elementary for it.
Why not anywhere else? Why did Ye Weibai’s mind finally clear on the way to Mangfu Elementary, like fog lifting over a river bend?
What made Mangfu Elementary special enough to bend the whole map?
This wasn’t Ye Weibai’s decision; it was Bai Ye’s.
Bai Ye, a slumped, middle-aged Detective, feared something like thunder beyond a ridge, and guided something like lanterns along a lane; he wanted Ye Weibai to find some “truth.”
There was another easily ignored question—how did he die?
In the previous World, Ye Weibai had seized a [Monstrosity] body; later he guessed it was a [Monstrosity] corpse.
So what about Bai Ye this time?
Ye Weibai’s first scene was the detective office; was Bai Ye already dead then? Dead at his own desk?
Dead in that locked room with only Bai Ye and… Mu Ling?
The killer isn’t that hard to grasp; maybe a simple check of the office recordings would wash the mud clean.
As expected.
But the instant Ye Weibai formed that thought, darkness fell like a hood; his body sank, and the discarded weight and grit rushed back like a flood, re-entering him in a hurry. The airy, clear thinking vanished like dew; the rust crept back.
You underestimate me, Bai Ye.
Sitting in the taxi home, Ye Weibai chuckled, voice like a blade tapping stone.
The same trick won’t work.
...
He didn’t return to the Detective office to pull camera logs.
He went straight home, and at the gate he saw a girl under a translucent white umbrella, a winter moth under glass.
It was Mu Ling.
A chance meeting: the girl, peeking around like a little fawn in bracken, turned and met Ye Weibai’s eyes head-on.
She jolted; panic flickered in her gaze like a sparrow wing, then died down as quickly as a ripple.
Her skirt flared; the “absolute territory” of thigh showed and hid with each step; she hopped closer like a deer, nimble and bright.
“Senior.”
She closed her umbrella and lowered her head, slipping naturally under Ye Weibai’s big black umbrella, like a bird tucking into shade.
Then she looked up, ponytail swishing, face lifted and smiling—now a little like a pup wagging its tail at the gate.
“What a coincidence!”
“I should be the one saying that.” Ye Weibai watched her. “Little Bell, what are you doing here? Your place isn’t near.”
“Eh…” She dodged like a cat sidestepping water, tilted her head, and grinned, sly as sunlight through leaves. “Long story.”
An ordinary person would hear the evasion and let it drop; but Ye Weibai’s social sense is keen as a hawk, and he acted as if he hadn’t noticed her reluctance. He looked at her, voice cool as rain on slate. “Then make it short.”
The girl, never treated this way by her Senior, froze; then something dawned like pale fire, her breath hitched, and a glint crossed her pupils—complicated as tides—bewildered, sorrowing, and… relieved.
But her mouth still held a bright, lovely smile. “A girl, sneaking a peek at her Senior’s home without telling him—does that need more reason? Senior, you’re so boring!”
Ye Weibai held her clear eyes, and spoke slowly. “Really?”
His tone wasn’t heavy, but it was grave: not “Is what you said true?”, but “Do you really want to answer like that?”
A long beat.
“Mm.”
A small, firm sound rolled out of her nose; head lowered, she nodded. Then she raised her face again, smiling, hands tucked behind her back; she stepped back, leaving the shelter of Ye Weibai’s black umbrella.
In the rain, her waist uncoiled, posture graceful; she opened her own umbrella, white handle on her shoulder, and spun a playful circle in the curtain. The canopy sliced the rain; her skirt and hair lifted and danced, quick with youth and spring.
Her chest rose and fell; she caught her breath and stilled, one hand on the umbrella, one hand behind her back. She looked at Ye Weibai, and her beautiful face bloomed into a heart-stopping smile. If smiles had color, then hers matched her umbrella’s face seen from below—transparent and lucid—yet through it you could still glimpse the storm-thick sky beyond.
Now, Ye Weibai could read the undertow hidden behind that clear, bright smile—waves surging, currents threading in shadow.
It was indeed radiant, lovely—as brief as a blossom in frost, as a firework in a cold night—gone in a blink, bound by an invisible shackle, beautiful with a chill of glass.
He had seen a smile like this before.
Rin…
Ye Weibai’s gaze drifted; the name slipped out—a girl now far away, perhaps forever unmeet.
The girl across from him acted as if she hadn’t heard the slip—or perhaps chose not to.
“Senior.”
She smiled, soft and a little tender. “Ling is right here.”
He flinched, then understood—no, finally dared to confirm—something crucial, like a key turning.
“I see. I see…” He murmured, looking at the familiar girl.
“Ling.” This time, Ye Weibai did not say her name wrong.
“Mm.”
“You’re beautiful.” Ye Weibai’s expression was sincere, steady as a lantern in rain.
Without a blink, she laughed. “Of course.”
In that moment,
Ye Weibai and the girl Mu Ling both clarified something,
Something that had been set from the very beginning.
