Daughter?
Yueci Ru was slightly dazed.
Well, after all, it had been 23 years. Settling down with a family was only natural.
What surprised her was that she’d thought Nishikino An lived with her husband—the clothes were from his youth. She hadn’t expected them to be her daughter’s.
Of course, having a husband meant having a child was normal too.
In Yueci Ru’s memory, Nishikino An was still that young cop who’d bicker with her but rush her to the hospital in the rain during sudden illnesses.
The world felt surreal. The gap between memory and reality left her unsettled.
She wasn’t narcissistic enough to think Nishikino An liked her.
Nishikino An watched Yueci Ru’s expression closely, searching for even a trace of disappointment.
But there was none.
Nishikino An suppressed her own disappointment and put on a smug grin.
“I’m not actually married. My daughter is adopted.”
“Even our great writer makes deduction errors, huh?”
Huh?
Yueci Ru truly hadn’t expected Nishikino An to adopt a child. She knew the other disliked kids.
As they spoke, they returned to the living room.
“That said, my daughter doesn’t stay here often.”
She leaned lightly against the sofa, shifting the topic to Yueci Ru.
“So, what do you plan next?”
Nishikino An poured water into a glass, asking casually.
“If possible, I’d like to keep sleeping…”
Thud!
Yueci Ru jumped.
Without warning, Nishikino An slammed the glass down, cutting her off.
“Yueci, how about helping me with something?”
—
“As you see, multiple vicious murders recently. Likely one perpetrator.”
Nishikino An laid gruesome crime scene photos before Yueci Ru.
“This one: abdomen cut open, organs removed, roses planted inside.”
“This one: hole drilled in the skull, brain scooped out, roses planted.”
“And this is this morning’s case—the one you heard.”
Yueci Ru studied the bizarre, cruel images calmly.
An eerie familiarity washed over her, but she couldn’t place where she’d seen such methods.
“Familiar, isn’t it?”
Yueci Ru looked up, meeting Nishikino An’s piercing, inquisitive stare.
Nishikino An pulled an aged book from a drawer.
Its all-black cover held a crescent moon, stamped with blood-red script.
*Desire Like Porcelain*
— Ciyue
Yueci Ru’s breath hitched.
She might not recall her writings, but she recognized her own work.
“Remember anything now?”
Nishikino An smirked, amused by Yueci Ru’s fluster.
Yueci Ru hadn’t told anyone she wrote novels back then. As a cop, Nishikino An was one of the few who knew.
After Yueci Ru vanished, Nishikino An went undercover in gangs. During doubts, she’d reread this book for strength.
The copy Yueci Ru gave her was worn to shreds—she knew every plot twist by heart. No one knew it better.
The publisher shut down soon after release, making it rare and out of print.
This copy was a rebound reprint. Sadly, the original was lost in a gang shootout.
After these murders surfaced, she’d given copies to the task force.
Time had erased buyer records. She’d focused on it because the cases tied to Yueci Ru.
That’s why she’d rushed to the scene that morning.
Unexpectedly, it brought a bonus.
She watched Yueci Ru flip through the pages intently.
Skimming her own work, Yueci Ru’s memories returned.
A first-person story. The protagonist, unnamed and genderless, went by “X.”
X could disguise themselves.
The book wove short tales of X committing heinous murders, then mocking police with disguises before escaping.
X’s nemesis was detective “Ciyue.”
Ciyue always saw through false clues, tracing X’s steps with real evidence.
But X always slipped away.
Their chase sparked unexpected feelings.
Later, X killed just to toy with Ciyue.
Ciyue’s task was finding the masked villain among suspects.
The story ended abruptly, unfinished.
Yueci Ru vaguely recalled her failing health forcing her to submit partial drafts.
Desire is like porcelain—filled with raw longing, fragile as ceramic, shattering into ruin.
The detective was her. X was her too.
She poured her death wish into X. Her salvation wish into Ciyue.
In reality, she craved life but couldn’t live. Later, she craved death but couldn’t die.
She’d named it *Desire Like Porcelain*.
These real murders mimicked X’s crimes. Roses were a signature.
What kind of person would imitate her fiction to kill…
Yueci Ru rubbed her forehead wearily.
“We have clues, but hit a snag.”
Yueci Ru met Nishikino An’s gaze.
“First victim: a discipline dean.”
“Second: a school guard.”
“This one: a homeroom teacher.”
Nishikino An held the grisliest photo between two fingers.
“So…”
Yueci Ru caught the implication.
“Light Private High School.”
Nishikino An stated it flatly.
No wonder it was tough.
As a former student, Yueci Ru knew why.
The Light Academy system, a centuries-old “noble school,” spanned kindergarten to high school with direct promotions.
Students knew each other since childhood; parents networked for power.
Behind it lay the entire elite circle. Most students were heirs to wealth or influence—untouchable even for police.
The school blocked broader interrogations, citing “no disruption to schedules or morale.”
“So you want me to enroll at Light as a student, observing suspects?”
Yueci Ru easily guessed Nishikino An’s true aim.
“That’s one reason.”
“And the other?”
Nishikino An’s smile faded. She looked sincere.
“I won’t pry into what you’ve endured. But you’re back, healthy… are you truly content to just sleep again?”
Yueci Ru fell silent.
—
Midnight came as Yueci Ru settled in.
Nishikino An sorted files in her office, sipping coffee.
Beep beep beep—
A ringtone filled the room.
She set down her cup, pulled out her phone.
A public phone call.
She leaned back in her chair, silent, listening.
“Mm. Deliver it tomorrow.”
“West District gangs are restless. Take a team, remind them who’s boss.”
Her tone was casual, eyes fixed on files.
“Hm? She’s at Light too?”
Her pen paused mid-stroke.
“Don’t let her know I’m planting someone inside.”
“Hang up.”
Thinking of that person, Nishikino An rubbed her temples, headache brewing.
