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The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, casting a harsh, clinical glow over the interrogation wing.
Three men, cuffed to cold metal tables, sat separately in identical rooms.
The silence was heavy. The tension almost suffocating.
—
Gu Yanchuan sat stiff, his cuffs biting into his wrists. He didn't flinch. His gaze fixed on the wall like he could bore a hole through it.
The officer across from him leaned forward, glare sharp enough to cut.
He'd been in here an hour, yet his answers had never changed.
"I don't know."
Only those three words. Over and over.
—
"Gu Yanchuan," the officer snapped, slamming a tablet onto the table. The screen flickered, casting pale light over his face. "We're questioning you about Yan Qingsi. You were with her the night she passed. Where did she go? Who did she meet? What happened?"
The name hit him like a bullet.
Yan Qingsi.
His face stayed calm, his mask practiced, but inside a storm churned.
We deleted the footages… Didn't we? What else do they have?
His gut twisted. The police wouldn't have dragged him here without something.
But no one could possibly know what happened that night.
No one.
"I've told you everything already," he said flatly.
The officer slid the tablet toward him. A video started playing— grainy surveillance footage. Him. Argueing with Yan Qingsi.
Gu Yanchuan's heart lurched. Sweat pricked the back of his neck.
Impossible. We erased it. Every trace.
Luckily, there was no sound. Just the heated gestures, the anger on his face.
"She refused to shoot that morning," he said quickly, forcing his voice even. "She wanted a break, two days to relax. That's all."
The officer tapped the screen, eyes cold. "That's all? Nothing more?"
His fingers twitched against the cuffs.
Don't falter. Don't show fear.
He forced a smirk. "That is all I know. Am I under obligation to create a story for you?"
The officer's gaze darkened. "You were her director. Her last contact. You expect us to believe you know nothing?"
Gu Yanchuan leaned back slightly, lips curling. "I want to know what I'm even being accused of. Because so far, all I see are assumptions."
But his heartbeat pounded against his ribs.
If they found this… what else have they dug up?
—
In another room—
Fang Zemin sat with his fingers laced tightly, trying to project calm. His eyes skimmed the folder slid toward him, brows barely twitching.
Inside, though, unease gnawed.
Why am I here? What's happening?
"Mr. Fang," the officer said, voice clipped. "We have reason to believe you are connected to Yan Qingsi's death. Cooperate, and it'll help you."
Fang flipped through the folder, lips curling.
Thin evidence. Nothing concrete.
They're bluffing. Trying to shake me.
"I don't understand why I've been arrested," he said coolly. "If you have evidence, present it. Otherwise, I see no point in answering meaningless questions."
The officer leaned closer. "You arranged her funeral. You signed her contract. You managed her schedule. That makes you responsible."
Fang's lips twitched into a cold smirk. "Responsible? Did I also sleep in her house? Decide when she ate, or when she breathed? You overestimate the reach of a contract."
The officer slammed his hand down. "You had access to every detail of her life. Don't pretend ignorance!"
Fang's gaze sharpened, voice dipped low. "Access does not mean control. I don't invade my artists' beds or kitchens. If you expect me to confess to something I didn't do, you'll be disappointed."
The officer's jaw clenched. "We'll see how long you keep that arrogance when the rest of the evidence comes out."
Inside, Fang's pulse quickened.
Evidence? They can't have more… can they?
But outwardly, he leaned back, smug. "Bring it."
—
Su Xiao's room was darker.
The air hung heavy, pressing down like lead.
He sat with one leg casually crossed, fingers drumming on the table.
His eyes roamed lazily over the ceiling, as though the officer before him wasn't even worth attention.
"You know why you're here," the officer said.
Su Xiao chuckled, low and mocking. "Do I? Please. Enlighten me."
The officer's palm hit the table with a sharp crack. "We have witnesses, records. You're linked to Yan Qingsi's death through your associates. Cooperation could help you."
Su Xiao tilted his head, smirk curling his lips.
Witnesses? Records?
As if he'd ever leave loose ends.
"I don't see why I should answer," he said smoothly. "Perhaps you can tell me what crime I supposedly committed."
"Your friends are in custody," the officer pressed. "If you don't talk, you'll go down with them."
Su Xiao's smile widened. "You assume I'm afraid."
The officer's eyes narrowed. "You should be."
But inside, Su Xiao's thoughts whirred.
For them to move this fast… someone tipped them off.
Someone powerful. Who dares challenge me?
He leaned back, voice calm. "Without proof, this is just noise. Show me what you really have."
—
Outside the rooms—
A cluster of junior officers whispered in the hallway.
"Unbelievable," one muttered. "Three hours and not a single word of substance. They're stone walls."
"They're not walls," another corrected. "They're predators. Cold-blooded beasts wrapped in human skin."
A third officer shivered. "Their arrogance… it's disgusting. They think money and fame make them untouchable."
"Let them," another said grimly. "We've got evidence. We've got the law. One way or another, those beasts will fall."
Their voices dropped lower, conviction burning.
"They don't know it yet… but their empire of lies is already cracking."
—
The chief inspector of the CIB headquarters, a man in his late fifties with streaks of gray in his otherwise jet-black hair, sat stiffly behind a wide mahogany desk.
Director Zhao Mingyuan, a veteran who had spent three decades climbing to the very top of the city's law enforcement hierarchy.
He had handled drug lords, international crime syndicates, and political scandals—but the trio currently sitting in his interrogation rooms had left him unusually unsettled.
On the surveillance monitor before him, he had watched the three suspects—Gu Yanchuan leaning back with that cold arrogance, Fang Zemin grinning as if it were all a game, and Su Xiao feigning innocence like a cornered fox.
Not a single one had flinched through hours of questioning.
They deflected, mocked, and refused every tactic.
Zhao Mingyuan's frown deepened as his pen tapped rhythmically against the polished desk.
One, two, three beats.
He hated stalemates.
In his long career, there were only two types of criminals who didn't break under interrogation—those who were truly innocent, or those who had powerful backing that made prison walls meaningless to them.
These three were certainly not the former.
His eyes narrowed at Su Xiao's live feed.
The man's posture wasn't that of a cornered criminal.
It was the confidence of someone who believed—no, knew—that a larger shadow was shielding him.
That thought made Zhao's gut twist.
With a decisive motion, he reached for the secure black phone resting on the far end of his desk.
The line reserved for calls that bypassed bureaucracy, for conversations too important to be delayed by protocol.
The line rang twice before it clicked.
"Hello."
The low, steady voice on the other end was familiar. Chen Linfei.
"Mingyuan?"
"Linfei, it's me." Zhao's voice carried its usual calm weight, though tension sharpened the edges. "We've kept Gu Yanchuan, Fang Zemin, and Su Xiao in separate rooms. Hours of questioning, yet not a single confession. Not even a slip. They're too calm—unnaturally calm."
He glanced at the screens again.
Just then, Fang Zemin leaned forward and smirked at the officer grilling him, mouthing something inaudible.
A provocation.
As if daring the law to try harder.
"Look at him," Zhao muttered under his breath before continuing. "It's like they were prepared for this. Almost as if they expected it."
The other end of the line was silent for a beat, only the faint static of the secure connection filling the pause.
Then Chen Linfei's voice cut through, quiet but edged with steel.
"Understood. Don't relax your guard."
Zhao's lips pressed into a thin line. "I won't. But there's something about Su Xiao. He's not merely arrogant—he's deliberate. Controlled. Narcissistic, yes, but with the calm of a man who believes he's untouchable. He sits there like… like he's playing a game we don't know the rules to."
On the other end, Chen Linfei exhaled softly. "You're saying there's someone behind him."
"There has to be." Zhao's tone was steel. "That calm isn't natural. Arrogance, narcissism—yes, I've seen plenty of that. But this calm? It's the assurance of someone who thinks the law doesn't apply to him."
Chen Linfei was silent for a long beat before asking, "So what do you plan to do now? This is becoming more complicated by the hour."
Zhao leaned back in his chair, fingers tightening on the pen before setting it down.
His voice was steady, deliberate. "We stall. Keep the pressure. Not too much, not too little. Let them think they have the upper hand. If there really is someone behind Su Xiao, then eventually, that person will move. Whether through a call, a lawyer, or something less visible—we'll catch the shadow trying to protect him. That's when we strike."
Chen Linfei hummed thoughtfully, his voice dropping lower. "Good. That was my thought as well. No need to force the lock when the door is about to open itself."
Zhao's lips curved faintly. "Exactly. Men like them… they're rotten at the core. No matter how quiet they stay, their sins scream louder than their silence. And when they slip, we'll have enough to bury them."
For the first time in the call, Zhao's tone softened just slightly. "Linfei, you should know—you're doing me no disservice by involving me. With the promotion ongoing, I need results that can't be questioned. A case like this, wrapped tightly with undeniable proof, could silence every opponent in the board."
Chen Linfei let out a short, dry laugh. "Then we're helping each other. But remember, Mingyuan—this isn't just about careers. My wife is involved too. Don't let them walk out of those rooms alive in spirit."
Zhao's gaze snapped back to the screens. Gu Yanchuan chuckled at something the officer said. Su Xiao adjusted his collar as if he were in a boardroom instead of a holding cell. Fang Zemin's smirk hadn't faded once.
His jaw tightened. His voice, when he answered, was ice.
"Criminals like these should not, and will not, be forgiven."
The line went quiet, then clicked dead.
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