No Need to Guess

Looking at An Zhi so close at hand, Wen Yiqian couldn’t help but marvel: how could anyone’s face be so impossibly beautiful?

At the same time, a faint, indescribable fragrance drifted into his nostrils.

Wen Yiqian felt his nose begin to itch. Combined with the day’s frights, the soaking rain, and the mild cold he had already been nursing, he couldn’t hold back.

Achoo!

The sneeze came without warning, and An Zhi was standing close enough that she had no time to dodge.

She took the full spray directly to the face.

The atmosphere instantly froze.

An Zhi stared at him, jaw tight, eyes blazing with the kind of fury that wanted to tear something apart and not stop there.

“Sorry, sorry! I got caught in the rain and think I’ve come down with something…” Wen Yiqian hurriedly apologized, reaching out to wipe the saliva from her face.

Then he caught himself. They barely knew each other, and it wasn’t exactly appropriate for him to be touching her face. On top of that, using his bare hand to wipe away his own saliva struck him as more than a little revolting, so he pulled his hand back.

To An Zhi, that gesture carried an entirely different message.

He had reached out to wipe her face, then yanked his hand back with a look of visible distaste: what else was she supposed to read from that?

“I didn’t even mind your saliva, and you have the nerve to act disgusted by me?”

“I… uh…” Wen Yiqian had nothing.

“An Zhi, enough.” Li Weiguo, standing to the side, cut in with a sharp look. “Go wash your face.”

An Zhi shot Wen Yiqian one last withering glare before storming out of the interrogation room.

She had actually thought quite well of him earlier in the day.

Handsome, quick-witted, brave enough to outmaneuver a psychopath: what wasn’t to like?

All of that goodwill had just evaporated.

Why am I so unlucky?

Wen Yiqian sighed quietly to himself.

“Back to the matter at hand.” Li Weiguo tapped the table. “Explain how you knew Tian Buyi was a criminal.”

He paused. “Give me a reasonable explanation, and I might overlook the charge of impersonating a police officer.”

“Actually… I’m a detective,” Wen Yiqian offered, producing the excuse he had prepared.

“A private detective?” Li Weiguo fixed him with a sharp, penetrating stare. “If you’re making that up, it won’t take long to find out.”

“Go ahead and check,” Wen Yiqian said with full confidence, adding silently: if you find anything, I’ll eat my hat.

The male protagonist in the book was a high-IQ psychopath who covered his tracks with meticulous care, leaving almost nothing useful to uncover.

Even with a thorough investigation, the most anyone would turn up was this: Wen Yiqian was mysterious, his occupation unknown, he wandered around aimlessly, and he never seemed short of money.

That profile fit a private detective perfectly.

Seeing the confidence in Wen Yiqian’s manner, Li Weiguo’s skepticism softened a fraction.

Wen Yiqian pressed the opening. “Tian Buyi had committed several murders before, all staged to look like suicides or accidents. The victims’ families didn’t buy it, so they hired me to investigate.”

“So you’re telling me you had already identified him as the killer and never once thought to inform the police?” Li Weiguo’s temper flared without warning. He grabbed Wen Yiqian by the collar. “Do you have any idea how many people might have died because you sat on that information?”

“At that point I only had suspicions. I was still building the case and couldn’t be certain,” Wen Yiqian said, keeping his expression steady. “This time I ran into him by chance and could tell he was about to make a move, so I followed without thinking.”

That also neatly explained how he had known Tian Buyi’s name.

The fury in Li Weiguo’s eyes burned hotter. “This time you happened to be there. But what about next time? How many more elderly people and children would have died at that bastard’s hands before you were ready?”

“I understand, and I’m sorry. But this is my job, and I have professional obligations,” Wen Yiqian said. “As a private detective, I can’t go to the police or disclose what I’ve uncovered without my client’s consent.”

“Professional obligations.” Li Weiguo let out a short, humorless laugh. “It’s about the money.”

“I really do need the money,” Wen Yiqian said plainly.

Li Weiguo went quiet for a moment.

Whatever the reason, whether professional principle or simple necessity, Wen Yiqian had put his own life on the line to save two people tonight.

That was more than most people could say.

Li Weiguo looked at him for a long moment, then exhaled and nodded. “It’s late. You can go.”

Stepping out of the police station, Wen Yiqian finally let out a long, slow breath.

His vision swam, and his legs nearly gave out beneath him. He found the nearest step and sat down heavily.

He knew what it was: pure exhaustion. His nerves had been wound tight all day, and the moment they loosened, his body had nothing left.

Looking back at the day: he had transmigrated into his own novel, faced two psychotic killers, teetered on the edge of death twice, and somehow walked away from both.

His brain and nerves hadn’t been given a moment’s rest from start to finish. Anyone would have buckled under that.

Wen Yiqian took out his phone and checked the time. Past one in the morning.

The first day was finally over.

Staring out into the night, exhausted in body and mind, he felt a quiet wave of bewilderment wash over him.

This was only day one. How was he supposed to survive what came next?

Turning his situation over in his mind, he felt a familiar pang of self-pity.

A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he shook his head.

He was probably the most pitiful protagonist in the history of the genre.

But today he had cried and laughed, been terrified and somehow found courage, gotten hurt and bled, brought down two psychotic killers, and saved a grandmother and her grandchild.

When he thought about it that way, the sheer density of this single day was something he had never come close to in his entire life before.

Back when he used to hole up at home watching shows and playing games, the days had slipped by without leaving a mark.

He had never imagined one day could feel this long.

Not so bad, he told himself quietly.

If he could, he wanted to go home, shower, and sit down to a steaming bowl of instant noodles.

As for tomorrow: who knew?

Living well right now, making the most of each moment, was enough.

He found himself humming an old tune under his breath, something about not worrying over what hasn’t come yet, taking things as they are.

With his mood settled, Wen Yiqian got up and headed down the steps.

The ground after the rain was slick and dotted with shallow puddles.

His clothes and shoes were already soaked through. At that moment, he was like a careless kid with nothing on his mind, deliberately stomping through every puddle he could find.

(End of Chapter)