The scream rang out just as Guan Xia was limping around, gritting her teeth while packing her suitcase.
After stuffing a pile of dirty clothes into the washing machine, she hobbled back to the living room and picked up her phone to check the group chat for Building 16. As expected, the group was buzzing, messages flying by at lightning speed.
"Who the hell is screaming at noon? So inconsiderate."
"Seriously, I just got my kid to sleep, and now they're wailing again."
"Sounds like it came from the 6th floor. I heard it from the 5th."
"Something happened—someone died in 602."
"Wait, what? Who died?"
"602? No way. I just saw them in the hallway the other day. Looked healthier than me—definitely outliving me."
"Suicide?"
"Murder. Both the mother and child are dead. [Photo]."
"WHAT????"
The group fell silent for a split second before messages exploded even faster.
Guan Xia had to scroll up to find the photo—clearly taken in a hurry, blurry and poorly angled, but still vaguely showing a figure lying on the living room floor, a knife plunged into their chest.
Near the sofa, another small figure lay face-down, unmistakably a child. Though no visible injuries could be seen, the position and the earlier messages made Guan Xia’s breath catch.
She knew them. They lived in 602; she lived in 501 in the same building.
Being a homebody, she hadn’t interacted with them much, but the child had left an impression. A bright, chatty five-year-old boy, well-raised by his mother. He’d always greet her earnestly and once even shared a lollipop with her.
Guan Xia couldn’t believe it. These ordinary, vibrant people—just gone?
Lost in thought, she snapped back to the group chat.
"Little Liu had an ex-husband or ex-boyfriend, my mom just told me. She saw them arguing at the gate—the guy even tried to snatch the kid."
"Was he tall and skinny, with thick eyebrows like Shin-chan? I saw him too, loitering at our building entrance, arms crossed like he was waiting for someone."
"If he wanted the kid, would he really kill them both?"
"Who knows? Most murders are committed by someone close."
"He came to see Little Liu yesterday. My son saw him at the entrance around noon—handed her something and left."
"So he didn’t go inside? She was alive when he left? Then he’s probably not the killer."
"Not necessarily. What if he disguised himself and came back? Maybe the noon visit was just an alibi. TV shows pull that all the time."
"Then anyone who entered our building yesterday afternoon is a suspect."
"Wait—I just thought of something. A lot of killers return to the crime scene. So… us…"
The group went dead silent. Guan Xia, who had been reading intently, felt a chill crawl down her spine.
After a few seconds, a new message popped up.
"Police are here. [Photo]."
Guan Xia tapped the image—a top-down shot showing a crowd of officers, at least a dozen. Leading them was a tall young man, his expression grave, eyes heavy with severity.
Guan Xia had never worked in law enforcement, but even she knew: someone that young leading a homicide unit had to be exceptional. And if someone like him was assigned to this case… She shuddered. The situation was worse than she’d thought. The idea of the killer returning suddenly didn’t seem so far-fetched.
She glanced at her half-packed suitcase. After half a second of deliberation, she started putting everything back.
Sometime later, as she double-checked for forgotten items, a sharp knock rattled the door. "Anyone home? Police."
Guan Xia knew it was routine questioning. Grabbing her hiking pole as a makeshift cane, she shuffled to the door.
Outside stood an unusually burly officer. His eyes flicked to her leg before he asked, "Name?"
"Guan Xia."
He scribbled in his notebook. "Do you know Liu Jiahui? What’s your relationship?"
It took her a second to place the name—602’s resident.
"We’ve exchanged greetings a few times, but we weren’t close."
"Where were you yesterday afternoon?"
"Just got back from a trip. Landed around 4 PM, got home by 6."
"See anything suspicious?"
Suspicious? Guan Xia was about to shake her head when a wave of dizziness hit, ears ringing.
In her daze, an interface flickered into her mind, words typing themselves out rapidly:
[Informant System activated.]
[You are being questioned by police. You suddenly recall: On April 19th, at 5:53 PM, you encountered a nervous maintenance worker in the stairwell. His sleeves had stains—possibly blood. You decide to report this.]
The dizziness faded as quickly as it came, but the words left her baffled.
She did remember the maintenance worker—but in her memory, he hadn’t been nervous at all. He’d stepped aside to let her pass, even cheerfully asked if she needed help. His demeanor had been so normal she’d dismissed him entirely.
As for the stains…
Frowning, she tried to recall. She’d been in a hurry, brushing him off to climb the stairs. She hadn’t paid attention.
Just then, the interface shifted. The text vanished, replaced by a video replaying the encounter—freezing, zooming in, circling the reddish stains on his sleeve in bright red.
Guan Xia: "…"
