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Ji Lin stood quietly, observing the room. The dining table was cluttered with leftover food, a dried-out cream cake, Lin Xian’s half-finished drink, Gao Yang’s wine glass, and some utensils Chu An Qing and her friends had used. The moonlight streaming in gave the scene an eerie resemblance to Da Vinci’s “The Last Supper.”

It felt like that birthday party had been their last supper—his, Lin Xian’s, and Chu An Qing’s.

Ji Lin walked upstairs, made his way down the hallway, and removed a framed oil painting from the wall. He couldn’t remember which publisher’s boss had gifted it to him, but it was probably by a well-known contemporary artist. It wasn’t particularly valuable, but it held sentimental value as a gift.

He carried the painting downstairs, turned the frame over, and opened the back. He tossed the painting onto the couch and gently took out the sketch Lin Xian had given him. Despite being folded and smudged, it still held its charm.

The sketch vividly portrayed the three friends with such detail that it seemed more real than a photograph, thanks to the brain’s knack for filling in gaps, making it appear even more pleasing than reality itself.

Ji Lin examined the sketch for a while longer before securing it inside the frame and rehanging it on the wall opposite his favorite spot on the wooden floor. The sketch depicted Chu An Qing radiantly smiling with him and Lin Xian standing behind her.

“Adding watercolors would really bring this to life,” he thought, smiling to himself.

He settled into his favorite spot on the floor, leaned on one elbow, and opened his laptop to check the day’s news. The headline story was about Ji Xin Shui’s resolution of the serial murders. Lin Xian had emerged as a hero in Donghai City, while Ji Xin Shui was labeled a criminal.

As Ji Lin scrolled through more articles, his eyebrows knitted together. There was no mention of Zhou Duan Yun at all. This puzzled him. Lin Xian had shown him Ji Xin Shui’s confession, which explicitly detailed Zhou Duan Yun’s crimes.

“Why haven’t the police released this information?” Ji Lin pondered, resting his chin on his hand.

He understood why the police might omit details about Zheng Cheng He, who had been involved in the murders for the first time as a replacement for Sam the Glutton. Zheng had failed Ji Xin Shui by hesitating during his first task. While many saw Zheng as a brutal tyrant, he had shown weakness when confronted by Lin Xian.

Both Ji Lin and Angelica were clean; Angelica had never participated in any murders, and Ji Lin had been cleared by the police, which meant Ji Xin Shui hadn’t implicated him.

“But why did you surrender, Ji Xin Shui?” Ji Lin wondered.

Ji Xin Shui’s actions were perplexing, but the mystery surrounding Zhou Duan Yun was even more baffling. Lin Xian would never let Zhou Duan Yun off easily; they were sworn enemies.

In addition, Lin Xian’s sudden public acceptance of honors and the upcoming commendation ceremony were out of character for him.

“Could there be another plot brewing?” Ji Lin mused, his eyes closed, piecing together the scattered clues.

A high-profile Lin Xian, a twisted classmate with erased criminal records, Zhou Duan Yun still at large, and his own release with an electronic ankle monitor—it all pointed to a deeper game.

“Ha,” Ji Lin chuckled, looking up at the ceiling. “I see it now…”

He sat up and made a phone call.

“Lawyer Wang, I need your help with something.”

The Next Day, Early Morning

With a packed backpack, Ji Lin left the villa. He didn’t take his usual car or driver but flagged down a taxi instead.

“Where to, sir?” the polite driver asked.

“Head to the nature reserve near the university district, to a secluded villa complex. Drive slowly; I tend to get carsick.”

The taxi navigated the overpass smoothly, with little early morning traffic. Soon, they arrived at the destination. Ji Lin paid and made his way into the villa complex, following his map to a particular villa—the clinic of renowned psychologist Dr. Liu.

The villa, spacious and picturesque, served as Dr. Liu’s office rather than her home. Ji Lin approached the door, which was secured with an outdated electronic lock lacking fingerprint technology.

“This should be easy,” he thought as he unpacked his lock-picking tools and a bottle of silver nitrate solution. He sprayed the solution on the keypad and shone his phone’s flashlight over it. The alcohol in the solution evaporated, leaving silver nitrate behind, which reacted with sweat residues to highlight the most frequently used buttons.

The six digits suggested a combination, likely Dr. Liu’s grandson’s birthday. Ji Lin remembered the dates and entered the correct combination.

Click. The door opened on his first try.

Inside, Ji Lin turned on the lights and quickly found Dr. Liu’s consulting room. He opened the glass-fronted bookcase and soon located Lin Xian’s brown leather-bound notebook.

Reading it by the moonlight, Ji Lin noted references to dreams, blurred reality, familiar faces, and voices. He hummed softly, closing the notebook.

“This doesn’t sound like you, Lin Xian. You wouldn’t seek help just for ordinary dreams.”

As long-time adversaries, Ji Lin knew Lin Xian too well. Lin Xian was smart and resourceful, capable of verifying the reality of his dreams through various means.

“These dreams must be incredibly realistic, packed with details beyond ordinary recognition.”

Ji Xin Shui had claimed that Lin Xian disrupted history, evidenced by his ability to predict the future and to know things in advance, such as his presence at Leon’s death site before anyone else.

Consider Professor Xu Yun, who lacked a knack for groundbreaking scientific achievements but had made remarkable progress after a brief interaction with Lin Xian. This hinted at Lin Xian’s influence.

Ji Lin’s eyes widened. “Could Lin Xian actually see the future, travel through time, or bring advanced knowledge back through his dreams?”

Recalling their days in the police dormitory, Lin Xian often stayed up late and yawned throughout the day. Despite his exhaustion, he always stayed awake past a certain hour. Could this be related to his dreams?

At Ji Lin’s birthday party, Lin Xian had awkwardly cut off Gao Yang when he brought up seeing a psychologist, attributing it to work stress and insomnia. Yet, the psychologist’s notes mentioned nothing about work stress.

“Lin Xian lied,” Ji Lin concluded. “He’s hiding something related to his dreams, future visions, and disruptions to history.”

He left the villa, locking the door behind him. Standing in the moonlight, he intended to burn the notebook with a lighter.

Click. The lighter failed to ignite, but then an icy gun barrel pressed against the back of his head.

“Disgusting,” Zhou Duan Yun emerged from the shadows, gun in hand, eyes locked on Ji Lin and the notebook. “Trying to be a hero, Ji Lin? Too late.”

“Too late?” Ji Lin smiled. “I think it’s just in time.”

Zhou Duan Yun snarled, “You’ve always looked down on me. But now, Ji Lin, you’re alone!”

Bang!

A gunshot broke the night’s silence, followed by startled birds. Blood clouded Ji Lin’s vision as he collapsed, the notebook with Lin Xian’s name falling before his lifeless eyes. The green light on the electronic anklet turned red.

“Serves you right,” Zhou Duan Yun sneered, picking up the notebook. “You too, Lin Xian.”

He disappeared into the night, but moments later, drones and helicopters filled the sky. Police teams converged from all directions.

“Crap!” Zhou Duan Yun realized he’d walked into a trap and ran towards the villa complex, shooting at approaching officers. He was quickly cornered.

A sniper from a helicopter took the shot, ending Zhou Duan Yun with a precise hit.

As the chaos settled, Lin Xian walked through the scene, picking up the notebook.

“Zhou Duan Yun,” he murmured, “long time no see.”