Profiling Results

Jiang Wenbin, male, 43 years old, Director of Greenlight Kindergarten.

His gray suit fit his frame well, though noticeable wrinkles creased the elbows and pant legs. His salt-and-pepper hair was fluffy and disheveled, lacking the hairspray he usually favored. He looked significantly more haggard than his usual polished self—as if he had rushed out the door in a panic.

*********************************************

“Why focus on him?”

In the lounge, Zhao Yu poured two cups of hot water, placing one in front of Liu Huisheng.

“Routine investigation,” Liu Huisheng replied with a faint, official smile.

“Then you should have started with the security guard.” After all, the guard was the one on duty that night and had actively fought the fire. The Director wasn’t even on-site.

“The guard is in critical condition with a high fever. He hasn’t woken up yet.”

It was a perfectly logical answer—had Zhao Yu not seen the absolute certainty shimmering in Huisheng’s eyes.

“Liu Huisheng.” Zhao Yu’s tone turned sharp. “I am your Captain.”

Your leads belong to me.

“Mhm.”

Liu Huisheng nodded cooperatively, her lips curving into a gentle, playful counter-strike.

“And I am your Senior.”

Crank!

Zhao Yu felt her molars grind together with an audible, jarring scrape. She was never good at verbal sparring and found herself defeated in just two sentences. Smoldering with frustration, she sat down on a stool, turning her shoulder away from Liu Huisheng.

Seeing her get flustered only made the amusement in Huisheng’s eyes more evident. Her gaze drifted toward the steaming cup of water, deciding to let her off the hook. She revealed the real reason she wanted to speak with Jiang Wenbin.

“If he were truly guilty and remorseful, his apology would show raised inner eyebrows, bunched brow muscles, relaxed eyelids, a downturned mouth, and deep breathing. That was exactly what Xu Qin looked like. But Jiang Wenbin? He’s apologizing to the families, claiming to be devastated, yet his lips are pressed tight, his brows are lowered and slanted like inverted swords, and his eyelid muscles are tense. This isn’t guilt. This is extreme resentment toward the victims’ families.”

She pulled up a video on her phone.

“Look at this—actress Huo Jingjing’s apology video after her endorsements were linked to a scam. Her expression is identical to Jiang Wenbin’s. The investigation later proved she was complicit. When she faced the victims, she wasn’t sad; she was incredibly impatient.”

Zhao Yu’s jaw tightened. “No grief, no guilt. It seems Jiang Wenbin is deeper in this than he looks.”

********************************************

Shortly after, Jiang Wenbin entered the lounge. Like many successful men, he wore a blazer over a crisp white shirt. His disheveled hair gave him a “fallen from grace” look that likely earned him sympathy points with the parents.

“Officers, how can I help you?”

Jiang Wenbin sat opposite them, his posture humble and his expression cooperative.

“You’re the Director. We have some questions,” Zhao Yu said coldly.

“Of course.”

He placed his hands on the table, fingers loosely interlaced.

Time was of the essence, so Liu Huisheng went straight for the jugular.

“When did you find out about the fire?”

Jiang Wenbin paused to think. “6:00 AM.”

“The fire started around 3:00 AM. Why did it take until 6:00 for you to know?”

“I turn my phone off when I sleep. I didn’t see the calls until I woke up.”

Liu Huisheng watched him. No micro-expressions of lying, no change in pitch.

Proceed.

“We just took Xu Qin’s statement. She’s devastated, saying that if she’d only woken up sooner, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Yes… it’s a tragedy no one wanted.”

“But it’s strange. With a fire that large, the smoke alarms never went off.”

At this, Jiang Wenbin’s interlaced fingers tightened. His thumbs tucked into his palms.

“They didn’t go off?” He looked shocked. His eyebrows and eyes moved perfectly, but—

[Any “surprise” reaction that lasts longer than one second is fake.]

Liu Huisheng’s pulse quickened. “Did the kindergarten have smoke alarms installed?”

“The kindergarten did have them installed.”

[Repetitive questioning-style response.]

Liu Huisheng leaned forward, delivering the verdict: “You’re lying.”

“What?”

“When I said the alarms didn’t go off, you acted surprised. But that expression lasted for a full two seconds—it was a performance. Your hands tightened, and your thumbs tried to hide in your palms, meaning you’re concealing something. But worst of all, when I asked if they were installed, you repeated my question almost verbatim. I’m certain you never installed smoke alarms at all.”

Jiang Wenbin froze, then let out a forced, light laugh.

“Officer, I respect the police. But you can’t convict me just because I said two sentences and made a face, can you?”

Zhao Yu, lacking Huisheng’s patience, cut in:

“Whether they were there or not is a simple check for the fire inspectors. If we find you lied to the police, you’ll be coming to the station for a much longer conversation.”

Jiang Wenbin’s hands dropped. He lowered his head and went silent.

However, Liu Huisheng wasn’t done.

“Someone tipped us off that there is child abuse at your school. How do you explain that?”

Jiang Wenbin looked up instantly. “I did no such thing!”

“Then it was a teacher?”

He reached up to loosen his tie. “Maybe. I’m not at the school much. I wouldn’t know.”

“You do know.”

“I don’t!”

“Because it was you.”

“You—!”

“When you said you didn’t know, you tugged at your collar. Do you know why? When people lie, their blood pressure rises and their heart rate speeds up. They feel like they can’t breathe, so they pull at their collars. You know exactly who was hitting those kids!”

“I don’t!”

“Xu Qin and Wu Chunmei risked their lives for those children; they wouldn’t hurt them. Only you. When parents complained, you suppressed the news. You used underhanded tactics to make them lose their jobs. You look at these grieving parents with nothing but impatience. Because you hate children. You think they deserve to die!”

“I…”

“You beat them, and when that wasn’t enough, you wanted them gone. You removed the alarms, bypassed the cameras, and torched that dorm in the middle of the night!”

Finally, Jiang Wenbin broke. He screamed, “I didn’t! I only hit them! I didn’t set the fire!”

Ding!

It was the sound of the metaphorical bell in a kitchen window. The truth, cooked to perfection, was finally served.

Liu Huisheng relaxed into her chair.

Zhao Yu picked up her phone, stopping the recording.

“Mr. Jiang Wenbin, please come with us to the station.”

*****************************************

Pushed into a corner by Liu Huisheng, Jiang Wenbin confessed to the abuse. He also admitted to skipping the smoke alarms to save on renovation costs. If the arsonist was the murderer, Jiang Wenbin was the ultimate accomplice to the death toll.

Back at the bureau, the atmosphere was grim.

“Jiang admitted he hit the kids regularly—usually on Mondays so the bruises would fade by Friday. He threatened them into silence. Since only one gate camera worked, we have zero footage of the suspect.”

Xiao Fei was fuming. “Dammit! That director looked so polite, but he’s a monster!”

Chen Doudou was despondent. “Now what? No footage, the scene is charred… Vice-Captain, did you find anything at the other schools?”

Qin Song looked livid. “Nothing. Those fires were small and went unreported. The surveillance footage was overwritten weeks ago.”

“Then the trail is cold!” Chen Doudou cried. “What are we supposed to do?”

“I still think Jiang Wenbin is the main suspect,” Qin Song muttered. “We should keep digging into him!”

He looked to his side and nearly jumped out of his skin. While the Captain was away and the Vice-Captain was exploding with rage, Liu Huisheng was calmly drinking milk tea.

Chen Doudou surreptitiously tugged at Huisheng’s sleeve, whispering, “Sheng-jie, stop drinking that.”

Liu Huisheng put the cup down, but not before taking one final, long sip.

Qin Song’s face turned an even deeper shade of green. His jaw was so tight you could see the tendons bulging. He took a breath and said pointedly:

“The bureau has standards for hiring. Everyone in the Major Crimes Unit got here on merit.”

Chen Doudou gave a weak, awkward laugh. “Heh, right… you’re right, Vice-Captain.”

Liu Huisheng just gave a faint nod. “Mhm.”

That nod was like pouring gasoline on Qin Song’s fire.

“Liu Huisheng!”

He raised his voice, his questioning echoing through the office.

“I heard you worked as a part-time profiler in the States for two years. Since you’re so brilliant with your theories and profiles, why don’t you just tell us what the killer looks like?”

The room went ice-cold. The silence felt like frost biting into the bone.

Liu Huisheng looked up, a glimmer of light dancing in her eyes.

“Male. Between 16 and 25 years old. Slender build, no taller than 175cm. Lives in the Southern District of Wengcheng. Low education level, introverted, silent, has difficulty communicating with the outside world. He has likely suffered severe burns in the past and probably carries the scars on his body.”

She sat back against her chair, her porcelain skin so clear you could see the faint peach fuzz on its surface. Her expression was as casual as if she were critiquing a meal, yet her eyes were sharp enough to pierce the air—like morning light cutting through a forest.

Brilliant, dazzling, and dangerous.