Confession

The interrogation room of the Major Crimes Unit once again welcomed the harsh illumination of an all-night session. The light cast down onto the floor, reflecting against the walls and piercing through every single corner.

Right in the center, behind a solitary table, Guo Chongliang sat rigidly erect in handcuffs.

He wore a black windbreaker paired with a pitch-black, solid-colored baseball cap. Beneath the brim, his well-proportioned features maintained their usual refined elegance—calm, composed, and gentle, appearing as though he were still entirely in control of the situation’s direction.

“Officers, I’ve already told you. I simply went to pay my respects at the location where my older brother died. I didn’t do anything else besides that.”

Behind the interrogation table three meters away sat the personnel responsible for that day’s interrogation, lined up side by side—Zhao Yu, Liu Huisheng, and Qin Song.

Seeing that he flatly refused to admit it, Qin Song asked in a piercing, stern voice:

“Paying respects? Without bringing joss paper, and without bringing incense or candles? Sneaking into a sealed crime scene like a stealthy ghost in the dead of night—do you take us for complete fools?”

“Officer, your wording is a bit severe. I swear, I have absolutely no intention of insulting the People’s Police. Furthermore, my presence has absolutely zero connection to my brother’s death.”

“Drop the act. Guo Chongliang, let me lay it out straight for you: bringing you back here today means we have already secured the necessary evidence to do so. Your best option is to honestly confess everything on your own terms. That way, when you stand before a court of law in the future, you might still be granted a lighter sentence!”

“If it’s going to be like this, and you refuse to believe my words, then I will have my lawyer come over to speak with you.”

“Finding a lawyer is perfectly fine, but only after you have cleared up your own actions.”

“None of you possess any hard proof, so what exactly am I supposed to clear up?”

“You!”

Guo Chongliang had traveled extensively between two nations, spanning from his days as a student to launching a startup that currently held a market value exceeding ten million. The negotiation table was where he excelled most. After several rounds of back-and-forth, Qin Song hadn’t managed to extract a single shred of information, but had instead been thoroughly infuriated by the suspect’s slippery evasiveness.

Zhao Yu silently poured a cup of water for him, signaling him to cool his temper first.

To his right, Liu Huisheng brought her pen-spinning action to a halt. Her upper body, which had been reclining against the back of the chair, straightened slightly as she placed the pen flat on the table along the right border of the case file.

“The evidence is your very own company.”

Guo Chongliang froze for a fraction of a second—but it lasted for a mere half-second before his features reverted back to their upright, gentle expression:

“Officer, what exactly do you mean by that statement?”

Liu Huisheng laid it out smoothly, step by step: “I have been constantly pondering over why your company had to be named ‘Xili.’ Most corporations will select characters that carry explicitly auspicious connotations, such as Hong, Yang, Sen, or Guang… things of that nature. Yet your two characters possess no historical origin, nor do they sound particularly grand—unless, of course, there is a highly specific meaning concealed behind them.”

Guo Chongliang remained completely silent, shifting his forward-leaning upper body back against the chair’s backrest.

Catching this exact movement, Liu Huisheng knew instantly that her direction was flawless, so she continued:

“Until yesterday afternoon, when I stared intently at your company’s name and discovered that when you combine the characters for ‘Xi’ ($\text{喜}$) and ‘Li’ ($\text{力}$) together, they form ‘Jia’ ($\text{嘉}$)—the exact same Jia as in Xie Jia.”

Boom—

The dark, bruised sky seemed to split open along its seams. Dark clouds violently collided with one another, unleashing a sudden, terrifying thunderclap that detonated like a earth-shattering explosion in the deepest recesses of the eardrums.

Guo Chongliang’s hands were resting flat on the table. His two hands, which had been loosely placed, shifted a fraction as his right hand gripped his left wrist. The expression on his face appeared immensely relaxed, and he even managed to quirk his eyebrows:

“That is merely a coincidence.”

He stated.

Liu Huisheng saw right through it: “Mr. Guo, do not assume that by putting on a relaxed facade, we will simply buy into it.”

Following that, she pointed out the blatant flaw in his behavior:

“Just now, the exact second I pointed out that the two characters for ‘Xili’ highly likely contained a hidden, special meaning, you executed a distinct backward-retreating movement. This proves that you began to harbor inner guilt; your confidence fractured, and your foundational assurance crumbled. Afterward, when I mentioned that ‘Xili’ could be pieced together to spell out Xie Jia’s name, your face simulated total ease, but your hands utterly betrayed you—one hand clasping the wrist of the other, exactly as you are doing this very millisecond. It is a textbook defensive posture. The two hands act precisely like two links of a chain, snapping together in the center to achieve the psychological goal of protecting oneself.”

Guo Chongliang dropped his gaze to look down at his hands. Sure enough, within his subconscious mind, he had executed a movement that perfectly mirrored Liu Huisheng’s description. Silently releasing his grip, he forced a composed smirk:

“Since when did physical movements become viable evidence for cracking a criminal case?”

Liu Huisheng nodded in agreement: “Behavioral movements indeed cannot stand alone as physical proof in court. However, they are highly capable of revealing many things to us.”

“Such as?”

“For example, before we used that dry-cleaned button to lure you out tonight, we actually maintained a Plan B.”

“Oh?”

“A few of our colleagues suggested that we could lay everything bare to Xie Jia, and then have him personally step forward to persuade you to turn yourself in.”

Guo Chongliang didn’t utter a word, but a sudden sense of extreme urgency surged within his eyes. The fine muscles surrounding his eyelids contracted tightly, and his hands resting on the table clenched into fists before he recalled where he was and forced them to loosen once more.

Liu Huisheng monitored every single micro-movement on his body, pressing forward:

“However, I passed on that option.” Seeing the suspect relax slightly, she paused for a beat before striking again, “Because I consulted a friend who is a psychological expert. She informed me that Xie Jia’s current will to survive is exceptionally low; he completely views himself as an absolute burden to this world. If we were to inform him that a person who loves him deeply went as far as to murder his own biological brother for his sake, he would find it utterly impossible to go on living.”

Guo Chongliang offered no rebuttal. His brow furrowed deeply, his eyelids sagged downward, and his hands resting on the table went entirely limp.

Liu Huisheng pushed further down the line:

“Xie Jia was your university classmate. I am certain that even if you refuse to speak, he will eventually break. We can simply ask him about you, or about the incidents of abusing cats and abusing dogs—every single one of these actions constitutes a component of murder.” Her tone sharpened slightly, “Or, would you prefer that I go ask him directly?”

The air in the room fell into a dead, suffocating silence. A lowly, wretched soul hid behind a hollow, empty shell of a body—like a clawing ghost hand stretching out from a foul, subterranean trench, witnessing the grim process of caressing a corpse and tearing it to shreds.

Blood, flesh, bone, and decomposition fluids seemed to hang tangibly in the room.

Zhao Yu observed the scene with cold calculation. By this point, Liu Huisheng’s role as the battering ram had successfully concluded. Moving forward, it required only a single hand to push open this final door.

Consequently, she turned her head to address Qin Song:

“Old Qin, head over to the hospital.”

Qin Song instantly rose to his feet: “Understood.”

Finally, the stubbornly mute Guo Chongliang broke his silence. His bulky frame shifted slightly as his eyes stared unblinkingly at the tea on the table, which had entirely stopped emitting steam. His tone was deeply muffled:

“The number of people he killed is far greater than mine.”

It was like a heavy boulder plunging into a deep, bottomless well—the splashing water was instantly devoured by the dark depths, yet the low, gargantuan reverberation shook the entire bedrock of the room.

Qin Song froze, his mind failing to register the words instantly: “What?”

Zhao Yu patted his arm, signaling him to sit back down—Guo Chongliang had officially chosen to confess.

None of the three detectives spoke, waiting in absolute silence for Guo Chongliang to continue. Beneath the brilliant, stark light, he slowly lifted his head, the depths of his pupils as flat and lifeless as stagnant, dead water.

“Have any of you ever seen the Xie Jia from five years ago?” He spoke, his tone softening to an uncharacteristic degree, “His suits fit his frame flawlessly, his hair was always immaculately styled, and his spine was pulled perfectly straight. He walked up to the award podium step by step, waving to the audience beneath the brilliant glare of the camera flashes. That radiant, dazzling version of him… have any of you ever seen it?”