Profile Psychology (2)

Zhao Yu rarely joined the Major Crimes Unit for group dinners.

Firstly, the unit was perpetually busy; more often than not, they were still on a mission when dinner time rolled around, grabbing a few bites at a roadside stall to make do.

Secondly, Zhao Yu simply didn’t like crowded, noisy environments.

“Sheng-jie, what was your major before? Psychology?”

Chen Doudou was the designated mood-maker. Aside from the team members recovering in the hospital, seven of them had made it. Most of the table talk was initiated by her. As a newcomer who had fought a brilliant battle on her first day, Liu Huisheng possessed a mystery that piqued everyone’s curiosity.

“My major was Criminal Psychology, though I know a bit of Behavioral Psychology as well,” Liu Huisheng answered.

“Eh? So you specifically study criminals?”

“I study ordinary people too.”

“Including… us?”

“You could say that.”

Chen Doudou gave a small smirk. “Then you won’t be like those characters in K-dramas who can see exactly what’s on my mind, right?”

Liu Huisheng laughed. “It’s not that exaggerated.”

“Whew… that’s a relief.”

“I only know a little bit.”

“A… little bit?”

The atmosphere at the table suddenly went quiet. Several pairs of eyes stared straight at Liu Huisheng, their expressions stiffening as if afraid of being exposed.

Liu Huisheng accurately sensed the tension and curled her lips in a forgiving smile.

“Don’t be nervous. I’m off the clock now; the mind-reading is powered down.”

The group finally exhaled.

Vice-Captain Qin Song glanced at his unpromising subordinates, a storm brewing between his brows.

“You’re all people’s police officers; why are you getting worked up over rumors? Besides, Liu Huisheng is an investigative consultant meant to assist in cases. When it comes down to it, making an arrest still depends on evidence.”

His words carried two layers of meaning: First, to help Liu Huisheng out and ease the tension. Second, to remind the team not to deify this so-called “mind-reading.”

Liu Huisheng understood both layers and followed his lead.

“Right. Everyone, just treat psychology like a game. Just something to play around with.”

And while we’re playing, she thought, I’ll show you exactly how it works.

The grill outside the stall flared up, flames leaping half a meter high before slowly dying down as the fat burned off, heating the surrounding air.

The small round table returned to a harmonious mood. Chen Doudou, embracing the “game” mentality, asked Liu Huisheng to show off a little.

“For example, if none of us say a word right now, can you tell what kind of personalities we have?”

Liu Huisheng nodded. She could identify their traits even if they were strangers—like Hu Fang in the interrogation room yesterday—let alone colleagues she had spent a day with.

But showing one’s hand too early tends to scare people away, so she calmly pulled out her phone and opened the WeChat group.

“If I can’t speak to you, then I can only look at your profile pictures. Actually, a WeChat avatar can reveal a person’s inner world.”

Chen Doudou immediately leaned in. “How so?”

“Take you, for example.” Liu Huisheng tapped her avatar. “It’s Nyanko-sensei from Natsume’s Book of Friends. Generally, using an anime character suggests a person with a rich imagination and vitality. Using an animal suggests a certain purity of heart. You’re a combination of both, which means you have a rich inner world but still hold onto your innocence.”

Chen Doudou was dumbfounded. “That’s so accurate… What about the others? Look at Brother Zhong’s; his isn’t anime.”

Liu Huisheng tapped the second profile and quickly reached a conclusion.

“A landscape photo, specifically mountains and rivers. People like this have rich life experience, mature thoughts, and stable emotions. It’s very common among elders, teachers, and civil servants. Brother Zhong, am I right?”

Brother Zhong laughed, wrinkles crinkling at the corners of his eyes as he raised his beer glass.

“Spot on. Ever since I turned thirty, my avatar has stayed in this style.”

Chen Doudou glanced at Vice-Captain Qin Song’s profile. “What about someone like the Vice-Captain?”

Liu Huisheng had already memorized everyone’s profile; she didn’t even need to check the screen anymore. She placed her phone face-down on the table.

“The Vice-Captain uses his own photo—in uniform, saluting the camera. Outside of the sales industry, using work-related content as an avatar shows that he deeply loves his job. He is serious, rigorous, and highly driven.”

Qin Song shifted his right shoulder. He didn’t like the “mystical” talk of psychology, but Liu Huisheng wasn’t wrong. He couldn’t find a reason to argue, so he simply nodded.

Beside him, Chen Doudou applied the logic to Zhao Yu:

“Captain Zhao’s is the same! It’s a photo of the main gate of our sub-bureau! It means the Captain and the Vice-Captain both love being police officers!”

Everyone chimed in with agreement. Some said the Captain was truly the Captain; others marveled at how a profile picture could see through a person.

Throughout the entire process, no one noticed one detail—Liu Huisheng had only added Chen Doudou and Zhao Yu on WeChat. She couldn’t see the contact names of the others in the group, only their screen names.

Yet she had accurately matched every person to their avatar without a single mistake.

They also missed something else—everyone was laughing and bonding over the topic of “Profile Psychology.”

Only Liu Huisheng sat in the midst of the laughter with a silent, knowing smile.

They are not the same. Zhao Yu’s and Qin Song’s avatars belonged to the same category, but they were fundamentally different.

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

“You and Qin Song are very different.”

After getting out of the car, there was a four-to-five-minute walk back to the apartment building. Their shadows stretched long under the streetlights, swaying with every step like bamboo slips shaking in a fortune-teller’s cylinder—unknown if the next step would be fortune or woe.

Zhao Yu had her windbreaker zipped to the top, her chin tucked into the collar. Her tone was neither hot nor cold:

“Is that so?”

Liu Huisheng stated her evidence:

“His photo has bright lighting and a spirited expression; it shows he is proud of his profession. But your photo of the bureau gate… out of all the days with good weather, you chose a gloomy one with dark tones. It shows you are very pessimistic.”

Zhao Yu didn’t confirm or deny it. Her deep eyes caught the lamplight, which seemed to shatter within them.

“Wait until you’ve handled a few more cases. You’ll realize this world is one giant hell.”

An experienced detective, especially one in the Major Crimes Unit, sees enough cases to glimpse the absolute worst of human nature.

Parents killing their own children, nihilists killing strangers at train stations, body parts recovered from stinking sewers—too much.

Liu Huisheng fell silent. She looked up at the sky, her view blocked by the crisscrossing branches of the plane trees. For a moment, her thoughts swirled.

“In hell, perhaps there are also angels.”

Zhao Yu’s lashes flickered downward. “I’ve never seen one.”

Liu Huisheng continued:

“There was a serial killer in America. After kidnapping people, she would skin the victims’ backs—one whole piece. Then she sewed the skins together to make bedsheets to sleep on every day. Thirteen people died at her hands. The police nicknamed her ‘Thanatos,’ the name of the Greek god of death. She was finally caught because a victim managed to get a message out. That victim was rescued, and the police gave her a nickname too: ‘Angel’.”

Zhao Yu had no interest in such stories. Her voice was cold:

“I don’t believe in ghosts or gods.”

The plane tree road filtered out all the heat of the July sky. The lush branches gathered above the streetlights like a protective blessing from God.

The woman who didn’t believe in ghosts or gods was using her mortal body to guard the hundreds of thousands of souls in Wengcheng.

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

“Captain Zhao, something’s happened!”

The late-night conversation set the stage for a 4:00 AM phone call from the officer on duty.

“What is it?” Zhao Yu sat up from the sofa instantly.

“A massive fire broke out at the South District Greenlight Kindergarten. The dormitory is up in flames; two floors are fully engulfed.”

“Call the fire department. I’m on my way.”

“They’ve been called. Most of the officers on duty have headed there. Please bring the Major Crimes Unit to help!”

“Understood.”

She threw on her clothes and opened the door, only to see the door directly across also opening.

Liu Huisheng had clearly received a call as well. she had hurriedly thrown on a black trench coat. No makeup, hair untied, and instead of her leather shoes, she was wearing a pair of Nikes.

A kindergarten fire was more heinous than a typical arson case.

The two closed their doors in silent agreement, their expressions grim and their moods heavy.

“I’m driving. Let’s go together.”

The first time Zhao Yu spoke to Liu Huisheng of her own accord, it was for the sake of a case.

“Okay.” Liu Huisheng pulled her long hair out from her collar, her mind already flying to the scene kilometers away. “Do you have the number for the rescue team?”

“Why?” Zhao Yu didn’t follow.

Liu Huisheng’s gaze was as firm as a blade:

“Tell them to watch the perimeter. The culprit might still be at the scene.”

Ding! The elevator reached the top floor, and two cold, sharp figures stepped inside.