Suspicious People

04:15, Southern District of Hehai, Greenlight Kindergarten.

By the time the entire Major Crimes Unit arrived, the fire had ripped through the building’s electrical system, engulfing the entire structure. The two-story walls were charred black, thick plumes of smoke billowed from the windows, and massive tongues of fire roared like ravenous beasts from the southeast. Amidst the deafening crackle of intense heat, the faint, harrowing cries of children could be heard.

Fire trucks were already on site. The building’s power had been cut. Three high-pressure hoses were aimed directly at the inferno’s heart, while over a dozen firefighters, wearing respirators, charged into the blaze. Ambulances arrived in a continuous stream to collect the survivors of this catastrophe.

Ten meters away, onlookers stood four or five deep behind the police tape—filming, livestreaming, cursing, and praying. The area was impassable.

“Move back! Everyone, please move back! Cooperate with us!”

Chen Doudou lived closest to the kindergarten. When Zhao Yu and Liu Huisheng arrived, they saw her being blocked by the crowd; at barely five feet tall, she was struggling to squeeze through.

“A fire this big… it can’t be an accident. Some son of a b*tch definitely did this!”

“The place is full of babies. How could anyone have the heart? May that bastard never find peace!”

“A dozen firefighters went in, and not one has come out yet. Heavens!”

“The kindergarten has to be responsible for this!”

“My baby is in there! Mommy’s here! Mommy’s here!”

Chen Doudou was exhausted from the shoving and was beginning to feel the lack of oxygen when a siren wailed behind her.

Wooo-aaa— Wooo-aaa—

She and the crowd turned. Zhao Yu stood by her car door, having just placed a portable siren on the roof. Her coat fluttered wildly in the night wind. With her white shirt tucked into black trousers, her tall, lean frame looked like a bolt of lightning in the dark. She slammed the door shut and pulled her badge from her pocket, holding it high.

“Police business. Please clear the way.”

Seeing her savior, Chen Doudou’s eyes lit up. “Captain!”

Zhao Yu nodded to her, having no time for pleasantries. As the crowd parted to form a narrow path, Zhao Yu felt a weight in her hand—a roll of police tape Liu Huisheng had grabbed from the passenger seat.

They locked eyes. Despite the years apart, a sudden spark of unspoken coordination flared between them. They turned and began pulling the tape across the flowerbeds. Liu Huisheng faced the crowd, her voice calm and projecting:

“I know you are worried about the fire and the children. But right now is the golden window for rescue. Please clear this area to let the emergency workers through. Thank you.”

The rescue commander saw Zhao Yu and hurried over. “Captain Zhao, thanks for getting here so fast.”

Zhao Yu walked briskly with him. “Commander Song, what’s the situation?”

Song Anbang’s brow was furrowed tight. “Not good. The fire started in the second-floor dormitories. The first team of firefighters detected gasoline in the hallway—it’s definitely arson. Dorms, hallways, the roof… there are bodies of children everywhere. There are roughly 120 kids in this school. So far, we’ve only pulled out eighteen.”

“Eighteen?” The number was gut-wrenching.

“Yes. The perp chose the early morning specifically. There are few residential buildings nearby, so by the time the fire department arrived, it was already fully involved.”

“Do you need more hands? I can go in.”

“No, Captain. The heat is too extreme; you won’t survive without professional gear. We’ve deployed everyone we can. We’ve found eight entry points—main doors, hallway windows, second-floor toilets. If your people are here, have them help with the rescued children. Many are critically injured.”

Zhao Yu’s expression grew grim as she looked toward the northeast side of the building. Medical staff were performing emergency triage on unconscious children. Those in better shape were wailing in pain; those in worse condition were charred black and unresponsive.

“Xiao Chen.” She signaled Chen Doudou. “Gather the rest of the unit. Help with the kids.”

Chen Doudou, seeing such a horrific scene for the first time, nodded with tear-filled eyes. “Understood.”

Zhao Yu scanned the perimeter. “Where’s Liu Huisheng?”

“Sheng-jie is outside, calming the crowd.”

“Calming the crowd?”

Confused, Zhao Yu strode toward the gate. The priority was saving lives—how could she waste time on crowd control? She found Liu Huisheng standing atop a planter box outside the fence.

In reality, Liu Huisheng’s focus wasn’t on “calming” anyone. Under the guise of comfort, she was dissecting the expressions of the front-row onlookers.

Brows raised, tail of the brows lowered, inner brow muscles bunched toward the center, corners of the mouth pulled down and wide, hands clasped at the chest—classic signs of a grieving, prayerful state.

She shifted her gaze further out, scrutinizing faces one by one. None looked suspicious.

Criminal statistics show that 90% of arsonists return to the scene. Beyond admiring their “masterpiece,” they often feel a sense of pride in the chaos of the emergency responders—Look at how many police and firefighters I can make scramble with just one act.

She scanned the faces until her eyes were stung by a burly, middle-aged man.

He wore no expression of grief. Instead, his lips were tightly pursed, and the muscles around his eyelids were tense.

Concealment, nervousness, unease. Too many glaring emotions.

BANG!

The second-floor glass exploded from the heat. The sudden crack made everyone shriek in terror, falling into a state of panic. Everyone, except him. He reflexively covered his eyebrows and eyes with his palm—a textbook gesture of guilt.

“Sir, please come with us to assist in the investigation.”

Liu Huisheng pushed through the crowd and stopped in front of him, flashing her ID.

The man hadn’t expected her to approach him. His feet seemed frozen to the spot. “Me? I didn’t do anything.”

“Just a routine inquiry. Don’t be nervous.” Liu Huisheng didn’t tip her hand.

“I’m not nervous.”

“Did you know there would be a fire tonight?”

“I didn’t know there would be a fire tonight.”

Liu Huisheng’s eyes darkened.

Repetitive Response. This occurs when the answer almost perfectly mirrors the question.

“Did you go to Zhang San’s house?”

“I didn’t go to Zhang San’s house.”

Repetitive responses are often a psychological crutch for liars aiming for “perfection.” They want to wrap their answer in a seamless package, unaware that in natural dialogue, people rarely repeat the question back.

“Did you go to Zhang San’s house?”

“Yeah, I did.”

Having confirmed her suspicion, Liu Huisheng’s tone turned cold. “Please come with me.”

The man took a large step back. “I have things to do tomorrow morning. Find someone else.”

He began to retreat. Liu Huisheng reached out to grab his arm. “Stop!”

“Get off me!”

“Ah!”

The man shoved her with raw force. Liu Huisheng’s tall frame was knocked backward into a bed of shrubs. The onlookers, confused by the scuffle, either retreated or rushed to help her. In those few seconds, the man bolted across the street and into a dark alleyway.

“Liu Huisheng!”

On the other side of the fence, Zhao Yu had just arrived. She kicked off a decorative rung on the fence, vaulting upward with the grace of a feline, clearing the eight-foot barrier in one fluid motion.

Liu Huisheng had already scrambled up and was giving chase, shouting to Zhao Yu:

“Catch him! It’s him!”

Zhao Yu launched herself forward like a leopard. Following the direction of the man’s flight, she vanished into the pitch-black mouth of the alley.