His true colors were revealed.

Chen Mu is not Chen Mu.

When Jin Ze said this to Fang Qinghe, my heart involuntarily skipped a beat. What did he mean by this? I am not myself—then who am I?

In that instant, countless possibilities surged within me. Clearly, this was He Ping’s final words before his death, directed at Fang Qinghe and the police. So, “Chen Mu is not Chen Mu”—could it mean I am not the murderer, and the real culprit is someone else? Or, does it imply that I am not truly Chen Mu, merely an imposter using Chen Mu as a façade, with my real identity being the killer?

Both interpretations seemed plausible; the phrase itself was riddled with contradictions. A single misstep in reasoning would lead to entirely different conclusions.

I even wondered if He Ping intended to set me up, leaving behind such an enigmatic statement. Wasn’t this just fueling the police’s suspicions against me?

But as the saying goes, a man’s words are kind when he is dying. Since Fang Qinghe trusts He Ping so deeply, it’s unlikely that He Ping would harm the police with his last breath.

Just then, a sudden buzz filled my mind, and I recalled a neglected detail—He Ping’s tongue had been cut out.

I immediately turned to Fang Qinghe and said, “Wait, isn’t this a trick? He Ping’s tongue was severed—how could he still speak?”

Fang Qinghe’s explanation swiftly clarified things. As soon as they saw He Ping had lost his tongue, they contacted an expert in lip reading. Thus, He Ping’s last words were actually interpreted by the expert based on his mouth movements. I had to admit, Fang Qinghe and his team were exceptionally skilled; they handled every detail meticulously. Had they not encountered a criminal of extraordinary intelligence, the case would likely have been solved long ago.

Fang Qinghe also explained why He Ping kept repeating that seemingly nonsensical phrase before dying. By then, He Ping’s mind was already clouded—he had been mutilated, his skull split open; there was no way he could think clearly. Making it to the hospital was a miracle. The phrase “Chen Mu is not Chen Mu” was uttered almost instinctively, a reflex of his battered body.

A wave of sorrow washed over me. The vice captain of the criminal police, brought low by this case, ended up mutilated and possibly branded as a traitor.

As I lamented, Fang Qinghe patted my shoulder, urging me not to overthink. He assured me that progress was imminent.

He said that since the little girl, Xia Tian, had been captured—whether intentionally or not—it showed the murderer was starting to lose composure.

---

I agreed with Fang Qinghe on this point, especially since Xia Tian had told me herself. She urged me to remember quickly, warning that if I didn’t, I would die again. Clearly, my time was running out.

In the end, Fang Qinghe patted my shoulder and spoke words that deeply moved me: “Chen Mu, you really don’t need to be so anxious. The truth will come out in the end. Even if it turns out the murderer is a split personality within you, it’s that twisted persona’s doing—not your true self. Though this series of cases is too severe for the legal provisions concerning mentally ill offenders, should there be any chance, I will help you survive.”

At that moment, tears welled up in my eyes. Despite only knowing Fang Qinghe for a few days, his care for me was like that of a family member.

Even Jin Ze couldn’t help but glance at Fang Qinghe, though, being clever, he didn’t ask questions. He surely guessed that Fang Qinghe’s actions were meant to stabilize my emotions, or perhaps Fang Qinghe held other evidence proving my innocence.

Fang Qinghe then asked me to rest in the police station’s holding room. With the murderer now anxious and capable of anything, staying at the station was safest.

While I rested in the holding room, Fang Qinghe and the others continued their investigation, likely following leads related to He Ping. Since He Ping had behaved as though he were a traitor, his family and connections had to be scrutinized. If He Ping was coerced, his family could have been threatened.

I slept through the second half of the night. The next morning, Jin Ze woke me.

His eyes were ringed with exhaustion; he clearly hadn’t slept. He brought me soy milk, and as I ate, he briefly recounted He Ping’s situation.

He Ping had indeed been threatened. His young son in kindergarten was taken by strangers to an amusement park recently, but that wasn’t the key reason He Ping became a traitor. The real reason was that the murderer had amassed a trove of incriminating evidence against He Ping. From the beginning, the murderer had set him up—starting with He Ping’s first visit to my home, taking me to mail a severed head, then being the first to discover Zhang Wentong’s body, and later appearing in room 1807, where I saw him near the bed. In each of these scenes, He Ping left traces of himself. By the time he realized something was wrong, it was too late. The murderer exploited He Ping’s eagerness to solve the case and gain merit, trapping him and forcing him to be present at every crime scene.

If He Ping had confessed, he might have been suspended and investigated, not necessarily treated as a suspect. But he didn’t, driven by the desire to solve the case, and ultimately, he sank ever deeper, ending up aiding the murderer.

Even so, helping the murderer didn’t necessarily make He Ping a traitor. Jin Ze said He Ping might have tried to infiltrate the enemy, like an undercover agent, but he was outplayed and died tragically.

After hearing Jin Ze, I felt pity for He Ping. He was a good police officer, but his mistake was underestimating the murderer’s abilities. If He Ping wasn’t the true traitor, then perhaps there was another one in the station.

Just as I was thinking this, Jin Ze’s phone rang. After answering, his face lit up with excitement.

A new lead had come from the crematorium. I asked to go with Jin Ze, and he agreed—likely because Fang Qinghe had instructed him.

Soon, Jin Ze and I arrived at the mortuary. The clue this time was linked to the elevator operator who had been murdered last—his name was Liu Chuang. Today marked the seventh day since his death. The deceased’s family followed a tradition of keeping the body in an ice coffin for seven days before cremation, so today was the day. During the cremation, they discovered a metal sphere inside his body that couldn’t be burned.

---

We were met by the elderly man in charge of cremation. He told us, “When we transported the body to the furnace and used a steel knife to cut open the corpse, we didn’t find the metal sphere. So it must have been hidden in the flesh or bone.”

I’d heard that before cremation, the body is cut open in the outer furnace; otherwise, the high heat could cause the body to explode from uneven heating. So, the metal sphere was really inside Liu Chuang’s body. How could an ordinary elevator operator have such an object hidden within him?

The old man continued, “When I was collecting the bones, I saw the metal sphere still intact. It looked like it was hidden below the waist—maybe stuffed in the buttocks or in the rectum. Quite bizarre. I’ve burned bodies for years, and never seen anything like it. Since you police warned me before to report any odd findings, I didn’t even tell the deceased’s family—I called you immediately. If it turns out to be a useful clue, some reward would be appreciated.”

Jin Ze nodded and took the metal sphere from the old man. It wasn’t large, less than two centimeters in diameter and appeared solid. Jin Ze shook it by his ear and said there was something inside—maybe a note or a data chip.

Whatever it was, this was clearly an important clue. We’d always believed Liu Chuang’s death was unrelated, killed by the murderer to break the rules. The murderer had sent messages threatening to kill unrelated people if we didn’t comply. But now, the truth seemed far more complex.

Once we left the crematorium and started the car, Jin Ze said to me, “The murderer is too clever. Liu Chuang was actually one of his targets, and he made it look like an unrelated case to mislead us. He couldn’t retrieve whatever incriminating evidence Liu Chuang had on him, unlike with the other victims, so he didn’t want the police investigating Liu Chuang. But even the slyest fox leaves traces. Liu Chuang clearly realized something before his death, so he left this inside his body. Who could have guessed the murderer’s slip would appear in such an inconspicuous case? Chen Mu, the less remarkable Liu Chuang’s case seems, the more astonishing the contents of this metal sphere could be.”

Jin Ze had just finished speaking when a voice suddenly sounded in the car: “Really? If that’s the case, then such an important item can’t fall into the hands of the police.”

The moment the voice echoed, I was seized with terror, and Jin Ze immediately turned to look at me.

I hurriedly said, “Ah, damn, that wasn’t me! I didn’t say a word—there’s someone in the car!”

I twisted around to check the back seat, but found no one. All the hairs on my body stood on end…