Chapter 1 witness
Chapter 1: The Witness
The city never truly slept.
Even after midnight, neon signs shimmered across rain-soaked streets, taxis drifted through deserted intersections, and distant sirens echoed between towering buildings. The rain fell steadily, washing over the city as though trying to erase its darkest secrets.
But tonight... the darkness was hiding something far worse.
Eight-year-old Lin tightened his grip on a small shopping bag as he hurried home.
"Don't be late," his mother had reminded him with a warm smile before he left. "And stay on the main road."
"I will!" he had promised.
Now, heavy rain poured from the sky. Within seconds, his school uniform was completely soaked, the damp fabric clinging freezing against his skin. Looking around desperately through the blinding downpour, he spotted a narrow alleyway that could shelter him from the worst of the storm.
He hesitated, staring into the dark lane. Then, he stepped inside.
It was the biggest mistake of his life.
The alley was unusually quiet, smelling faintly of old cement and rusted iron. Rainwater trickled down cracked brick walls, collecting into dark, murky puddles. An old streetlamp flickered weakly overhead, casting long, shivering shadows that danced across the wet concrete. Every breath Lin took felt heavier, cold air filling his lungs as the familiar noise of the distant city completely died away.
Then... voices.
"...This ends tonight."
Lin froze. Slowly, carefully, he peered around a crumbling brick corner.
A police officer stood in the middle of the alley, his boots splashing in the water as he held his service pistol aimed straight ahead.
"Put your hands where I can see them," the officer ordered, his voice echoing sharply against the narrow walls.
Across from him stood a towering man dressed entirely in black. His heavy leather hood completely concealed his face. Only his eyes could be seen through the shadow.
Cold. Still. Watching.
"You've been running for months," the officer continued, his grip tightening on his weapon. "There's nowhere left to go."
The stranger let out a quiet, chilling laugh.
"Running?" he asked calmly, his tone entirely detached from the danger. He tilted his head slightly. "I've never been running."
The officer took a step forward, his knuckles turning white. "Last warning."
The stranger smiled.
"No..." His voice dropped to a terrifying whisper. "...this is your last lesson."
Bang!
The first gunshot shattered the heavy silence. The officer staggered backward, an expression of agonizing pain flashing across his face under the flickering streetlamp.
Bang!
A second shot echoed through the concrete maze. His body collapsed heavily onto the wet pavement. Cold rain mixed instantly with dark blood, forming a crimson stream that flowed slowly toward the open drain.
Silence returned.
Lin couldn't move. His legs refused to obey him, frozen to the damp ground. His breathing stopped completely.
The stranger slowly turned around. Those emotionless, unblinking eyes met Lin's through the dark. For what felt like an eternity, neither of them moved.
The killer had seen him. Lin knew it with absolute certainty.
Suddenly, a loud crash of a skidding vehicle echoed from the main road outside the alley. The stranger glanced away toward the sound for just one fraction of a second.
Lin ran.
His shoes splashed violently through puddles as he sprinted through a maze of unfamiliar streets, tears blurring his vision. Every shadow looked alive. Every sound behind him felt like heavy, pursuing footsteps.
He never looked back.
By sunrise, the alleyway entrance was sealed tight with bright yellow police tape. Reporters and flashing news vans crowded outside the perimeter.
"Third police officer murdered in six months."
"Seven civilians vanished without a trace."
"No eyewitnesses. No fingerprints. No CCTV footage."
"The killer has vanished into thin air again."
Fear spread across the city faster than the morning news.
Inside Police Headquarters, exhaustion hung thick in the chaotic investigation room.
Crime scene photographs covered every wall, showing the stark, frozen violence of the previous victims. Maps of the northern districts were aggressively marked with red ink circles, bleeding into one another like old wounds. Cold, untouched coffee cups sat beside stacks of files, their bitter scent mixing with the stale, exhausted air of a room that hadn't seen sleep in forty-eight hours.
A detective slammed his notebook shut in frustration. "Nothing."
Another officer sighed, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. "No fingerprints. No DNA trails."
"No witnesses willing to talk," a third detective added, rubbing his temples. "Three officers murdered... and we still don't even know what his face looks like."
The room fell silent as Commissioner Zhao entered, carrying a thin, secure file under his arm. He placed it gently on the center table.
"There is one witness."
Every head in the room turned instantly. Hope briefly flashed across the detectives' faces.
"Can he identify the killer?" someone asked.
The commissioner shook his head grimly. "No. He hasn't spoken a single word since last night. He is deeply traumatized."
Silence returned, heavier than before. Just then...
Knock. Knock.
"Come in," the commissioner called out.
A young officer stepped inside, standing at attention. "Sir... the consultants have arrived."
And for the first time, the sprawling, blood-soaked case would no longer belong only to the standard police department. It would also belong to Tang and Xiao.
Across the city, beside a quiet, secluded riverside tea house, the two women sat watching the heavy rain wash over the windows.
Tang was an officer, and Xiao was a brilliant criminologist. They were childhood best friends who worked closely with the police department—two sides of the same coin, entirely dedicated to justice and upholding the law.
Unlike everyone around them, neither of them looked down at their phones. They watched people. They analyzed every movement, every micro-expression, and every tiny hesitation hidden behind a polite smile.
Tang slowly lifted her teacup, glancing at her friend. "You're doing it again."
Xiao smiled faintly without looking away from the glass. "Doing what?"
"Studying strangers."
"I'm observing."
Tang laughed softly, shaking her head. "That's what you call judging people professionally."
Xiao finally turned her sharp gaze toward her. "Watch the man crossing the street over there."
Tang glanced outside through the gray downpour. A middle-aged businessman in a wet coat hurried through the rain. "He looks stressed," Tang offered.
Xiao shook her head. "No. He lost someone very recently."
Tang raised an eyebrow. "How do you know that?"
"He keeps unconsciously checking his left ring finger..." Xiao paused, her eyes narrowing slightly. "...even though he isn't wearing a wedding ring anymore. The muscle memory is still there."
Tang looked again, and this time she noticed it. The man was rubbing the empty place where his ring had once been.
"You always notice things nobody else sees," Tang murmured, a mix of admiration and seriousness in her voice.
Xiao smiled. "That's why they keep calling us."
At that exact moment, Xiao's phone vibrated sharply against the wooden table. The screen lit up: Police Headquarters. Primary witness located. Three officers dead, seven missing. Immediate consultation required.
Tang looked at her, her own law enforcement instincts kicking in. "Another case?"
Xiao nodded, standing up and finishing her tea. "I don't think this one's ordinary. The pattern is expanding. We need to go."
The waitress hurried over, carrying two large umbrellas. "You'll need these out there."
Tang smiled politely, taking them. "Thank you."
Xiao opened the café door, and a gust of cold, wet wind greeted them. "We should go," she said quietly.
Somewhere in the city... someone was waiting.
By afternoon, Tang and Xiao arrived at the secure medical facility where the child was being kept under watch.
Inside the quiet hospital ward, Lin sat curled up on a small chair, wrapped tightly in a thick blanket. His tiny hands wouldn't stop shaking violently. A department child psychologist gently pushed a box of bright crayons toward him on the table.
"You don't have to speak, Lin," the psychologist said softly, trying to soothe him. "If you want... you can just draw it."
Lin hesitated, his eyes wide and vacant. Slowly, his trembling fingers picked up a single black crayon. He pressed it to the blank white paper.
With shaky, erratic movements, he drew two eyes. Nothing else. No face, no body, no background. Just eyes. Cold. Empty. Watching.
The psychologist looked down at the paper, and the warm smile completely vanished from her face.
Tang and Xiao watched the interaction from behind the observation glass. Tang's fierce determination flared, her childhood memories of legal injustice driving her forward. "We don't have time to wait for a standard evaluation cycle," Tang whispered, turning to Xiao. "If the killer knows this boy survived, Lin is in danger. Let's go inside."
Xiao nodded, her analytical mind already calculating how to break through the child's locked psychological walls. They opened the door softly, stepping into the room.
Miles away, hidden behind heavily locked doors in a dark, private studio, a man stood quietly before a massive, blank canvas.
The rhythmic tapping of the rain beat softly against the frosted windows. Without speaking a word, he dipped his thick bristle brush into a pool of rich, midnight black paint. He moved with the slow, terrifying grace of a conductor directing a symphony of agony.
With careful, deliberate strokes, he began painting. On the fresh canvas, the sharp lines slowly formed the terrified, wide eyes of a little boy—capturing the exact, fragile second where a human soul cracks under pure terror.
Outside, a deafening crack of thunder shook the city. The hunt had only just begun.
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