Police

The first time criminal investigator Lou Xiao met Qiao Xia was at a wedding that had descended into total chaos. Years later, the two reunited on a blind date. From testing each other and misunderstanding each other to slowly drawing closer, one clumsy but sincere, the other clearheaded and independent, they learned, little by little, amid entanglements with people from the past, the pressure of work, and sudden danger, to put their love into words and to make room for each other in their future.

I went on a celebrity dating reality show, and the host asked me which male guest I would pick.

Smiling, I looked toward the acclaimed Best Actor, the veteran singer, and the current young idol heartthrob.

“Among these guests is a serial killer. Three years ago, you dismembered my little sister.

You left no remains of her behind and turned her into a target for the internet’s scorn.

“Now, it’s my turn to hunt you down.”

I run a science-debunking channel.

I’m also a Taoist priest.

Every day, I livestream ways to expose feudal superstition for what it is.

One day, a young woman asked me to help sever a toxic romantic entanglement.

The next day, her boyfriend was dead.

My son was being pestered by another boy.

The teacher called and asked me to come to the school.

When I arrived, he shouted at me for the first time. “Mom, what’s wrong with me liking boys?”

I looked at him, feeling neither anger nor resentment.

I crouched down and asked him in a low voice, “Then how can you be sure that you like boys?”

At a dinner party, Pei Yuming’s closest family and friends are all poisoned to death. He is the sole survivor, yet becomes the police’s prime suspect.

During the interrogation, Pei Yuming repeatedly experiences flashbacks to before the dinner began. After inadvertently uncovering the secret between his wife and his best friend, he gradually realizes that everyone at the table is hiding something, and the murderer is concealed within those secrets…

At thirty-five, I experienced a cliff-drop divorce.

In truth, it wasn’t entirely without warning.

I am a police officer and Liang Xu is a prosecutor; in the eyes of others, we were a match made in heaven.

Late one night, Liang Xu turned off the light, climbed into bed, and spoke slowly.

“I feel like my life right now is nothing more than a pool of stagnant water.”

After that, he changed careers to become a lawyer, specializing in litigation for the wealthy.

We changed houses, and we changed cars.

The day our son started elementary school, he asked me for a divorce.

“Even though we have sex once a week, it feels like a routine chore.

“Perhaps you should try someone else, too.”

And I really did.

But then Liang Xu lost control of his emotions, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me violently.

“You’re a cop and he’s a crook! Can you please wake up?!”

With a swift counter-move, I pinned his arm behind his back.

“I got used to drinking lukewarm water, so now I want to taste some strong liquor. He’s rich, handsome, and young-what could he possibly want from me other than myself?”

I transmigrated into a sweet romance novel as the vicious female supporting character.

The story went like this.

The male lead loved his wife with all his heart.

But his wife fell ill, and her days were numbered.

Right then, his wife’s younger sister-that is, the original owner of this body-climbed into his bed.

His wife was magnanimous.

Not only did she not blame her sister, she even asked the male lead to marry her after she died.

Left with no choice, the male lead could only pinch his nose and agree.

And all of that was merely the setup for the entire sweet romance.

The real story was this: the male and female leads meet, and the female lead slowly gets the male lead to open his heart, helps him move on from the pain of losing his wife, and finally, happy ending!

As for the original owner, that eyesore, after being abandoned by everyone and cold-shouldered by her husband, she jumped off a building and killed herself, successfully clearing the way for the female lead.

While sorting through my mother’s belongings, I found a crumpled notebook tucked under her pillow.

Four words were scrawled unevenly across the title page: “The Kill List.”

The first name on the list was the obstetrician who had delivered me.

The date noted beside it was the day I was born.

The second name was my father’s.

The date was the day he died in a mining accident.

The third name belonged to a stranger.

The date noted was yesterday.

The police told me that this person really did die yesterday, but my mother was buried over a month ago.

My husband jumped from a building and died in a pool of blood.

The police quickly cordoned off the scene.

A few days later, the autopsy report came back: the cause of death was a massive intracranial hemorrhage, and his body bore numerous signs of a struggle.

The police told me he had committed suicide and that there was no killer. I didn’t believe them.

On the day my stepsister was murdered.

I told my dad and the police that I had gone to school to do homework, that I hadn’t been home, and that I really didn’t know what had happened.

But the truth was, I lied.