Chapter 261: Hidden Motives

2022-05-20

“Wang Yikai, Sun Shouwang…” The old woman slowly called out one name after another, just like a professor taking attendance. Each time she spoke a name, Zhao Mingkun quickly focused the camera on the person’s face.

In that moment, I understood why Zhao Mingkun had insisted I memorize the positions of those thirteen people earlier. The human eye can take in more colors and detail up close, but at a distance, the camera’s clarity beat mine by a mile.

All we needed was to identify the classmates who once interned together at the construction site. But listening closely, I realized the old woman deliberately named a few people who hadn’t actually been there. I couldn’t help but smile—this game Zhao Mingkun and the old woman were playing wasn’t half bad.

Doing this shattered the unique connection among the thirteen suspects, making it impossible for outsiders to guess the logic behind the old woman’s roll call. If she only named those thirteen, it’d get easier with each name to figure out who she would or wouldn’t call next.

If anyone cracked the pattern, they could fake a reaction the moment they heard their name. But what we wanted was that split-second, unguarded response—when someone’s not sure if their name will be called. That one moment reveals how people truly feel inside.

If someone is innocent, hearing their name called to stay behind should trigger shock or confusion. Usually, their eyes go wide, mouth parts slightly, maybe with a startled gesture—either hands spread or pointing at themselves. The physical gestures might last, but that instant of shock never lingers long.

If someone expected to be called, they wouldn’t look surprised. Some might even pretend to look innocent, but to someone trained in psychology, that act is as obvious as a kid with chocolate smeared all over their lips insisting they didn’t eat any.

Plenty of people in the thirteen showed these pretended reactions.

Then there’s another group, who clearly know their name is coming. They barely react, or maybe just give a subtle nod. That’s the look you have when you’re sure of what’s about to happen, and then it does.

Among the thirteen, there were definitely a few like that.

There’s also the type that, when they hear their name, instinctively lean back, hug their shoulders, or cover their mouth. That’s a textbook psychological defense: they’re subconsciously trying to distance themselves—afraid of being tied to the situation.

Which group is the most suspicious?

You might think it’s the third kind, but actually, it’s the second. Dodging trouble is just human nature—we’re wired for it. When these people learned this had to do with a classmate who died seven years ago, their gut response was to steer clear.

But the second kind—the ones who knew they’d be called, yet feigned innocence—are hiding something they don’t want found out.

By now, the old woman had called out about twenty names. All thirteen who interned at the construction site were among them. The others didn’t know what was going on—some left early to avoid trouble, while others stayed, eating and chatting as if nothing happened.

Those twenty people followed the old woman into a large room.

Zhao Mingkun glanced at me, then tapped the camera set up on the second floor. “We got it—all thirteen faces at that crucial moment, all recorded.”

For the next hour, my job was to watch the footage up close, memorizing every single facial expression. Finally, I turned to Zhao Mingkun and said, “Let’s go. The rest have been waiting for an hour—they must be getting eager by now.”

Zhao Mingkun nodded, peering through the window into the big house. “You’re right. So, who do you think is most suspicious?”

I switched off the camera and replied, “Judging by what I saw in that instant, and what showed up on the footage, there’s plenty of suspicious people. But psychology is only one tool—it can’t be the only evidence. The human mind’s a tricky thing.”

By the time I finished a cigarette, Zhao Mingkun and I were at the door of the room.

I turned to him, “Make sure to watch their reactions closely. If the real killer’s among them, hearing that Lü Zhiqiu is back for revenge—and that someone has already died—should make them slip up. Pay close attention to anyone who reacts too strongly. There’s a saying: If you didn’t do anything wrong, you won’t be afraid when the ghosts come knocking. The old sayings rarely lie.”

Zhao Mingkun winked at me, then pushed the door open.

The moment the door creaked open, all the lively chatter inside stopped. Every eye turned to us.

The old woman explained, “These two are in charge of investigating the case. Whatever you know about what happened seven years ago, just tell them.”

She paused, then added, “You’re all thirty by now—not impulsive kids anymore. You understand how serious this is. Oh, and Wang Ruo…”

She nodded at us and took those unrelated to the case away, so only the thirteen who interned at the construction site remained.

You know what they say: never judge a book by its cover. It’s a little harsh, but there’s truth in it. You can spot some things from the outside. Take the three men sitting steady on the sofa—their clothes are all name brands. Look a little closer, though, and one stands out.

The other two have watches and rings that scream money, but one’s mismatched watch and tie tell another story—his suit’s likely rented. The two from wealthy families are Zhang Yifa and Cheng Lu.

The guy with the rented suit is Wang Xin.

Sitting nearby is a woman with an LV bag—Wang Xianduo. I can smell her strong perfume even from here. She’s thirty, yet dressed like she’s at a party, not a formal event. It’s clear she’s got another agenda—like finding a man.

These four were the most suspicious in the footage. They clearly knew about Lü Zhiqiu, yet pretended nothing was up.

Wang Yikai, who stood in the room, spoke first. “You look young. What exactly are you going to ask us? Don’t you see, every minute we sit here costs a fortune for some of us. Just spit it out—we all interned together seven years ago. No need to beat around the bush.”

I locked eyes with Wang Yikai, and he stared right back.

When Wang Yikai heard Lü Zhiqiu’s name on the tape, he’d clearly tried to evade it. That proved he was spooked by the issue. What we couldn’t tell yet was why—did he kill Lü Zhiqiu himself and hate to face it, or did he once chase after Lü Zhiqiu and couldn’t stand hearing her name after her tragic end?

“Exactly,” Wang Xianduo chimed in. “Everyone here has a reputation—Cheng and Zhang are closing million-yuan deals by the minute. You’ve locked us in here without a word—what’s the point? It’s dark out now. Who’s going to take me home? It’s dangerous for a woman to go back alone.”

I said calmly, “Seven years ago, you thirteen and Lü Zhiqiu interned at the construction site. Near the end of your stint, someone lured Lü Zhiqiu to the site. After a brief conversation, the killer brutally murdered her. Even after all these years, not a single clue about the killer has surfaced.”

“Out of everyone, you thirteen are the biggest suspects.” I deliberately spoke slowly, watching their faces. Each one was clouded and tense. For a moment, it struck me that any one of them could be guilty. Even though they tried not to show it, their little habits gave them away.

Tapping fingers, rubbing noses, bouncing legs, darting eyes or staring too hard, fidgeting with the armrests—some were hot, some cold. These all shouted nervousness and unease, but they all put up a strong front, hiding their anxiety.

“Ever wonder,” I asked, “why only thirteen of you showed up, when twenty went to the site? You must all remember Hu Pei—he was found dead at home not long ago. Strangely enough, he died of fright.”

I slowed my words and looked around. “Hu Pei’s phone was swapped. On that substitute phone, we found a photo of Lü Zhiqiu’s severed head. Written beside it were the words, ‘I’m back.’”

“Lately, have any of you experienced something strange?”

“The kind of thing where it feels like you could die at any moment?”