Chapter 42: Clues
The café booth felt cold, the air conditioning dialed too low.
Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting dappled shadows on the music box, its scratched wooden casing stark in the light.
Jiang Yuxin turned the box over, staring at the empty metal base.
Her eyes flicked to the others—Chen Dongyang’s unease, Yin Qingle’s pallor, Yin Xiran’s tense focus.
Her voice was icy.
“The missing figurine is the key. When the shadow attacked you, this box—and the shadow—were discarded.”
Yin Xiran stirred her ice, the clinking betraying her calm.
She waited for more.
“From last night’s shadow to today’s ‘angel,’” Jiang Yuxin continued, each word deliberate, “my mental powers don’t work on them. I can’t sense or influence them.”
Chen Dongyang’s heart skipped.
“You mean…”
“It’s not random,” she said.
“They share a source. The shadow was a minion; the ‘angel’ is the core. This music box…”
She tapped it.
“It’s a container for collecting ‘nutrients.’”
“Nutrients?” Chen Dongyang asked.
“The suicides?”
“Suicide isn’t the goal,” Jiang Yuxin cut in.
“It’s a byproduct of a ritual to harvest despair, pain, and the craving for death. Those emotions feed the ‘angel.’”
She recalled the rooftop cocoon, its vile mass of negative energy.
“The mastermind uses this box—or similar tools—for a ‘death ritual’ to gather these emotions. Li Wenbo, the senior girl, other unknown victims—they’re raw materials, guided to designed deaths to nourish that thing.”
Yin Xiran stopped stirring, her eyes like still pools.
“Your analysis makes sense,” she said, voice tight.
“But the ‘angel’ escaped, the box’s core is gone, and Chen ‘freed’ the spirit. We’re back to zero.”
Jiang Yuxin ignored her tone, swiping her phone and turning it to show police file excerpts.
“Not quite.”
A faint smirk touched her lips as she slid the phone forward, highlighting Zhao Haoyu.
“Our target was always one person.”
She tapped the name.
“Former music teacher at Nanjiang No. 2 Middle School, key witness in the corruption case, vanished after Zhang Weiming’s imprisonment.”
“Music teacher?” Yin Xiran’s eyes lit up, connecting the dots.
“No matter the girl in the wall, Li Wenbo, or the ‘angel,’” Jiang Yuxin said, her gaze shifting from Chen Dongyang to Yin Qingle, then locking on Yin Xiran, “Zhao Haoyu was there. He’s a witness, maybe more. Finding him cracks this open.”
Yin Xiran met her stare, her usual slyness replaced by unreadable depth.
After a pause, she stood.
“Okay.”
She grabbed Yin Qingle’s arm.
“Let’s go, sister.”
Yin Qingle stumbled, letting out an “Ah,” looking to Chen Dongyang, then Jiang Yuxin.
“Xiran?” she whispered.
Yin Xiran didn’t look back, her grip tight, her back rigid with suppressed anger or protective instinct, marching toward the door.
Chen Dongyang and Jiang Yuxin remained, the silence heavy.
Melted ice water dripped from a glass, staining the table.
After a long moment, Chen Dongyang spoke, voice soft.
“Jiang, what you said to them—especially Qingle—was harsh.”
Jiang Yuxin paused mid-sip, then set her glass down, not looking at him.
“Really?” Her tone was flat.
“Why not chase after them?” she said, staring out the window, sarcasm sharp.
“Use your nice-guy charm to comfort the poor sisters?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Chen Dongyang sighed.
“Yin Xiran cares deeply for Qingle. Saying you ‘borrowed’ her body was a provocation. And Qingle—she’s already scared and guilty about her powers. You solved the problem, but you added to her burden.”
He studied her unresponsive profile.
“I know you didn’t mean harm. You just prioritize efficiency. But feelings matter too.”
Her fingers twitched slightly on the table.
After a moment, she snorted.
“Hmph.”
Turning, her dark eyes met his, cold and distant.
“What do you know?”
She returned to the music box, dismissing the conversation, her focus razor-sharp on the mystery.