The atmosphere in the room was heavy and stifling. A space that should have been filled with celebration and casual conversation was now thick with oppressive silence.
The lights were soft, yet they couldn't dispel the shadows cast by the eerie incident.
Hang Zhongxuan clasped his hands over his knees, brows tightly furrowed as he slowly spoke. "The surveillance we have only confirms that they left the venue with the three victims… but that's nothing more than 'accompanying evidence.' If we arrest them without solid proof to follow up during interrogation, they could turn it around on us, maybe even demand compensation for emotional distress…"
"That's not all," Leander said, his voice low with a hint of helplessness. "Even if we do manage to detain them, the people backing them aren't to be underestimated. A simple bail procedure—maybe not even a few hours—and they'll be out."
"And it would alert the others." Hang Zhongxuan propped his chin on one hand, his gold-gray eyes glinting with thought. "The enemy's Celestial Master will know we've started paying attention to this lead. Gathering evidence will only get harder from here—and people might start to 'disappear.'"
Han Ling nodded, frowning. His thoughts involuntarily returned to the surveillance footage—that night's banquet hall, the crowd, the three victims being escorted away… Then the empty corridor. The footage was intact, with no interruptions, yet there was no trace of the enemy Celestial Master. If not for the faint, nearly undetectable trace of spiritual energy left behind at the scene, no one would've known that a high-level cultivator had ever appeared.
Traces erased. Soul gone. Surveillance ineffective… Every part of this case felt like a bone stuck in the throat—impossible to swallow, impossible to ignore, and nowhere to begin.
The silence stretched until it became suffocating, broken only when Leander cleared his throat lightly.
"How about this—" His voice was calm, but there was a probing undertone. "Let's go back to Ling Zhao's apartment. We left in a hurry last time. Maybe we missed something."
Han Ling looked up at him. In that instant, their thoughts seemed to align perfectly.
"I was just about to say the same thing," Han Ling said. "Something's been bothering me. Not a simple oversight—it feels like… something crucial was deliberately hidden."
Hang Zhongxuan didn't respond immediately. He bowed his head in thought for a few seconds before rising to his feet. "You two check Ling Zhao's place. I'll head back to the department with Cen Wenyu. I'll have him pull the backend data from the surveillance system… and re-examine Ling Zhao's body. Maybe there's something we missed."
Han Ling nodded, and the trio split up.
As they left the auction venue, the evening wind was cool and tinged with the chill of early autumn. The crowds outside had started to disperse, and the lights were no longer as dazzling as before.
Just as Han Ling and Leander stepped out of the main hall, a familiar voice called out from nearby.
"Hey? Han Ling? Leander?"
They turned toward the voice and saw Grant sitting on a bench beside the garden seats, a fancy box placed by his feet. His legs were crossed as he stared up at the night sky, looking slightly bored.
When he spotted them, Grant stood up and hurried over. "I just handed the brooch I won to my assistant, then couldn't find you guys anywhere. So I figured I'd wait here."
"Why are you still here?" Leander raised an eyebrow.
"I figured you'd still be up to something—and I was right." Grant flashed a smug smile. "Where are you headed?"
"To check Ling Zhao's place again," Han Ling replied simply.
Grant's eyes lit up. "Then I'm coming too!"
Leander glanced at him, his tone laced with amusement. "You want to tag along?"
"What, I can't go to my ex-boyfriend's place now?" Grant shot back. "Besides, we're all looking for Ling Zhao's soul—two people or three, it's still a search."
Han Ling couldn't help but chuckle, the icy edge at the corners of his eyes slightly thawed by the lighthearted tone. He nodded. "Fine. Come along."
Grant immediately flashed a victory sign, then leaned in and lowered his voice. "Did you guys find something new?"
"No," Leander replied coolly, though a sharp glint flickered in his eyes. "We just suspect we overlooked something."
Grant's eyes shifted, but he didn't press further. Instead, he eagerly trotted toward the hovercraft parking lot, waving. "Let's go! I'll get the door for you!"
Han Ling and Leander exchanged a glance, silently deciding not to call out the excitement poorly hidden on Grant's face.
The night was dark as ink. The door to Ling Zhao's apartment opened silently before them. Even after several visits, the place still felt eerily quiet—as if time had stopped, everything frozen at the moment of Ling Zhao's disappearance.
The entryway was neatly arranged. The floor spotless. Not even the faintest trace of spiritual energy lingered in the air.
Leander frowned and murmured, "Still nothing…"
Han Ling scanned the room. The sense of unease in his chest only deepened. This place didn't feel cleaned—it felt wiped. Erased.
Grant glanced around the living room, then said, "Let's split up and check again—see if we missed anything. I'll go check his bedroom."
Han Ling nodded. "Be careful. Don't overlook anything."
Over the next hour, the three combed through every inch of the apartment. Kitchen, study, bathroom, balcony—even the shoe rack and walk-in closet. Leander pulled out every book on the shelf, flipping through each page.
Meanwhile, in the bedroom, Grant stood by the bed in silent thought. His gaze fell on the space behind the nightstand—something about the panel there looked off, slightly bulging.
He tapped it. Hollow.
His eyes sharpened. Kneeling swiftly, he found a small mechanism hidden in the crevice. A soft "click" echoed as a panel slid open.
"Found it," Grant called out.
Han Ling and Leander rushed over.
It was a narrow hidden drawer. Inside lay a black leather diary. The cover was worn but neatly kept.
"I remember he used to do this," Grant said quietly. "Back when we were together, he always hid important things in places that made him feel safe. He said it was the only way to feel even a little in control."
Han Ling nodded and took the diary. "Let's have a look."
The three sat around the coffee table in Ling Zhao's living room. Han Ling opened the first page.
The handwriting was clean and tidy—yet brimming with sadness and self-questioning:
[Why didn't he coax me? Was that tiny argument really worth breaking up over?]
Every word radiated restrained emotion. Leander read on, frowning deeper with each line.
Ling Zhao had thought that on the night they broke up, Grant would coax him like before—speak softly, apologize, say he was being impulsive. But instead, Grant had turned and walked away. Ling Zhao had so much to say, but said nothing. Because he was stubborn, too.
After that, he waited. Every phone vibration made his heart race, hoping it was Grant. But six months passed. Nothing. Grant never came back. Never tried to make up. That unspeakable loneliness filled page after page.
Then came the news of Ling Zhao's father's illness. Hospitals. Chemotherapy. Collapse. Coming home to an empty apartment in the dead of night…
As Grant flipped through the entries, his fingers trembled. His throat tightened. He wanted to speak—but no words came.
Leander glanced at him, voice soft but edged with barbs. "If you'd coaxed him back sooner… would things have been different?"
Grant lowered his head and gave a bitter smile. "I don't know… I thought he was being unreasonable. But I wasn't much better."
Later entries mentioned the arrival of Chen Qiyue. The confident movie star began showing up frequently on set—always "coincidentally" near Ling Zhao.
Ling Zhao wrote: [I don't feel that way about him. He's too flashy. Not the type I like.]
But loneliness makes people vulnerable. On the night of Ling Zhao's father's funeral, Chen Qiyue had been there. Handed him a warm drink. Said, "I'll stay with you."
And in that moment, Ling Zhao gave in. [Maybe I just needed someone.]
But the relationship had been misaligned from the start. Ling Zhao tried to break it off again and again, but Chen Qiyue stopped him each time with emotional threats—"If you leave, I'll kill myself."
The diary recorded every failed breakup. Every reluctant compromise.
Grant's eyes turned red. He imagined the person who still loved him, writing pages of helpless sorrow in silence.
One day, a new entry appeared:
[Grant's back. Seems like he hasn't changed. I looked at him and smiled. He smiled too. But my heart raced out of control.]
They had met briefly—to discuss investment, and to see each other one last time. Ling Zhao wrote:
[I still love him. I never stopped. But I have a boyfriend now. There's nothing I can do.]
That night, Chen Qiyue tried to stop another breakup. Standing outside the balcony, feet on the railing, threatening to jump.
The final pages detailed Ling Zhao's determination to direct his own script—his most important work.
He also wrote about roles for Chen Qiyue and Ling Ning:
[I'll write a script that suits both of you. Even if it's not the one I really want to make.]
He planned to tell his sister the good news before seeing Grant.
But as he stepped out of the elevator, he saw Chen Qiyue standing at Ling Ning's door. Ling Ning held up an ultrasound image, smiling:
"You're going to be a dad."
In that instant, Ling Zhao said it felt like the world stopped. Ringing in his ears. Tightness in his chest. Then—darkness.
The diary ended there.
The three sat in silence, eyes locked, the air frozen.
"I…" Grant opened his mouth, his voice hoarse. "That day I thought he was just busy… I never imagined…"
Leander closed his eyes. "Those were his final words."
Han Ling stood, lips pressed tight, and carefully put the diary away.
"This diary… is the only tangible proof we have. Not of the murder—but it proves he never meant to vanish. Never meant to die. Someone… altered his fate."
"I think there's still something hidden in this house," Leander said, his silver eyes scanning the room before settling on a certain spot—
------------
Just when they thought they had uncovered all there was to find, Leander's gaze froze on a shadowed corner of the apartment—one that no one had dared to touch.
What else had Ling Zhao hidden?
What truth was still buried beneath this silence?
He never planned to disappear.
He never planned to die.
So who did it for him—
and why?
Next chapter: A whisper from beyond, and a secret only the dead can speak.
Han Ling:
He didn't choose to disappear—someone rewrote his fate for him.
I'll get to the bottom of it. Will you stay with me until the end?
Add this book to your library. I'll see you in the next chapter.