Lu Lin pointed at Gu Yezhou, then at Gu Yao.

“Old Sang… they… what’s their relationship? Is he the brat’s husband?”

“He’s my brother,” Gu Yao said quickly, then bowed deeply toward Lu Lin. “Please don’t tell anyone, Forensic Doctor Lu.”

Lu Lin acted like he hadn’t even seen the bow.

He was dying to gossip with Sang Ning.

Instead, Sang Ning pointed toward the exit of the precinct.

“Didn’t I tell you to head home earlier? Why are you still here?”

“Fine, fine. I’m leaving. You guys should go home early too.”

That was what he said.

But he didn’t move an inch.

He simply stood there watching Zhao Qianwen, whose face was swollen purple and red, pinned against the wall by Gu Yezhou, unable to squeeze out a single word.

“If there’s a next time,” Gu Yezhou said coldly, “I wouldn’t mind inviting you down to the station personally.”

Then, like he was tossing away a bag of trash, he flung Zhao Qianwen aside.

The man crashed hard into the wooden bench nearby. His waist slammed into the armrest, and tears burst from his eyes from the pain.

“You dare use violence inside a police station? Stop right there!”

One of the officers finally couldn’t take it anymore.

Sure, the drunk idiot had done something stupid, but as long as he sincerely apologized and compensated the girl, it could still be handled peacefully.

But what was wrong with this family member?

Gu Yezhou calmly pulled out his credentials.

“This man has repeatedly harassed my sister. If her coworkers hadn’t been there tonight, do you know what might’ve happened?”

The officer paused, then pulled Gu Yezhou aside to speak privately.

No one knew what was said, but Gu Yezhou’s expression eased noticeably afterward.

They had already checked the neighborhood surveillance footage.

It really had been Zhao Qianwen who started the trouble first.

But because he had been drinking, and because Gu Yao wasn’t physically injured—only frightened—and because Zhao Qianwen had apologized on the spot while still intoxicated, there wasn’t much they could legally charge him with.

So the matter was ultimately dropped.

—

The next morning.

Lu Lin drove Gu Yao’s car and arrived downstairs at the station bright and early.

The first thing he did was head straight to the forensics department.

Gu Yao wasn’t there.

Only Sang Ning remained, focused on examining the skeleton recovered from the cement wall.

“Where’s your little assistant?” he asked.

“She took leave.”

Sang Ning didn’t even look up.

“Because of what happened last night?”

“She’s moving. Still has a lot of stuff to sort out.”

Lu Lin rubbed his nose awkwardly.

Last night, he’d followed Gu Yezhou’s car back to the apartment complex across from the station.

All the luggage was still stuffed in the trunk.

How was she supposed to move it?

“Where’s she staying? I don’t really have anything going on this morning. I can take the stuff over for her.”

Sang Ning finally paused and looked at him suspiciously.

“Since when are you this helpful?”

“Coworkers should help each other out,” Lu Lin replied, his eyes darting away guiltily.

Sang Ning didn’t think too much of it.

She first messaged Gu Yao to ask if she was okay with sharing the address. Once she heard it was Lu Lin asking, Gu Yao felt guilty about last night and sent it over immediately.

The moment he got the address, Lu Lin swaggered right out the door.

A few moments later, the forensic office door opened again.

Without looking up, Sang Ning sighed.

“What did you forget this time?”

“Hello. I’m the new forensic sketch artist. I heard you recovered a skeleton from inside a wall.”

The voice was youthful, almost inexperienced.

Sang Ning looked up.

The man looked just as young as he sounded.

Neat and proper, almost too proper. He looked more like a college student than a police employee.

“Are you still in school?” she asked curiously.

The young man had short black hair and wore a hoodie with casual pants. A backpack hung over his shoulders, and he held a sketchbook used for drawing portraits.

No matter how she looked at him, he resembled a student.

“I graduated four years ago.” He introduced himself politely. “Nice to meet you. Hua Ming. Criminal sketch artist. I specialize in reconstructing victims’ appearances and profiling suspects.”

Sang Ning nodded in greeting.

Before she could introduce herself, Hua Ming continued:

“I know who you are. Forensic Doctor Sang Ning. Honestly, it’s a pity you never transferred to the provincial department.”

“My family lives here. It wouldn’t be convenient.” Sang Ning smiled lightly.

The two stood on opposite sides of the autopsy room glass—one inside, one outside—talking through the partition.

Hua Ming lifted his chin and peered inside.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

After getting permission, Hua Ming entered carrying his sketchpad and a tiny pencil worn down to barely finger-length.

With a single glance, he accurately identified the missing bones.

For someone whose job centered around reconstructing faces, the skull mattered most.

He sucked in a breath.

“This killer’s vicious. All the teeth removed… and there are fractures on the skull too. Were those inflicted before death or after?”

As he spoke, the pencil in his hand seemed to activate automatically, already sketching the shape of the skull.

“Postmortem,” Sang Ning replied. “The blunt-force trauma to the skull happened while the victim was still alive.”

“Mhm.” Hua Ming continued sketching, his expression growing more serious. “I’ll try reconstructing the victim’s face first. Without identification, tracking anything down will be difficult.”

Then he added quietly,

“This killer probably isn’t a first-time offender.”

“You’ve encountered something similar before?” Sang Ning asked.

Hua Ming immediately realized he’d said too much.

“Captain Gu analyzed your autopsy report last night,” he explained quickly. “The killer looks like a repeat offender. But the search range is too broad right now. We don’t have any concrete leads, and we can’t get anything useful out of that mentally unstable drifter.”

Mentally unstable…

Sang Ning remembered the savage look in the drifter’s eyes yesterday.

If her reflexes had been even a little slower, she’d probably be lying in a hospital bed right now.

“Officer Hua,” she said thoughtfully, “have you studied psychology before?”

Criminal sketch artists, aside from helping civilians identify thieves or traffickers, relied heavily on psychology as a core skill.

And most of the time, that skill wasn’t used on criminals.

It was used on ordinary people.

Witnesses often couldn’t describe details clearly. Some lacked education or simply couldn’t find the right words.

All they could say was things like:

“He was tall.”

“A bit fat.”

“Dark-skinned.”

“Looked pretty normal.”

For a sketch artist, trying to recreate a suspect from descriptions like that was like searching for a needle in the ocean.

So to improve accuracy, sketch artists learned to guide witnesses psychologically, helping them reconstruct fragmented memories piece by piece.

Questions about posture. Gait. Facial asymmetry. Brow shape.

Ordinary people wouldn’t consciously remember those details after a brief encounter.

But under psychological guidance, they could mentally return to the moment, and the scattered fragments would slowly come together.

That dramatically increased the chances of identifying a suspect.

Hua Ming never stopped drawing.

“What problem did you run into? Tell me.”

Sang Ning explained the drifter’s strange behavior the previous day.

“I suspect he deliberately targeted me,” she said slowly. “But grabbing Gu Yao’s ankle afterward felt intentional too—almost like he wanted to redirect attention and make everyone believe he was mentally ill.”

Hua Ming listened carefully.

“Could be dissociative identity disorder. Let me finish reconstructing the victim’s face first. Then I’ll go have a talk with him myself.”

Sang Ning smiled faintly at that.

She walked over to remove her gloves and protective gear before washing her hands.

“If all you need right now is the skull, you can borrow it and work in your office instead. Is it convenient sketching in here?”

Hua Ming rolled his wrist, then glanced around the freezing autopsy room.

His throat bobbed slightly.

“…Yeah. I’ll return it afterward.”

He stuffed the sketchbook back into his bulging backpack.

Sang Ning glanced over casually—

And froze for a second.

The backpack was stuffed full of junk food.

Apparently the new sketch artist was a complete snack addict.

Noticing where her eyes landed, Hua Ming pulled out a bag of chips.

“Want one, Forensic Doctor Sang?”

“No thanks,” Sang Ning replied. “Save it for your midnight overtime meal.”

The way she said it made it sound like she’d already decided he’d be working late into the night.