Chapter Seventy-Seven: How Could It Not Be Him

In the dark of night, the world became muddled and indistinct, and so did the faces of people. When a person’s face loses its own features, many others begin to grow within them. Whether feigning the supernatural or putting on an act, all such beginnings are rooted in pretense.

Shen Yixia, donning a mask, feigned ghosts and spirits as she slipped silently through the pitch-black night. Meanwhile, Wang Chao, in his white doctor’s coat, walked the hospital’s brightly lit corridors with an air of affected professionalism.

Passing by Yang Qingqing’s hospital room for the third time, Wang Chao took out his phone, opened the browser, entered a certain website, logged in, and quickly composed a message. His finger hovered over the send button for several seconds. After a deep breath, with resolute eyes, he pressed send. He cleared the browsing history, turned off the screen, slipped the phone back into his pocket, and entered the treatment room beside the nurses’ station. From within, he pushed out a cart filled with medicine bottles and, with feigned confidence, headed toward Yang Qingqing’s room.

After hours of secret observation, Wang Chao had already discerned the routine of the officers guarding Yang Qingqing’s room: a shift change every two hours, with a two-minute gap each time.

Two minutes—so short, just enough for the officers to take a quick bathroom break or splash cold water on their faces to stay alert. Yet two minutes could be long enough for Wang Chao to do many things in Yang Qingqing’s room, such as injecting a different drug into her IV.

Pushing the cart, Wang Chao brushed past a police officer heading out for a break. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the officer enter the restroom and hastened to Yang Qingqing’s door. Quietly, he turned the knob, picked up a pre-prepared syringe from the cart, and crept toward the bed where Yang Qingqing lay in a deep sleep.

Gazing at her pale face, a smug smile played on Wang Chao’s lips. He leaned close to her ear and whispered, “Weren’t you always so arrogant? Always so sharp-tongued? Come on, try cursing someone again. You don’t understand that disaster and illness come from the mouth, do you? All chest and no brains… To let you die so easily is far too kind…”

Suddenly, Yang Qingqing’s eyelashes quivered, as if she had heard him. Her shoulders started to tremble. Wang Chao’s smile widened, delighting in the prey’s fear like a beast savoring the moment. He stood upright, walked to the IV bottle, plunged the syringe in, and pushed the plunger. A clear liquid instantly mixed with the solution inside. Retracting the syringe, he sneered, “You have less than an hour left in this world. Make the most of it.”

At that moment, footsteps sounded at the door. Wang Chao quickly left the room, closing the door just as the weary police officer returned, adjusting his mask as he lowered his head. Wang Chao kept pushing the cart forward.

The guard shot Wang Chao a sharp look, his voice stern, “Hey! Which department are you from? Didn’t they say no unauthorized access to this room?”

Wang Chao stopped, his back to the officer, and replied, “Dr. Wang sent me to check if the IV was finished…”

The officer frowned, feeling something was off but unable to pinpoint it. He only uttered a soft “oh.” When Wang Chao had walked a few more steps, the officer suddenly slapped his forehead, reached for the gun at his waist, and strode after Wang Chao, his face cold. “We never informed Dr. Wang about the victim’s placement here. How did he know? Who are you? Show me your ID!”

Wang Chao’s pupils contracted, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The veins stood out on his hand gripping the cart. Hearing the approaching footsteps, he forced himself to sound calm. “This is a hospital—what could a doctor not know? My ID’s hanging around my neck. If you want to see it, come take a look…”

The officer hesitated, thinking Wang Chao’s words made some sense. His hand left his gun as he slowly approached. “Don’t take it personally—it’s just that the suspect this time is ruthless. We’re only trying to keep everyone safe.”

“I understand…” When the officer was half a step away, Wang Chao spun around abruptly, stabbing the syringe in his right hand fiercely into the guard’s chest, then kicked him aside and fled down the corridor.

The officer crashed to the floor, gritting his teeth against the pain as he ripped out the syringe and tossed it aside. Ignoring the blood streaming from his chest, he scrambled for his radio. “Emergency! Emergency! PC207865 reporting—a suspected assailant has just left Room 106, fleeing toward the hospital lobby. Requesting backup…”

From the radio came He Wei’s steady voice. “PC207865, what’s Yang Qingqing’s condition now?”

“Reporting, Captain He, I’m about to check now—the assailant just came from Yang Qingqing’s room…” The officer staggered to his feet, stumbling back toward Yang Qingqing’s room, radio in hand. “He was wearing a white coat, disguised as a doctor—probably hoping to blend in with the medical staff.”

He Wei paused briefly, then issued orders. “Team One, guard the hospital’s main entrance. Team Two, search the lobby, focusing on anyone in a white coat, but be alert in case the suspect ditched it. Team Three, check around Yang Qingqing’s room—watch for a possible return.”

One after another, acknowledgments crackled over the radio as everyone sprang into action.

Moments later, the officer’s voice came through again. “Captain He, something’s wrong with Yang Qingqing—her vital signs are crashing…”

“PC207865, stay in the room—don’t go anywhere!” He Wei barked. “Team Two, find Yang Qingqing’s attending physician in the lobby, explain the situation, and get a medical team to her room immediately! I’ll head there myself—”

“You can’t go!” A sudden voice called from He Wei’s office door.

He Wei looked up in shock to see an elderly man in black. “Uncle Man, weren’t you interrogating Jin Yue? What are you doing at the hospital?”

“She won’t talk, so there’s no point wasting time. If she won’t give justice for Huang Mao, I’ll have to get it myself…” Zhang Xiaoman sauntered in, patting He Wei’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t go to Yang Qingqing’s room right now. There’s something more important you need to do.”

He Wei, clutching his radio, looked anxious. “What could be more important than saving Yang Qingqing’s life?”

“Your wife and son’s lives!” Zhang Xiaoman seized his arm. “If the killer truly wanted Yang Qingqing dead, they could’ve done it at the abandoned factory—no need to wait until now. And if they risked sneaking into the hospital tonight, when a knife would’ve sufficed, but didn’t use it, then I’m guessing they gave her a drug—enough to endanger her life, but not kill her instantly. Their goal is to lure you away. It’s a diversion.”

He Wei’s hair stood on end. He drew his gun. “I’ll go to Han Mei’s room right now. If that bastard tries anything, I’ll let him taste lead!”

“Don’t rush,” Zhang Xiaoman waved a hand. “I’ve already arranged protection for your wife—they should be safe for now. The most urgent task is to root out the two traitors.”

“Two?” He Wei asked.

Zhang Xiaoman didn’t answer directly. Instead, he pulled out a photo of tire tracks. “What’s most baffling about Yang Qingqing’s case? The killer left no trace at the scene. But as I always told you, every presence leaves a mark. Try to erase one thing, and you leave another.”

He Wei stroked his chin. “But the scene showed no signs of cleaning up…”

“That’s because there was no need,” Zhang Xiaoman said, pointing to the photo. “Avoiding footprints is simple—just wear shoe covers. But the crime scene was on the city outskirts. The killer couldn’t have carried Yang Qingqing there; he must’ve used a vehicle. Yet there are no extra tire tracks—just one type. Odd, isn’t it?”

“You mean…”

“Apart from police cars and ambulances, no other vehicles were there. Our own people should be above suspicion, and the first to arrive wasn’t the police—it was the ambulance from this hospital.” Zhang Xiaoman smiled coldly. “The killer drove the ambulance, took Yang Qingqing to the abandoned factory, committed the crime, and didn’t leave—simply waited for the police and left with Yang Qingqing, right under their noses.”

He Wei’s eyes widened in realization, a cold sweat prickling his forehead as he recalled the young ER doctor wheeling Yang Qingqing from the operating room. “So that’s why her expression was so strange—she never escaped the killer’s grasp.”

“These are only logical deductions,” Zhang Xiaoman said, rubbing his nose. “We still need hard evidence. That’s why I need you to have someone secretly watch Dr. Wang. Once my people deliver the proof, you can arrest him. As for the one who killed Huang Mao… if he dares go to Han Mei’s room, he’s walking into a trap.”

He Wei exhaled in relief, about to speak again when a technical detective burst in. Frowning, He Wei snapped, “Shouldn’t you be analyzing evidence at the station? What are you doing here? Where’s your supervisor, Chang Ping?”

The detective ignored He Wei, stopping before Zhang Xiaoman and handing him a file. “Professor Zhang, here’s the tracking report on Yang Qingqing’s movements you requested. On the day of the incident, she reserved a private room for two at a downtown restaurant. There’s no surveillance inside, but the entrance camera caught her entering with a well-dressed man. The images are all here…”

“I asked him to come,” Zhang Xiaoman explained briefly to He Wei. He quickly scanned the file, studying the photo of Yang Qingqing arm in arm with a man in designer clothes. His brow furrowed as he muttered, “Strange… why isn’t it him?”