In early April, a continuous spring rain soaked the entire city—and brought with it three chilling corpses.
All three cases occurred on the service roads of a national highway in the city's suburbs. The victims were young women between the ages of twenty and thirty. What sent a shiver down every investigator's spine was the identical condition of the bodies: each wore a red dress, had their hands bound behind their back, and bore a deep, clean incision around the neck made by fishing line—neat, precise, as if executed by a hunter with deadly accuracy.
In the Major Crimes Unit's conference room, the whiteboard was covered with photos and maps of the crime scenes. Red markings traced a line from the city center out toward the suburbs.
"The killer must be extremely familiar with this terrain," Lu ChenZhou said gravely, a cigarette unlit between his fingers. He stared at the map, brows furrowed. "All the attacks happened on rainy nights, between 1:00 and 3:00 a.m. No witnesses. No surveillance."
Su WanQing flipped through the autopsy reports, her voice steady. "Aside from the shared ligature marks, there are no signs of blunt force trauma or struggle. This suggests the killer relied on surprise. The wounds are clean and efficient—likely inflicted with a high-tension fishing line."
"Any connection among the victims?" Lu ChenZhou looked up.
"We've checked. They didn't know each other. No overlap in work or social circles. The only similarity is that they were all wearing red dresses and walking alone at night when they were killed."
Deputy leader He PeiChuan murmured, "This doesn't feel like premeditated murder. More like… opportunistic hunting."
"Exactly," Lu ChenZhou nodded. "We may be looking at a serial killer with a specific psychological trigger—red dresses. He picks victims at random, driven by impulse, addicted to the act itself."
"But why the rainy nights?" Su WanQing flipped another page, then suddenly paused. "In the third victim's fingernails, we found traces of a viscous fluid."
"A toxin?" He PeiChuan asked sharply.
"Not poison," she replied. "Automotive antifreeze—ethylene glycol. High viscosity. The concentration suggests it was transferred during a struggle."
Her eyes narrowed. "The killer might have used a vehicle to dispose of the bodies—or committed the murders inside the vehicle."
"That means he's probably driving the same vehicle during each attack, lying in wait along a fixed route," Lu ChenZhou walked briskly to the board and circled the crime scenes with a red marker. "Pull all traffic surveillance from those areas during the relevant timeframes. Focus on any vehicles that appear at more than one scene—especially vans or box trucks, anything large enough to conceal a body."
**
Two days later, the team identified a target: an old black Jinbei van, modified with new paint and no license plates. Though the rear surveillance footage was blurry, the van had appeared near all three crime scenes.
The breakthrough came when a mechanic from a repair shop on the urban outskirts submitted an anonymous tip: a man had brought in the van for rear glass replacement. The vehicle had strong chemical odors and signs of extensive interior cleaning—"like someone had scrubbed blood or chemical residue."
"The killer may have realized he's been exposed," Lu ChenZhou's gaze turned cold. "We can't wait any longer."
That night, the city police deployed checkpoints along key routes. Su WanQing, acting as forensic consultant, was stationed with a mobile unit to collect evidence at the scene.
**
The rain fell heavily, night cloaking the roads in a curtain of water. At 2:40 a.m., the black van appeared like a ghost near the southwestern highway exit.
"Target spotted. Black Jinbei. Slow speed. Left-front panel has a scrape," came the tense report over the earpiece.
"Stop him," Lu ChenZhou ordered without hesitation.
Roadblocks snapped into place, spotlights flaring from all sides. The van suddenly accelerated, aiming straight for the barricade.
"Don't let him get away!" Lu ChenZhou broke from cover and charged.
At that moment, Su WanQing had just stepped out of the support vehicle, forensic kit in hand. The van swerved violently—heading straight toward her.
"Su WanQing, move—!"
Without thinking, Lu ChenZhou lunged forward, pushing her aside with full force. The van's side mirror scraped across his arm, leaving a trail of blood in its wake.
Officers opened fire, shredding the tires. The van careened out of control and slammed into the median, finally coming to a halt. The driver was subdued before he could flee.
"Captain!" Su WanQing scrambled over. Her face went pale when she saw the blood-soaked sleeve of his left arm.
"I'm fine. Just a scratch," Lu ChenZhou gritted his teeth, trying to steady himself.
She caught him, voice tinged with rare urgency. "Why didn't you dodge?!"
"You were standing there," he looked into her still-shaken eyes, his voice low. "I didn't have time to think."
She froze, fingertips trembling.
**
The suspect's name was Ge WenQing, 40 years old. Unemployed. Previously imprisoned for sexual assault. After his release, he wandered aimlessly and was diagnosed with paranoid delusional disorder. His motive stemmed from a twisted fixation—believing women in red dresses were "bait sent to frame him." To him, rainy nights were the perfect time to "cleanse evil."
The case was finally solved. The shadow of fear that had loomed over the city's outskirts for three weeks began to lift.
At 8 p.m., inside the station's medical room, Su WanQing silently dressed Lu ChenZhou's wound.
"You're upset?" he asked, watching the gauze being pressed onto his arm.
"I'm not upset," she said quietly. "Just… don't ever do that again."
He looked at her but didn't answer. After a pause, his lips curved slightly. "You're usually the calm one."
She didn't respond. After wrapping the final layer of gauze, she tied it off, then suddenly looked up.
"Six years ago, you took a bullet for someone, too," she said softly. "Back then, I never got the chance to thank you."
Lu ChenZhou's eyes flickered, as if something had just clicked.
But she gave him no time to speak. Rising to her feet, she said, "Rest early, Captain."
As she walked away, he unconsciously touched the wound on his arm. The blood hadn't dried yet—but something in his chest had grown warm, and quietly still.