Recently, the case that has drawn the most public attention in Qingniao Prefecture has been the orchard murder case.

Because the police deliberately blurred the killer’s methods in their reports, speculation ran rampant online. All kinds of theories emerged—but none of them hit the mark. After all, people had no idea that atavists could retain bizarre properties even after death, let alone imagine that an ordinary human could murder two atavists.

The matter was far too sensitive. A single misstep could easily intensify the already‑tense divide between atavists and ordinary humans. As such, the police had no intention of elaborating. Their plan was to let the case’s popularity fade naturally.

What they didn’t expect was that a netizen using the handle “Great Detective ZZ” would publish a lengthy post offering an extremely detailed deduction of the case.

The accuracy of the reasoning was so astonishing that it felt as though the writer had witnessed everything firsthand—down to a clear account of how Zhang Weiqiang murdered the two atavists. Fortunately, just as the post began gaining traction, cyber police spotted it and swiftly deleted the post and banned the account.

“Who is this?” Officer Chen broke out in a sweat. “How does he know so much? Did someone on the inside secretly leak information to him?”

One colleague said in disbelief, “But Captain Chen—some of the things he wrote, we only learned ourselves two minutes ago. That post was published ten minutes earlier!”

Since Zhang Weiqiang had been taken away by the Tribunal Division, the subsequent interrogation wasn’t being handled by them. Still, because the case had occurred in their prefecture—and because both the department and the public were highly concerned—they were being kept informed of certain developments.

Yet this netizen had somehow known even earlier than they did.

“Could it be a leak from the Tribunal Division?”

“That… that’s impossible, right?”

Everyone agreed it was highly unlikely. Ever since Qiu Fa took office, there had been no incidents of internal leaks. And if anyone inside the Tribunal Division really harbored ulterior motives and dared leak something of this scale—big or small—they’d be practically begging to be dragged out by Qiu Fa. No undercover agent would be stupid enough to try something like that.

“Could it be that intelligence broker—the one who sold information to Old Tao?”

“What would an intelligence broker gain from doing this? It’s not even his line of business.”

“Then could it really be pure deduction? But how could he deduce something like this—just with imagination?” That seemed even more unbelievable.

They didn’t have time to dwell on it for long.

Officer Chen stood up. “I’m going to check on Old Tao. He’s been holed up at home ever since the funeral. I’m worried he might do something foolish.”

For the past twenty years, Tao Ze’s sole reason for living had been to uncover the truth behind his daughter’s disappearance. Now that the answer had finally surfaced, he was devastated by the confirmation of her death. After holding the funeral together with his ex‑wife, he shut himself inside his home for days on end.

Officer Chen felt deeply for him. He planned to suggest that Tao Ze become an auxiliary police officer—partly to give him a job so he wouldn’t keep spiraling, and partly because they genuinely valued the investigative skills he’d honed over twenty years of searching for his daughter. In the past, his obsession made him unsuitable for the role. Now that everything was over, it was time for him to start anew.

What Officer Chen didn’t expect was that when he arrived at Tao Ze’s home, he found a note taped to the door. It read:

It’s been so many years. I’m going to see the world outside and clear my head. Friends, don’t worry about me.

Officer Chen froze, then quickly called Tao Ze. Only after confirming that Tao Ze hadn’t done anything reckless—and had truly gone out traveling—did he finally breathe a sigh of relief.

What he didn’t know was that Tao Ze, now in another city, wasn’t sightseeing at all.

He was moving with light, agile steps, employing surveillance and tracking skills so refined that even professionally trained police officers would sigh in admiration—following someone closely.

And this wasn’t the first person he had tailed since leaving home.

…

The weather was beautiful today. Yunjin Prefecture was on the verge of summer; the warm breeze dispelled the last stubborn traces of winter cold.

Jing Pei lowered her head and glanced at her watch, which remained completely still. She sighed softly.

By all logic, the intelligence she’d provided last time had helped the police crack a case of enormous magnitude. She should have become nationally famous by now. But because the police concealed her existence—and clearly instructed Tao Ze not to speak about it—the Puzzle Intelligence Agency remained nothing more than a rumor on internet forums.

Worse still, after she noticed a growing number of prank emails wasting her time, she set a requirement that sending an email would only succeed after paying a 500‑yuan fee—only to be promptly labeled a scammer.

Making money really wasn’t easy.

She slipped a preserved plum into her mouth. The sweet‑and‑sour flavor bloomed instantly across her tongue. Her eyes curved into a smile as she looked up toward the students training in the field.

Jing Pei had already located her dragon pearl. She was still far from being able to control her power as smoothly as seventh‑year students like them, but she was just barely capable of participating in sparring exercises with the ordinary students.

Unfortunately, since no one was willing to team up with her, she could only watch the combat class from the sidelines.

And then she saw Long Ling walk up to Tang Qiaoqiao and extend an invitation to team up.

Tang Qiaoqiao hesitated for two seconds—then accepted.

“Whoa—Lianhua, look at Qiaoqiao! What’s going on with her?” Chen Mo, his black hair streaked with white, asked in shock as he fired questions at Feng Yilian. “Hasn’t she always hated Long Ling?”

Feng Yilian idly played with the Rubik’s Cube in his hand and glanced up. A flicker of surprise seemed to pass through his phoenix eyes, but then his lids drooped lazily, his curiosity evaporating almost instantly.

“Ask her yourself.”

“I’ll ask after class,” Chen Mo said. “But she might’ve agreed just to mess with Long Ling on purpose.”

However, as Long Ling and Tang Qiaoqiao exchanged blows back and forth, everything looked perfectly normal—friendly even. Even an outsider could tell they were getting along just fine.

Chen Mo and the others in the circle watched this unfold, completely baffled.

Did Long Ling have some kind of special ability? Why was she always able to suddenly win over atavists who had originally looked down on her? Zhou Qian, Tang Qiaoqiao—both of them. Or was it really as Zhou Qian claimed: that Long Ling was genuinely that good, and they simply hadn’t noticed before, and now even Tang Qiaoqiao had discovered her merits?

Jing Pei wasn’t surprised.

They were still walking along their original fate trajectories. From her recent observations, it seemed that changing destiny wasn’t easy at all. Unless there was a turning point on the level of Zhang Weiqiang encountering two atavists and obtaining invisibility cloaks, things would eventually be pulled back onto their original tracks.

And ever since she transmigrated into this world as Long Jin, everything surrounding the Wen Yuxian incident had already fully fermented—like a perfectly constructed bomb placed right beside a fire. Deviating from its course was extremely difficult.

Still, when training ended and everyone moved aside, Jing Pei waved at Tang Qiaoqiao.

Seeing the casual way Jing Pei beckoned her over, Tang Qiaoqiao’s expression immediately soured. Yet she still strutted over with her arms crossed, full of attitude.

“What? Regretting that you were born with a mouth that can’t speak properly now? If you sincerely apologize, I might consider whether to forgive you.”

Jing Pei quietly tugged a corner of a bag of preserved plums out of her coat pocket.

“Qiaoqiao, want some preserved plums?”

“Huh?” Tang Qiaoqiao stared at her in shock, utterly speechless. Watching Jing Pei sneakily suck on a plum while trying not to get caught by the teacher, she inexplicably found her kind of cute.

“Hmph. I’m not eating that. Sneaking snacks during class—are you an elementary schooler? So childish!”

Jing Pei stuffed the bag back into her pocket.

“Alright then. If I sincerely apologize, you’ll stop hanging out with Long Ling.”

Tang Qiaoqiao’s lips curled upward, her chin lifting proudly.

“Haha! You’re such a baby. Want me to hold your hand and go to the bathroom together too?”

Why did she find Long Jin so pleasing to the eye?

“That wouldn’t be bad either,” Jing Pei said with a smile. Back when she was in school, she’d never held hands with another girl to go to the bathroom together. What a pity—if she could experience it, that’d be great.

“Then hurry up and apologize. Say: ‘Lord Qiaoqiao, it’s my fault for being tactless, blind, and clueless. Teacher Wen doesn’t have a girlfriend. You are Teacher Wen’s future girlfriend. Teacher Wen only said he had a girlfriend because he thinks you’re still young and immature.’”

She even helped Jing Pei script the apology. This sweet, adorable friendship between girls only required Jing Pei to repeat those lines.

However—

Jing Pei fell silent.

After a moment, she sighed.

“Qiaoqiao, Teacher Wen really does have a girlfriend.”

The smug, tsundere smile on Tang Qiaoqiao’s face instantly collapsed. She glared at Jing Pei in genuine anger. Anyone would explode if someone kept poking the same sore spot over and over. Even she was surprised at how patient she’d already been with Jing Pei.

She extended a hand toward Jing Pei, face dark.

“Proof?”

Jing Pei only looked at her, saying nothing more.

Tang Qiaoqiao let out a cold laugh, turned around without hesitation, and walked straight toward Long Ling.

She wouldn’t come looking for Jing Pei again. She’d emphasized it so many times—Teacher Wen didn’t have a girlfriend—and Jing Pei still kept saying this. Someone so oblivious, so self-righteous, deserved to have no friends at school! Compared to her, Long Ling was far more likable!

Perhaps the hardest thing in the world was telling someone not to love another person.

Hatred could sometimes be reasoned away, or even vanish in an instant. But love—even when you knew the other person was trash—was never so easy to extinguish.

Jing Pei had always found “love” to be a fascinating thing. She’d once desperately hoped to experience that unbelievable feeling herself. Unfortunately, it always ended in failure. She’d tried her best, yet those people would always look at her with sad eyes and say that she didn’t love them.

She watched as the two of them moved into a corner. Long Ling said something to Tang Qiaoqiao, and Tang Qiaoqiao’s expression immediately softened.

Clearly, Long Ling had said exactly what Tang Qiaoqiao most wanted to hear.

Just like in the original novel, Long Ling was systematically working her way through Feng Yilian’s inner circle, targeting its key figures one by one. In the original timeline, the existence of the “warm incubator” of Bubble No. 3 made things easier. This time, the path was more winding—at least now she’d finally found the right opportunity and method.

Long Ling had figured out what Tang Qiaoqiao wanted to hear.

Tang Qiaoqiao loved Wen Yuxian. On the surface she looked carefree and simple‑minded, brushing off rejection and continuing to cling stubbornly. But the delicate sensitivity that came with a girl in love was fully present. At night, she would secretly cry, tormented by the pain of loving someone who didn’t return her feelings—only her pride kept her from showing it in public.

And it seemed no one took her feelings for Wen Yuxian seriously. Most people saw it as nothing more than a student’s crush on a teacher, something that would fade in a couple of years.

So Long Ling approached her, told her that she too was secretly in love with someone, shared the bittersweet pain of unrequited love, and they exchanged ideas on how to pursue the people they loved. Step by step, she shattered Tang Qiaoqiao’s emotional defenses and became her friend.

Then, in the near future, Long Ling would encourage Tang Qiaoqiao to stalk Wen Yuxian together—leading them to uncover the most terrifying secret of Wen Yuxian’s life, one that absolutely could not be exposed. As a result, Tang Qiaoqiao would be killed by Wen Yuxian.

At present, the only way to prevent Tang Qiaoqiao from triggering that event and changing her death outcome was for her to stop loving Wen Yuxian.

Otherwise, even without Long Ling, the event would likely trigger sooner or later.

And clearly, making Tang Qiaoqiao stop loving Wen Yuxian was impossible.

…

At noon, Jing Pei went to find Mei Yanlan for tutoring as usual.

The moment she reached the door of Mei Yanlan’s office, she heard a scream coming from inside.

“Ahhh—Mei Yanlan, what is wrong with you?! You can’t even handle something this trivial? I’m going to lose my mind!”

It was the young female teacher who was always impeccably dressed and made up. She was bent over the computer in utter collapse, hammering frantically at the keyboard as though rewriting something.

Teacher Mei stood off to the side, looking deeply guilty. “I’m really sorry… what should we do now? This financial report has to be shown to the chairman right away. I didn’t expect that getting one number wrong would mean the entire thing has to be redone.”

“AHHHHH—GET OUT!! GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!!” the woman screamed in breakdown.

She was seething inside. What was wrong with Mei Yanlan, this useless piece of trash? She’d originally thought Mei Yanlan was mild‑tempered and easy to push around, so she’d constantly ordered her to help collect packages and grade students’ assignments. But Mei Yanlan was always clumsy—dropping packages, damaging deliveries, and making mistakes in grading that led to parent complaints, salary deductions, and reprimands from the principal.

Now she wasn’t even teaching anymore and had switched to finance. Yesterday, just so she could go on a date, she’d ordered Mei Yanlan to help her prepare a report—and now Mei Yanlan had filled in one wrong number, throwing off everything that followed.

Redo it.

All of it.

Mei Yanlan watched apologetically for a moment, then turned and left helplessly. But when she turned to face Jing Pei, Jing Pei saw her push up her glasses—and a pleased smile appeared on her face.

The two of them went back to Mei Yanlan’s apartment.

“Come on, let me see the results of your practice,” Mei Yanlan said.

“Yes, Teacher Mei.”

At once, fine, densely packed green dragon scales began to emerge over Jing Pei’s delicate skin. The scales spread upward from beneath her collar like a layer of deep‑green armor painstakingly forged through endless effort, creeping over her chin, cheeks, lips, nose—before finally stopping, leaving only her beautiful catlike eyes and the top of her head exposed.

Rather than looking frightening, she now resembled a female warrior clad in armor—magnificent and strikingly cool.

“Not bad at all. You’re almost able to fully cover yourself,” Mei Yanlan said, surprise flashing through her eyes. She reached out and flicked one of the scales. “Your talent is genuinely astonishing. At Twelve Zodiac Academy, students usually don’t reach this level until the first semester of fourth year. This means you already possess nearly perfect defensive capability. Look—”

Suddenly, a silenced automatic rifle appeared in Mei Yanlan’s hands. Her eyes turned cold. Without hesitation, she fired.

Bang, bang, bang—
Shell casings clattered across the floor.

The sudden storm of bullets slammed into Jing Pei, driving her backward again and again until she crashed into the wall.

Only after the magazine emptied did Mei Yanlan sling the gun over her shoulder and stop.

If Jing Pei were an ordinary human, she would have been shredded into minced meat by now.

But instead, she leaned against the wall. Aside from the upper half of her face that hadn’t been covered, nearly her entire body had taken the hits. Her clothes were torn to shreds, and beneath the rags, jade‑colored dragon‑scale armor covered her from head to toe, perfectly contouring the graceful lines of her young body.

Not a single injury.

Mei Yanlan said, “Perfect defense. As expected of the dragon clan—and the strongest Azure Dragon at that. How exactly did the Long family’s ancestor manage to seduce something like this?”

Jing Pei said, “Teacher Mei… could you maybe give a warning before you start?”

“Your reaction speed in emergencies is also a required course.”

“Lesson received, Teacher.”

After this hardcore session, lunch break was almost over. Mei Yanlan needed to return to teach elementary students, but before leaving, she handed Jing Pei an invitation.

It was a wedding invitation—Mei Yanlan and Xiao Cheng’s.

Jing Pei glanced at it. Just like what she’d written: the date was next month, on the first.

Lightning speed.

On the first of last month, Fang Bihe had acted as matchmaker and introduced Mei Yanlan and Xiao Cheng on a blind date at a restaurant. Half a month later, they were engaged in front of a small group of Xiao Cheng’s relatives and friends. Mei Yanlan was an orphan, with no family to attend—which was also one of the reasons they had chosen her. It saved them a great deal of trouble.

And Xiao Cheng’s family deeply disliked Fang Bihe, so they accepted Mei Yanlan almost immediately. They saw her as an honest woman—far better than Fang Bihe, who seemed to have Xiao Cheng wrapped around her finger like he’d been hexed.

In other words, in just two months, they would be walking down the aisle.

“We’re not planning a big wedding,” Mei Yanlan said, pushing up the unfashionable black‑rimmed glasses on her nose. “Just a meal with friends and relatives. I don’t really have any friends to invite. You’re my student—come with Wen Yuxian.”

“I’m really looking forward to that day.”

A bright red tongue swept lightly across her pale lips, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. For a fleeting instant, Mei Yanlan seemed to change completely—but when you looked again, she was still the same dowdy, plain, textbook example of an old‑maid character straight out of a TV drama.

Thinking about the spectacular ending of this event, Jing Pei smiled. “I’m looking forward to it too.”

Even if she’d written it herself, watching it unfold through real people was still fresh and thrilling for an author.

This was true immersion.

…

Night fell, and evil began to boil once more in the hidden corners of the city.

Wen Yuxian unlocked his front door. His usually gentle gaze turned sharp and dark as he scanned the surroundings, nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air. Only after confirming no one was nearby did he carry a heavy bag out to the car.

Thud.

The bag slammed into the back seat, the weight making the car rock slightly. As he let go, a faint stench seeped out through a crack in the opening.

He drove off into the city.

Parks. Trash bins. Rivers. Slums.

One by one, bags were tossed from the lowered window, scattered across different locations.