Chapter 4: Masks Behind the Curtain
1027 Words
Morning sunlight leaked through the precinct windows, casting long bars of light across the floor. But inside the interrogation room, there was nothing warm about the atmosphere.
Luo Wei—if that was even his real name—sat handcuffed to a metal table, silent, his face blank. He hadn’t spoken a word since his arrest. Not even to request a lawyer.
Detective Chen Yuyan leaned back in her chair across from him, arms crossed, eyes sharp. She studied him like a puzzle, and after nearly an hour of silence, she decided to speak.
“You knew exactly what you were doing. No fingerprints. No paper trail. Paid in cash. Fake identity. But you slipped up.” She tapped the folder in front of her. “You kept her bracelet.”
Still, he said nothing.
She opened the folder and laid out photos—one of Li Minghua, bruised but alive; one of the warehouse; one of him tackled to the ground. Then, slowly, she added a final one: the security footage from a nearby toll gate, taken two days before Minghua’s kidnapping.
He finally moved—his jaw clenched.
“You weren’t working alone,” Yuyan said. “Who else is involved?”
Silence.
The door creaked open, and Li Zihan stepped in with two coffees. He handed one to Yuyan, then turned to Luo Wei, eyeing him like he was studying a museum piece.
“This guy isn’t some lunatic,” Zihan said. “He’s a professional. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react. You know what that means?”
Yuyan nodded. “He’s done this before.”
Zihan sipped his coffee, eyes still on Luo Wei. “And if he has… there’s more victims.”
---
In the briefing room, Captain Wang Lei had pinned a series of photos and maps to the whiteboard. A small task force had been assembled. Minghua’s rescue had raised alarms, and now the brass wanted results.
“So far,” Wang began, “we’ve connected two additional disappearances to this pattern—models or influencers who vanished after being approached by unofficial ‘scouts.’ All women. All within the last three months.”
Yuyan stepped forward. “We have a partial lead. The name Luo Wei is fake. But facial recognition linked him to an unsolved case in Qingdao—same M.O. Young woman, vanished, later found in South Korea under a different name, unable to speak about what happened.”
Zihan frowned. “Trafficking ring?”
“Looks that way,” Wang said. “And this guy? Just a cog in the wheel.”
Yuyan looked around the room. “We don’t have much time. If they’re still active, other women could be in danger.”
Wang nodded. “Use whatever you need. This case goes to the top.”
---
Later that afternoon, Zihan leaned against a desk while Yuyan combed through a stack of files.
“Tell me something,” he said. “How do you handle all this? Seeing the worst of people day after day?”
She didn’t look up. “You don’t handle it. You carry it.”
“That sounds… depressing.”
She finally met his gaze. “It is. But every life we save makes it worth it. Even one.”
Zihan went quiet for a moment. Then: “You ever think about leaving? Doing something else?”
“I used to,” she said. “Before my brother was killed.”
He froze. “Your brother?”
She nodded slowly. “Three years ago. He was a rookie detective. Got too close to a smuggling case. Disappeared. They found his body in the river five days later.”
Zihan swallowed. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not telling you for sympathy,” she said. “I’m telling you because it’s why I do this. Why I won’t stop.”
Zihan nodded. “Then I’m all in too.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”
“After last night?” He smirked. “I’ve had worse parties.”
She almost smiled.
---
By nightfall, they had a new lead.
One of the photos recovered from Luo Wei’s fake ID file matched a man recently seen entering a high-end club in Beijing’s central business district. A club known for its exclusivity—and its secrecy.
“It’s invitation-only,” Yuyan said as they approached the sleek glass building. “We can’t just walk in.”
Zihan grinned. “Correction—you can’t. I can.”
She stared at him.
“I used to party here all the time,” he said. “My name’s still on the VIP list. Probably under emergency contact at this point.”
Against her better judgment, Yuyan let him take the lead.
Inside, the club was a world of low lighting, soft music, and expensive perfume. Zihan slid past security with a nod, Yuyan following close behind. No badge. No gun. Just instincts.
“I’ll blend in,” he said, grabbing a drink. “You circle.”
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
“When have I ever—”
She gave him a look.
“Fair.”
Yuyan moved through the lounge, watching. Waiting. Then she saw him—the man from the photo. Older, slick hair, expensive suit. He was whispering to a group of young women at the bar.
She stepped closer, trying not to alert him—but as soon as she reached for her phone, he looked up.
Their eyes met.
He smiled.
And then he ran.
Yuyan was already moving. “Zihan—back entrance!”
Zihan didn’t hesitate. He slipped through the crowd and toward the rear hallway just as the man shoved open the emergency exit. Yuyan followed at full speed.
They hit the alley seconds later.
“Stop!” she shouted, drawing her gun.
But the man was already diving into a black car. The engine roared. Tires screeched.
Yuyan cursed. Too late.
Zihan skidded up beside her, panting. “I got the plate!”
She grinned for the first time in days. “Good. Now we find out who that bastard really is.”
- Writer
