Only after arresting Pan Guoqing and searching his home did they discover a locked diary hidden deep in Weng Pingfang’s closet. That’s when they realized what the key was for.

Opening the diary, they saw her slightly childish handwriting. After reading it, the team fell silent.

After a while, He Mingyu sighed. “How foolish.”

From the first time she met Zhao Qingyun in a café, his elegance, gentleness, and maturity captivated Weng Pingfang. Her diary was filled with her love, admiration, and attachment to him.

Even though she knew he was married and their relationship had no future, she still clung to her love and built a romantic fantasy in her diary.

Xu Songling said, “This diary only proves Weng Pingfang loved Zhao Qingyun. It romanticizes their affair, making it seem less disgraceful.”

He Mingyu pointed to a specific passage. “Captain Xu, look at this.”

Whenever I think of Pan Guoqing’s ugly face, I feel disgusted. Even though Zhao Qingyun is over forty, he maintains a good figure. Unlike Pan Guoqing, who is fat and has flabby arms…

Zhu Feipeng raised a hand. “Enough, He Mingyu. That’s enough. It’s making me uncomfortable.”

He Mingyu smirked. “If even you can’t stand it, imagine how Pan Guoqing would feel. Any man would be furious, right? Captain Xu, isn’t Pan Guoqing tight-lipped? Let’s use this diary to provoke him. Maybe he’ll lose control and confess.”

Xu Songling pondered before nodding. “It’s worth a try. He Mingyu, you read it.”

Zhao Xiangwan raised her hand. “I’ll assist.”

Zhu Feipeng slapped his thigh. “Yes! Let the two of you handle this. If he hears such humiliation from a woman, he’ll be more likely to break.”

Being brought to trial again, Pan Guoqing was mentally prepared.

The victory in the first trial gave him confidence—he believed the police were no more capable than he was.

“What’s the use of evidence? As long as I don’t confess, no one can convict me!” With this confidence, Pan Guoqing stepped into the interrogation room again.

He was stunned. The usually cold room now felt much warmer. A long iron table stood in the center, with two iron chairs on either side. He knew one belonged to him.

The difference was a small white square table under the wall, which had the black Song Dynasty-style words “Leniency to those who confess, severity to those who resist” written on it. A pink embroidered tablecloth covered the table, and a washed milk bottle with a red rose sat atop it.

Pan Guoqing’s eyebrows twitched. This was a scene from his own bedroom. Why had the police recreated it? What were they planning?

Alarm bells rang in his head. He didn’t even realize when he sat down.

Xu Songling entered and sat quietly across from him.

Pan Guoqing ignored Xu Songling. His attention was on Zhao Xiangwan and He Mingyu, who entered side by side.

Unusually, they weren’t in uniform. He Mingyu had curly hair and wore a bright yellow down jacket, looking stylish and confident. Zhao Xiangwan wore a pink floral cotton jacket, her shoulder-length hair tied into two small braids, looking simple yet beautiful.

Pan Guoqing’s eyes burned. One of them resembled Weng Pingfang when she first arrived in the city—innocent and pure. The other seemed transformed by urban life, carrying a newfound arrogance. They were exactly like her past and present selves.

Neither Zhao Xiangwan nor He Mingyu greeted Xu Songling or looked at Pan Guoqing. They walked to the small table, sat down, and pulled out a delicate diary.

Zhu Feipeng brought in two cups of coffee, filling the room with a rich aroma.

The white porcelain cups had delicate gold rims. He Mingyu took a sip, then placed her cup back on the tray with a crisp sound.

“Bite—”

Pan Guoqing’s hands shook unconsciously.

He Mingyu chuckled. “Xiangwan, remember when we searched the dormitory of the Provincial Construction Machinery Factory? Pan Guoqing frantically pulled out clothes from the closet, throwing them on the ground?”

Zhao Xiangwan nodded. “Yes. The clothes were beautiful. Weng Pingfang had good taste.”

He Mingyu waved the diary. “Too bad Pan Guoqing never noticed—Weng Pingfang hid a diary in a black bag in the closet.”

Pan Guoqing clenched his cuffed hands tighter. His entire focus was on their conversation. He leaned forward, a guttural sound escaping his throat.

[Diary?! That woman dared to keep a diary?! What did she write? Did she ever love me? Why did she marry me? Why did she fall for another man? What did she write?!]

Zhao Xiangwan asked, “What did she write?”

He Mingyu casually flipped to a page and read aloud:

“The first time I met Zhao Qingyun, I accidentally spilled coffee on the tablecloth. The manager scolded me, but he didn’t. He smiled and said, ‘It’s okay, just wipe it off.’ His eyes were so beautiful. When he looked at me, I felt wrapped in warmth. His voice was deep and magnetic—you could tell he was well-read. He was like a movie protagonist: handsome, elegant, considerate.

Unlike Pan Guoqing, who stutters when he sees me, doesn’t read, doesn’t watch movies, has no sense of romance, and stares at me like a wolf, as if he can’t wait to strip me…”

He Mingyu glanced at Zhao Xiangwan. The girl looked as pure as a daisy bud. He hesitated to read further, afraid the explicit words would taint her ears.

Zhao Xiangwan blinked, silently encouraging him: Go on. Stimulate Pan Guoqing.

He Mingyu continued:

“October 6, 1989. I finally slept with Qingyun. Happiness surrounded me like a tide. He held me, kissed me gently, moved with care. With him, I felt like a real woman, like my life had meaning.”

Pan Guoqing’s breathing grew heavy. The scene felt eerily familiar—as if he were back in the dormitory. Weng Pingfang, beautiful as ever, sat at a small table, writing in her diary, gossiping with her best friend, flaunting her love for another man while mocking him mercilessly.

Rage consumed him.

Clang! He jumped up, slamming the iron chair.

Xu Songling pushed him down. “Sit down!”

Hearing those humiliating words in He Mingyu’s indifferent tone, seeing the two women casually discussing Weng Pingfang’s most private thoughts—it made Pan Guoqing’s head explode!

How dare they?!

He felt as if his throat had been slit, the pain sharp and unbearable. Blood seemed to drip, staining the ground, his knees, his hands… his heart.

“No! It’s not like that—”

Summoning all his strength, Pan Guoqing finally found his voice.

“I was good to her! I worked hard to make money! To land business deals, I humbled myself before construction bosses—I let them beat me, scold me. I drank with them even when my stomach bled! Why? For her! I gave her all my money! I never complained when she spent it recklessly, afraid of upsetting her! Just one kind word from her, and the sky seemed bluer, the flowers brighter…”

Later, Pan Guoqing’s voice trembled with emotion. “What’s so great about Zhao Qingyun? He’s older than me, has a wife and kids, and even if he’s an official, so what? He doesn’t spend a dime on her. Even Pingfang paid for the hotel. What kind of man is that?”

Seeing his growing agitation, Xu Songling decided to provoke him further. “Have you looked in the mirror? You’re ugly and uneducated. How can you compare to Zhao Qingyun?”

Pan Guoqing’s eyes burned with rage. “I’m ugly? No matter how ugly I am, I’m not as disgusting as that shameless Zhao Qingyun! He has a wife but still chases after other women. He’s the ugly one!”

The explicit details in the diary did not make Zhao Xiangwan blush. At this moment, she had only one goal: to make Pan Guoqing confess.

Pan Guoqing was on the verge of collapse. A little push in the right direction would get him to spill everything.

Zhao Xiangwan walked slowly toward him, resting her hands on the iron table. Her eyes gleamed with a strange light, and a mocking smile played on her lips.

“If you think Zhao Qingyun is so terrible, why didn’t you kill him?”

“Kill him? And let those two bastards be together in the afterlife? No way! I’d rather kill one and frame the other.”

Xu Songling and He Mingyu exchanged glances. He Mingyu’s heart pounded—he had confessed!

“Weng Pingfang wrote in her diary that death was a relief because she could finally escape from you, an incompetent man. She wouldn’t have to see your ugly face again.”

These words stabbed Pan Guoqing’s fragile ego like a knife. His self-esteem shattered.

“She wanted to get rid of me? Really? She could’ve just asked for a divorce! But no, she wanted to use my money to support some other man! That woman deserved to die!”

“So, you killed her,” Zhao Xiangwan pressed, her voice sharp.

“Yes! I killed her! When I knocked on the door, that woman thought her lover had come back. She ran over to hug me, but when she saw my face, she recoiled in disgust. I hated her! I grabbed her neck and shouted: ‘Do you even have a conscience?’ She didn’t beg for mercy—she fought back, scratching me with those long nails. It hurt! I squeezed harder and harder. I watched her face turn blue, her eyes roll back. And I felt joy—pure joy! That wretched woman!”

Pan Guoqing roared, his face twisted with madness. His fingers curled like claws, his knuckles white with tension. The handcuffs clanked loudly against the iron table.

“You shaved your head to avoid leaving hair at the scene, right?” Zhao Xiangwan’s voice softened, luring him in.

“I used to rent tapes up north. Ever watched Plain Clothes Police? ^[1]a crime TV series emphasizing police investigation techniques. I knew I couldn’t leave evidence, so I shaved my head.”

“Bringing wine to the security guard and drinking with Qian Zhenye—those were all planned, weren’t they?”

“TV shows always say you need an alibi.”

Zhao Xiangwan took a step back, standing behind Xu Songling. Inside, she sneered—he couldn’t escape a charge of premeditated murder.