Chapter 1 – The Train

“Name?”

“Yan Ru.”

“Age?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Occupation?”

“Unemployed. Just a street vendor.”

“Hmph. You’re saying you’re the killer in the Rose Murder Case?”

The young man slouching in the interrogation chair had delicate features, his eyelids sinking into sharp, cold creases when he lifted his gaze. He raised a brow slightly, staring unblinkingly at the middle-aged officer across from him, his tone playful and indifferent—almost like a provocation: “Yeah, I killed them.”

Lu Anchi, Director of the Xue City Public Security Bureau, instinctively clenched his fists but quickly relaxed them. As a former criminal investigator, he knew he must never lose his composure during interrogations.

“Cut the smirk!” He slammed his knuckles hard against the table, the dull, authoritative sound reverberating through the small interrogation room. “Where’s the victim’s body?”

The young man lowered his head, picking at the dirt under his nails. After a long pause, his voice drifted lazily: “I don’t know.”

Lu Anchi pressed forward: “Think again.”

Yan Ru let out a “tsk” and didn’t even look up, only replying impatiently, “Officer, no matter how many times you ask, the answer’s the same. I don’t know. I just don’t.”

Behind the one-way glass of the interrogation room, a tall, upright figure silently observed the scene inside.

A young female officer handed over a paper cup of tea: “Consultant Qin, please have a seat.”

Qin Yuezhang waved her off, his eyes never leaving the glass.

The female officer couldn’t help her curiosity about this man, who was somewhat renowned in both criminology and psychology circles. “Is the suspect lying?”

Qin Yuezhang’s expression remained calm. “His gaze shifted to the right when he spoke. That’s a common sign of lying.”

I struggled to open my heavy eyelids amidst the jolting.

The surroundings were noisy—men coughing, children wailing, women murmuring soothingly. The sounds blended into an unpleasant background hum.

In the clamor, a clear, mechanical female voice stood out.

“Dear passengers, welcome aboard this train. Our final destination is Xue City North Station. We wish you a pleasant journey.”

(T/N: Xue City literally means “Snow City.” I went back and forth on whether to translate it, since snow is a recurring theme, but ultimately decided to leave a note instead to avoid inconsistency with the other pinyin city names.)

When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was the scenery racing past the window. The verdant trees looked like torn bodies, their green pus smearing across the landscape in a blur. The sky was a cloudless blue, like a cheap backdrop, occasionally interrupted by telegraph poles that sliced the view into disjointed fragments.

My head felt sluggish, a dull ache throbbing at my temples. Rubbing my forehead, I sat up straight and surveyed my surroundings.

I was in a train carriage—an old-fashioned one, by the looks of it. The overhead luggage rack was streaked with unidentifiable stains, piled high with suitcases and woven bags. They shifted slightly with the train’s movement, making me worry the rack might collapse any second.

In front of me was a small table, its cheap wood exposed where the surface had been scratched away. On it sat a plastic bag filled with sunflower seeds and oranges.

Beside me, a middle-aged woman was gently soothing a child of about eight or nine in her arms. The kid’s face was scrunched up like a monkey’s as he cried, tears and snot mixing with the orange juice dribbling from his mouth—disgusting.

Suppressing the urge to toss the brat aside, I scooted to the left until my back was almost against the wall, putting as much distance between us as possible.

But the train’s walls didn’t seem all that clean either.

Damn it.

Wait—how did I get here?

I… my head hurts.

“Tsk—”

A sharp pain radiated from my temples, forcing my eyes shut.

My name is Qin Yuezhang. I’m a psychologist. Today, I was invited to Xue City to assist in a criminal case.

For me, this was a piece of cake. Frankly speaking, though my field is psychology, I’ve gained some renown in criminology, having assisted the police multiple times with profiling and interrogations.

I think they ought to give me a commendation or something.

Just then, a train attendant in a red-and-white uniform pushed a cart down the narrow, grimy aisle.

“Beer, soda, mineral water, peanuts, sunflower seeds, congee. Anyone need anything? Lunch is available on the train. Anyone interested?”

The attendant stopped by our row and turned her head mechanically. “Would anyone like anything?”

The child wailed, the woman murmured, and a man nearby kept his eyes closed. No one responded.

I glanced sideways at the stainless steel cart, packed with various packaged foods that looked like indistinguishable mush—totally unappetizing.

I tilted my head slightly. The attendant’s face was blurry too—probably because I’d just woken up and my vision was still adjusting.

“No, thank you,” I replied politely.

The attendant didn’t stay long, turning away to push the cart onward.

But before long, my stomach began to protest. A faint rumbling, like someone drumming inside me, signaled an unwelcome hunger. Yet, the thought of that mushy mess from the cart made me recoil.

Ah, I remember—I brought a backpack!

I quickly grabbed the black bag I’d been leaning against, but when I opened it, I found nothing inside except a copy of Sigmund Freud’s The Interpretation of Dreams.

My stomach growled louder.

Just then, another attendant walked past. I immediately raised my hand to stop her. Starvation was worse than bad food, after all. But she seemed not to notice my gesture, maintaining a polite smile as she walked right by.

Refusing to give up, I called out, “Excuse me, I need help!”

The attendant didn’t react—not even a pause or a glance—leaving me with only her retreating back.

What terrible service!

Embarrassed, I lowered my hand and rubbed my nose, pretending nothing had happened as I glanced around.

The train’s intercom crackled to life.

“Dear passengers, this train provides a nutritious lunch service. Please make your way to Carriage No. 9, the dining car. The train conductor and all staff are here to serve you.”

Serve me? Sure they are. Might as well head to the dining car on my own.

With that thought, I grabbed my only belonging—the black backpack—and stood up. The woman with the child made no move to let me pass, so I had to step over her unceremoniously.

The dining car was in the next carriage over. Aside from the occasional jostling, it wasn’t a difficult trip.

The dining car was far cozier than the regular carriage, its walls draped in crimson fabric. Two neat rows of tables spanned the space, each covered with checkered tablecloths and decorated with vases of fresh flowers. The booths also looked much more comfortable than the standard seats.

A few people were already seated in the dining car. As I entered, their eyes turned toward me.

The attention wasn’t unwelcome. I straightened my posture and met their gazes openly.

The first person I noticed was a strikingly handsome man. His features were sharp: defined brows, deep-set eyes, a tall nose bridge. To put it simply, if this were a period drama, he’d be the type to play a young, brilliant scholar who topped the imperial exams. The kind of actor who’d skyrocket ratings. And his slightly faded, cheap navy-blue polo shirt was the perfect touch—humble yet ambitious, a diamond in the rough.

But appearances can be deceiving. Looks have little to do with what’s inside.

He sat alone in a corner, a vegetarian meal in front of him. He glanced at me, and I clearly caught a flicker of confusion in his eyes—but before I could analyze it further, he lowered his head again, shoveling bok choy into his mouth.

At the table in front of him sat a young woman, about twenty-five or twenty-six, with a neat ponytail and a few loose strands framing her face. Beneath her right eye, near her cheekbone, was a distinct beauty mark.

That mark added an inexplicable air of melancholy to her.

Across from her, another person was slumped over the table, face buried in their arms—only a dark crown of hair visible.

I picked a random seat and ordered a two-meat-one-vegetable set meal. This time, the food arrived quickly.

“Sir, your meal. Enjoy,” said the young male attendant in a dark-gray trench coat uniform, smiling brightly.

I nodded.

The attendant’s grin widened before he turned to leave. But just as he reached the carriage door, the train lurched violently!

Instinctively, I shielded my tray to keep the food from spilling.

The shaking lasted about ten seconds before a sharp click sounded.

Was that the door locking?

“What’s going on?” the ponytailed girl asked softly.

The male attendant smiled awkwardly. “There might be an issue with the tracks ahead. But don’t worry, this sort of thing isn’t uncommon on trains like these. We’ll be moving again soon, just be patient.”

With that, he tried to turn the door handle. But no matter how hard he twisted, it didn’t budge.

My stomach tightened. I hurried to check the door at the other end of the carriage—same story.

In other words, we were trapped in this dining car.

“This one’s locked too,” I called out.

The man in the corner glanced up at me. Now I noticed his eyes were striking too—pupils so dark they seemed to hold a sky full of stars.

The attendant sighed. “The locks are electronically controlled. There must be a problem in the power room, but it’ll be fixed soon.”

He said “soon,” but we waited nearly half an hour.

Strangely, no one came to check on our carriage during that time.

Bored out of my mind, curiosity got the better of me, and I moved to sit opposite the man in the corner.

He raised his eyes, looking puzzled.

I flashed my most amiable smile. “Since we’re stuck here together, might as well get acquainted, right? I’m Qin Yuezhang. And you?”

At my name, his brow twitched slightly. Just as I thought he’d ignore me—and was scrambling for a way to save face—he spoke quietly.

“My name is Yan Ru.”