The files on the desk showed that three days ago, a woman living alone had died in a villa on the outskirts of the city. There were no external injuries or signs of poison, and the cause of death was inexplicable. Stranger still, before she died, she had left behind a note that read, “He Qingchuan, save me.”
He Qingchuan frowned. He had never met the deceased, or even heard her name, but there was no doubt that the handwriting on the note was connected to the case. It was as if an invisible hand were pushing him forward, leaving him no choice but to investigate the truth for himself.
“Another job that’ll test my patience,” he muttered under his breath. He closed the file, picked up the lighter from the desk, and lit the cigarette between his fingers, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke.
