I, a master of criminal psychology, entered a novel of the Republic of China and became a cannon fodder female supporting character who died at the beginning.
The original owner was regarded as an abandoned son by his family and died "accidentally" on the eve of the marriage.
This time, I tore up the marriage contract, turned around and entered the patrol room in Shanghai, and became the first female detective in history.
The Paramount dancer committed suicide in a secret room? I pointed to the mascara stains under her perfect makeup: "He committed suicide. The murderer was left-handed and couldn't get enough of love."
Poison and murder case over banker's estate? I scanned everyone's micro-expressions and said, "The real culprit is you, the most filial son."
Relying on micro-expressions and behavioral profiling, I became a sensational "mind-reading detective" in Shanghai.
Those who mocked me as saying, "It's a big joke that women solve crimes" finally broke down and confessed in front of me.
Only Lu Chenzhou, the cold-blooded and iron-faced boss of the patrol room, always locked his eyes on me with scrutiny.
He put out the cigarette butt and forced me into the corner: "Shen Zhiwei, your profile is very accurate. Can you tell what I am thinking about every night?"
Later, the series of strange cases I investigated pointed directly at the huge family behind him.
But when he pulled the trigger, he protected me behind him and aimed at the real night.
"Don't be afraid," he said hoarsely, "My profile tells me you are the only thing I can't lose - my accomplice."
