Chapter 44: Mentor

Little Jin was one of the few people who knew that Zhao Tao had once done a criminal profile on Zhang Yansheng.

Although he hadn’t been involved when the case broke, he’d heard some related rumors afterward. He had also vaguely discussed it a few times with his teacher while brainstorming his thesis topic.

So when he discovered traces of this so-called M, he couldn’t resist telling Zhao Tao about the situation. After going back and forth in discussion, teacher and student decided to report it to the police anyway. It would also let them call in a favor—borrowing Zhang Yansheng’s case file and related data to help Little Jin finish his graduate thesis.

Yan Tuo agreed to handle it, but he didn’t make any sweeping promises. He simply said he’d submit the application and do his best to push it through.

Early the next morning back at the station, Yan Tuo pulled out the USB drive storing the data and headed to the Technical Group. The serial killer case was the first one Bai Yiyi had ever encountered, so a mix of concern and curiosity prompted him to tag along.

The Technical Group staffer handling public sentiment handed the task off to Little Liu. That was when Bai Yiyi learned that appearances could be deceiving. Little Liu—unremarkable behind her thick glasses—had been promoted ahead of schedule thanks to her computer expertise. Searching data or cracking websites was child’s play for her.

With the internal network’s exceptional access privileges, plus the clues Little Jin had already provided, Little Liu had no trouble compiling a general summary of M’s activities before long.

In summary, M had existed on this forum for a full twenty-two years. Countless people who’d communicated with him had later proven they’d committed crimes—conservatively estimated at nearly a hundred. Zhang Yansheng was just one utterly insignificant case among them.

Of course, it wasn’t impossible that some were exaggerating for attention.

To precisely match them to specific results and verify authenticity would demand vast amounts of time and data.

As things stood, there was no way to charge M with any crime based on his behavior. The country had no precedents for convicting on thought crimes alone, and even incitement to commit a crime might lack sufficient evidence.

Because reviewing Zhang Yansheng’s full exchange showed that M mostly used guiding, persuasive methods to mold him—leaving nothing solid to grab onto.

For example, in the following exchange.

M: Heaven’s net is vast, and none shall slip through. With your rhythmic, methodical killings, you’ll be brought to justice one day.

Sheng: Without a plan, how could anyone pull off the perfect crime?

M: There is no perfect crime. The more intricate the plan, the greater the chance it exposes your real information. Serial cases especially—your unique fetish will be your most glaring signature, and it will inevitably lead to your capture. I advise you to quit while you’re ahead.

Sheng: I hide in the shadows. No one will ever know.

M: Under this vast sky, before the machinery of the state, where are the shadows? The truest darkness is right beneath the lamp. Your approach won’t cut it. The next time you strike, you’ll get caught.

…

Fang Ping, who had been observing silently the whole time, couldn’t hold back any longer. “That’s some slick talk. No wonder they call him Mentor. It all looks like warnings on the surface, but it’s really poking straight at the criminal’s blind spots. Once they get it, figure it out, they’ll evolve into something even more cunning, even harder to deal with.

“Those later bits on psychology, human anatomy, and forensics? No systematic structure—pure street smarts at first glance—but incredibly practical. You couldn’t just wing that stuff. I’m gonna go out on a limb: there’s a high chance this M is a doctor.”

There were simply too many related threads on the guy. Compiling records was straightforward, but a detailed search took serious effort.

Little Liu had three windows open, content scrolling down like waterfalls, when Yan Tuo abruptly halted the one in the upper right.

Rewinding it, they saw someone referencing a kidnapping at the Yan family villa in Huangdingshan, J City—seventeen years ago.

Neither Fang Ping nor Little Liu knew how such an ancient case connected to the present. But Bai Yiyi, taking in the timeline and the “Yan,” had a pretty good idea.

This must be that case his owner had chased for years. Could M be the fourth person he’d always suspected?

The mention was extremely brief—just one sentence.

Passerby A: M, 2004 J City Huangdingshan Yan family villa. Three people ended up dead. First flop of your mentoring career?

M never responded, and no one raised the question again after that. As for whether it actually implicated him, that remained unknown for now.

But sensing the sudden spark in Yan Tuo’s eyes, Bai Yiyi felt a genuine surge of happiness for him.

After so many years of suspicions no one else believed, to stumble on a clue like this by sheer chance—even if it was just a vague, shadowy remark—counted as real progress, a breakthrough.

~~~

After getting off work that evening, Yan Tuo bolted down his dinner without tasting it and plunged into stacks of old papers. He hauled out every brief, document, and file he’d collected before that had even the slightest connection, piling them across the desk and poring over them one by one from the beginning.

Bai Yiyi washed a plate of grapes for him but figured he had no appetite for them right now. Instead, he peeled them, juiced them, mixed in some honey, and popped it in the freezer as a frozen drink. Then he hovered by the desk, helping tidy up.

It wasn’t long before it was time for him to revert to bird form. Not wanting to disturb his pensive owner, he flew to the bathroom and quietly transformed into a fluffball inside the dirty laundry basket they’d bought a couple days earlier. His clothes stayed there for him to deal with next time he shifted back to human shape.

A couple of hours later, Yan Tuo got a message from Little Liu. After cross-referencing the data, eleven of the IDs who’d left comments now matched real-world case records.

They spanned five provinces and eight cities, with suspects of all ages and occupations—no discernible patterns. The only thing that caught Little Liu’s eye, which she specifically flagged, was this:

Nine of them had lost their mothers in childhood—either to death or abandonment.

Thinking back to Zhang Yansheng’s history, it seemed he’d gone astray after his mother died from illness and his nominal father—upon learning he wasn’t biological—had abused and thrown him out.

In other words, those bereft of mothers were especially likely to catch M’s attention.

With Yan Tuo’s still-immature grasp of psychology, this preference seemed like classic projection. M himself had probably endured something similar.

It felt like an idea had flickered through his mind, but when he tried to seize it, he couldn’t recall what it was.

Bai Yiyi sensed Yan Tuo’s mounting frustration and didn’t know how to comfort him. Afraid of touching on painful memories, he didn’t dare ask too closely.

“Yan Tuo, I want that frozen drink—the one I made and put in the fridge. Could you grab it for me?”

Yan Tuo, ever indulgent with such small requests from his little charge, set his frustrations aside for the moment and headed to the kitchen.

He pulled out the honey-grape drink sealed in plastic wrap. As the frozen glass cup warmed, a thin mist formed on its surface, framing the emerald-green juice like flawless jade—utterly captivating.

Yan Tuo scooped a spoonful onto the table for Bai Yiyi to peck at, then sipped straight from the rim himself.

The fresh grape aroma carried a hint of honey’s lingering sweetness—tangy, sweet, and incredibly refreshing. It soothed him right away, rapidly easing his anxious, irritable mood.

Glancing down at the fluffball’s concerned gaze, realization dawned on him.

A whole big cup like this? No way the little guy was craving it for himself. Clearly, Bai Yiyi had prepared it for him—a way of showing care in his own manner.

Fair enough. He’d been chasing this for so long already; one or two more days wouldn’t make a difference. With patient digging, the truth would surface eventually.

Yan Tuo ruffled the top of the white fluffball’s head, silently conveying his gratitude. What surfaced in his mind, though, was Bai Yiyi’s radiant smile.

~~~

On the weekend, Bai Yiyi kept Yan Tuo company while they pulled station duty.

Few people were working that day. Even Sun Lei—the one who usually poked her head in constantly—was off on rotation. With the office so quiet, he sprawled without restraint on the bracket sofa, scrolling through his phone with his claws.

He chuckled to himself in amusement. Heh, talk about a real “claw-phone.”

He watched a bit of the latest anime, checked updates from the art world, and traded sporadic messages with Shi You.

After stewing on it for a while, Bai Yiyi decided it was time to launch Operation Ask-for-Help.

Time to borrow Shi You’s pickup playbook.

He and Shi You had met on a gay dating forum, after all.

Bai Yiyi had been a big-two sophomore back then, freshly embracing his orientation amid irrepressible spring fever. He’d started lurking on the forum, but his usual timidity kept him to silent observation—he never dared post or comment.

He had no idea how Shi You had spotted him, but Shi You had made the first move. They clicked right away in conversation. It wasn’t until they’d geared up for something more that they discovered they’d “collided numbers,” turning potential boyfriend material into inseparable besties instead.

Years later, Bai Yiyi remained that same timid virgin bottom. Shi You—the self-proclaimed god of seduction—cycled through boyfriends faster than outfits, landing one after another with pinpoint accuracy. Use ’em up, toss ’em out, slide seamlessly into the next.

Bai Yiyi couldn’t endorse that lifestyle, but he’d long admired and envied Shi You’s techniques.

Now, it was time for some shameless learning.

Bai Yiyi: You-er, I’ve got someone I like.

Shi You: Your pure little chrysanthemum finally bloomed? Which lucky bro scored that? How was the first time?

Bai Yiyi: …No chance for that yet. Still just crushing. He seems straight, so I haven’t confessed.

Shi You: A straight guy into that? Save it—no good can come of it.

Bai Yiyi: Super handsome.

Shi You: Oh. Carry on, then.

Bai Yiyi: With all your experience, you never run into this? How do you reel ’em in?

Shi You: Never purebred straights. The ones I’ve reeled are all Schrödinger’s straights. First off, how’d you peg him? Girlfriend now? Or had one before?

Bai Yiyi: Nope. Forced into over forty blind dates by family, and none stuck.

Shi You: That’s no straight—that’s a ghost straight. Might be coiled gay as a mosquito incense and not even know it. For his type? One word: Dare. You charge hard, and he’ll bend.

Bai Yiyi: … The key issue is that I just don’t dare. Got any of those pro-level techniques for seducing someone without them even noticing?

Shi You: … You total coward. Send the photo over—let me check it out. I wanna see how drop-dead gorgeous this guy has to be to get a die-hard hermit like you all worked up.

Bai Yiyi felt too embarrassed to sneak a photo of his master’s hand, but with a favor to ask, he couldn’t flat-out turn down the request.

He paused for a moment, tilted his phone just a bit, snapped a picture of Yan Tuo’s hand pressing down on the documents spread across the desk, and sent it off to Shi You.

Shi You: Little Bai, give it up. You two aren’t a match.

Bai Yiyi: ?? What makes you say that?

Shi You: Based on my years of hands-on experience with guys and all the data I’ve collected, that index finger length-to-width ratio screams a monster cock—at least 20+ cm long, and thick as hell too. You’re a tiny virgin bottom; you couldn’t take it. Sexual incompatibility is a dealbreaker. Cut your losses now.