Buzz—
The electric scooter raced down the slick highway, rain pelting down with unrelenting force. Seated on the back, Wen Yiqian was soon drenched, his thin clothes clinging coldly to his skin.
"Officer, do you think I'll be on TV when we catch the criminal?"The rider, a gaunt young man, grinned with excitement.To assist in apprehending a fugitive—it was the kind of thing that only happened in television dramas. And now it was happening to him. How could he not be thrilled?
"Forget TV—if all goes well, I'll make sure you receive a 'Model Citizen' award!"Wen Yiqian shielded his eyes with a cupped hand against the rain, narrowing his gaze and locking it firmly on the taxi ahead.His words continued their charade, but his focus never wavered.
He had no other option. In that moment, his only choice was to deceive a passerby on a scooter and urge him to give chase.Had he chosen instead to call the police, by the time help arrived, the elderly woman and little girl might already have become cold, lifeless bodies.
That taxi driver—if Wen's instincts were right—was none other than the deranged killer he had once conceived in the pages of his own novel.
Though he had never written outlines, Wen Yiqian was a master of the writer's trap: burying narrative landmines with casual foreshadowing.This murderer was one such pit—mentioned in passing, meant only to stir curiosity.When it would be resolved, even the author himself couldn't say. It would depend entirely on whether he remembered that the character existed at all.
He had never imagined that neglecting to fill the hole he'd dug might lead to such horrifying consequences.Karma, he thought bitterly.
In his mind, he frantically pieced together the fragments of this character's background—Tian Buyi. Male. Approximately forty years old.Sickly and frail as a child, timid and often bullied.Years of humiliation twisted his psyche until he came to believe it was natural for the strong to prey on the weak.
He now hunted the elderly, infirm, and helpless under the guise of a taxi driver.Three victims so far. Still at large.
He had a fondness for wearing a red mask when he committed his crimes.A burn mark from childhood marred his neck—concealed now by a crude tattoo.A cartoon smiley-face sticker frequently adorned the back of his right hand.
This character had barely made a cameo in Wen's book, a sketch of madness without depth or detail.But precisely because of that simplicity, he was all the more terrifying.
Wen knew: if he lost sight of that taxi, the odds of mercy or conscience from that psychopath were zero.
"Faster! Can't you go any faster?" he urged, desperation seeping into his voice.
He understood clearly—once that car reached a place empty of witnesses, the danger would multiply.The killer wouldn't risk exposure in the city; he would wait for isolation.
All Wen needed was to stop the car before it left the safety of the streets. If he could manage that, there was still a chance.
"This is already the max, Officer!" the young man replied helplessly.
Wen wiped the rain from his face. There was nothing more to do but pray for fortune.If a red light stopped that taxi, they'd catch up.If every light turned green… disaster.
Then, as if fate sided with them, the taxi came to a halt in the distance.A red light—blessedly red.
"It stopped! It stopped!"The young man's voice trembled with excitement. He throttled forward, speeding toward the vehicle.
But then—chaos struck.They were barely a few dozen meters away when, perhaps from overexcitement, the youth's hand slipped.The scooter tilted, veered, and crashed.
Wen hit the ground hard. Scrapes stung his limbs, but he had no time for pain.He scrambled upright and sprinted toward the taxi.
But as he neared the vehicle—mere meters away—he froze.The license plate… was wrong.
Earlier, when he'd sensed something off, he had committed the number to memory. He was certain.And this one was different.
He reached the car, staring through the window into the driver's perplexed face.It was the wrong man. The wrong car. The wrong target.
His heart sank.It was night. The rain was heavy. His vision—no radar.There was no way he could've tracked that taxi perfectly.
He had lost it long ago.And he'd never hated rainy nights more than he did now.
"Did you find it, Officer?"The young man limped to his side, casting a nervous glance at Wen's stricken expression.
Wen bit down hard on his lip, refusing to speak.If that girl and her grandmother died, he would never forgive himself.
He slapped his cheeks, trying to shake off the daze.This was not the time to fall apart. Not yet. Not while hope still flickered.
Tian Buyi's profile repeated again and again in his mind.
"Lend me your phone."
He pulled the young man beneath a nearby awning, out of the downpour.
"Did your phone break in the crash?" the youth asked, handing his over with an apologetic look."Sorry about earlier. I got too worked up."
Wen took the phone, sparing only a brief glance at the man's injured leg."You okay?"
"Just bumped it a little—nothing serious."The young man gave a sheepish grin.
Wen gave his shoulder a pat—part gratitude, part guilt.Had he not been involved, the youth wouldn't be caught up in this mess.
But time was short.
At Wen's instruction, the young man opened a navigation app and pulled up the map of Ditan City.
"That man isn't a criminal mastermind—no guns, only knives. His methods are crude, but he's extremely cautious."
"He won't leave the city right away—that would draw attention. He'll look for an excuse first. Say he needs the bathroom. Divert the car to a secluded spot."
"It can't be far—too far and the passengers will grow suspicious."
"No cameras. No witnesses. That's what he'll look for."
"So where… would that be?"
Wen combed through the digital map.
"What are you looking for, Officer?" the young man asked. "I live around here—I know the area well."
"Then tell me—" Wen's eyes lit with sudden urgency."Is there a place nearby without surveillance… and deserted at this hour?"