"Then I won't hold back!"
Zhang Yean playfully blinked her eyes and, as she turned, her ponytail drew an arc in the air.
As Zhang Yean left, the office fell into a brief silence.
In the corner, Wan and Mr. Fu were already dozing off, leaning against the chair backs.
The rising and falling snores were particularly noticeable in the quiet space.
Jiang An rubbed his throbbing temples, his gaze returning to the whiteboard.
His eyes scanned each key point in succession.
The intact door lock...
No signs of disturbance inside...
Drag marks beside the backyard well...
Semen traces inside the deceased...
Phlegm on the floor...
These fragmented clues constantly reassembled in his mind.
Suddenly, his pen drew a dashed line between "phlegm" and "semen."
"The third person..." Jiang An muttered to himself, pacing back and forth in the office.
The sound of leather shoes colliding with floor tiles was rhythmic, but his thoughts became increasingly clear.
