Volume One, Chapter 14: The Death of the Dancer (Part 7)

After hearing this, I was momentarily engulfed in doubt and anger, but I simply let it go. Then, with a helpless sigh in my heart, I immediately threw myself back into the original plan.

The scene of Li Huai’s death was on the top floor of that high-end chain hotel.

Since the murder case had not yet been solved, the top floor of the hotel remained under lockdown.

I told Old Cui that I wanted to go back to the crime scene for another look. He was currently buried in several thick stacks of case files that we had been questioning over the past few days.

When he heard I was going out, he jolted awake and looked up from the piles of files. “Oh, you’re going out? Wait a moment.”

“Old Cui, I can manage on my own,” I said quickly, knowing he was busy.

“After all, I graduated from the police academy, so I do have some physical ability,” I added, trying to ease his worries.

“Do you mean you barely passed your physical tests after three attempts and still call that ‘some ability’?” he snapped back sarcastically, standing up and grabbing his coat from his seat.

“Old Cui, we’re partners, but we can’t always come and go together. If I’m not fit physically, it’s only in comparison to others in the field,” I retorted, annoyed at his biting remarks.

Seeing me fuming, he exchanged a few glances with me, caught my reassuring eye, then coldly warned, “Be very careful,” before sitting back down.

With Old Cui’s instructions given, I set off immediately.

After driving for over half an hour, I arrived at the hotel and headed straight to the front desk. While showing my police ID to the two receptionists, I informed them I needed to inspect the crime scene again.

One of the desk clerks made a phone call for approval. After she hung up, the two exchanged glances. The woman on the right, looking somewhat resigned, took an elevator card and led me to the top floor.

When the elevator arrived and I stepped out, the staff member hesitated inside, her hands hovering over the “open” button.

Noticing my gaze, she nervously expressed her reluctance to accompany me. After I gave her permission, she pressed the elevator button frantically, clearly eager to leave.

The number of guest rooms on the top floor was very limited. They were sparsely distributed, each one spacious, and it was obvious that only the wealthy or famous stayed there.

This hotel’s top floor was highly competitive in the industry because, unlike others, each suite had its own private elevator running directly from the lobby to the suite, ensuring absolute privacy. Each suite was essentially a private domain.

Moreover, each suite had ample unoccupied space, allowing for bespoke decoration tailored to each guest’s preferences.

According to investigations, Li Huai had long rented one of these suites—the very one I was currently in. Rumor had it he and his friends often held parties here.

A glance confirmed the utter luxury: the atrium was made entirely of glass, bathing the space in abundant light. When the sun shone through, it glittered like crystal, immersing one in a radiant, colorful glow.

Turning my eyes away, I looked down the long, lifeless corridor. Its emptiness exuded a chill and a subtle sense of menace.

I paced deeper into the corridor, passing a small bridge over flowing water, a carousel, a swimming pool... Each tap of my footsteps echoed like a drumbeat against my heart, both startling and thrilling.

I imagined the killer must have walked this very path, down the long corridor, stopping at the door of the suite.

But how did he get inside?

Did he steal another guest’s elevator card?

Did the victim forget to lock the door?

Did the killer have a spare room card?

...

I mulled over these questions, knowing they were worth investigating.

Once inside, the killer entered the hall but found no one there.

He then proceeded to the bedroom and saw two people who had taken sleeping pills. Seizing the moment when Li Huai was unconscious, he stabbed him multiple times.

Only Li Xiaole’s fingerprints were found on the knife, so the killer must have worn gloves. Before stabbing, he likely forced the unconscious Li Xiaole to hold the knife.

Lost in thought, I entered the bedroom.

The wine glasses and bloodstained sheets had been collected as evidence and sent to the police evidence room. Apart from the fingerprints of the victims and Li Xiaole, no other traces were found.

I circled the room, even crouching under the bed to look around, but found nothing.

I began doubting my own intuition—perhaps there was no third party; the killer was Li Xiaole.

Yet my heart insisted otherwise, leaving me disheartened.

As I closed the door, I glanced back at the room and noticed a few strands of hair of varying lengths scattered in the corner where the wine glasses had been set.

Ordinarily, such a high-end hotel would maintain impeccable hygiene standards. It was impossible for previous guests’ hair to be left behind.

During the initial evidence collection, all visible hairs were gathered and tested—they all belonged to Li Huai and Li Xiaole.

Could these few strands be new clues that slipped through?

My heart began pounding. I stepped back carefully, collecting the hairs with great caution, placing them into my evidence bag.

During the day’s investigation, I reviewed everything repeatedly at night, unable to sleep. So, late at night, I sent a message:

“Did you go to Junyue Hotel on September 27?”

I quickly received a reply, which was soon withdrawn, but I had already read it. Lin Chi wrote:

“Your colleague must have told you. I had a client to entertain that day.”

Less than ten seconds later, he sent another message:

“Your colleague must have told you. I had a client to entertain that day.”

Then another message followed:

“After the murder, you must be pretty busy lately.”

Me:

“Yes.”

Lin Chi:

“How’s the progress? If all goes well, you should be free soon.”

...

We chatted until I fell asleep.

That sleep was deep and peaceful. When I woke and my mind rebooted, I realized I had revealed quite a bit about the case the night before.

For instance, my suspicion that the killer was a third party.

I felt deeply regretful but then recalled some scattered, albeit somewhat far-fetched, thoughts.

In the following days, I took these steps:

I inquired at Junyue Hotel about their contracted network maintenance company, checking if it was Lin Chi’s firm.

I sent the collected hairs to the forensic department.

I arranged to meet Lin Chi and managed to collect some of his hair.

The final results were:

Junyue Hotel’s network maintenance was indeed handled by Lin Chi’s company.

The hairs collected from the hotel matched two DNA profiles: one belonged to Li Xiaole, the other was unknown but did not match Lin Chi’s DNA.

Thus, this information proved nothing. Once again, I felt my theories were absurd.

At the same time, I felt a mix of relief and frustration.

Before I could recover from these swirling thoughts, a message popped up on my phone, grabbing all my attention and emotions:

“Former renowned modern dancer Xia Mingguang died in a car accident on the spot.”