Being Targeted by a Female Ghost [Criminal Investigation] - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: The White Moonlight After a Long Parting…

Qiu Chi came down from the terrace and went to her study.

Kicking aside the crumpled balls of paper littering the floor, she sat down at her computer and nimbly tapped the keys to pull up the surveillance footage.

These views covered nearly every angle around the house.

She clicked on the feed facing the distant villa, enlarged the image, and rewound.

It was confirmed: the glint she saw earlier wasn’t an illusion.

Someone really was spying on her from over there.

Who could it be?

An old acquaintance?

She was curious. Unfortunately, the distance was too great; even at maximum zoom, the figure was a blur, let alone the facial features.

After a moment’s thought, she picked up her phone and ordered a pair of binoculars online.

They peeked at her, she’d peek back—it was only fair.

She stared at the dozens of small grids on the monitor for a long while. Seeing no further movement from the other side, she finally let out a breath.

Just as she was about to leave the study, her peripheral vision caught the pen on the desk.

A spark of inspiration hit her: why not just teleport over and check things out?

But… she picked up the fountain pen, uncapped it, thought for a second, and then recapped it.

Never mind.

If she accidentally teleported to another crime scene, it wouldn’t be worth the risk.

The sky darkened as dusk settled in.

Zhang Zhuo took a loud slurp of instant noodles, looking toward the opposite house through the rising steam.

A light was on at the distant terrace. The woman was lying in the same spot reading a book, the flowers obscuring her face as usual. Zhang Zhuo could only see the pure red of her long dress and her exposed calves.

Steam swirled before Zhang Zhuo’s eyes. She took another bite of noodles, gulped down two mouthfuls of soup, tossed the cup onto a small side table, and resumed her observation.

She zoomed in on the camera, looking at the woman’s slippers.

The soles had a pattern, but the light was too dim to see clearly.

The lens panned up from the slippers, lingering for a moment at the ankles. The pale skin, contrasted against the red fabric, looked surreal.

The lens continued upward, skipping over the long legs and flat stomach.

The frame stopped at the woman’s wrist.

Her sleeve had slid down as she raised her hand, clearly revealing bandages wrapped around her wrist.

Is she injured?

Zhang Zhuo’s brow furrowed. As the lens moved further up, the view was blocked by flowers. She decisively looked away and picked up her unfinished noodles again.

Pickled cabbage flavor—truly delicious.

Still watching.

She’s still peeping?

Qiu Chi couldn’t keep up the act much longer.

She had stayed out there pretending everything was normal to make the observer think she hadn’t noticed anything.

However, instead of backing off, the voyeur had become even more blatant.

Finally, she left the terrace.

Back in the study, she picked up that fountain pen for the umpteenth time, opened the cap, then closed it.

Opened it again, closed it again.

To be honest, she didn’t want to go looking for trouble, but the situation was making her irritable.

The feeling of being watched was disgusting. She couldn’t just sit there and do nothing.

She pulled out a blank sheet of paper, uncapped the pen, and began to draw.

In just two minutes, the tip of the pen smoothly outlined the silhouette of a villa. She looked up, only to find she was still in her study.

That was the problem with this ability—it relied entirely on luck.

She pulled out another sheet. This time she drew the opposite terrace and the “peeping tom” she imagined was there.

The moment she finished the silhouette, something eerie happened.

The air froze. The figure on the paper expanded rapidly, turning into a visible black hole that sucked her in without warning.

The darkness was fleeting. She was shoved out by a powerful force, stumbling forward several steps. Her foot hit something, she lost her balance, and fell heavily to the floor.

Ignoring the pain, she let go of the pen and scrambled up to check her surroundings.

No lights were on; the only illumination was the faint glow from the balcony.

She surveyed the room by that dim light.

The furnishings were sparse: just a sofa and a coffee table in the living room—not even a television.

The sofa was piled with clothes, and the coffee table was covered in instant noodle cups. There was no carpet or hardwood; after a few seconds, Qiu Chi realized it was just smoothed concrete.

No wonder that fall hurt so much.

She leaned in and noticed the noodle cups were all pickled cabbage flavor.

This person… She figured whoever lived here really loved instant food.

Wait.

The realization of her mission finally hit her.

This clearly wasn’t the villa next door. She had fallen loudly, yet no one had come to investigate, meaning the place was empty.

Empty?

So this wasn’t the target villa, nor was it a crime scene?

How strange.

Qiu Chi quickly crouched down to find her pen, thinking only of leaving as fast as possible.

She found the fine-liner under the coffee table, grabbed a piece of paper from the bathroom, and quickly sketched the outline of her own home.

The return trip was always the smoothest. The familiar sensation of being pushed hit her, and luck was on her side—she landed right on her living room sofa.

The doorbell rang the second she stood up.

Startled, she tumbled off the sofa and hurried to the entryway.

Her house was equipped with a video doorbell. The screen on the wall showed exactly who was outside.

But when she checked, the space outside the door was empty.

She didn’t think she was hallucinating, so she waited at the entrance.

Five minutes later, the bell rang again.

Still no one on the screen.

There was only one possibility: the person was intentionally hiding in a blind spot.

She immediately thought of the voyeur next door, and then of the serial killer who had been murdering people for a month without being caught.

It was 9:00 PM. Who would be coming to the door at this hour?

She ran through every possibility.

Ding-dong.

The bell rang a third time.

Qiu Chi gripped her pen, hiding it behind her back, and pressed the “open” button.

Outside, Zhang Zhuo walked into the front yard and hurried to the main door.

Knock, knock, knock.

As if possessed, Qiu Chi opened the door.

The moment their eyes met, she froze.

She had seen this face before.

But she didn’t know this person.

Amidst the other woman’s shocked expression, Qiu Chi asked: “Who are you?”

Zhang Zhuo had finished two cups of noodles and downed half a bottle of water, yet her stomach still felt empty.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t full—it was nerves.

Her habit of feeling hungry when nervous hadn’t surfaced in a long time, but today, no matter how many snacks she ate, she felt famished.

At 8:30 PM, she couldn’t sit still anymore.

After pacing the living room for a dozen laps, she turned off her vibrating phone, rushed into the bathroom to freshen up, and headed out.

She didn’t turn back this time; she went straight to the front door.

Handcuffs—check.

Pistol—check.

She was going to find out once and for all if this woman was a human or a ghost.

The woman was cautious; it took three rings for her to open up.

When that familiar face entered her vision, Zhang Zhuo found herself clenching her teeth.

“Sister Chi…”

“Who are you?”

The two voices spoke one after another. Zhang Zhuo blinked, snapping back from her memories.

Who am I?

She gave a frustrated laugh and reached into her pocket for her ID, thrusting it in front of the woman’s eyes. She replied coldly, “Zhang Zhuo, Captain of the Criminal Investigation Squad, Lancheng Branch.”

The person who has come to arrest you after ten years apart.

The woman remained confused: “A detective?”

Zhang Zhuo tucked her ID away briskly, her voice flat. “Miss Qiu, haven’t we met somewhere before?”

Qiu Chi blinked slowly, seemingly trying to remember.

Zhang Zhuo stared at her intently, waiting for an answer.

After a long silence, Qiu Chi shook her head: “No.”

Zhang Zhuo smiled: “Is that so?”

Qiu Chi gave a small “Mhm.” “Officer, is there something you need?”

Zhang Zhuo didn’t speak. She pulled a small notebook from her inner pocket, extracted a photo tucked inside, and held it up to Qiu Chi. “Is this you?”

The photo was a surveillance screenshot. It had been digitally enhanced to be clear; while the face was obscured, the red dress was identical to the one Qiu Chi was currently wearing.

Qiu Chi glanced at it and looked away.

“No,” she said.

As if expecting this, Zhang Zhuo tucked the photo away, pulled out her phone, turned the volume to the max, and hit play.

“Hi.”

Zhang Zhuo asked again: “Sound familiar?”

Qiu Chi shook her head: “Never heard it.”

Zhang Zhuo: “…”

Keep acting.

Go ahead, keep pretending.

Let’s see how long you can keep this up.

Zhang Zhuo’s expression darkened as she scanned the surroundings.

The front yard was enclosed and the gate was shut; there was no one else here.

The sound of the rain was loud enough to mask whatever she was about to do.

Good.

She looked back, and this time, she pulled out her handcuffs. “Miss Qiu, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask for your cooperation.”

“Cooperation?” Qiu Chi gripped the pen behind her back. “What do you mean?”

Zhang Zhuo looked down, glancing at the left hand hidden behind Qiu Chi’s back. Suddenly, she lunged forward, grabbed Qiu Chi’s right hand, and snapped a cuff onto her wrist.

She looked up, expressionless. “This is what I mean.”

Qiu Chi’s brow furrowed, and she swung her left hand forward with force.

Zhang Zhuo caught it firmly, her fingers like iron bands around the woman’s wrist.

the sharp tip of the pen stopped right in front of Zhang Zhuo’s eye. One inch closer and she would have been blinded.

A flash of surprise crossed her eyes, replaced instantly by cold indifference.

She curled her lip: “So you admit it?”

Qiu Chi’s wrist was already injured from a previous fall and was still throbbing. Being grabbed so suddenly made the pain so intense she could hardly breathe.

She looked into the other’s eyes and asked, “Admit what?”

“Murder,” Zhang Zhuo said softly, her tone icy. Then she added, “And assaulting a police officer.”

Qiu Chi let out a cold laugh. “Are you really a cop?”

Zhang Zhuo paused, hearing her continue: “I recall that police are supposed to wear body cameras during arrests. Why aren’t you wearing yours?”

Having her bluff called, Zhang Zhuo swallowed hard, trying to maintain her composure. “Cameras aren’t required in special circumstances.”

Qiu Chi repeated thoughtfully, “Special circumstances?”

The panic in her eyes vanished, replaced by a hint of a smile. “Catching me counts as a special circumstance?”

Zhang Zhuo said nothing. She pried Qiu Chi’s fingers open one by one, took the fountain pen, stuffed it into her pocket, and snapped the other cuff shut.

Her fingers were slightly cold and damp from the rain as they brushed against Qiu Chi’s wrist.

The moment their skin touched, Qiu Chi clearly felt the woman’s fingertips trembling.

This person is terrified.

From this, she deduced they must know each other, making her even more certain this woman wasn’t actually here to make an arrest.

She tilted her head to meet Zhang Zhuo’s gaze and asked in a low voice: “We know each other, don’t we?”

Looking at the woman’s reaction, she felt they were more than just acquaintances.

“You’re here to help me,” she added.

Help you?

Zhang Zhuo laughed internally.

“You’re dreaming.” She shoved Qiu Chi roughly into the entryway, stepped inside, and slammed the door shut behind them.

Caught off guard, Qiu Chi stumbled back several steps.

“What are you doing?” Panic resurfaced in her chest.

Zhang Zhuo said nothing. After ensuring the door was locked, she turned around and pulled out her pistol.

Qiu Chi stared at the dark barrel of the gun and gasped, turning to run.

The sound of footsteps followed her like a shadow. Just as she reached the door of the study, a gunshot rang out. The bullet grazed her shoulder and slammed into the doorframe.

“Go ahead, run,” Zhang Zhuo said from a short distance away, her voice laced with bitterness. “See if my next shot blows your head off.”

Qiu Chi turned stiffly. She looked at her shoulder where the bullet had grazed her; blood was beginning to seep through the fabric.

In that moment, she finally realized: this person wasn’t here to help her.

She was here to kill her.

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