The Vanishing Lover

The identification process was quick.

The hotel management had clearly received a call from the police in advance. When Qin Guan entered, all the staff on duty that day were already assembled: front desk receptionist, duty manager, cleaners, even maintenance personnel—all present.

Qin Guan ate his bun peacefully, slowly sipped soy milk, calmly enduring all the complex, scrutinizing, speculative, and doubtful gazes. His face and heart were utterly unruffled—this was completely unnecessary. There were surveillance cameras inside and outside the hotel lobby; reviewing the footage would suffice. There was no need for this charade.

But he also understood—this was police procedure. When defending clients before, he hadn't been shy about criticizing the rigidity and pointlessness of certain procedures and rules. However, this time, in this case, he was tasting their sweetness firsthand.

As long as everything followed procedure and rules, he would win.

The employee identification and surveillance footage here could only prove that he, Qin Guan, had checked in and dallied with Qi Min—Qin Guan had seen clearly on his first visit: no surveillance in the hotel corridors, none at the back door either.

Qi Min had arrived early, opened the room, then left through the main entrance. She went down the mountain, circled around, bought a bag of grapes, waited for darkness, then returned via the back door, taking the stairs upstairs. No one saw her the entire time.

So, evidentially speaking, Qi Min hadn't even "stayed" here—them investigating here was purely a waste of time.

"Upstairs."

Clearly dissatisfied with the results on the first floor, Lao He waved his hand, his face grim. The officer beside Qin Guan nudged him, signaling him to proceed.

Qin Guan discarded the soy milk cup and obediently stepped towards the elevator. As the elevator doors opened, a particularly familiar fragrance washed over him.

Perfume.

To be precise, Dior J'adore—Qi Min's perfume. She loved it, used nothing else. Because the first time Qin Guan held her, he complimented her scent. After that, for every rendezvous, she was drenched in this fragrance. She said, "Remember, this is my scent."

Her scent. To smell it again.

Outside the elevator, a man in his early thirties stood respectfully, welcoming everyone. This was the housekeeping manager. Behind him stood a cleaning woman, around fifty—surely she wasn't the one wearing the perfume?

Qin Guan felt a flicker of confusion. Pulled forward by someone, he instinctively turned his head to look at the cleaning woman—she was efficiently pulling a cloth from her cleaning cart, wiping a corner of the window spotless.

Suddenly, a familiar phone ringtone pierced his ears: "相爱没有那么容易,每个人有他的脾气..." (Love ain't so easy, everyone has their own temperament...)

This was Qi Min's ringtone—because Qin Guan had once mentioned he liked the lyrics of this song.

Qi Min immediately set it as her ringtone. Even after changing phones, the ringtone remained.

Why was it playing here?

Qin Guan's previously calm heartbeat quickened. Following the sound, he saw a man around fifty, dressed in hotel work clothes, a large tool bag slung over his shoulder—clearly a hotel maintenance worker. He walked briskly past the group towards the elevator, answering the call. "Hey, I'm at work!"

His non-local accent—Qin Guan's heart raced again—it was the same accent as Qi Min's.

A fellow villager of Qi Min's?

And he just happened to use the same ringtone as Qi Min?

Was... was this all coincidence?

Such a coincidence?

So coincidental it felt... felt like something was being arranged by some unseen force?

What arrangement—a terrifying thought uncontrollably popped into Qin Guan's mind: Could it be Qi Min? Qi Min's vengeful spirit arranging this?

"Qin Guan?"

Qin Guan heard the voice and turned his head. He saw the familiar room—he had been so distracted, he almost walked into the doorframe.

The door was already open.

The familiar layout, almost etched into his mind—Qin Guan's heartbeat uncontrollably sped up again.

Even though he knew Qi Min couldn't possibly be in the room, even though he was utterly certain, somehow, perhaps triggered by the familiar scent and the phone ringtone, the memories he had sealed away surged back in an instant, carried on the wind from the window.

"Qi Min?" Lao He suddenly said.

Qin Guan's heart lurched. His body shuddered almost instinctively. He whipped his head around, looking everywhere—how could Qi Min possibly be there?

Qi Min was long buried in concrete.

"A photo of Qi Min," Lao He turned back, holding a small photograph—it was Qi Min's favorite photo. She had printed many copies: one tucked in her own wallet, one given to Qin Guan.

Qin Guan's copy, however, was long gone—keep a photo of his mistress? A mistress he didn't even love? He wasn't crazy.

Now, Qi Min's photo was here in the room.

"Our housekeeping staff found this while cleaning and handed it in to the front desk immediately. We kept it, worried the guest might come back looking for it," the housekeeping manager explained. "That cleaner quit last week to go home and take care of her grandson. After receiving the call yesterday, I contacted her first thing. She said she swept it out from under the bed here,"

The manager pointed to the foot of the bed. "The sheet must have been hanging down, covering it."

"After confirming, I brought the photo over and placed it back where she found it. I know you need to reconstruct the scene. It's just a pity the photo passed through too many staff members' hands. Fingerprints probably won't be of any help now." The manager was young but spoke and acted with seasoned competence.

Qi Min's photo was lost here.

That day?

Qin Guan frowned instinctively, his mind instinctively recalling the details of that day—had it fallen out when he dumped Qi Min's belongings from the suitcase?

He remembered Qi Min's wallet was clasped shut that day. The wallet wasn't even opened. How could the photo have fallen out?

"Qin Guan, you didn't notice the photo was missing at the time, did you?" Lao He asked lightly, looking up.

He hadn't. Not at all. Or rather, it was impossible—even when emptying Qi Min's bag, he'd dumped the contents onto the bed. He would never have let something as important as a photo fall to the floor.

As Qin Guan was thinking this, a jolt shot through him—what was he doing? Recalling the crime?

How was he being led along by the police?

He swallowed hard and immediately took a deep breath—calm down. Stay calm.

This was police strategy, their tactic. They were doing it deliberately! Perhaps the perfume scent, the phone ringtone, the photo—it was all staged!

Their goal was to unsettle him, to break down his psychological defenses!

He wasn't new to this! He knew police tactics! How could he almost fall for it?

The more critical the moment, the calmer he needed to be. He had to remember: for him right now, the most terrifying thing wasn't vengeful spirits, wasn't even death—it was going to prison as a criminal, losing everything he had painstakingly built and took pride in...

He had weathered so many storms. In this situation—no body, no evidence—what did he have to fear?

Composure!

Qin Guan swallowed again, calming himself, and followed the officers into the room.

The room had, of course, been occupied by countless guests since the incident. But after Qi Min's disappearance and Li Yang's report to the police, it had been taken out of service.

Now, cleaned spotless by housekeeping.

The large bed. The super-soft bed. The suggestive lighting.

Despite Qin Guan's efforts to stay composed, seeing all this familiarity, his mind uncontrollably conjured the image of Qi Min collapsing beneath him that day—her head thrown back, completely naked, her snow-white skin drained of color, glowing with a deathly pallor...

Lao He opened the closet.

The suitcase closet.

Naturally, it was empty now. No Hanke suitcase stuffed inside by Qin Guan.

They stripped all the bedding off the bed, leaving only the mattress and the surrounding carpet.

Officers from the Technical Investigation Team entered, opening their toolbox.

They were searching for possible traces of blood.

Qin Guan understood—they were trying to pinpoint the exact location where Qi Min met her end.

He watched quietly, his heart now completely calm—what happened in this room that day was just a farce of fake death. They came here to investigate?

They wouldn't find any clues. And certainly not the body.

"Huh?" Qin Guan was thinking this when he heard one of the officers exclaim in surprise.

They were moving the heavy mattress.

"Captain He! Come quick! There's something here!" the man shouted.

Amusing.

Qin Guan sneered inwardly—another bluff.

"Carefully move the mattress. Wait! Get an evidence bag first!" Lao He pressed close to the wall, eyes gleaming. He gave the order, and immediately an officer jogged over with an evidence bag.

Even this He guy was acting now.

Qin Guan stared coldly at them and the spot they were focused on—the gap between the mattress and the headboard.

The evidence bag arrived.

Lao He carefully used tweezers to extract a hair tie—a black one with two pearls.

And he thought it was something significant!

Qin Guan's face remained impassive—he'd never seen this thing before. Qi Min would never have worn something of such poor quality, and Xu Ruyi didn't like that style at all.

It belonged to an unrelated guest.

Lao He dropped the hair tie into the evidence bag. Carefully shifting the mattress aside, he extracted another object with the tweezers.

This one was long.

From the moment it emerged, Qin Guan felt as if he'd been encased in concrete. His blood seemed to freeze—

It was a pair of black stockings. As Lao He pulled them out, Qin Guan could clearly see a tear in the middle. A familiar tear.