The audio volume was turned down, making Zoe Collins’s muttered words indistinct, like a late-night radio hostess. Leonard Campbell turned his head slightly, listening intently.

Henry Harris pulled out a notebook, looked at the densely written pages, and said, “The recording is long, just listen as you like. I can summarize it for you.”

Using the recording as background, she recounted the case in her own low voice.

“Eleven years ago, a reporter named Zoe Collins was murdered in a residential area. That night, she was supposed to meet a high school student, but it suddenly started raining. To avoid the rain, she ran into a nearby, unfenced neighborhood. Not long after, the meeting ended, and before Zoe Collins could leave, the killer—dressed like the high school student—murdered her and fled in a panic. At the same time, three witnesses who were strangers to the killer helped him frame someone else for the crime.”

Leonard Campbell took off his glasses and carefully wiped the lenses with his sleeve, calmly following her narrative: “Yes, I know this case. I’ve read a lot of news about it. So? Has it been confirmed as a wrongful conviction? Did you find the real culprit?”

“Yes.” Henry Harris smiled slightly, not looking up at him, her fingers tracing the creases at the edge of the notebook as her eyes quickly scanned the text. “Tell me, isn’t this fate? The killer became addicted to drugs, and after hiding successfully for over a decade, he finally slipped up under the influence of withdrawal. He had a long history of drug use and weak willpower, so he couldn’t withstand police interrogation and soon confessed. Ironically, his addiction started because he couldn’t cope with the pressure of having killed someone. It’s really... ingenious. Like a twist of fate.”

Leonard Campbell blinked his somewhat clouded eyes, continuing his actions as he said, “Is that so? Then that’s a good thing. Everything has its cause. I just don’t know—what does this have to do with me?”

“Let’s talk about Zoe Collins first.”

Henry Harris gestured for him not to rush. The two of them patiently engaged in a tug-of-war, neither revealing anything first.

“Before Zoe Collins was killed, she was investigating the cause of a friend’s death. She had a close best friend named Nina. Three months before the incident, Nina committed suicide. Her behavior before death was very strange, which caught Zoe Collins’s attention.”

Leonard Campbell put his glasses back on, showing no reaction to the name.

“The two girls were very close, until one day, Nina told Zoe Collins she was in a relationship. Zoe Collins had never met her best friend’s boyfriend and didn’t know who he was, only that he was an outstanding young man, according to her friend. She was happy for her.”

“After falling in love, Nina changed a lot. She had never dyed her hair before, but now she got a light reddish perm and cut her once-cherished long hair to shoulder length. She used to dislike sweets, but gradually, her bag was filled with orange-flavored candies. She started to enjoy reading poetry, newspapers, and listening to classical music—even though she’d never been interested before. She also began learning to cook, which she used to hate, and even her clothing style became more mature and professional. Zoe Collins began to find her odd, as if she had become a completely different person—her interests and habits all compromised for her partner. Such love seemed too self-effacing. She wanted to meet her best friend’s boyfriend.”

At this point, Leonard Campbell asked, as if sensing something, “Was she my student?”

The female voice in the background recording paused, and that gentle tone finally brought him a hint of familiarity. Unfortunately, Leonard Campbell was not sensitive to voices; in his mind, there were at least a dozen people who could match.

Henry Harris didn’t answer immediately, but continued reading the notes in a flat tone.

“In the end, Zoe Collins never met the man, but Nina sensed something was wrong. She felt she was being controlled, so, following Zoe Collins’s advice, she broke up with the man and found a new boyfriend... But that wasn’t the end. Not long after, Nina committed suicide.”

Leonard Campbell was not at all surprised by this outcome.

Henry Harris had gone to great lengths to bring him here, surely not just to have him listen to a young woman’s love story.

Henry Harris closed the notebook, resting her hand on the cover, and finally looked up at Leonard Campbell.

“Zoe Collins was very upset. She couldn’t understand why Nina killed herself, so she started investigating. Since the cause of death was suicide, she didn’t expect to find much—she just wanted to locate Nina’s ex-boyfriend. But while checking Nina’s social connections, she accidentally discovered another girl who had also died by suicide. She visited the girl’s family and found that their experiences were strikingly similar. During a certain period before their deaths, the two girls even looked, dressed, and acted exactly alike. The other girl’s suicide happened more than a year before Nina’s. Do you think that’s a coincidence?”

Leonard Campbell slowly shook his head, then asked, “What are you suggesting this discovery means?”

For the first time, Henry Harris clearly realized what kind of person Leonard Campbell was. Even now, he showed no negative emotion. No wonder even the heavens seemed to resist his presence.

He was gentle, kind, and benevolent.

And at the same time, extremely cold.

“Nina was connected to the other girl because they both knew you. Nina was your student; the other girl was your research subject. While helping you with experiment records, Nina added her friend.”

Leonard Campbell anticipated where the conversation was going and fell silent.

Henry Harris pulled out two photos from under the notebook. She gazed down at the faces of the two women, carefully comparing their features, and after a moment, sighed, “They really do look alike.”

She picked up the photos, walked over, and placed them side by side in front of Leonard Campbell, asking, “Don’t they?”

Leonard Campbell glanced at the two youthful faces, making no comment.

Henry Harris watched his reaction, then went back and pulled out three more photos, holding them in her hand and laying them out on his desk one by one.

One was a selfie of Sean Hall from her younger days, posted online. Another was an official photo of Harold Thornton taken by the police during their investigation. The last was a surveillance screenshot of Sean Hall from her recent outburst at San Yao.

The people in the photos looked completely different. In the second photo, Sean Hall’s style was similar to the first two girls. Because she was older, her mature look appeared more natural.

Henry Harris bent down, one elbow resting on the table, her other hand gliding over the photos.

“Nina’s eyes, Sean Hall’s face shape, and this girl’s smile—they all resemble one person, don’t you think?”

Leonard Campbell swallowed.

Finally, Henry Harris reached into the inside pocket of her suit and pulled out another photo. She flipped it over and placed it on the other side of the table.

It was Ms. Steele in her youth.

The same light reddish wavy hair, the same makeup, the same style of dress. She looked a bit thinner than the other three, and her features were gentler. But anyone with a discerning eye could see the resemblance.

There were deliberate details in that similarity, which made it all the more disturbing.

It was manipulation, control, premeditation.

“To be honest, when we discovered this, we were all shocked. I thought it was a modern-day Lu Zhenhua, but there’s something odd about it,” Henry Harris said. “Human psychological defenses are actually very fragile. So, how powerful is psychology for someone with weak willpower? If it were you, Professor Li, do you think psychology could be a new weapon—one that draws no blood?”

Henry Harris stared into Leonard Campbell’s eyes behind his glasses, trying to see through him. But after so many years in society, having seen all kinds of people, the psychology professor was long used to remaining unruffled.

Even after Henry Harris finished speaking, Leonard Campbell remained calm. He lowered his lashes slightly, showing no other reaction.

Henry Harris asked again, “Professor Li, don’t you have anything to explain?”

Leonard Campbell took a breath and said gently, “For things like this, I don’t think there’s any need to explain.”

Henry Harris gave a short laugh. “Right. Because you’ve already killed everyone you could, haven’t you? All the witnesses.”

Leonard Campbell looked up.

Just as Henry Harris thought he was about to argue, he suddenly said, “I do know all these people. It all makes sense.”

Henry Harris frowned.

Leonard Campbell said blandly, “You’re not wrong.”

Henry Harris’s surprise was almost impossible to hide, and even the officer quietly taking notes lost his composure and stopped writing.

For the first time that day, Leonard Campbell smiled, making it impossible to tell if it was genuine. He said, “What’s wrong? Didn’t you bring me here to get me to admit it? I did conduct psychological research on them.”

Henry Harris asked, “And then?”