That was a black cat with emerald green eyes. Ordinarily, a black cat appearing at a murder scene would sound extremely eerie, but this particular “eerie” cat was just so plump and well-fed that, upon seeing it, somehow all awe and fear would automatically transform into concern over its cholesterol levels.

Old Young and the cat stared at each other for a moment, wide-eyed: “This... this...”

Logan Sullivan, awkwardly holding up his pants that had almost been pulled down by the fat cat, gave a dry laugh: “This is our cat director. He’s usually very strict about his work. When he saw us talking, he got unhappy.”

Old Young: “...”

The black cat meowed indifferently, its thick tail impatiently swishing over Logan Sullivan’s shoulder. It lifted its head proudly—though that was a bit difficult, as its neck was honestly hard to locate.

Logan Sullivan got the hint, reached over, and fished out a small cat tag from around the black cat’s neck. It took quite some effort to separate it from all the surrounding fat and long fur, then handed it to Old Young: “This is a Special Investigation Department permit, equivalent to our work ID. It authorizes him to enter any scene. Don’t worry, old cat’s sensible, won’t cause any trouble.”

Old Young: “...”

He was finally starting to feel that this whole thing was a bit ridiculous.

A moment later, the much higher-ranking Chief Sullivan walked into the scene with the cat in his arms, striding in with a stately gait alongside Old Young.

The further they went in, the stronger the pungent, almost savory stench became.

In the narrow alleyway lay the body of a woman. She was wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with “Longcheng University Freshman Welcome.” Her vacant eyes were wide open, like a giant doll that had lost its stuffing. Her limbs were arranged in a spread-eagle position, mouth agape, and her abdomen had been sliced open by some sharp instrument, with all the internal organs missing.

Old Young once again covered his nose with a tissue, his features scrunched up into a tight knot, looking deeply conflicted.

The fat cat on Logan Sullivan’s shoulder let out a long “meow,” jumped to the ground, circled the corpse twice, and finally stopped at a certain spot, sitting down and looking up at Logan Sullivan—as well-trained as a drug-sniffing dog that had just found contraband.

Logan Sullivan walked over, pulled a crumpled pair of gloves from his wrinkled pocket, put them on, and felt around the spot where the cat was sitting. Then he carefully lifted one of the corpse’s arms.

Old Young craned his neck and saw, in a spot previously blocked by the body, half of a bloody handprint.

It was definitely not a human handprint. The palm was only as big as a child’s, but the fingers were at least twenty centimeters long. Old Young had been a veteran detective all his life and had never seen anything like it.

He was still staring in shock when he suddenly heard Logan Sullivan speak in a rare, serious tone: “From now on, this case is being transferred to the Special Investigation Department. The follow-up paperwork will be completed within two working days.”

With that, not waiting for Old Young’s response, Logan Sullivan pointed to a shabby little door in the wall and asked, “What’s this place?”

Chapter 3: The Reincarnation Sundial II …

That was a small side entrance to Longcheng University.

Longcheng University was a prestigious school with a long history.

It was just about time for the new semester to start, so there should have been quite a few people on campus. However, like many other universities, Longcheng University had already moved its main campus to the outskirts of the city. The old campus in the city center was now only used for some administrative functions and a few graduate programs, so there weren’t many students around—just a handful of tourists.

Logan Sullivan stood at the entrance of a dormitory building with the black cat in his arms, waiting for quite a while before Charles Gray finally arrived.

Only then did he realize that the intern he’d met briefly the night before was a bit of a misfit—Charles Gray walked with his neck hunched and shoulders drawn in, always looking down as if he couldn’t face anyone. His hair was a bit long, almost covering his eyes, and dressed all in mourning black, he looked listless. From a distance, he resembled a mushroom swaying in the wind.

Logan Sullivan squinted at him as he approached, then said to the black cat in his arms, “Guess what Zach Warren told him. Why do I feel like that kid’s got the tragic look of someone forced into prostitution?”

The black cat lazily yawned: “Mrs. Sullivan, you’re exaggerating.”

Charles Gray shuffled up to Logan Sullivan like a reluctant bride being dragged to the bandits’ lair, whimpering, “...I’m supposed to go to the scene with you.”

Logan Sullivan deliberately asked, “Who told you to come with me to the scene? Our electricity bills can be reimbursed, you know. Can you speak up a bit?”

Charles Gray shivered violently: “Wang... Wang... Wang...”

Darrin Grant: “Meow.”

Logan Sullivan was starting to feel a bit disappointed. The night before, they’d only brushed past each other, and he hadn’t realized that this new colleague was someone who could barely string a sentence together. His tone became a bit perfunctory: “You probably know a bit about the situation at the scene, right? This is the dorm building where the victim lived. Come in with me and take a look.”

With that, Logan Sullivan turned and walked into the dormitory. But after a while, he didn’t hear anyone following. Turning around, he saw Charles Gray locked in a silent, nervous stare-down with the fierce-looking dorm supervisor, looking utterly intimidated.

He had to suppress his irritation and, with forced patience, beckoned like calling a dog: “Why are you still standing there like an idiot? I’ve already cleared it with her. No need to report in, just come in.”

That only made things worse. As soon as Charles Gray heard it, he reflexively straightened up at the door: “Re... report!”

Then he immediately realized how foolish that was, standing at the dorm entrance stiff as a board, blushing furiously.

The words “this idiot” perfectly summed up Director Sullivan’s first real impression of the intern.

Girls’ dorm room 202 was a standard double-occupancy student room.

The black cat jumped down from Logan Sullivan’s arms and carefully inspected under the beds and inside the cabinets, finally leaping onto the windowsill. It sniffed along the ledge, then suddenly turned its head and sneezed heavily.

Although Charles Gray had been badly frightened the night before, by observing now, he realized that his handsome supervisor did cast a shadow in broad daylight. After studying the man’s obviously night-shift-worn appearance, he concluded that he was indeed human, which put him a little more at ease. He trailed after his boss like a puppy.

Logan Sullivan took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, expertly pulled one out, lit it, and stuck it between his lips. He walked over, patted the black cat’s rear to get it to move aside, then leaned in close to the windowsill, squinting as he exhaled a puff of smoke.

The smoke wasn’t harsh; it had a hint of mint and a fresh, woody aroma, mixed with the faint scent of cologne on the man, making the atmosphere surprisingly pleasant—despite his disheveled appearance, he hadn’t forgotten his flair.

Charles Gray heard Logan Sullivan say, “Look.”

Following his voice and glancing down, Charles Gray shuddered—the previously empty windowsill now bore a mark... a handprint left by human finger bones!

Logan Sullivan calmly bent down and sniffed: “No bloody smell. If it weren’t for the old cat, we wouldn’t have found it.”

The black cat spoke: “It wasn’t him?”

Charles Gray jerked his head around so fast his neck cracked, staring blankly at the talking cat, feeling a strange numbness in his nerves.

Logan Sullivan shook his head thoughtfully in the smoke: “I’m afraid not. Anything that could kill someone wouldn’t smell like this.”

He pushed open the window, his gaze unintentionally landing on Charles Gray. Seeing the kid’s pale face and dazed expression—clearly his worldview had been upended and his nerves were in knots—he couldn’t resist teasing him. Logan Sullivan said to Charles Gray, “Kid, get up there and see what’s outside the window.”

Charles Gray: “Ah...”

“Ah what? Young man, be smart about it. Get up there!”

Charles Gray gulped, peeked out at the “high altitude” of the second floor, and immediately felt his knees go weak. But the thought of turning back to tell Logan Sullivan “I’m scared” was even more daunting, given his lack of courage and almost nonexistent communication skills.

In the end, caught between a rock and a hard place, the poor kid could only inch his way up to the balcony window like a sluggish snail, squatting there for ages without daring to stand, clutching the window frame for dear life, with only his neck moving.

He strained to turn his head, nervously scanning the surroundings.

Suddenly, he caught sight of a reflection in the open glass window, and in an instant, every hair on Charles Gray’s body stood on end. To his horror, the shadow in the glass... wasn’t just his own!

Reflected in the glass was a human skeleton, inexplicably sprawled right where he was squatting, its bony hand passing straight through his own ankle, resting on the spot where the handprint was on the windowsill, peering into the room...

Charles Gray jerked his head down, but there was nothing there!