My online dating circle has millions of followers, why would she put a collar on me?

The police station corridor was exceptionally quiet at night, with the fluorescent lights emitting a faint hum that made the light gray floor tiles appear white.

Director Zhao sat behind his desk, a case file spread out in front of him that he had already read through several times, but he couldn't concentrate on reading a single word.

The phone screen lit up briefly.

He glanced down at the screen; it was a WeChat message from his son.

"Dad, when do you get off work? Mom made some pork ribs and asked me to ask if you're coming home for dinner."

Director Zhao's lips curved slightly as he typed a few words in reply:

"I'll be back in a bit, you can eat first."

After sending it, he glanced at the time in the lower right corner of his computer screen.

It's 9:03 PM. Xia Anmian had previously instructed him to stay and watch over Jiang Miaomiao, but now it's almost time for him to leave work.

He stood up, stretched his stiff neck, and was about to shut down the computer—

"Knock knock knock."

There were three knocks on the door, a very light, casual knock.

Director Zhao frowned, walked over, and opened the door.

There was a tiny little one standing at the door.

Sun Miaomiao was wearing an oversized gray sweatshirt with the hood pulled up over her head, revealing a face that clearly said "I'm not happy".

She had her hands in her hoodie pockets, her cheeks puffed out, as if she had something in her mouth or was sulking.

"Who are you?"

Director Zhao was taken aback.

Sun Miaomiao pouted, her tone carrying a hint of resentment, as if she had been dragged out of her warm bed:

"How should I know? The boss made me wait here for almost two hours, I'm freezing."

As she spoke, she pulled something out of her pocket and tossed it aside.

Director Zhao instinctively caught it, looked down and saw it was a sachet.

The dark blue silk fabric was embroidered with several dark gold patterns. It felt like it was filled with some kind of soft, fluffy particles, but it wasn't as fluffy as ordinary spices.

"The boss told me to give this to you."

Sun Miaomiao muttered.

What's inside?

"How would I know! The boss told me not to see what's inside, and that I could only show it to you. You should ask the boss yourself!"

After Sun Miaomiao finished speaking, she shrank her neck, yawned, and turned to leave.

"Wait—did Miss Xia say anything else?"

"No! I'm going home to play games, I'm so sleepy."

Sun Miaomiao waved her hand and walked quickly toward the end of the corridor without looking back, as if she were escaping some trouble.

Director Zhao stood at the door, clutching the sachet in his hand, watching her small figure disappear around the corner.

He looked down at the thing in his hand again.

The deep blue satin had a muted sheen under the light and felt soft to the touch, as if it were hand-stitched.

He didn't open it immediately, but instead went back to his desk, placed the sachet under the desk lamp, and examined it carefully for a while.

The opening was sealed with a thin string tied in a delicate knot.

He untied the thin rope and poured the contents into his palm.

A white sphere about the size of a thumb.

It has a smooth texture, like some kind of ceramic or hard plastic, and a warm, matte finish under the light.

It is very light, and you can hardly feel it when you hold it in your hand.

"What does this mean?"

Director Zhao stared at the small white ball, examining it over and over again.

There are no words or markings on the surface, but if you smell it up close, it has a medicinal smell.

This is medicine.

Xia Anmian must have had her reasons for sending this.

She's not the kind of person who would do something meaningless.

Director Zhao sat down in the chair, placed the small ball on the table, and stared at it for a while.

He recalled Xia Anmian's instruction to keep him behind to "watch over Jiang Miaomiao," and then he thought of the medicine.

Director Zhao's heart skipped a beat.

He suddenly understood.

This thing isn't for him; it's meant to be given to Jiang Miaomiao through him.

He stood up, paced around the office a couple of times, then stopped, his gaze falling once more on the small white ball.

He roughly guessed what kind of medicine it was.

He understood that Xia Anmian didn't want Jiang Miaomiao to live.

He wanted to get rid of Jiang Miaomiao by his own hand.

What should he do?

If I listen to Xia Anmian and give the medicine to Jiang Miaomiao, then I will be killing someone with my own hands.

But if you don't listen, you'll still have no way out.

Director Zhao closed his eyes, stood in front of his desk, and looked at the quiet white ball under the lamplight.

Finally, he reached out and picked up the instant noodle bucket on the table.

He tore open the packaging, put the bread in, poured in hot water, then opened the seasoning packet and squeezed it into the soup.

The red grease melted on the surface of the hot water, like a few drops of dissolved paint.

He put the small white ball in as well.

The small ball sank to the bottom of the soup, quickly dissolved, and was submerged in the deep red broth, becoming completely invisible through the plastic bucket.

Director Zhao put the lid on, picked up the instant noodle bucket, and walked out of the office.

The lock on the interrogation room door made a dull "click" sound.

He pushed open the door, went in, and placed the instant noodle bucket on the edge of the table with a light touch, causing the noodle soup to slosh slightly inside.

Jiang Miaomiao huddled in the chair, raised her head when she heard the sound, and her eyes flickered for a moment when she saw the instant noodle bucket.

She hadn't had a decent meal in a long time.

"Have something to eat."

Director Zhao's voice was flat as he turned and walked out without giving her another glance.

The door closed behind him, and the lock started turning again.

The evening breeze blew in through the window at the end of the corridor, sending a chill down Director Zhao's back.

He leaned against the wall, his fingers still trembling slightly.

The instant noodle cup had already been delivered. He couldn't hear anything from inside through the heavy iron door, but his heart was pounding, each beat hitting his ribs with a dull, painful thud.

He silently counted to thirty in his mind, making sure there were no unusual sounds coming from inside, before slowly straightening up, adjusting the collar of his jacket, and walking towards the hall.

The young police officer on duty was looking down at his phone. Seeing him come out, he quickly stood up and greeted him, "Director Zhao, you're off work?"

"Okay." Director Zhao nodded, his voice flat. "You stay on duty and call me if anything happens."

"Okay, take care."

When Director Zhao pushed open the glass door of the police station, a night wind rushed in, carrying the unique chill of late autumn, along with the smell of charcoal and cooking fumes wafting from the street barbecue stalls.

He stood at the door for two seconds, zipped his jacket all the way up, and then strode down the steps.

The streetlights on both sides of the street were already on, their dim yellow light spreading out in warm, round patches on the asphalt.

There weren't many people on the street at this time, and occasionally an electric scooter would drive by, its headlights drawing a thin white line in the night sky.

Director Zhao was walking slowly along the sidewalk when his phone, which was pressed against his thigh in his pocket, vibrated.

He took it out and saw the word "Wife" pop up on the screen, followed by a red missed call icon.

While he was at the police station, he cut off three calls from home, and now a fourth one is coming in.

He hesitated for a moment, then pressed the answer button and held the phone to his ear: "Feed."

"Zhao Jianguo, you finally answered the phone!"

The voice on the other end of the phone carried an barely suppressed urgency and dissatisfaction; it was his wife.

"Do you know how many times I've called you? What time is it? Are you coming home for dinner or not?"

Director Zhao didn't stop walking, keeping his voice as steady as possible: "Something came up at the bureau, I just finished. I'm on my way back now."

"Just finished? You said you'd be back this afternoon when you left at noon, then you said you'd be back tonight, then you said you'd be back in a little while—and a little while is a very short time! Almost four hours have passed in this 'little while'!"

His wife's voice rose half an octave, but beneath that dissatisfaction lay a layer of worry that she couldn't hide.

"I've reheated the ribs three times already. They'll get dry if I reheat them any more. Are you still going to eat them or not?"

"Eat, eat, eat! We'll be home soon."

Director Zhao turned a corner; the streetlight flickered above his head for a moment before dimming again, casting his shadow long and then short on the ground.

"You guys eat first, don't wait for me, I'll just heat it up when I get back."

"Who's waiting for you? I'm just worried you'll starve to death on the road!"

My wife was stubborn, but her tone softened slightly. After a two-second silence, she asked, "Why are you so late today? Did your boss yell at you again?"

"No, it was just a small thing that tripped me up. By the way, you didn't touch my study, did you?"

As Director Zhao spoke, he glanced at the intersection ahead. The red light was still on, with more than thirty seconds remaining.

"Oh dear, how many times a day do you ask that? Do you think anyone wants to go to your study?"

Immediately afterwards, there was a rustling sound from the other end of the phone, followed by the clear, slightly coquettish voice of a young boy squeezing out from the receiver:

"Dad! When are you coming back?"

Director Zhao felt as if something had gently squeezed his heart.

The dull ache that had been pressing on his chest since leaving the police station suddenly eased a little, causing him to unconsciously soften his voice: "We'll be there soon. Be good at home and listen to your mother."

"I was very good! I finished all my homework today! My mom even praised me!"

The son's voice carried an undisguised smugness, as if he had gotten a perfect score and was waiting for praise.

"Dad, could you bring me that toy when you come back? You mean that Transformer? You said you'd buy it for me after I did well on my midterms. I got 98!"

As Director Zhao listened to his son's impatient report on the other end of the phone, the corners of his mouth unconsciously curved into a smile.

"Ninety-eight points?" Director Zhao's voice carried a hint of amusement he himself didn't realize. "Really? You're not lying to Dad, are you?"

"Really! I'd be a dog if I lied! The test paper is right on the table, Mom can vouch for me!"

Director Zhao's smile deepened. He looked up; the green light in front of him had turned on, the number jumping from thirty to twenty-nine, and the countdown had begun.

He strode towards the zebra crossing, his feet stepping on the gray-white zebra stripes, his phone still pressed against his ear:

"Okay, Dad got it. On the way back later, when we pass that store, Dad will check if they still have any in stock..."

Just then, an extremely dazzling white light suddenly slashed in from the right.

The light overwhelmed his vision.