Yuan Meng felt a twist of sympathy at Yangliu’s frightened face. Even if Yangliu had been acting against her before, there was no reason to abandon her in a moment like this.
“Yangliu, it’s a fake body—don’t be scared—” Yuan Meng started, moving forward to comfort her, but Yangliu suddenly lunged toward Mo Lin like an arrow.
“Mo Lin, I’m so scared,” she blurted, throwing herself at him.
Yangliu had already realized the staged CP with Yuan Xingcheng was dead in the water; she’d pivoted, aiming now to cozy up to Mo Lin. She reached for him, but Mo Lin was quicker—he took a step back, polite but firm. Yangliu missed her target and nearly toppled.
Xiang Bo and Mo Lin had no idea what Yangliu had been up to in previous episodes. They’d tolerated her earlier confrontations with Yuan Meng, assuming they were part of the show. This, however—such an obvious attempt to drag Mo Lin into her scheme—was different. Both men tightened, annoyance clear on their faces.
“No way, Yangliu—what’s that supposed to mean? A public figure should watch her image,” Xiang Bo said sharply. “And whether you watch yours or not, my bro’s image is off-limits.”
Xiang Bo was usually laid-back, but this time his tone turned unexpectedly harsh.
“Heh…be careful, Yangliu. My brother’s stans are fierce,” he sneered, forcing his anger into a laugh. “They don’t mess around with anyone trying to leech off him.”
The mood slid into awkwardness. Cameras had been trained on the group the whole time; there was nowhere for the production team to cut away, so the exchange went out live.
The live chat exploded.
What is Yangliu doing?! Xiang Bo is right—our stans are scary, but only when people try to ride our boy’s coattails!
Please, Yangliu, leave my Mo Lin alone. He’s too young for weird aunt energies like yours!
Oh my god, no wonder Yuan Meng and Yuan Xingcheng keep their distance. There’s a reason they’re cold to her!
The comments were merciless. Yangliu’s own fans fell silent—facts were facts. She’d collided with Mo Lin; it was absurd to claim her feet had a mind of their own.
Color drained from her face.
“Heh…my foot slipped, sorry, Mo Lin. I—seeing the corpse scared me. I didn’t expect it to appear like that,” Yangliu scrambled, trying to redirect the attention back to the mannequin with an embarrassed smile.
Mo Lin barely acknowledged her. He didn’t even glance her way.
“That body’s clearly fake,” Xiang Bo said, circling the suspended figure. “Look—the color’s off, almost yellow. A real corpse pales. The eyes are clearly artificial. The nails are too soft. The bend in the legs is wrong. It’s well-made, sure, but it’s not a real corpse.”
Yangliu had assumed Xiang Bo’s explanation was meant to reassure her; she had only just mentioned her slipping foot when he began analyzing the figure.
“So Yuan Meng, you don’t have to cower behind Xingcheng. It’s just a dummy,” Xiang Bo said. He’d gotten close to Yuan Meng during the item-arranging segment earlier and had been quick to comfort her now.
There was more to his gesture than met the eye—self-satisfied perhaps—but Yuan Meng took it at face value.
“Yeah…that does seem right,” Yuan Meng murmured, inching out from behind Yuan Xingcheng. She stepped forward and inspected the body as Xiang Bo had suggested, letting that comfort wash over her. “It’s fake—Xiang Bo, you’re amazing!”
The cameras hadn’t lingered on the mannequin close-up, so viewers hadn’t been able to tell at first. Xiang Bo’s assessment calmed many watching at home; the chat filled with praise for him.
“Just good observation,” Xiang Bo said with a smug, mock-modest smile, trying to look reserved while clearly enjoying the attention. The stream’s praise flickered into amusement and chuckles.
“Cough…let’s lower it down and take a closer look. There might be clues,” Yuan Xingcheng said, suppressing a smile.
They untied the body and set it on the floor. Close up, the wounds were obvious—two deep marks around the neck.
“Looks like someone strangled them and then hung them to stage a suicide,” Mo Lin said.
“Yeah,” Xiang Bo replied with a disdainful curl of his lip. “The production team couldn’t be more clichéd—fake suicide is such an old trick. This is probably a plain murder.”
Xiang Bo lost interest and started to move deeper into the house in search of other clues.
“Wait—look. There are a lot of wounds all over the body,” Yuan Xingcheng said, pointing to bruises and scars on the face. He rolled up the sleeve and found more marks.
“These don’t look like they happened at the same time. This looks like repeated abuse,” he said, crouching to inspect. “The wounds span…about half a year.”
Their earlier banter died away as the group all fell silent, the implication sinking in.
“You know a lot, Xingcheng,” Xiang Bo said, breaking the tension with his usual chatter. “How do you even know this stuff?”
All eyes turned to Yuan Xingcheng. His expression tightened into something complicated—uneasy, embarrassed, a little painful.
“I—well,” he began. He fidgeted, then admitted, “My aunt likes reading mystery novels and watching detective shows. She helps out investigating cold cases sometimes, so we have a lot of materials at home. I’d read them when I was bored and picked up a few things.”
Far from proud, his face looked haunted.
“Wow, your aunt sounds incredible,” Yuan Meng gushed, already imagining a glamorous figure. “And by genes alone she must be gorgeous. Smart and beautiful—so lucky you have an aunt like that!”
“You have to introduce me! I need friends like that in my life,” Xiang Bo chimed in, eyes shining with curiosity and admiration.
“You don’t get it,” Yuan Xingcheng complained, rubbing his temples. “You don’t understand what it’s like to have your aunt analyze a murder scene while you’re trying to eat dinner. To have a stack of bloody photos on the table…”
He let the sentence hang, and the others laughed—but it was a nervous, uneasy laugh. The image of family meals interrupted by grisly detail was a jarring contrast to the playful teasing of a minute before. The cameras stayed on them, and the live chat slowed from a frenzy of insults to a string of concerned and astonished messages.
Some things had become a lot more complicated than any of them had expected.