Shen Hao’s mind raced endlessly, but his feet never stopped. After leaving the residential compound, he dashed off in a random direction. By the time he regained full awareness, he’d already run an entire block and entered a neighboring district.

This area was livelier—even at this late hour, storefronts remained open, cars sped past, and pedestrians still walked the streets.

After wandering aimlessly for a while, an idea suddenly struck him. It might not completely clear him of suspicion, but at least it would make him somewhat safer.

Resolved, he slowed his pace and strolled along the sidewalk. Soon, he spotted a young woman walking toward him. A nearby convenience store was still open, its interior bathed in bright light. Without hesitation, he hurried to the store entrance and gently blocked her path.

“Excuse me!” he said.

Startled, the girl tensed immediately. She eyed him warily—his face hidden behind glasses and a mask—and tightened her grip on her shoulder bag, subtly stepping back two paces. Still, the brightly lit open store behind her gave her enough confidence not to turn and flee on the spot.

“What is it?” she asked cautiously.

“Could I borrow your phone to call the police?” Shen Hao kept his tone as calm and gentle as possible to avoid sounding suspicious. “I just witnessed a murder, but I was out night running and didn’t bring my phone.”

“A murder?!” Her eyes widened in shock, still half-disbelieving. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely,” Shen Hao affirmed firmly. “That’s why I need your help to file a report.”

Seeing his earnest expression and serious tone, the girl hesitated for a moment—then pulled out her phone. “Alright.”

She extended it toward him, but Shen Hao quickly waved his hands. “You make the call—just put it on speakerphone.”

That request actually reassured her. If he just wanted to steal her phone, he wouldn’t have suggested using speaker mode—she’d still be holding it.

She dialed emergency services, activated the speaker, and Shen Hao clearly gave the address of the crime scene.

Only after the call ended did he finally exhale in relief. He hoped the police would arrive quickly enough to scare off the killer—otherwise, he’d be stuck outside all night, unable to return to his own home. That would be truly miserable.

After thanking the girl, he turned and began walking slowly back toward his neighborhood.

Given the police’s response speed, they’d likely reach the compound before he did. By walking slowly, he’d arrive after they’d already secured the scene—making it safer for him to return.

As he walked, his mind retraced the earlier events.

Back then, clinging to the security grille, he’d actually taken in far more detail than he’d realized in the chaos. At the time, survival was all that mattered, so he hadn’t processed anything deeply. Now, in safety, he could reconstruct what he’d seen.

First conclusion: the killer was definitely no ordinary person. No normal human could punch through a stainless-steel security grille with bare fists. Either he possessed freakish natural strength—or he was a trained martial artist.

Shen Hao leaned toward the latter.  

When their eyes met through the glass door, the killer showed no panic at being seen mid-murder. Instead, he remained eerily calm—a composure no average person could maintain. Even a premeditated murderer would feel some tension or fear after their first kill. And even the coldest killer would be startled by the sudden appearance of a stranger on their balcony.

Yet this man remained composed from start to finish.

Moreover, his reaction was frighteningly fast. The instant Shen Hao froze in shock upon witnessing the scene, the killer had already charged forward. Notably, though the killer held a cleaver in his right hand, he didn’t stab through the grille—he instead swung his left fist.

That meant he’d instantly calculated: one solid punch to the face, and Shen Hao would lose consciousness and plummet to his death from over twenty meters up. With no defensive wounds and no clear cause of death other than the fall, police would assume he was a burglar who lost his footing—a tragic but routine accident.

That level of cold, strategic thinking was beyond normal. Most people, seeing someone outside their window, would instinctively thrust with the knife—the only weapon that could reach through the grille gaps. But this killer chose his fist, showing supreme confidence in its power.

And he was right. If Shen Hao hadn’t instinctively let go and leaned backward at the last second, he would’ve been struck unconscious and fallen to his death—just as the killer intended.

Clearly, the killer had mistaken him for a thief. And honestly, wearing a mask and clinging to a balcony grille at midnight did look suspiciously like a burglar.

The killer’s only miscalculation? Shen Hao wasn’t ordinary either—and his reactions defied normal human instinct.

For example, letting go of the grille and leaning backward? That was unthinkable for most people. Knowing a fatal drop awaited below, instinct would scream “hold on tighter!”—especially when a fist was about to strike. Most would believe gripping harder would keep them safe.

But that would’ve been fatal. Given the force that shattered steel, a direct hit would’ve knocked him out instantly—possibly even torn him from the grille entirely.

Shen Hao couldn’t even explain why he’d moved that way. His body had reacted before his mind could process it. Thankfully, it worked.

Later, realizing the killer wasn’t humanly strong, he’d deliberately unhooked his feet and dropped—fully accepting the risk. At that moment, strangely, he’d felt no fear. Only now, recalling it, did cold dread creep in.

He walked slowly toward his neighborhood, replaying every second. One wrong move—and he’d be dead.

Who *was* that killer? The ability to punch through steel strongly suggested martial arts training—far beyond Shen Hao’s own level. And that chilling calmness under pressure? Something Shen Hao, facing such horror for the first time, could never match.

Still, the experience had changed him. Though shaken, he felt an unfamiliar steadiness settling inside.

But fear remained: the killer had seen his face—well, his eyes and build, at least. As the sole eyewitness, Shen Hao knew he wouldn’t be easily spared. He’d need to stay vigilant.

To eliminate this threat, he resolved to help the police catch the killer. Only with the murderer behind bars would he be truly safe.

He tried to recall every detail of the killer’s appearance. Nothing particularly distinctive—except thick, prominent brow ridges that gave him a fierce, menacing look. That could be useful.

And there was… an aura of killing intent. Probably just from having committed murder moments before.

The killer had worn a sleeveless undershirt. As he lunged forward, Shen Hao clearly saw a tattoo on his chest—but the backlighting made it hard to discern. It resembled an animal’s head, but he couldn’t identify which kind. Just that it looked… strange.

Lost in thought, he suddenly realized he’d reached the edge of his neighborhood. Peering through the iron fence, he saw flashing red and blue lights—police had already arrived.

Before entering, he glanced around, then removed his glasses and mask. Without those identifiers, he wouldn’t be immediately recognizable.

Fortunately, his myopia wasn’t severe—only about -2.00 diopters. At home, he rarely wore glasses unless watching TV or going out. So going without them now wasn’t unusual.

After stowing both items safely, he resumed a normal walking pace. Reaching the gate, he slowed and began breathing heavily, pretending to be a night runner just returning. His short sleeves and athletic wear made the act convincing.

He pretended casual curiosity, glancing toward the police activity—but didn’t crowd in with the onlookers. After a brief look, he took a detour toward his own building.

All buildings in the complex were thirteen stories tall.

The murder had occurred in Building E, on the 7th floor—the same level as his own apartment. But he lived in Building C, diagonally up from E.

Only after safely locking his apartment door behind him did he truly relax.

Now, the chaos outside was none of his concern…  
Or was it? What about the killer? Since he’d been wearing a mask, the killer shouldn’t be able to identify him—right?

Should he still try to assist the police?

With the city’s surveillance network—“Sky Net”—finding the suspect shouldn’t take long.

Of course, his own behavior that night might raise eyebrows: fleeing the scene at midnight. But he’d prepared an explanation—he was a regular runner. Though he wasn’t close with neighbors, anyone could confirm he often jogged in the mornings. If questioned further, he could say he’d simply wanted to try night running for a change.

A lie grounded in truth—convenient, but plausible enough to avoid suspicion.

After a quick shower, Shen Hao sat on his bed, wide awake. He rehearsed his story once more, refining details until satisfied. Only then did he lie down and switch off the light.

What an incredibly intense night.  
He’d only wanted to test his breakthrough—just a spontaneous, exhilarating moment—and instead stumbled into a murder scene.

Worse, the killer wasn’t even humanly ordinary.

Truly… the worst possible luck.