"Name?"

"Wu Jin."

"Occupation?"

"Internet."

I am the resident of 101. Because of what happened at 201, some related people from upstairs and downstairs were brought in for questioning, and I was the first one.

"What's your relationship with the deceased?"

I subconsciously pressed my lips together, then shook my head. "No relationship, I just live here."

"Have you been to the deceased's place in the past few days?"

I lowered my eyes and hesitantly said, "Yes."

"Why did you go there?"

"There was a water leak upstairs, my place got flooded. Because her door was always open, I went in, didn't find anyone, and left."

After I finished speaking, I walked out, only to run into my neighbor from 102.

A tall and thin man; I heard he's a painter who likes to keep dogs.

I used to see him walking his dog all the time, but recently not so much. He'd also lost a lot of weight, looking like he could be blown over by a gust of wind.

He went in for a while, and after he came out, another woman went in.

This woman lived above 201, in 301. She was very delicate and beautiful, looking just about in her early twenties, probably younger than me. Swaying her snake-like waist, carrying a Chanel bag, she walked in.

The man and I stood close to each other, though we were neighbors, we usually didn't greet each other. This was the first time I’d been so close to him.

The man seemed uneasy too, looking at his phone with his head down.

His screensaver was of his dog—a Bichon, small and very cute, making me want to get one too.

"So cute," I couldn't help but compliment.

The man paused for a moment, turned off the screen, and said in a muted voice, "Thank you."

After a long silence, the woman finally came out, followed by the police.

"Surveillance footage shows that all three of you visited the deceased's home in the past few days. And none of the three of you discovered the deceased."

"Officer, this doesn't prove that we killed anyone," the young woman said loudly, clearly not wanting to be associated with a murder case.

A young officer pulled the woman aside and took the three of us to an empty house, with another young officer watching over us.

The woman was anxious and kept making calls, but it seemed the other party's phone was off, which made her even more irritated.

The young man just kept his head down, seemingly lost in thought.

I looked out the window, thinking of the deceased.

The deceased had been discovered by a school teacher. That boy hadn't gone to school after National Day, and his parents couldn't be reached. The teacher had to visit their home, where the door was ajar.

The teacher entered alone, finding nothing but a foul smell.

He tried calling again, and only then heard a ringtone from the fridge. The teacher, quite bravely, opened the fridge, and the deceased fell out, covered in ice. It's said the teacher fainted on the spot.

The police searched the place thoroughly and found the boy hidden in the bedside cabinet, frozen with ice packs. But when he was found, the ice packs had long melted into water.

The woman was reportedly drowned, her eyes wide open.

The little boy’s neck was twisted at an odd angle, ruthlessly broken.

We waited all afternoon, but no police came. Instead, a man hurried in.

The man, without any regard, hugged the young woman to comfort her. He was much older than her, looking more like a father consoling his daughter.

"It's alright, I'm here," he said gently, coaxing the young woman who was now sobbing softly, no longer arrogant.

The young officer nearby looked on enviously.

Once he finished comforting the woman, the man turned his attention to us.

He glanced at me, his expression changing slightly before he calmly hugged the woman again.

Soon after, the officer in charge of the case arrived, saw the man, and then looked at the family photo in his hand. "Are you the deceased’s husband?"

At this, the young officer's expression immediately changed. Moments ago he was envious; now, he was more disdainful.

The man nodded weakly. "Yes, the deceased was my wife and son."

The officer's face changed when he saw the close relationship between the young woman and the deceased’s husband. "Didn't you just say you didn’t know the deceased?"

The woman panicked, hiding behind the man and stammering, "I really don't know her. I’ve only heard of her. Besides, how could I let her know of my existence?”

Inwardly, I laughed. This man was something else; his lover and his wife lived just upstairs and downstairs from each other, yet they coexisted peacefully. Truly a blessing.

The officer was also taken aback: "In the deceased's home, apart from her fingerprints, a pet's paw print was found. Do you have pets?"

The man quickly shook his head. "My wife hated pets like cats and dogs, and so did my son. We never kept any."

"Officer, that’s my little Orange. It accidentally ran into his home a few days ago," said the young man, who had been silent.

"And what about your dog?"

"It died," the young man calmly replied, "It passed away in an accident a few days ago."

I looked at the man; he didn't seem sorrowful at all. But his screensaver was of little Orange—how could he be so indifferent to its death?