Log 01
Silent Residue
After midnight, Mei Lin Road always feels more like a stage than it does during the day.
The lights are never completely out. Neon signs still flicker, and the wind slips between the high-rise buildings, carrying the damp heat of air conditioners and the burnt sweetness from the last batch of oil at the donut stall by the street.
Time: September 18, 2021 — 1:58 a.m.
When I received the call, I was still in the meeting room at the police station, staring at an unfinished report.
“Loke sir, Corporal Chan from Bayshore Station. A body has been found outside Daka Plaza. Female, young—around eighteen or nineteen.”
The officer on the line was the night-duty policeman from the Bayshore Police Station of New City. His voice was hurried but lowered, as if he were afraid of disturbing something.
I was silent for two seconds before answering,
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
By the time I arrived, the entire plaza had been surrounded by yellow police tape.
The night wind whipped the plastic strips violently, making them snap and rattle like a warning—or a mockery.
Several uniformed officers stood at different points around the scene. Forensic technicians crouched on the ground collecting samples. Camera flashes went off occasionally, lighting the girl’s face in a brief, blinding white.
She was sitting on the steps, leaning against a round pillar. Her hands rested loosely on her knees.
Her posture was quiet.
As if she were waiting for someone.
I walked closer and finally saw her face clearly.
Pale skin. Delicate features. The corner of her lips curved slightly upward, almost like a smile.
But it wasn’t a smile.
It was the expression of someone who had let go.
“No visible external injuries,” the medical examiner reported during the preliminary assessment. “Body temperature has dropped. Estimated time of death between 12:30 and 1:00 a.m.”
“Toxic reaction?” I asked.
“No results yet. But… this level of calm doesn’t look like poisoning or suffocation.”
I crouched down to examine her more carefully.
Her hair had been slightly disturbed by the wind, but her clothes were neat. There were no scratch marks on her nails.
I lifted her wrist.
No ligature marks.
On the knuckle of her right index finger was a faint trace of pink powder.
Not blood.
Not cosmetics.
“How about the surveillance cameras around here?”
One officer reported, “Sir, all cameras were functioning normally. But no suspicious individuals were recorded entering or leaving. Around one a.m., only a few cleaning workers passed through.”
I looked up at the surrounding glass façades. Every angle reflected another version of the world.
This city has too many eyes watching.
Yet not a single pair can truly see the truth.
When I turned around, I saw Li Wai Hing walking over while smoking a cigarette.
“Still haven’t quit?” I frowned.
He smiled.
“These days you can quit almost anything—except the breath you take in the middle of the night.”
He was the old partner I trusted most in the police force. A criminal investigator by training, with an unusual mind.
He often found clues where others saw nothing.
He glanced at the body.
Three seconds of silence.
“This isn’t an ordinary murder.”
“Why?”
“Too clean,” he said.
“It looks arranged.”
At 3:00 a.m., the forensic team finished collecting evidence.
The body was transported to the morgue.
I stayed behind, sitting on the steps of the plaza.
The wind came from the direction of Takashimaya Square, carrying the smell of coffee and rain.
I closed my eyes.
In my mind the girl’s face replayed again and again.
Quiet.
Unmarked.
Later that morning.
Bayshore Police Station meeting room.
Commissioner Lau Kwok Fan looked at me with a tight frown.
“Loke, this case is a bit troublesome.”
“I know.”
“There’s no weapon at the scene. No suspicious person. No motive.” He paused. “And worse, the media has picked up the scent. Reporters from the morning papers are already asking questions.”
“That means we don’t have much time,” I said.
He nodded, thinking for a moment.
“I’m setting up a task unit. You’ll be in charge. Major Crime Special Unit—codename MCS. It will deal specifically with cases like this.”
MCS — Major Crime Special Unit.
The team was small, but each member had the ability to see direction within chaos.
That afternoon, I met them for the first time in the conference room.
Lee Wai Hing — someone I already knew.
Chan Chee Yan — thirty-six, a computer genius. Looks steady, but often gets into trouble.
Lee Mun Tseng — criminal psychology expert. Gentle on the outside, steel on the inside.
Cheung Man Man — my right hand. Former Vice Suppression Unit officer. Calm and precise.
They sat around the long table, each carrying a look of quiet skepticism.
I didn’t waste time.
I placed a photograph on the whiteboard—the girl sitting on the steps outside Daka Plaza.
“Her name is Lam Chi Ying, eighteen years old, a student at Starlight Polytechnic. She died last night. Cause of death unknown.”
I picked up a marker and drew three lines on the board.
“First line: Timeline. The last confirmed sighting of her was at 10 p.m. in the school library.
Second line: Relationship line. Parents, classmates, teachers.
Third line: Scene line. Daka Plaza. No witnesses. No abnormal activity.”
I put the marker down and looked around the room.
“Which of these three lines connects into the truth… depends on our luck.”
Wai Hing chuckled.
“Same old you. Still wearing that funeral face.”
I ignored him.
“From today onward we split into three groups.
Man Man comes with me—to the morgue.
Chee Yan and Mun Tseng investigate the school.
Wai Hing returns to Taka Plaza and checks for any overlooked clues.
Any discovery—report immediately.”
That evening, the lights in the morgue were painfully white.
Cold like a block of ice.
Lam Chi Ying’s body lay quietly on the table.
There was no fear on her face.
Almost… peace.
The preliminary autopsy report showed sudden cardiac failure.
Cause unknown.
“No external trauma. No toxins. No signs of suicide,” the pathologist said with a frown.
“I’ve examined thousands of bodies. Something this clean usually means only two things.
One: heart disease.
Two: the person was controlled.”
“Controlled?” I asked.
“Yes. Psychologically or physiologically. Her pupils are dilated but there’s no fear response.
It’s like… she died while dreaming.”
I stared at her face.
Suddenly I thought about the pink powder.
“Has the residue on her hand been tested?”
“Still being analyzed,” the pathologist said. Then paused.
“But you know what? That powder has a strange scent.”
“Scent?”
“Something like jasmine… and sandalwood.”
I froze for a moment.
The night wind earlier had indeed carried a faint fragrance.
Sweet with bitterness.
I remembered it very clearly.
When I walked out of the morgue, night had already fallen.
I stood at the end of the corridor, watching the rain tap slowly against the glass.
Every case has its own smell.
Blood has the smell of blood.
Lies have the smell of lies.
And this case—
has a fragrance.
A fragrance that makes people lose themselves.
I took out my phone and opened the group message.
Loke sir: Full team meeting tomorrow at 9 a.m.
Lee Wai Hing: Received.
Chan Chee Yan: Reporting, Sir. We confirmed she left the school library at 10 p.m. After 11 p.m., she disappeared.
Lee Mun Tseng: In her psychological counseling records, she mentioned repeatedly dreaming of the same place—“the steps outside Daka Plaza.”
I stared at those words.
My chest sank.
The steps in the dream.
She died in the place she had dreamed about.
Some murders do not begin with death.
They begin the moment the dream wakes.