Qin Guan could hardly believe his own deduction.
Auntie Feng—their family's meek, barely literate nanny who hadn't even finished elementary school—had smashed their doors and windows herself.
It had to be her.
That very night.
While he'd hidden in the dark, dressed in black, waiting for "Zeng Demei" to appear after stashing 300,000 yuan in a hollow by a park bench, Auntie Feng had made that call.
The fake Zeng Demei—Qi Min's accomplice—had sneaked out to claim the money. Just as Qin Guan lunged to grab her, Auntie Feng's call came through.
He remembered her panicked voice: "Someone's smashing the door! It's terrifying! Miss… Miss, she…"
Those words had frozen him. If the police were called over a break-in, his murder of Qi Min might be exposed. So he'd abandoned "Zeng Demei" and raced home.
He'd been tricked.
No one had smashed the doors or windows.
That damned nanny did it!
He'd been this close to catching "Zeng Demei." Had he succeeded, he'd have unraveled the lakeside villa mystery early. He knew "Zeng Demei's" face and could've forced her to talk.
None of what followed would've happened. Qi Min's blackmail plot would've collapsed. He'd have returned the 300,000 yuan, fired her, and been done.
No endless turmoil. No actual murder.
That meddling nanny had ruined everything!
He'd suffered through that night—swarmed by mosquitoes, nearly hit by a car in his frantic rush home.
Who'd have guessed Auntie Feng used the crowbar to fake the break-in? She'd called to lure him back, then hidden the tool deep in her drawer, afraid its bent shape might raise suspicions.
Sitting on the bed, staring at the crowbar, Qin Guan pieced it all together.
Auntie Feng took orders from Xu Ruyi.
That night's chaos was their joint scheme.
Specifically, Xu Ruyi had ordered the sabotage and the call.
He recalled returning home breathless to find Xu Ruyi in pajamas, damp hair clinging to her pale face as she stared at the "damaged" door. She'd trembled, sweat glistening on her forehead.
He'd thought she'd just showered and been frightened into a cold sweat.
Idiot.
Her hair wasn't washed—she'd wet it deliberately. The "fear" masked the heat-flush from sprinting home.
She'd beaten him back that night. After directing Auntie Feng to call, she'd raced upstairs, changed, staged the scene, and stood waiting—the perfect victim.
Her act had fooled him completely.
The truth: While Qin Guan lay in wait for Zeng Demei, murder on his mind—
Xu Ruyi had been watching him.
Hidden in the dark, silent as a shadow amidst midnight mosquitoes, she'd stalked her own husband.
The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind.
A chill crawled up Qin Guan's neck. He spun around—the room empty, yet he felt exposed.
How long had she been surveilling him? How had he, so cunning, missed it?
These past weeks, she'd still hugged him, kissed his cheek, tied his ties with tender smiles. All while plotting against him.
Qin Guan stormed into the bathroom, dousing his head under icy water until the rage subsided.
Back in the living room, he glared at the crowbar. Questions remained.
Why stop him from catching Zeng Demei? If Xu Ruyi wanted evidence, why pull him away?
His gaze fell on the kitchen's spotless glass—weekly cleaning fees well spent.
Cleaning.
He'd traced Zeng Demei through a cleaning company. Had Xu Ruyi done the same?
That day near the company's market, he'd "coincidentally" met Xu Ruyi buying lobster for Auntie Feng's birthday.
"I'm such a fool!" he cursed.
She hadn't been shopping.
Xu Ruyi had been hunting Zeng Demei too—long before him.
But why?
Back then, she hadn't even known the woman.