“Detective, you’re lying.” Qiao Jiajing’s voice cut through the tension.“Proof?” Li Shangwu raised an eyebrow. “Just because someone attacked me?”“Not exactly.” The tattooed man smirked. “Everyone’s stories overp. Your fraud suspect and Ms. Zhang’s—they contradict.”“How?”“The suspect in your story is still at rge. In hers, he’s already arrested. Same crime, different outcomes. Impossible if it’s the same case.”Li’s jaw tightened. “We’re in different cities. Different crimes.”Qi Xia watched silently. The more they argued, the better.One wrong vote, and the liar won.Next, a timid voice spoke up: Lingqi, the counselor.“Lingqi” — a name meaning “apple” in ancient Chinese. Poetic, memorable.“I’m from Ningxia. I was waiting for a client, a preschool teacher. She felt trapped in her job—overworked, underappreciated. I’d just outlined her treatment pn when the quake hit…”“Wait.” Qiao interrupted. “You mentioned monitors in the cssrooms?”“Closed-circuit TVs. For parents to monitor their children.”“Then this teacher—Xiao Ran?”“No, we only spoke on WeChat.”Li Shangwu scoffed. “Xiao Ran’s in Yunnan. Why would she consult a counselor in Ningxia?”“Coincidence,” Lingqi insisted.Zhang Chenze leaned forward. “A coincidence? Really?”Her voice sharpened. “If our stories were random, this game would be impossible. The liar’s odds are too high. There must be a thread.”The room fell silent.Qi Xia’s mind raced.Lingqi’s story tied to Xiao Ran’s. Li’s to Zhang’s.The pieces were aligning.Too perfectly.