The thick fog lay over Chongqing like a damp, suffocating quilt. Claire Cheng stood at the scene by the Jialing River, her breath vanishing quickly into the cold air. Outside the police tape, murmuring onlookers gathered, camera flashes flickering like prying eyes in the night.
"Third one already." Captain Jack Chen of the Criminal Investigation Division crouched beside the body, his voice hoarse. "Same method, same note."
Claire pulled on her gloves and crouched down. The victim was a young woman in her early twenties, with long black hair and a peaceful expression—as if she were merely asleep. Her hands were tied behind her back, and her body posed in a kneeling position, like one in repentance. A deep ligature mark encircled her neck; the purplish bruising was stark against her pale skin.
"Estimated time of death between 10 p.m. and midnight last night," said the forensic doctor, looking up. "Same as the last two. Mechanical asphyxiation. Body posed post-mortem. No signs of sexual assault, but—"
"But what?" Claire pressed.
The forensic doctor hesitated. "There are traces of incense ash in the victim's mouth. Same as the other two."
Claire frowned, her gaze falling on a note beside the body. It had been sealed in an evidence bag. Three words printed on it: The Judicator.
"Sick bastard," Jack spat. "Thinks murder is judgment. What a fucking lunatic."
Claire didn't respond. She carefully studied the positioning of the body and the surrounding environment. The victim's kneeling pose faced directly across the river toward a church, its spire barely visible through the fog. This wasn't a coincidence.
"I need full case files on the first two murders," Claire stood and removed her gloves. "Especially the direction each victim was facing when found."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Professor Cheng, you think that matters?"
"It's crucial," Claire said quietly but firmly. "The killer is choosing altars. This is a ritual."
Back at the precinct's meeting room, Claire pinned photos from all three cases to a whiteboard. The victims were all young women, ages 20 to 25, all with delicate features. Their professions varied—kindergarten teacher, bank clerk, medical school student.
"There's no social connection between the three," Jack pointed at the relationship map. "Different neighborhoods, jobs, social circles—nothing overlaps."
Claire narrowed her eyes. "But the killer picked them for a reason. Look here—" She pointed at the victims' facial close-ups. "Same double eyelids, same nasal curve, even the upturned corners of their mouths—almost identical."
Silence fell. Jack squinted. "You're saying the killer is targeting a type?"
"More than that." Claire drew three arrows on the board. "First victim faced east, toward Liberation Monument. Second faced west, toward Hongyadong. Third—the one today—faced north, toward the Jiangbei church." She turned to the task force. "The killer is following a geographical pattern. This isn't just murder—it's performance."
As she compiled the criminal profile, Claire adjusted her glasses and spoke into her voice recorder: "The perpetrator is male, 30 to 40 years old, with a stable job—likely in medicine or a religious field. He likely suffered abuse from a maternal figure in childhood, leading to pathological hatred toward a specific type of young woman."
The red light on the recorder blinked like a tiny eye.
"He sees murder as purification. His alias, 'The Judicator,' suggests a self-imposed moral superiority. The ash and kneeling pose suggest a religious rite. This is a series. There will be another victim—"
She abruptly stopped. If her analysis was correct, then the next murder site could be predicted. Based on the geography of previous scenes, the next target would be in Nan'an District, facing...
Her pen circled a spot on the map: an ancient temple near Nanbin Road.
Suddenly, the phone rang. Jack answered and his face darkened.
"Fourth victim," he said grimly. "Ten minutes ago. Nanbin Road."
Rain tapped on the police car window as Claire stared out through the blurry glass at the neon lights of Chongqing, distorted like a water-soaked oil painting.
"How did you know?" Jack gripped the wheel, knuckles white.
Claire didn't answer. She was thinking. The previous three murders had two-week intervals. This one came only three days after the last. What triggered the acceleration?
The crime scene was on the rooftop of an old apartment. The victim knelt on the rooftop edge, facing the Ciyun Temple across the Yangtze. Same bound hands. Same reverent, horrifying pose.
"Victim: Lena Lin, 23, graduate student at Chongqing Medical University," a police officer reported. "Her roommate said she never returned from the library last night. Her phone's last signal was around 11 p.m., on the route home."
Claire crouched beside the body, noticing something new—her right pinky nail was cracked, and something glittered beneath it. Carefully, she extracted a tiny, gleaming shard with tweezers.
"Stained glass?" Jack leaned over.
Claire bagged the fragment. "Church window glass." She scanned the area. "He was rushed this time—left more traces."
"Professor Cheng!" the forensic doctor called suddenly. "Come look!"
Inside the victim's collar was a barely visible red stamp—a deformed cross surrounded by flame-like patterns.
"What the hell is that?" Jack frowned.
"A heretical symbol," Claire's voice trembled. "Used by extreme medieval cults. Represents 'purifying fire.'"
Back in the lab, Claire examined the glass under a microscope. The refractive index confirmed it was special stained glass, used only by a few churches in Chongqing.
"That's not all," said the tech team. "Fibers found under the victim's nail are a special blend fabric used in—"
"Clerical robes," Claire finished.
Jack shot to his feet. "So the killer's a priest?"
"Not necessarily," Claire shook her head. "But he's definitely linked to a church. We need to screen all churches that use this glass, especially for new hires or erratic behavior."
Before she could finish, her phone rang again—an unknown number.
She answered. A digitally altered voice said:"Professor Cheng, you're getting closer to the truth. But do you know the best part of Judgment Day?"
Claire clenched her phone. "Who are you?"
"The sinner's final confession." The voice warped upward eerily. "The fourth has repented. Where do you think the fifth will find redemption?"
The line went dead.
Claire went pale.
"He's watching you," Jack said grimly. "From now on, you get 24-hour protection."
Claire shook her head. "No. That wasn't a threat—it was…" Her eyes widened. "It was an invitation. He wants me to witness his 'masterpiece.'"
She turned to the map of Chongqing, connecting the four crime scenes. The lines formed a distorted diamond. If her theory was right, the final location would be—
"Here." Her finger landed on Luohan Temple in Yuzhong District. "Five locations form a pentagram."
Jack gasped. "What the hell is this psycho planning?"
Claire stared at the map. "Finishing his ritual. Based on the intervals and his call, he'll strike tomorrow night."
"Then we'll set a trap at Luohan Temple," Jack said, grabbing his coat.
Claire stopped him. "No, that's too obvious. He won't go there. The final point of the pentagram…" Her finger moved to the map's edge. "Is here. The little church in Ciqikou. It also uses stained glass."
Night deepened. Claire stood by the window, gazing at the lights flickering through the fog. The killer's profile sharpened in her mind—a soul twisted by religious fanaticism, seeing murder as divine duty. He selected women of a specific look to symbolize "sinners," and performed elaborate rituals to "cleanse" them.
But one question still haunted her:What triggered his killing spree now? Why this moment?
Claire opened her computer and reviewed the victims' files. When she reached the third victim—the medical student—her mouse froze. On the list of her professors was a familiar name:
Dr. Michael Zhang – Associate Dean of the medical school…
…and deacon of St. Luke's Church in Ciqikou.