Yuxuan stood before the weathered door of the Holmes residence, his silhouette framed by the encroaching twilight.
Beside him, Emma shifted her weight, her eyes scanning the dark windows of the house with a mixture of skepticism and lingering impatience.
“Are you certain?” Emma murmured, her voice barely audible over the relentless drumming of the rain.
“Everyone has their little deceptions, Yuxuan.
It doesn’t mean they’re hiding a crime.”
Yuxuan didn’t look at her.
His gaze was fixed on the handle of the door, his mind dissecting the minute details he had gathered—the mud, the peculiar wear on the shoes, the silence that felt too heavy to be natural.
“I don’t deal in jokes, Emma.
And this?
This is far beyond a simple deceit”.
“Then let’s see the truth,” she sighed, her posture tensing as Yuxuan pressed the buzzer.
The door swung open, revealing Ms.
Vena Holmes, her expression instantly hardening when she saw them.
“You again?
If you’re looking for more money, you’ve come to the wrong house”.
“We’re not here for money, Ms.
Holmes,” Yuxuan replied, his voice steady, carrying the weight of an unshakeable conviction.
“We’re here because we know exactly who is responsible for the performance playing out within these walls”.
A shadow of genuine alarm flickered across Ms.
Vena’s face, quickly masked by a veil of practiced indignation.
“What?
You’re delusional.
If you’re wrong—and you are—I will personally ensure your seniors hear about this harassment”.
“Let’s see,” Emma countered, stepping past the threshold with a determined grace.
They moved through the dim, silent hallway until they reached the bedroom door.
Ms.
“Well?
Is the culprit hiding under the bed?
My husband is a sick man, Yuxuan.
His temper is fragile, and this… this is madness”.
Yuxuan didn’t respond immediately.
He walked to the center of the room, the air thick with the smell of stale medicine and cold, stagnant air.
He slowly raised his hand, his finger pointing directly at the paralyzed man sitting in the chair—Mr.
Holmes.
Vena’s face contorted with rage; she moved to slap Yuxuan, but Emma intercepted her, catching her wrist with practiced efficiency.
“Ma’am,” Emma warned, her voice cool and authoritative.
“Hear his deduction first.
If he’s wrong, you can throw us out yourself”.
Vena froze, her breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps.
Yuxuan walked to the front door, gesturing for them to follow.
He pointed to the shoes neatly placed by the entrance.
“Mr.
Holmes, have you ever worn these shoes to go out?”.
The room went deathly still.
“I was just preparing to clean them,” the old man stammered, his eyes darting away.
“And no, I have never worn those shoes outside”.
Yuxuan knelt, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to pick up the shoe.
He turned it over, revealing a smear of fresh, dark mud caked into the tread.
“Then why is there mud behind this sole?”.
Vena’s facade cracked.
“It’s because I haven’t polished them recently.
The mud is just old, from weeks ago”.
“It isn’t,” Yuxuan said, his voice quiet yet absolute.
It hasn’t rotted.
This mud is fresh—from today”.
Vena turned pale, her eyes wide as she looked at her husband.
Without a word, Yuxuan stepped toward the door, turning the handle with silent, fluid motion.
The door opened to reveal the supposed ‘culprit’—Mr.
Holmes, who had been attempting to conceal a wireless telephone he had been about to throw out the window.
“Why?” Vena sobbed, collapsing onto the sofa, her previous anger replaced by a devastating, hollow confusion.
Mr.
Holmes let the phone slip from his fingers, his shoulders slumping as the charade finally disintegrated.
“A month ago, there was an accident,” he began, his voice breaking as he looked at his wife, his eyes swimming with tears.
“I was worried about my failing job, about the future…
I was overcome with jealousy, thinking of how you were moving on while I was trapped.
When I went to the market, I saw a car coming towards me.
I jumped.
I wanted to see if you would care, if you would love me the same way if I were broken”.
The room was filled with the sound of his confession—a slow, painful unraveling of a man who had chosen a lie over the risk of being unloved.
Mrs.
Holmes, through her tears, rushed to him, embracing the man who had terrified and manipulated her with his silent, staged paralysis.
Yuxuan watched from the doorway, his features unreadable.
He thought of —the idea that even the most complex systems eventually succumb to the simple, repeating loops of human desire and fear.
As the couple held onto each other, the weight of the last few days seemed to dissipate, leaving behind only the cold, stark reality of their fragile, ‘evergreen’ love.
Later, as Yuxuan and Emma departed in a horse-drawn cart, the silence between them was long and thoughtful.
“How did you know about the paper?” Emma finally asked, her gaze drifting toward the horizon.
“I noticed the ink was still wet, and the paper on the windowsill was wrinkled, still bearing the dampness of the room,” Yuxuan answered, his voice barely rising above the rhythmic clatter of hooves on cobblestone.
“You’re a strange one, Yuxuan,” Emma murmured, looking at him with newfound respect.
Yuxuan didn’t smile.
He merely stared ahead, already bracing himself for the next case, the next loop in the machine.