Chapter 1: A Smile Like a Riddle

It was midnight.

The city’s heartbeat had slowed to a whisper. Towering skyscrapers blinked out one by one like dying stars, casting the streets below into uneasy shadow. On the corner of a derelict block, a lone streetlamp flickered, struggling to stay alive. Rain fell in a slow, rhythmic patter, drumming softly against the cracked asphalt like the whispers of the dead, unwilling to be forgotten.

Detective Lin Zhe stood still as stone in the center of the abandoned hair salon, his gaze locked on the corpse sprawled before him. His brow was furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. The body on the reclined salon chair looked disturbingly peaceful, like someone about to receive a trim, not a murder victim. The man's head was tilted slightly, mouth curved in an eerie smile that hovered somewhere between bliss and madness.

A single playing card had been pressed into his stiffening hand—the King of Spades.

“Cause of death is asphyxiation,” said a low voice behind him. Lin’s partner, Li Chen, stepped closer, flipping through notes on a damp clipboard. “No signs of struggle, no traces of drugs or sedatives in his system.”

Lin Zhe didn’t look back. He was still staring at the corpse. “Still smiling,” he muttered, more to himself than to Li. “That makes four now.”

Over the past five days, four bodies had surfaced across the city. Each in a different, desolate corner: an underground tunnel, a junkyard on the outskirts, the crumbling remains of an old bell tower, and now, this forgotten salon. They had nothing in common—different ages, genders, professions, even neighborhoods. No intersecting routines. No mutual acquaintances. Yet each had been found with the same expression and the same card: the King of Spades.

“We’ve cross-checked everything,” Li Chen said, holding up a tablet displaying a series of digital reports. “Social media activity, call logs, transit histories. There’s no overlap. These people were as unconnected as strangers on a train.”

“Even the method of death varied,” Lin added, almost absently. “First victim—wrist slashed in a metro station. Second—jumped from a high-rise. Third—electrocution. And now this one… suffocation.”

“But they all died smiling,” Li reminded him.

“That smile… it’s the key.” Lin’s voice grew quieter, as if the thought itself unsettled him.

Suddenly, the radio clipped to Li Chen’s jacket crackled to life. A burst of static preceded a breathless voice on the police frequency.

“Detective Lin, we just received an anonymous call. The caller said… ‘The fifth body is already waiting—just beneath your feet.’”

Both men froze.

Lin Zhe whipped around, his eyes narrowing as he stepped toward the cracked window. The abandoned salon was perched on the third floor of a decaying commercial complex. Below was an overgrown alley—shuttered shops, ivy-choked fences, and flickering neon signs long devoid of color. Beneath the dim streetlamp near a broken vending machine, something shifted.

“Downstairs,” Lin said sharply, already moving. He unclipped the holster from his belt and motioned for Li Chen to follow.

Rain slicked the stairwell as they descended into the wet, empty streets. The pungent smell of mildew and rotting leaves filled the air. And then they saw it.

A figure lay sprawled beneath the vending machine, unmoving.

Lin rushed forward and knelt beside the body, his fingers seeking the carotid artery.

“There’s a pulse!” Li Chen shouted. “He’s alive!”

“Call an ambulance,” Lin ordered, but his attention was fixed on the figure’s open hand. There, rain-drenched but unmistakable, was another card.

The King of Spades.

Lin reeled back, his breath catching in his throat.

This wasn’t just another victim. This was a warning. Or worse—an invitation.

As he reached into his pocket for his phone, something unexpected happened.

His fingers brushed against a smooth, unfamiliar texture—too stiff to be a receipt, too crisp to be a coin or gum wrapper. He pulled it out slowly, already dreading what he would see.

Another playing card.

Dry. Untouched by the rain.

The King of Spades.

Lin stood paralyzed. The card trembled slightly between his fingers.

“Lin?” Li Chen called out, noticing the pale cast that had overtaken his partner’s face.

But Lin didn’t respond. He was staring into the dark alley across the street, the shadows seeming to lean in around him like sentient things.

He didn’t know how the card got into his pocket.

But he understood the message.

This wasn’t the end.

It was only the beginning.

Five hours later, Lin Zhe sat in the operations room of the central precinct. The overhead lights buzzed softly, casting long, angular shadows across the table. On the large screen in front of him, five digital profiles flickered under harsh fluorescent light—five victims, or perhaps four victims and one yet to die.

He scrolled through the details again and again, but the fog in his mind refused to lift.

“There’s still time,” he muttered under his breath.

“The fifth one is alive,” Li Chen said from across the room, not looking up from his files.

“But he had the card,” Lin said. “Same card, same expression starting to form on his lips. As if…”

“As if the act had already begun,” Li interrupted.

Lin said nothing.

He reached into his coat pocket and laid his own card on the table beside the others. Five Kings. All Spades. Their black eyes stared up at him, unblinking and cold.

“Who put this in my pocket?” Lin asked.

Li didn’t answer.

“Maybe that call wasn’t just a tip,” Lin went on slowly. “Maybe it was a challenge.”

“Or a game,” Li offered.

“Or a trap.” Lin’s voice was little more than a whisper now.

He stared at the cards again. They were more than just a signature. They were a symbol. But of what?

He recalled a passage from an old book—something he’d read years ago but never forgot.

“Those who die smiling,” it had said, “do so because they have either seen the person they love most… or the thing they fear most.”

Lin couldn’t tell yet which category these victims fell into. But he knew one thing.

He was no longer just a detective on a case.

He was a player on a board he hadn’t even realized existed.

And someone—somewhere—was already pulling the strings.

Five Kings of Spades.

Five preludes to death.

And the real descent into darkness… hadn’t even begun.