Chapter 104: A Description of the Killer

Luo Feng listened to my analysis and began to sense that something was amiss.

"Now that you put it that way, it does seem a bit strange," Luo Feng replied.

I explained to him that if Wang Jianming’s true objective wasn’t drugs, but rather the people he was escorting, then everything suddenly made sense. Those individuals were undoubtedly being targeted by someone operating in the shadows. With customs checkpoints crawling with investigators, the assailants couldn't make a move there, yet once inside the harbor district, the targets couldn't exactly seek police protection either.

The people Wang Jianming was escorting likely had clean records, which is why he dared to bring them through customs in broad daylight. However, anyone having dealings with Wang Jianming could not afford too much exposure to the police; they certainly couldn't ask the harbor authorities for an escort.

At this point, Luo Feng’s gang in the district became the force that could assist Wang. While one couldn't say his gang was untouchable, their strength was beyond question, especially after absorbing Da Xi’s faction. With Luo Feng’s men providing the escort, those targeting Wang’s charges would find it much harder to strike. Barring any accidents, they were safe.

This explained why Wang Jianming would have such a formidable force as Luo Feng’s men handle a seemingly trivial escort mission within the harbor district.

Luo Feng looked shocked. "Your mind is truly sharp. But who exactly is Wang Jianming trying to escort, and why go to such lengths to send them to Yu City, only to bring them to the capital?"

This was something I couldn't possibly deduce from Wang Jianming’s brief words. However, one thing was certain: this operation was urgent, and Wang had no time for preparation. Otherwise, a man as shrewd as he would have concocted a perfect excuse to persuade us rather than letting me talk him down.

He was likely already back at his courtyard house, racking his brain on how to put our minds at ease and dispel any lingering suspicions.

It was precisely this urgency that caused Wang to act so out of character—failing to reach a deal, he turned to threats, even at the risk of offending Luo Feng.

"There is a saying in the mainland: 'When you arrive, settle in,'" I said, patting Luo Feng on the shoulder. "If my analysis is correct, Wang Jianming desperately needs you. We can afford to stall. We don't need to worry; unless he's pushed into a corner, he won't intentionally cause you trouble. Everything is just for show, a way to pressure you into compromising."

Once Luo Feng was at ease, I prepared to leave.

I told him that regardless of whether Wang was truly involved in drug trafficking or, as I suspected, escorting specific individuals, it was best we didn't get entangled. Yet, as I said this, a sudden sense of unease washed over me. "But if this involves us, we must get to the bottom of Wang Jianming’s affairs and find out what he is really up to."

I was plagued by a lingering, ominous premonition. It felt as though more and more events, seemingly coincidental, were actively seeking me out. But they were only *seemingly* coincidental; it felt as if a pair of hands were manipulating everything behind the scenes. I didn't dare say that Wang’s business had nothing to do with me, because Wang Jianming had received an anonymous letter, and so had I.

After leaving Luo Feng’s home, I arrived at the hotel where Zhou Sheng’s parents were staying. What with Wang Jianming’s pestering, it was past midnight when I reached the room. After Zhou Sheng’s father ushered me in, he immediately asked what I had found. I told him nothing, only that I was confident I could solve the case.

I asked Zhou Sheng’s father for a favor—the exact same one I had requested of Chen Fan and Luo Feng. It was a difficult task, one that neither Chen Fan nor Luo Feng might be able to accomplish in the short term. Having one more person increased the odds, and Zhou Sheng, being a man of immense wealth, was a significant figure in the harbor district.

Zhou Sheng said he would have it handled as soon as day broke.

I nodded and stood up. "Remember, do not speculate on your own, and do not let anyone else know. If anything goes wrong and Zhou Sheng’s vengeance remains unfulfilled, do not blame me."

Zhou Sheng’s father also stood up. The death of his son had left him looking significantly aged in just a few short days. "Are you leaving already? Aren't you going to tell me what you've discovered?"

I walked toward the door, impatient. "I have no obligation to share my investigative process with you. Do as I say, and I will naturally deliver the killer into your hands."

Leaving the hotel, I went to the hospital. Z had been waiting for me for a long time. Coincidentally, Charlie had just regained consciousness. Z told me the night-shift doctor had checked on him and said there were no major issues. With his head wrapped in gauze and bandages, Charlie looked dazed.

When I entered, Charlie didn't greet me; he simply lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Z said he had been like that ever since he woke up, which scared her. She kept a distance from him, and had I not arrived, she wouldn't have dared to get close.

Z looked even more disheveled than before, her hair messy; she hadn't bathed in a day or two.

I sat by Charlie’s side and called his name several times before he showed any reaction. I asked if he had the strength to talk, and he nodded. I then asked him to tell me exactly what happened. Charlie spoke slowly, and his account aligned with what we had surmised.

After Charlie finished discussing business with the production crew and returned to the underground garage, the moment he stepped out of his car, the lights went out. He was immediately reminded of the garage at his previous residence and, terrified, began to run while screaming for help. Soon after, he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head and collapsed.

He thought he was going to die. He had only caught a vague glimpse of a dark shadow, and before he lost consciousness, he heard the voices of others. Charlie told me that when a person is near death, the thoughts in their head are incredibly complex. Hearing those voices, he had hoped it might be his final chance at salvation.

Luckily, Charlie managed to open his eyes again.

I pondered this and asked him for more details. Under my guidance, Charlie finally reached the core of the matter. He said that after the lights went out, he had been running blindly, unable to see the path ahead. He didn't know where he had run, only that he vaguely felt he was about to reach the stairwell.

The eerie part, Charlie said, was that he never heard the sound of anyone else’s footsteps.

Charlie had been running fast, his own footsteps echoing through the garage. Since he was struck in the back of the head, the assailant must have been behind him, meaning the attacker would have had to chase him. If Charlie was running, the attacker had to run too, and at a speed that would surely have made noise.

"So I’ve been wondering, was the one who hit me even human?" Charlie shuddered as he voiced this speculation.

"That is indeed a point of suspicion, and I haven't figured it out either," I replied. "The killer had such a narrow window of opportunity; he couldn't have just stood there waiting for you to run into him. That would be too risky."

Hearing me say this, Charlie’s face turned even paler. He asked if I could help him.

"You just need to protect yourselves; leave the rest to the police," I said, standing up. Z immediately asked where I was going, looking nervous. Charlie seemed even more anxious; he asked me what date it was. When I told him, he immediately said that Z had to go to the production set tomorrow.

Charlie had an appointment with the crew to discuss filming issues. Z hadn't been to the set in days, and if she didn't show up tomorrow, the production might sue her for breach of contract.

Z didn't want to go, but at Charlie’s insistence, she agreed.

I teased, "You really are a good agent; you've managed everything for Z."

The next morning, Z had to shower in the hospital’s laundry room, and she asked me to accompany her. In normal circumstances, I would have found this very strange, but given Z’s current state, I went along.

I stood outside the laundry room, listening to the sound of Z showering inside.

Z seemed afraid of being alone, so she washed quickly. When she came out, her hair was still wet, draping over her chest and soaking her clothes.