Chapter 70: The Murder Weapon, Eyes Ablaze with Jealousy

Seeing that the actress Z once again locked herself behind her door, Chen Fan went to knock, but no matter how he called, Z refused to come out. Charlie was at a loss and pleaded with us to leave for now, promising to arrange another meeting once Z had calmed down. He assured us it would be rescheduled.

After a moment’s thought, I agreed. We descended by elevator and returned to that dim underground parking garage. Chen Fan shivered and asked the little ghost if she was certain something unclean was present. The little ghost confirmed with certainty that there was indeed a ghost in this garage—and, she added, she had sensed the presence of one in Z’s home as well.

Her words were vague. When pressed, she couldn’t explain what a ghost was, nor could she say how she sensed them. There were too many enigmas surrounding this little ghost, not least her claim that she herself was one. Her ability to articulate was limited, and the more I questioned, the less I learned.

Once we got in the car, Chen Fan quickly drove out of the garage. Only after emerging did he finally breathe easy. He asked what we should do next. I told him to check whether that drunkard from before was still following us. Chen Fan promptly called the nearby officers and confirmed that no one matching that description had been spotted.

There was something strange about Z’s home and this underground garage. I instructed Chen Fan to keep in close contact with Charlie and arrange a second meeting as soon as possible. After he dropped the little ghost and me at home, he drove off.

The night passed. The next morning, the little ghost was already awake. Just as the day before, she stood by my bedside, staring intently beneath it. My brows knitted, and, with a tone harsher than usual, I demanded to know what she was looking for. Only then did she tell me that the items in the box under the bed seemed familiar to her.

Startled, I remembered that the box contained guns and bullets.

Yet no matter how I questioned her, the little ghost couldn’t explain why they felt familiar. A heaviness settled in my heart. Her keen observations had helped me several times, but she continually presented me with new mysteries. As I pondered this, she suddenly crouched down, intent on crawling under the bed.

I immediately pulled her out and scolded, “Have you forgotten what I told you?”

Frightened by my anger, tears streamed down her cheeks and she nodded, “Brother Fang Han told me not to touch anything in the box.”

I didn’t soften. Sometimes her actions were simply too dangerous.

“From today on, not only can you not touch anything under the bed, but you also can’t suddenly run off like yesterday just because you see something—understand?” As soon as I spoke, her crying intensified. She nodded vigorously, and finally choked out a question: if she saw Xuan Yi, could she chase after him?

Her eyes were filled with hope. I took a deep breath and shook my head, “If you see him, tell me. I promise I’ll help you find him. But if you worry me again, I won’t want you anymore.”

Eventually, she agreed through her sobs.

After composing myself, I received a call from Chen Fan. The police had new developments, he said, and, somewhat uncomfortably, added that Luo Feng might need to visit the station. The forensic results had come in: there was a great deal of Luo Feng’s blood among the pile of Kuman Thongs—it could no longer be concealed.

The police database contained Luo Feng’s blood sample. However, I immediately refused; this was not a good time for Luo Feng to be brought to the station. I said I would go in his place and explain everything.

An hour later, I arrived at the station. Other than my time as a police cadet, this was the first time in years I’d set foot in a precinct. Chen Fan was already waiting. He told me Luo Feng couldn’t come, but the police would soon be visiting him at the hospital.

I’d already coordinated with Luo Feng, so there was no rush.

Two officers questioned me. Chen Fan had previously identified me as his special operative, a designation not easily altered. What puzzled the police was why, as Chen Fan’s informant, I would be at the haunted old mansion with Luo Feng.

Chen Fan sat to the side, silent and visibly troubled.

Without hesitation, I answered, “Brother Fan is investigating Luo Feng. I’m his undercover agent.”

Chen Fan looked startled. Luo Feng was well known among the district’s officers—everyone knew he was a gang leader from the port area. But since coming to the mainland, Luo Feng had kept his dealings clean, running a legitimate company without giving the police any leverage.

The officers questioning me were surprised as well, turning to Chen Fan, “You’re investigating Luo Feng?”

Chen Fan could only nod awkwardly.

The questioning continued. I stuck to the story Luo Feng and I had agreed upon: Luo Feng had heard the mansion was haunted and, on a whim, decided to check it out, only to be attacked. I subtly hinted that the assailant might be connected to Wu Qingshan’s case.

With nothing further to uncover, I left the office. Afterward, Chen Fan and I went to the forensics center—I wanted to see the body for myself. Chen Fan had also brought along the latest case files. Flipping through them, I saw the murder weapon had been identified: a solid bronze Kuman Thong. To be precise, Wu Qingshan’s skull had been struck repeatedly with the Kuman Thong’s head.

The head was spherical, matching my earlier analysis. The police had determined it as the weapon since it was the only solid bronze Kuman Thong at the scene, heavy enough to inflict such injuries, and its head bore traces of Wu Qingshan’s blood and bodily fluids.

I examined the photo. Aside from the material, it was indistinguishable from the other Kuman Thongs at the crime scene. No suspicious fingerprints or palm prints were found on it.

As I’d guessed, the police couldn’t narrow down suspects based on footprints—there were simply too many. They speculated that while the killer’s footprints might be among them, most belonged to curious passersby who had ventured in.

Soon we reached the forensics center. With Chen Fan’s help, I entered the morgue without issue.

Wu Qingshan’s body was kept alone in a large morgue filled with gurneys, yet only his corpse occupied the room.

The air was thick with the stench of formalin.

The body had been processed. Though no longer filthy, it was still disturbing to look at—especially the face, which had been skinned and had all features gouged or sliced away. I studied the remains closely as Chen Fan fetched the autopsy report.

The final report largely matched the initial forensic assessment Chen Fan had told me about. The only new detail was that the cause of death could not be confirmed as head trauma with one hundred percent certainty. Determining cause of death is complex; in many criminal cases, forensic experts offer several possibilities.

Traces of sedatives were found in the victim’s system, leading the coroner to believe Wu Qingshan was likely drugged before death, rendering him weak. The blows to his head may not have been immediately fatal, as his entire body showed unnatural muscular rigidity, indicating severe agony.

One chilling hypothesis from the coroner: the killer might have begun mutilating Wu Qingshan’s face—removing his eyes, nose, lips, and ears—while the victim was still alive. This, it was suggested, explained the extreme muscle tension.

As this conclusion was read aloud, Chen Fan reflexively touched his own face.

To mutilate a living person’s face—such suffering was unthinkable.

I left the morgue with a heavy heart.

As I walked out, someone suddenly called my name. I turned and saw a man and a woman—both all too familiar.

The woman was my ex-girlfriend from police academy.

The man was the very cause of my expulsion from the academy.

When enemies meet, anger flares. In that instant, memories flashed before me of the two of them emerging together from a hotel, years ago...