In the suburbs of the southern district, at Maple Breeze Villa, a lively crayfish party was underway.

The event was hosted by Wanbin Laihe Games, a company that had recently been in the spotlight. After this year’s college entrance exams, they were set to launch a new gacha training game. The early promotional campaign had already begun around the Qingming Festival, and today they spared no expense, inviting well-known gaming content creators (UP hosts) from all over the country, along with nearly every famous local influencer in Xiarong City, to an offline gathering where they could preview the game on company-provided phones.

The banquet hall buzzed with voices. Some seized the chance to meet in person, others chased celebrities, and some simply compared outfits—everything but seriously playing the game.

“If you ask me, this whole thing’s just for show. Wanbin probably drafted the game review scripts ages ago, right? Later they’ll send each UP host their copy to tweak and post. Done deal.”

“Yeah, and this whole crayfish mountain thing—what a gimmick. I heard the first round of crayfish alone was several hundred kilograms? If they really wanted people to test the game, would they serve something like crayfish? Everyone’s busy peeling shells—who the hell has hands free to play a game?”

“Hahaha, as if this game is even worth playing. Core gameplay? Copied. Character designs? Copied. Story? Also copied. Just another gacha game—what’s there to make me want to lift a finger to play it? One toe would be more than enough.”

“You’re savage! Better not let Wanbin’s staff hear you!”

Laughter broke out among the group.

The game influencers all knew how much fluff there was in the industry. Still, since they’d accepted the generous appearance fees, they kept up appearances: group photos, behind-the-scenes posts, completing their assigned tasks before gathering with familiar friends to gossip over crayfish.

The local influencers from Xiarong were more like the real stars of the event. After all, Wanbin Laihe was a Xiarong-based company. When CEO Kang Wanbin first started out, his strategy had been to win over local influencers with gift money and dinners. But such a grand event as today’s was unprecedented.

The local influencers showed up dressed to impress—men and women alike competing for attention. On the surface they were all smiles and friends, but beneath it, they were like celebrities on a red carpet, desperate to outshine each other.

The preview event ran from 2 PM until noon the next day, with overnight accommodation included. From early afternoon, guests arrived one after another. Crayfish piled up like little mountains everywhere—on long tables, at the bar, on coffee tables; even the champagne tower had been replaced by a crayfish tower. The entire scene blazed red and festive.

A special area outside the banquet hall had been roped off to hold discarded shells. Kang Wanbin had boasted that everyone should eat to their heart’s content and see how high a shell mountain they could build by the next day.

This turned out to be great PR. Jaco filmed several clips of the event and added voiceover commentary:

“Today Jaco was invited to attend Wanbin Laihe’s new game preview. As you all know, Jaco usually covers social news, so I’m not sure why they invited me—but since I’m here, let’s explore from my point of view.”

“It’s crayfish season now, but this sheer amount of crayfish is surprising, even to Jaco. Rumor has it that Maple Breeze Villa has several massive crayfish breeding ponds, and all the crayfish today came from there. I’ll take you to see it later. For now, let’s check out this shell mountain. Hmm… still early, not much of a pile yet.”

“Honestly, Jaco’s feeling a bit of class resentment right now—what about you guys? Let’s keep going. There are lots of celebrities here, way more famous than Jaco. You game fans probably wish you could be here—Wanbin claimed to have invited all the top game UP hosts in the country. Too bad Jaco doesn’t recognize any of them, sorry, can’t get autographs for you.”

“But Jaco does know lots of our local Xiarong influencers. See that one? Yao Jue—looks even better in person than on camera. And is that Dreaming by the Riverside? Why the sour face? We won’t bother him. Luo Wanwan, Jaco’s goddess—so classy! Her sister Long Shasha is also pretty, but a different vibe. Luo Wanwan’s sharp and bold, Long Shasha’s much gentler. There’s a handsome guy… uh, no idea who he is…”

Jaco finished his rounds but didn’t post the footage immediately. Events like this came with unspoken rules: no unauthorized livestreams without the host’s consent. He planned to prep the material, edit it later, and maybe spin it from a witty angle—mocking the extravagance of the rich, for example. Of course, since this was a paid gig, he’d also post the official promotional content.

Many shared Jaco’s mindset; they exchanged knowing smiles when they crossed paths filming.

Throughout the afternoon, Wanbin Laihe’s staff busied themselves entertaining the guests. Young men and women dressed as game characters mingled with the attendees. Only in the evening did Kang Wanbin himself appear, wearing a custom-tailored suit, exuding the confidence of a successful entrepreneur.

Earlier that afternoon, model Yao Jue—one of the guests—had changed into the outfit of a popular game character and posed beside Kang Wanbin, performing the character’s signature gesture and winning a round of applause.

But snide remarks weren’t absent.

“Why bother, Yao Jue? He was on the rise, now look—playing the rich boss’s kept man, caged like a canary. All his spark’s gone.”

“Look at his face—he hates wearing that costume. Bet he’s fuming inside.”

“Serves him right! Ah well, at least he’s rich now.”

Kang Wanbin, in his forties, wasn’t particularly handsome, but the labels wealthy and brilliant clung to him, making his otherwise unremarkable appearance suddenly desirable.

His speech was decently witty, and the guests responded with laughter. Knowing not to overstay his welcome, he soon excused himself, leaving the party to the guests.

The dinner crayfish spread was even richer than the afternoon’s—braised, stewed, roasted, even in soup. The chefs pulled out every trick to give the crayfish endless flavors.

Of course, other dishes were present too. Lobster had been humorously renamed “giant crayfish” for the night.

After seeing Kang Wanbin off, Yao Jue changed out of costume and returned to the hall, drinking alone with a gloomy air.

After 10 PM, the guests gradually retired to their rooms. Outside, the crayfish shell mountain had grown impressive. Many paused to take noisy group photos beside it.

Jaco and his assistant team also returned to their room, planning to stay up all night drafting captions and editing video. That way, once they left the villa the next day, they could instantly post and grab attention while the internet was flooded with glowing PR articles about Wanbin. His unique angle was sure to score hits.

After midnight, few remained in the banquet hall. Some guests were too drunk to move, sprawled across sofas. Others—night owls—pulled old friends into gaming sessions…

Late at night, the mountain wind picked up. In the unlit rooms, shadows swayed. The waters of the breeding ponds rustled. From the cliffs above, someone—at the last breath of life—stretched a hand toward the black sky.

The crayfish, always prey for humans, sensed that their feast was near. They scuttled forward in a rustling swarm.

A dark figure approached the shell mountain, wind-swept and stripped of a layer. Lips curled into a cold smile. With a casual toss, something landed skewed at the top of the heap—like a man who had almost crawled out of a mountain of corpses and blood, giving his final, despairing cry.

After the Cangshui Town serial cases were solved, the Major Crimes Unit finally had a brief respite. But because there were still no leads on the Liu Yixiang case, Ji Chenjiao could not let it go. Before Chen He was handed over to the prosecutor, Ji Chenjiao repeatedly questioned him about Ji Ke and Liu Yixiang. It was clear Chen He truly didn’t know who Liu Yixiang was. As for Ji Ke, he simply refused to speak.

Who really killed Liu Yixiang? And why did they put Liu Yixiang in Ling Lie’s clothes? The latter question, in particular, was baffling.

Since taking over the Major Crimes Unit, Ji Chenjiao had rarely encountered a case he couldn’t crack. Even if the culprit couldn’t be caught immediately, there would at least be a clear trail. But this time, it felt like a giant unseen hand was dragging him into a thick, impenetrable fog.

The deeper he thought, the more he kept recalling Ning Xiechen and Yan Xi—their disappearance remained one of the greatest unsolved mysteries of the entire Xiarong police force.

Five years ago, they vanished as if they had never existed, without any warning signs. At that time, Ji Chenjiao was away in another city, participating in a competition for elite detectives. Before leaving Xiarong, Yan Xi had even invited him to dinner, wishing him success and hoping to work together again soon.

To find Ning Xiechen, who was then captain of the Major Crimes Unit, the entire force, led by Xie Qing, had pulled every string and exhausted every possible method—but it was all in vain.

Rumors began to circulate that Ning Xiechen had been an undercover agent for some criminal organization. This suspicion was fueled by the fact that the police could not trace Yan Xi’s background. Though officially an informant, Yan Xi only answered to Ning Xiechen—no one else in the entire Bureau, including Ji Chenjiao, could say for certain who he really was.

But Ning Xiechen had trusted Yan Xi completely, and thanks to Yan Xi’s intelligence, the Major Crimes Unit had solved many difficult cases.

Ning Xiechen had always been a deeply cautious officer with many informants under his wing—but Yan Xi was different. He had treated Yan Xi unusually well. Now both had vanished without a trace, and the mystery surrounding Yan Xi’s identity made Ning Xiechen’s own integrity suspicious by association.

Ji Chenjiao remembered that it was Xie Qing who had insisted on believing Ning Xiechen’s innocence, arguing that during his term, Ning Xiechen had never shown signs of misconduct or corruption. And if he really was a dirty cop, why would he abandon everything he had worked so hard for without doing anything damaging on his way out?

Both sides had convincing arguments, but neither could sway the other. With Ning Xiechen still missing and crime in the city showing no signs of slowing down, the unit was forced to move on and solve the fresh cases piling up. The search for Ning Xiechen had to be shelved.

With no captain for the Major Crimes Unit, Xie Qing was the natural successor in terms of skill and experience. But because of his close relationship with Ning Xiechen, many resisted his promotion. It took the personal intervention of the deputy director overseeing criminal investigations to finally let him lead the team.

Five years had passed. Few in the Bureau still talked about Ning Xiechen. The Major Crimes Unit’s captain had changed from Xie Qing to Ji Chenjiao. But the unsolved mystery—like a festering wound—remained, impossible to ignore.

When Ning Xiechen disappeared, Ji Chenjiao had not only been excluded from the investigation but was also suspended and repeatedly questioned. After all, he had been Ning Xiechen’s protégé—and puzzlingly, he had also been on good terms with Yan Xi.

This had put him in a very awkward position.

Why had Ning Xiechen, the captain of the Major Crimes Unit, personally plucked a fresh graduate like him from a local station and brought him into the team, even teaching him directly? The internal investigation team had grilled him about this repeatedly, and after being asked so many times, even Ji Chenjiao began to doubt himself—Why had his mentor picked him? What kind of person had he wanted to shape him into?

Things only calmed down after the deputy director stepped in to back Xie Qing. Over the next three years, Xie Qing cracked case after case, and the rumors about “Ning Xiechen’s betrayal” quietly died off.

To protect Ji Chenjiao from these whispers, Xie Qing had transferred him away from the frontline, sending him north to join an elite mixed training squad and undertake joint missions. When Ji Chenjiao finally returned to Xiarong, he was decorated with honors and no longer carried the label of “Ning Xiechen’s protégé.”

But while time might make others forget Ning Xiechen, Ji Chenjiao never could. His mentor had been strict but kind, a man who trusted his informants—and was trusted by them. After Ning Xiechen vanished, every informant who used to feed the Major Crimes Unit valuable intel cut ties with the Bureau, even refusing Xie Qing’s personal pleas.

Ji Chenjiao refused to believe his mentor had betrayed anyone.

So why had Ning Xiechen disappeared? After two years as unit captain himself, Ji Chenjiao was more convinced than ever that his mentor had been investigating something—and had vanished because of it.

Ning Xiechen hadn’t been a talkative man, but right before Ji Chenjiao left for the competition, his mentor had said something strange: “A puppet was once human, but somehow it got strings tied to it.” When Ji Chenjiao asked what he meant, Ning Xiechen had given no answer.

Had his mentor realized he was being watched? Was he calling himself a puppet—forced to act against his will?

Today, while discussing Liu Yixiang’s case with Xie Qing, Ji Chenjiao brought up Ning Xiechen again. Xie Qing had paused noticeably. Just as Ji Chenjiao thought he would brush it off like before, Xie Qing said, “I personally checked Ning’s communication and internet records. Everything was wiped clean and unrecoverable. Someone wanted to erase whatever he was investigating—and him along with it.”

“What was he investigating?”

“I don’t know. No one does.”

Xie Qing hesitated, then added, “Only that informant might have known.”

The office fell silent.

Ji Chenjiao had always known this: Xie Qing despised Yan Xi. After a moment, Ji Chenjiao asked, “Captain Xie, why are you suddenly telling me this today?”

Xie Qing smiled wryly. “Because you keep asking. And because Liu Yixiang’s case—though it doesn’t seem related to Ning—it somehow made me think of him again.”

“Because they’re both strange, without clues?”

“Something like that.”

Ji Chenjiao suddenly thought of another person. “What about Ling Lie…”

Xie Qing returned to his usual calculating self. “If you’ve got no proof that he’s a suspect, don’t make things hard for him.”

Am I making things hard for him? Ji Chenjiao wondered. I got him a place to stay, bought him a phone, a game console—at most I just mooch off his cooking sometimes. How is that hard? I’m practically treating him like royalty!

Small apartments were uncomfortable, especially with commuting to and from work, so half a month ago Ji Chenjiao had negotiated with his “royal guest” and moved back in. Each had their own bedroom, living separately without interfering—but if Ji Chenjiao bought groceries, Ling Lie had to cook.

Ji Chenjiao had never lived with anyone before. He’d thought it would be awkward, but surprisingly, he adapted well.

As for Ling Lie…

He hadn’t minded at all when Ji Chenjiao moved back. On the contrary, he’d been pleased.

Why wouldn’t he be? Utility bills were supposedly split, but Ji Chenjiao paid most of them. Zhou Yun, hearing that Ji Chenjiao had a roommate who made great soup, regularly sent top-quality ingredients—and since Ji Chenjiao watched his diet carefully, Ling Lie got to eat most of it.

Once a skinny bag of bones, Ling Lie was now visibly putting on weight.

Just a few days ago, Zhou Yun had sent a free-range duck.

As Ji Chenjiao stepped out of Xie Qing’s office, Ling Lie’s message arrived.

Ling Lie: [Who was the one who said they wanted pickled radish old duck soup? It’s ready. If you don’t come home soon, I’ll finish it all!][Image.JPG]

Ji Chenjiao: [Just finished a meeting.]

Ling Lie: [Poor thing. Keep working hard, I’ll save you a bowl.]

Ji Chenjiao: [The meeting’s over.]

Ling Lie: [Captain Ji, may I boldly ask… did you ditch work for old duck soup? That’s unbecoming of a public servant!]

Ji Chenjiao stared at the message, speechless.

Even public servants need to eat. The duck you’re stewing came from my family—I’m not allowed to eat it?

He didn’t reply, left headquarters, and paused by McDonald’s. After a moment’s hesitation, he went in and bought three boxes of wings.

If Ling Lie was making duck soup, he should bring something too.

When he opened the door, the rich aroma hit him immediately. Ji Chenjiao’s stomach growled. Ling Lie turned from the dining table, chopsticks holding a perfectly stewed duck wing. His face was pink from the steam and overhead light, wearing Ji Chenjiao’s discarded home clothes and an apron across his chest.

“Oh, the public servant bows to dinner at last.”

Ji Chenjiao: “…”

I must’ve gone mad to bring this brat McDonald’s!

Spotting the bag, Ling Lie quickly dropped the teasing tone. “Thanks, Captain Ji. The noble public servant’s image remains untarnished!”

Ji Chenjiao clasped his hands behind his back and gave Ling Lie a sideways glance. “Did I say this was for you?”

Ling Lie blinked. “Who else would you have bought it for? Yourself?”

“You got a problem with that?” Ji Chenjiao washed his hands, leaving the chicken wings by the sink where Ling Lie couldn’t touch them. Then he sat down, ladled out the soup, and after fishing around for a while, scooped up all the duck legs and wings for himself. He opened the takeout box and ate in front of Ling Lie—one bite of old duck soup, one bite of McDonald’s chicken wing.

Ling Lie gaped. “You…”

Ji Chenjiao ate miserably too. Compared to the tender, simmered duck, the half-cold wings were tough and hard to swallow. But he’d already made his point—he couldn’t just hand Ling Lie a half-eaten wing now.

Ling Lie knowingly nodded. “Such is the fate of those living under someone else’s roof. I’ve long been prepared for this.”

Ji Chenjiao tossed the chicken bones aside, exasperated. “Prepared for what?”

“To be teased. To be bullied. Some people won’t eat the wings themselves, but they won’t let me have them either,” Ling Lie sighed pitifully.

Hearing this accusation, Ji Chenjiao realized maybe he was acting childish. “Fine, I’ll buy you some tomorrow, okay?”

Ling Lie replied solemnly, “Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow… how many tomorrows are there?”

Ji Chenjiao kept his cool. “I’ll order delivery for you right now!”

Ling Lie grinned immediately.

When the delivery arrived, Ling Lie rushed to get it. Ji Chenjiao saw a familiar contact pop up on the phone screen—it was his foster mother, Zhou Yun. Without thinking, he answered the video call, but Zhou Yun clearly paused for a moment. “Xiao Chen?”

Only then did Ji Chenjiao remember—it was Ling Lie’s phone. How were Ling Lie and Zhou Yun friends already? And close enough to video chat?

Zhou Yun smiled warmly. “You’re having dinner with Xiao Ling? He asked me how to make old duck soup today. I got a little worried and wanted to see how it turned out. Looks like you’re eating it already—how is it?”

Ling Lie appeared, holding the McDonald’s bag. “Auntie, thank you! I think it’s delicious.”

Ji Chenjiao glanced at him. “You’re praising yourself now?”

Ling Lie looked only at the camera. “Auntie, Captain Ji says he’s not satisfied.”

Ji Chenjiao: “…” He’s tattling now?

Zhou Yun pretended to scold him. “Xiao Chen, Xiao Ling worked so hard to make soup, and you’re just sitting there eating it without even thanking him. If he followed my recipe, it can’t be bad.”

Ji Chenjiao surrendered. “It’s fine, just…”

Before he could finish, Ling Lie snatched the phone. “Auntie, the soup was easy. Teach me something more challenging next time.”

Zhou Yun laughed. “Of course, Xiao Ling. Thank you! Before you moved in, Xiao Chen ate grass every night…”

Ji Chenjiao shouted from behind, “That was vegetable salad!”

Ling Lie and Zhou Yun chatted about daily life for a while. Before hanging up, Ling Lie pointed the camera at Ji Chenjiao. “Auntie, look! His bowl’s clean.”

Ji Chenjiao pretended to throw the bowl at Ling Lie’s head.

And so, this chaotic, bickering cohabitation became their daily life—but Ji Chenjiao found he didn’t mind it at all.

“I’m back!” The door swung open as Ling Lie squeezed inside with bags in both hands.

It was 8 AM on their day off. Ji Chenjiao never slept in—he’d been up since seven, but his roommate was already gone when he woke.

Last night, Ling Lie had been watching cooking videos on his new phone, and the algorithm fed him countless ways to make spicy crayfish. He had immediately turned to Ji Chenjiao. “Roomie, roomie—let’s eat this tomorrow?”

Shrimp wouldn’t hurt his diet, but restaurant crayfish were rarely cleaned well, and the oil was questionable. Ji Chenjiao said, “Forget it. Not clean.”

Ling Lie: “What if I clean them myself?”

Ji Chenjiao: “You?”

Ling Lie: “Me!”

Before bed, they agreed. Ling Lie would get up early to buy the freshest crayfish and take care of cleaning and cooking—but Ji Chenjiao would pay, plus a service fee.

Sure enough, Ling Lie had gone out at six, bought five pounds, and even brought back a tub of oil.

Ji Chenjiao: “…”

Ling Lie was full of conviction. “Two meals! Tomorrow I can use the leftovers on noodles.”

Hard to argue with that.

Ling Lie dove into prep work the moment he returned. The crayfish were large, plump, and lively. He dumped them in a big basin, donned gloves, and started scrubbing mud and removing heads.

As the sponsor, Ji Chenjiao could have sat back and waited for lunch. But after watching for a while, he felt bad and grabbed a stool to help.

Ling Lie eyed him warily. “Trying to steal my job?”

Ji Chenjiao: “Relax, I’ll still pay you.”

By noon, the crayfish were finally cleaned, and the rest—slow simmering—was easy.

Ji Chenjiao was never a food lover, but even he felt his throat move watching the bubbling pot of fragrant broth.

But before it was ready, his phone rang. Frowning, he saw it was Shen Qi from the duty team. A case?

“Bro! Southern District station just called—something happened at Maple Breeze Manor’s crayfish party last night! They found a severed hand at the scene! The party guests were all internet influencers—the videos are all over the net already!”