There were all kinds of rumors online. Ling Lie cherished his new phone very much—he put it carefully in a plastic bag, pulled on plastic gloves, and munched on crayfish while scrolling through gossip.

No way was he going to let Captain Ji eat all the crayfish he’d worked so hard to make. He had to eat some himself, at least.

From the perspective of the public, they often saw more than the police at the scene. But the extra details were usually hard to verify and not necessarily relevant to the case. The public gossiped the most about who Kang Wanbin had affairs with, whom he had abandoned after having his fun, and so on.

“Luo Wanwan.” Ling Lie murmured the name, pulling off his gloves and picking up the remote control. He changed the channel, rewound the program, and sure enough, saw her on the late-night in-depth interview show on Xiaron TV.

Online rumors said Luo Wanwan divorced her former station director because she’d fallen for Kang Wanbin. In recent years, the success of Wanbin Laihe was said to rely heavily on her PR tactics.

Now that word was spreading that Kang Wanbin was dead, the public spoke with certainty—it must have been the former station director taking revenge for love.

Ling Lie kept watching until another name popped up—Jiang Binzhi Meng. At first, he thought it was some gentle beauty. But when the photo appeared, it turned out to be a tall, strapping young man.

Jiang Binzhi Meng was a sports school student, standing 1.9 meters tall, decent-looking, especially eye-catching among athletes. The gossip claimed that Kang Wanbin had taken a liking to him and packaged him into a sports influencer. There were plenty of sports students—why him, in particular? There must have been some kind of deal.

Ling Lie wanted to keep watching, but when he reached for the plate, the crayfish were all gone. He froze, then got up to scoop some more from the pot—but just then, his phone rang from inside the plastic bag.

When he saw the flashing name, his gaze shifted slightly. He quickly pulled off his gloves and answered.

“Captain Xiao.”

A calm, warm voice with a trace of laughter came through. “Long time no contact. How’s your ‘retirement’ life treating you?”

Ling Lie said, “Did Shen Xun put you up to this?”

The other chuckled. “I’m just checking in on a former subordinate. What’s that got to do with Shen Xun?”

Ling Lie snorted. “What kind of superior are you? So enthusiastic when recruiting team members, and once you’ve had enough, you ran off, leaving the rest of us behind. Captain Xiao Yu’an, have you ever thought about how we felt?”

A sigh came from the other end. “I have my reasons.”

“And I have my choices!” Ling Lie kicked the coffee table. “Back then, you saved me, and I repaid you by risking my life all these years. I’ve done enough. You can leave the Special Operations Team to accompany your wife; I can retire too!”

“Bro, is that Ling Dog? Let me talk, let me talk—” came another familiar voice in the background. Ling Lie quickly said, “I’m not talking to him! I’m hanging up!”

Xiao Yu’an partially covered the phone. “Ling Lie says he won’t talk to you.”

The other voice shouted across the line, “Tch, Ling Dog, you’re in Xiaron, aren’t you? Out of so many cities, you just had to go to Xiaron and pair up with my Dongye? Wait, when I’m free, I’ll come and catch you myself!”

Ling Lie: “…”

Xiao Yu’an shooed the person away, then said, “Shen Xun did mention you. He said my leaving made you lose your sense of belonging and trust in the team. But I’m not calling to persuade you to return. You’ve worked hard all these years. If you want a long break, no problem.”

Ling Lie asked, “Is that all?”

Xiao Yu’an smiled. “I’m no longer your captain. Technically, I have no right to say this, but as the one who brought you into the Special Operations Team, I want you to know the door will never be closed to you.”

Ling Lie sat up straighter.

“If you ever want to come back, contact Shen Xun—or me. Take care of yourself.”

After a long moment, Ling Lie let out a breath, sounding almost like a sulking child. “Got it.”

The TV was still replaying Luo Wanwan’s interview, and the air was filled with the aroma of crayfish. Ling Lie sat for a few minutes, then tossed the plates into the sink, scooped all the remaining crayfish into lunch boxes—so much that it filled four containers.

At Fengyi Mountain Villa, the investigation was still underway. A few people had solid alibis and no personal ties to Kang Wanbin; they gave their statements and left early. But most had to stay behind.

As dusk approached, meals were hastily arranged. Although the villa was famous for its crayfish, no one wanted to eat it now that a corpse had been found in the farming lake.

Ling Lie stood outside the cordon with four boxes of crayfish. The local officers wouldn’t let him in. He called inside, “Boss Ji! Ji Chenjiao! Your crayfish delivery’s here!”

Ji Chenjiao: “…”

That night, word spread throughout the Nancheng Sub-Bureau—Detective Ji of the Major Crimes Unit actually ordered crayfish at a crime scene!

And not just one box—four big ones. As expected of the Major Crimes Unit!

“This one’s garlic, this one’s thirteen spices, this one’s spicy, and this one…” Ling Lie played his part as the delivery guy, not only delivering but announcing the flavors. When he finished, he didn’t leave.

Ji Chenjiao smacked his pointing finger. “Garlic, thirteen spices, spicy—they all came from the same pot! You think I didn’t notice?”

Ling Lie mockingly blew on his finger. “A cop who hits people—tsk.”

“Because you’re asking for it.” Ji Chenjiao’s words were sharp, but he felt a strange warmth inside. When he’d left home that morning, he never imagined Ling Lie would actually bring him crayfish. He thought they’d be long gone by the time he got back after a sleepless night—and maybe he’d even get a call from the hospital: “Hello, Mr. Ji? Your tenant overate crayfish and is now in the ER. When can you come pay the bill?”

Of course, he knew Ling Lie wasn’t doing this out of pure goodwill—he must’ve come to snoop. But for now, sentiment won over reason. He decided to believe Ling Lie really wanted him to enjoy the crayfish.

“Captain Ji, you have no sense of romance,” Ling Lie teased, blowing on his finger again. “Can’t you imagine them as garlic, thirteen spices, and spicy flavors?”

“Why should I imagine that?”

“So you can enjoy three flavors in one bite. Isn’t that happiness?”

That twisted logic made Ji Chenjiao laugh. He raised his hand to flick Ling Lie’s head but stopped when he saw his oily fingers.

Surprisingly, Ling Lie didn’t dodge. He stared at him with bright, clear eyes. That look made Ji Chenjiao’s brow twitch slightly.

All day at Fengyi Mountain Villa, he’d only seen anxious, fearful guests or terrified staff. Even Jaco had chased the scent of murder here. But Ling Lie stood unaffected by the gloomy atmosphere—it was refreshing and… strangely unsettling.

The two of them stood there, staring in the small break room while the noisy corridor outside bustled with people.

Ji Chenjiao withdrew his hand, thinking of saying “thanks,” when Shen Qi’s voice suddenly boomed overhead, “Ling Mou! You’re pestering my brother again!”

Ji Chenjiao: “…”

Ling Lie wasn’t part of Major Crimes, but his legends were everywhere. Xi Wan politely called him “Mr. Ling,” but Shen Qi, who still remembered when Ling was a suspect, always called him “Ling Mou.”

Ling Mou didn’t mind—he even cooperated. “Yo, Teacher Shen. Had dinner yet? Want some crayfish?”

Shen Qi stiffened. “…Yes!”

Five minutes later, Shen Qi said, “Ling Mou, your crayfish is better than that Crawfish King shop below my apartment!”

Ling Lie cupped his hands. “Thanks for the praise.”

The two former enemies—mostly Shen Qi hating Ling Lie—were reconciled over crayfish. Ji Chenjiao watched, eyelid twitching. But this peace wouldn’t last; not long ago, Ling Lie had made peace with Shen Qi over a dandelion puff.

Four boxes of crayfish were way too much for two people. Ji Chenjiao only ate a few and left the rest for Shen Qi to share. He then dragged Ling Lie outside. “Go home. This isn’t your place to hang around.”

Ling Lie feigned shock. “Captain Ji, I traveled so far to bring you crayfish, and now you want to chase me away after eating?” He even poked Ji Chenjiao’s chest, only for his finger to be slapped aside.

Ling Lie stubbornly added, “Where’s your conscience?”

“What’s your status here?” Ji Chenjiao pushed. “A relative of the deceased? A witness? A suspect? Or… police?”

Ling Lie said, “Police’s… delivery boy?”

Ji Chenjiao frowned. “Go home. Civilians shouldn’t interfere with police work.”

“The civilian can’t go home.”

“?”

“I took the last bus and hiked five kilometers here. The sun’s setting, and I missed the last ride down. Cab drivers won’t take orders once they hear someone died on the mountain. Captain Ji, are you really kicking a civilian down the mountain?”

Ji Chenjiao let out a long, helpless sigh. “Fine. Stay out of trouble.”

Ling Lie grinned brightly. “Got it!”

Fengyi Mountain was huge, but there was only one entrance and exit. After pulling the surveillance footage, the Major Crimes Unit confirmed the last vehicle to enter the villa was at 10:20 p.m.—one of the farm stay owners. After that, no cars left or entered until this morning when the guests discovered the bloody hand.

If the killer wasn’t hiding somewhere in the mountain, then they were still in the villa—among these suspicious people.

Ji Chenjiao focused on two groups: those with personal ties to Kang Wanbin—some guests and staff—and those who weren’t invited but came anyway. Most in the latter group claimed they were nobodies trying to network or freeload, but whether their true target was Kang Wanbin remained uncertain.

Ji Chenjiao finished instructing Ling Lie and walked towards Building Thirteen, where there was someone he wanted to personally question—the model Yao Jue.

There were five people staying in Building Thirteen in total, but only Yao Jue was registered on the official guest list. Of the other four, two were his assistant and stylist, and the remaining two were “wild guests.”

Naturally, Yao Jue occupied the most spacious room with the best lighting. When Ji Chenjiao knocked on the door, both the assistant and stylist were present. Yao Jue looked pale, and there was a flicker of evasiveness in his gaze toward Ji Chenjiao.

“You’re here to question us again?” The assistant frowned upon seeing the police. “I told you, we came back around nine last night and didn’t go out again. The three of us played cards until late downstairs in the lounge. That guy on the first floor—what’s his name, Bo… Bo something—he saw everything.”

One of the “wild guests” staying on the first floor was Bo Lingxue, a science YouTuber focusing on astronomy and the universe. His follower count was small, his influence minor, and he hadn’t been officially invited. Ji Chenjiao had only briefly seen his profile during the preliminary screening.

“When did you all go back to your rooms?” Ji Chenjiao asked.

“Around one o’clock, I think? Brother Yao said he wanted to sleep.”

Ji Chenjiao looked at Yao Jue. “And after one?”

“We slept, of course! You’re not suspecting us, are you?” The assistant snapped. “Sure, Kang Wanbin was a scumbag, but we wouldn’t go as far as to kill him. Dirtying our hands over him…”

Yao Jue coughed softly, and the assistant fell silent, grumbling instead, “Anyway, whether he’s dead or alive has nothing to do with us. We’re just under contract with him, basically his employees. Wanbin Laihe has plenty of staff—why are you singling us out?”

Ji Chenjiao asked, “Why do you call Kang Wanbin a scumbag? Did you have some conflict with him?”

The assistant realized he’d said too much and glanced nervously at Yao Jue. Yao Jue sighed. “I used to be his lover, though not by choice.”

“Brother Yao!” the assistant exclaimed loudly.

Ji Chenjiao pulled over a chair and sat down. “I’m not treating you as a suspect. This is just a routine inquiry. Can we talk about what you know of Kang Wanbin?”

Yao Jue pressed his lips together, clenched his hands, and after a few seconds, nodded. “What do you want to know?”

Ji Chenjiao said, “How you met him. You said it wasn’t voluntary—what did he do to you?”

Yao Jue gave a bitter smile. “People like me—no background, no capital to rely on—are far too easy to ruin.”

Yao Jue was twenty-five this year, with only a middle school education. He had left his rural hometown as a teenager to try his luck in Xiarong City. Thanks to his outstanding looks and proportions, he first worked as a print model. After saving some money and gaining an understanding of the modeling business, he began posting his own photos and behind-the-scenes footage online, gradually building a fan base.

Back then, dressing up as characters from games or anime was the quickest path to fame. Yao Jue had grown up poor—so poor he hadn’t even owned a TV, let alone encountered anime or games. But for the sake of his career, he forced himself to play games, watch anime, and eventually developed a bit of interest.

Finally, at eighteen, he made a splash at a comic convention. More and more gaming companies sought him out to cosplay their characters. His followers on social media rose steadily, and soon the offers came not just from game companies, but from agencies, who painted grand dreams for him.

Lacking education, he signed with a company too hastily. Their commercial bookings were a mess, and his fans complained on his behalf, urging him to do something. But he couldn’t afford the massive penalty fees for breaking his contract.

At twenty, Kang Wanbin appeared, inviting him to join Wanbin Laihe and promising to cover his penalty fees. Having learned a lesson, he took care to investigate the company this time—and discovered that while they were wealthy, their tactics were dirty. He also saw that Kang Wanbin had personal designs on him.

He wasn’t gay and wanted nothing to do with Kang Wanbin, so he refused.

What he hadn’t expected was that Kang Wanbin, unable to have him, would choose to destroy him. Suddenly, damaging rumors about him spread through the industry—claims that he had bullied girls in school, fake misogynistic comments he’d supposedly made, and strange men appearing to say he was bisexual and planned to hire surrogates for children.

He tried to clarify, to explain, but against deliberate smear campaigns, his voice was drowned out. Even his most loyal fans turned away. In this female-dominated consumer market, such “sins” were fatal.

But he had done none of these things, said none of those words.

Desperate, he sought Kang Wanbin for a solution. Kang locked him in a hotel room, assaulted him, and took photos. Then he threatened him with harm to his family.

A boy from the countryside who’d fought so hard to build a life—destroyed in an instant.

In the end, he surrendered and signed with Wanbin Laihe. Only then did Kang Wanbin have his lawyers and PR teams clear his name. He’d now worked there for five years, lacking for nothing materially, and Kang Wanbin had long lost interest in him, rarely bothering him anymore. But his career, his dreams, had been trampled; he lived like a hollow shell.

“Kang Wanbin was scum. Knowing he’s dead, I’m genuinely glad.” Yao Jue brushed aside his messy long hair, his beauty tinged with something eerie. “I sincerely hope the one who killed him gets away. If they’re caught, I’ll thank them in person.”

The assistant broke into tears. “Brother Yao, stop! The wicked get what they deserve—Kang Wanbin deserved it! This has nothing to do with us!”

Ji Chenjiao was silent for a moment. “Do you know anyone else who suffered like you? Other lovers of Kang Wanbin?”

“Luo Wanwan. And that athlete… what’s his name?” Yao Jue frowned, trying to recall. “You can check. A man like him—there’s no shortage of people who wanted him dead. I’m not the only one.”

At that moment, noise came from downstairs. Someone had returned. Ji Chenjiao left Yao Jue’s room and headed down, locking eyes with a refined-looking man.

He wore a white shirt and black trousers, his hair casually styled. His features were sharp, softened somewhat by a pair of gold-rimmed glasses.

As Ji Chenjiao met his gaze, a strange sense of familiarity stirred. Where had he seen this man before? Nowhere—he’d surely remember a face like this. Yet the feeling persisted.

“Hello.” The man greeted him politely. “Still investigating this late? Must be hard work. I’m Bo Lingxue. Sorry for gatecrashing the party and complicating your investigation.”

Ji Chenjiao knew many “wild guests” came to these events to network—but Bo Lingxue didn’t fit the freeloading type. Which made his motives suspicious.

“Ji Chenjiao, Major Crimes Unit. Mind if we talk?”

Bo Lingxue smiled and nodded. “Of course.”

“You’re a science YouTuber?”

“Yes, just starting out—not on par with the big names here,” Bo Lingxue replied, opening an app. “Want to see my videos?”

Ji Chenjiao took the phone. A video explaining the Fermi Paradox was playing. Decent view count—over 200,000. Though not an astronomy fan, Ji Chenjiao recognized the famous theory. “Smart choice for a beginner.”

Bo Lingxue chuckled. “Detective Ji, are you teasing me for riding the hype?”

Ji Chenjiao checked his other videos—views dropped sharply for topics like W bosons and quantum entanglement. More accessible subjects like warp drives and black hole classifications got better numbers.

Bo Lingxue said, “What can I do? When you’re new, you have to make content the audience actually wants. I did jump on the Fermi Paradox trend. Before making that one, I analyzed the platform’s keyword rankings. Even with so many Fermi videos out there, people stay curious about the cosmos.”

Ji Chenjiao returned the phone and shifted topics. “You came to the party uninvited—also chasing heat?”

Bo Lingxue adjusted his glasses, looking slightly embarrassed, then shrugged. “Guilty… one more time. But at these parties, guests can’t tell who’s official and who’s not. A few photos posted online and—boom—I’m part of the crowd. When Wanbin Laihe’s press releases come out, my followers will assume I’m some up-and-coming creator.”

His candor felt oddly off to Ji Chenjiao. Too open, too smooth. But that alone wasn’t enough to link him to the crime.

“When did you get back to your room last night?”

“I didn’t.”

“Hmm?”

“Met a few like-minded folks last night. They’re gaming YouTubers, but surprisingly into astronomy. Feng Yishan’s remote enough that the sky’s pretty clear. We ended up stargazing until dawn. Dozed off briefly after six, but got woken by the commotion outside.”

Ji Chenjiao asked, “Which UP hosts were you with? Where did you stargaze?”

Bai Lingxue gave three names and added, “On the rooftop of the banquet hall. Officer Ji, you’re not suspecting me, are you? I didn’t even know Kang Wanbin until today.”

“I’m not exactly suspecting you,” Ji Chenjiao said, “but in theory, every single person who stayed at the villa last night is a potential suspect. Our job is to rule out suspicion one by one.”

Bai Lingxue smiled. “Then my suspicion should be ruled out already. I have alibis and no motive.”

Ji Chenjiao stared into Bai Lingxue’s eyes again. The reason he’d noticed this man from the start was because there was a strange sense of contradiction about him. For an inexperienced detective, this contradiction might suggest innocence—but to him, it was exactly what made Bai Lingxue suspicious.

After this brief encounter, the feeling of contradiction hadn’t lessened—instead, it had grown stronger.

Ji Chenjiao stood up, planning to verify the testimony with the three UP hosts Bai Lingxue had mentioned, and to have Shen Qi run a background check on him.

“When can I leave the mountain?” Bai Lingxue asked with a smile.

Ji Chenjiao paused and turned his face slightly. “If your alibi holds up, soon.”

“Good. I’ll wait.”

The three gaming UP hosts had already finished giving their statements. They confirmed that they had been with Bai Lingxue on the banquet hall rooftop all night, chatting, drinking, and marveling at his broad knowledge. The banquet hall’s staircase camera had also recorded them going upstairs at 1 AM and coming back down at 6:10 AM.

Shen Qi, chewing on a piece of bread, sat by the table with a big jug of mineral water beside him. “Bro, this Bai Lingxue is from Dongye City, studied abroad, and now works as a translator for Yangtu Trading.”

Ji Chenjiao had heard of Yangtu Trading—a large foreign trade and transport company with factories in the Southern Hemisphere, though their domestic operations weren’t their main focus.

Shen Qi turned his head. “Brother, does he seem fishy to you?”

Ji Chenjiao couldn’t say for sure.

Shen Qi gulped down water noisily and grumbled, “Ling that bastard tricked me!”

Ji Chenjiao: “What did he do this time?”

“It’s the crayfish! Why did he have to make it taste so damn good? I couldn’t stop eating—now I’m parched as hell, I’ve drunk so much water but my tongue’s still salty!”

“…Right. Where did that Ling guy wander off to this time?”

__

Author’s Note:

Ji Chenjiao: “Ling dog?”

Ling Lie: “Don’t call me Ling dog!”