Chapter 40: The Case Must Be Solved Within Three Days

I asked the little ghost what was wrong, and she replied that she missed Xuan Yi. I was taken aback, and suddenly felt a pang of sympathy. Regardless of whether Xuan Yi was truly her father, and no matter if he treated her well or poorly, the fact remained that he had accompanied her since childhood. It was only natural for her to yearn for him. Emotion is a uniquely human trait; no matter how much the little ghost was raised as a beast, she could not lose her feelings.

I patted her head, intending to comfort her, when she suddenly wiped away her tears. She clutched my hand and made me promise not to abandon her. I was puzzled—she had only been with me for a few days, yet she was so attached. Then I remembered what she had said before: when she was very young, she often saw me.

Yet I could not fathom why the little ghost would have seen me when she was just a child.

There was no time to ask further. Chen Fan rushed back, out of breath. My phone was dead, so he couldn’t reach me and had to return on foot. He had spent the night at the police station, his face haggard. As soon as he entered, he shouted, “Something terrible has happened!” I told him to calm down, and after a few deep breaths, he told me the police had decided to close the case today.

I was startled. Once the police closed the case, the short-haired woman and Yun Qing would be handed over to the judiciary. Their confessions, combined with the DNA and fingerprint evidence, were enough to convict them. I threw on a jacket, told the little ghost to stay in the room and not wander, and hurried out with Chen Fan.

We ran toward the police station. On the way, Chen Fan, still panting, explained that after he handed the syringe to the police, their forensic department worked overnight to analyze it. As expected, the blood inside belonged to several of Lao Jiu’s associates. Once the results came out, the police interrogated the short-haired woman again early this morning.

Just as I had speculated, the short-haired woman admitted she had taken Lao Jiu and his men to the countryside to draw their blood. She also confessed to deliberately leaving bloody handprints on the wall, intending to confuse the police—why were the bodies devoid of blood, yet the walls were stained, pushing the investigation toward supernatural explanations.

However, neither she nor Yun Qing explained how Lao Jiu’s group performed the “ghost’s feast” or consumed the food, nor did they clarify why the paper money had turned into spirit currency.

“They said the two suspects refused to confess multiple times after being apprehended, attempted to conceal the truth, their attitude was extremely vile, and the social impact was extremely negative. That’s why the police decided to close the case and hand it over to the judiciary.” Chen Fan’s account was saturated with the official rhetoric of the mainland, laced with exaggeration.

I saw through Chen Fan’s intentions. When we reached a newsstand, I stopped. Chen Fan was confused and asked what was wrong. I sneered, “You don’t need to embellish the story. You just want me to solve the case and earn you some credit, don’t you?”

Chen Fan scratched his head, about to speak when I interrupted him, “I can help you, but you must agree to one condition.”

Chen Fan immediately asked, “What condition?”

I pondered and replied, “If you get promoted in Beijing, whenever I need something, you must do your utmost to help me.”

Chen Fan wanted to agree but hesitated. I knew he wasn’t clear on who I was, but seeing my camaraderie with Luo Feng, he must suspect I wasn’t one of the good guys, so he dared not commit.

I cast him a cold glance. “You want the glory, but not the price.” I grabbed his collar. “You must promise now. If you don’t, when you return to Beijing, you’ll find the police know about your escapades with prostitutes in Hong Kong.”

Chen Fan’s face changed. “I’ve never done that!”

I let go. “It doesn’t matter. As long as they believe you did.”

“You’re slandering me!” Chen Fan gritted his teeth, his face flushed. “How can you do this?”

“Remember, I’m not a good person.” With that, I turned and walked toward the newsstand.

The Hong Kong police’s sudden decision to close the case early in the morning likely came under outside influence. I picked up a newspaper—sure enough, after a few days of calm, all the major papers were once again denouncing Yun Qing and the short-haired woman, with even greater ferocity than before. My gaze turned icy. No matter where you are, public opinion is a tremendous obstacle to investigations.

I put the newspaper back and hurried with Chen Fan to the police station. Along the way, I called Luo Feng, asking him to check if Yun Gao had once again leveraged his connections to mobilize the media.

When we entered the station, many officers were gathered in the office. Listening closely, I realized there were internal disagreements; not all the police supported closing the case. I felt a slight relief—this gave us a chance. I turned to Chen Fan and asked if he had thought it through.

Chen Fan gritted his teeth and finally agreed.

I whispered a few words in his ear. At first, he was hesitant, but in the end, he raised his voice and shouted. By then, I’d already retreated to a corner, all eyes fixed on Chen Fan. He squared his shoulders and called out, “The two people arrested in the station are not the real killers!”

Someone immediately retorted, “Officer from the mainland—confessions, DNA, and fingerprints—aren’t those enough to prove they’re the culprits?”

I saw Chen Fan’s hands trembling.

“Then tell me, what’s with the food in the victims’ stomachs? And the money that turned into spirit currency?” With each question, Chen Fan grew more confident, shedding his nervousness. Following my instructions, he began by fiercely criticizing the Hong Kong police, accusing them of incompetence and looking for scapegoats when they couldn’t solve the case.

Seizing the moment as their faces darkened, Chen Fan boldly declared he could solve the case and find the real culprit within three days. Some officers were infuriated and accused him of boasting, but Chen Fan feigned a cold laugh. “I’ll show you just how capable Beijing police are.”

With internal divisions already present, Chen Fan’s provocation led the station chief to actually grant him three days. He even made Chen Fan swear that if he failed to solve the case, he would never be a police officer again. Chen Fan was cornered, looking at me in distress, but finally agreed.

When we left the station, Chen Fan was still shaking.

He looked miserable, pleading, “Brother Han, you have to keep your word. Otherwise, I really don’t know what to do.”

I didn’t answer. I glanced at my watch—three days would pass quickly.

After a while, Luo Feng arrived. He had discovered that last night, Yun Gao had indeed hosted a dinner for several newspaper editors. That explained today’s fierce media attacks—it was Yun Gao’s doing.

“That Yun Gao—I really want to have someone deal with him!” Luo Feng was fuming.

He had mobilized almost all his men, assigning groups to different investigations. So far, results were mixed—some good, some bad, and some impossible to classify.

First, Luo Feng’s team searching for Xuan Yi had completely lost track of him. After leaving Hong Kong, Xuan Yi had vanished as if into thin air, no matter how hard they searched.

Second, Luo Feng continued investigating Yun Gao, but his men hadn’t discovered anyone Yun Gao was particularly close to, or anyone suspicious he might be protecting. Yun Gao’s repeated interference, pushing Yun Qing to confess, remained a mystery.

Luo Feng’s men had also looked into those close to the short-haired woman. Most were clients at entertainment venues, their relationships strictly physical and without emotional ties, and all had solid alibis for the day of the crime.

The only good news was Luo Feng’s findings about the village.

There weren’t many villagers. Luo Feng found several who weren’t in the village when Lao Jiu arrived in Hong Kong. During questioning, they were timid and often couldn’t answer properly. I asked Luo Feng where they were, and he said he’d brought them to the city.

We went to find them immediately.

We arrived at a large arcade, filled with all kinds of people. It was one of Luo Feng’s businesses in Hong Kong. Chen Fan was dumbfounded, and Luo Feng smiled, explaining that gangs needed sources of income. Most Hong Kong gangs had started running businesses, both to make money and to clean up their reputations.

Luo Feng was quite accomplished—he had even set up a company in Beijing. In recent years, he’d operated on the mainland, leaving his Hong Kong enterprises to his men.

Everyone in the arcade greeted Luo Feng with deference.

Soon, Luo Feng led us to the villagers.

They ranged in age, numbering seven or eight. Luo Feng pointed at them, explaining they weren’t in the village that day.

He had already investigated their backgrounds. The elders needed no further inquiry. The younger ones lacked education and often drifted between the village and the city; a few were reportedly junior members of another gang.

I questioned them one by one, quickly ruling out the elderly. Based on our previous analysis, the culprit was someone likely to attract public attention—these old men were clearly not candidates. Moreover, they neither wore leather shoes nor could run so fast. Their inability to answer was due to fear.

But the young troublemakers caught my eye.

The arcade was stuffy, so they’d taken off their jackets, revealing shirts with all sorts of patterns, their hair dyed in garish colors.

I pointed at one of them and asked, “Where were you that day?”

I noticed he had been uncertain before, but suddenly he became aggressive, spitting out, “None of your damn business.”

I turned just in time—a beer bottle came flying straight at my face!