Chapter Fifty-Four: Li Qing

The person who threw the roast chicken was none other than Chen Qingshan, returning with food. Using the roast chicken, he distracted the attackers, then rushed forward. As mentioned before, though Chen Qingshan did not possess the fearsome skills of my eldest brother, he had indeed studied martial arts under a master in Dengfeng. Charging in, he kicked the man who was chasing me against the wall, freeing me from danger. I scrambled to my feet, picked up a machete, and tore open the buttons on my shirt.

Three men were already lying on the ground, leaving only three assailants with any fighting power. We also had three on our side. Both Fatty and Chen Qingshan were skilled; their abilities far surpassed those of our opponents. The situation immediately reversed. At that moment, one of the three men drew a gun and aimed it at me.

"Step aside!" he shouted, his voice betraying his tension.

"Drop the knife!" he continued.

Unless you've had a gun pointed at you, you'll never know the pressure of staring down a barrel; if he pulled the trigger now, my life would be over in an instant.

"Listen, kid, Fatty knows you came to kill someone here tonight. You're killing for money, nothing more. Someone must have already called the police; they're on their way. Not only will you fail to kill your target, even if you manage to kill us, you won't escape. You all have records; once the police investigate, you'll rot in jail. What's the point? We've got no grievances with each other. If you put down the gun and leave with your brothers, we’ll consider it as friends parting ways. What do you say?" Fatty put down his stool and raised his hands as he spoke.

The man's gun immediately shifted to Fatty. "Don't move!" he barked.

"Think carefully—kill Fatty and leave now, or walk away. Your choice." Fatty smiled. I had to admit, Fatty was a man who'd seen the world; he kept his cool even in crisis.

The three exchanged glances. One kept his gun trained on us while the other two dragged their wounded, screaming comrades away. As they fled, the passersby on the street—terrified by the presence of a gun—scattered, ducking and running for cover.

Once they were gone, I collapsed onto the ground, gasping for breath. It had been an exhausting ordeal; I felt utterly spent. We didn't rest for long—just like in the movies, the police always arrive after the dust has settled. A large contingent appeared, including special forces, all armed. Regardless of their tardiness, seeing these officers brought me a sense of unparalleled security.

Unexpectedly, among the police, I spotted a familiar face—Officer Wang, who had handled the incident of Third Grandfather's death. He was surprised to see me as well, walking over and asking, "What are you doing here?"

"Comrade Wang, we meet again," I replied with a bitter smile.

A nearby officer asked Wang, "You know them?"

Wang nodded, "I do. The case I told you about earlier—the ghost attack, the hanging death in the bureau—Chen Wenhai, he's from their village."

The police began their work: some retrieved surveillance footage, others examined bloodstains on the ground. The area was cordoned off. Naturally, the three of us were invited inside for questioning—a routine procedure. Though we had injured people, it was clearly self-defense.

Since Officer Wang was handling our interrogation, we could speak freely. Wang, smart as he was, knew what to record and what to leave out. After hearing our account, he sighed, "So Chen Zhuzhi, the one who burned up in front of you, self-immolated? Incredible. Your village really is full of mysteries. If I weren't so busy, I'd love to investigate alongside you—what excitement!"

Fatty sneered, "Excitement? Young man, Fatty has something even more exciting for you—right in your line of work."

Officer Wang stammered, "F-fatty, please tell me."

"These killers were sent by Tang Renjie, president of the Great Tang Group. It couldn't have been anyone else; only he has the guts in Luoyang. I don’t have direct evidence now, but tell me, do you dare investigate him?" Fatty looked at Wang with a smile. Despite several knife wounds, he was joking and smoking as if nothing had happened; he looked more like a hardened outlaw than a master of Taoist arts.

Wang's face darkened, but he answered stubbornly, "If you suspect him, I’ll investigate."

"Good man," Fatty smiled.

I said to Fatty, "Enough. This isn’t the time to trouble Officer Wang. Tang Renjie is a shrewd old fox; even if he did it, there’s no evidence. I saw the killers outside the hospital—the license plate on their van was covered, they wore masks and gloves like pros from TV. There’s nothing to trace."

Wang looked troubled. "It's not that I don't dare investigate Tang Renjie. If he broke the law, I’d pursue him for sure. But Yezi’s right—someone running such a big enterprise wouldn't do this personally. He has plenty of people to do his dirty work."

"Alright, alright, Fatty understands. This isn’t your jurisdiction. Still, I like you, young man. I was just teasing. Time to wrap up for the night," Fatty said.

"For your protection, we’ll keep someone here. I’ll be staying myself," Wang smiled at us.

After collecting evidence, the police left, and the hospital staff quickly cleaned up. Wang and several officers remained on duty. Wang, genuinely interested in the events at Fudi Ditch, kept pestering me with questions. I found him likable, so I chatted with him, thinking he might help in his capacity as a policeman. But he turned out to be a chatterbox, a king of questions, listening, taking notes, and asking endlessly. I told him, "If I knew who the killer was, I'd have told you already—no need for your questions." When I asked why he was taking notes, he said he was preparing to write a detective novel. I retorted, "This isn’t a detective story; it’s a ghost tale."

By late night, Fatty was asleep, snoring like thunder. I was exhausted too, but Wang was still energetic, analyzing the case. Listening to him, I realized he’d have no future as a cop—he’d been led astray by detective stories, insisting the killer was a psychopathic villager, probably wearing black-rimmed glasses.

Just as I was at my limit, my phone rang. Seeing the caller, I instantly perked up—it was Chen Dongfang.

"I've arrived. Which floor, which room?" Chen Dongfang’s voice was deep, his tone similar to my big brother’s, but his hoarse timbre had even more character.

"Third floor, room 306 at the corner. I’ll wait for you at the door," I replied. Then I waved my phone at Wang and said, "Detective Wang, I’m off to meet a friend. You analyze on your own."

"Who?" Wang, fully in character, spoke with alertness.

"Chen Wenhai’s son, Chen Dongfang—he’s come to collect his father’s body," I said.

I stepped outside. Soon, footsteps approached. I saw a middle-aged man in a sharp suit with black-rimmed glasses. Honestly, I’d only glimpsed Chen Dongfang from afar as a child; this was my first time meeting him in person. I’d always heard Third Grandfather had a capable son.

He exuded an air of authority and composure—classic sword-like brows and piercing dragon eyes. He was the sort to captivate women who liked mature men.

Upon seeing me, he extended his hand. "You must be Yezi. I’m Chen Dongfang. I’m four years younger than Tianhua, so we’re brothers; you should call me uncle."

I shook his hand—it was warm and strong. I nodded, "I know, Uncle Dongfang. I’ve heard much about you."

Only then did I notice someone following behind him—a man of average height, maybe about five-foot-seven, slightly thin and thus somewhat obscured by Dongfang’s tall frame. His attire was odd: a shaved head, dressed in a traditional martial arts outfit like those elderly men wear for tai chi in the park, with a red cloth covering his eyes and a string of prayer beads in his hand.

What stood out most was his head—a perfect shape for baldness, but more noticeable for the red lotus tattoo blooming atop his scalp.

Seeing my gaze linger, Chen Dongfang introduced, "His name is Li Qing."

He seemed unwilling to elaborate further, asking directly, "Where’s Chen Zhuzhi?"

"In the room," I replied.

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