Forty minutes later, Tang Shen hurried over with his toolbox. Crumbs of breakfast still clung to the corner of his mouth, unwiped.
This was a very ordinary home invasion robbery and murder case.
The “victim” this time was an extra. The program crew had taken him away early. In place of the body lay only a taped outline and a sheet of paper amid splattered bloodstains on the floor.
One side of the outline lacked bloodstains entirely—an obvious wipe mark.
“Criminals can even kill innocent bystanders?” Tang Shen clicked his tongue. “How come I didn’t know about this rule?”
“They are criminals. Since the program crew pinned the guilty label on them, any crime falls within acceptable bounds.”
This was the default rule tied to their identities.
Just like the pursuit team—if they ran into a program guest committing a crime, it triggered an obligation like a passive skill from their identity: crack the case.
Simple cases were manageable. Complex ones could drain days of time and resources, leaving scant manpower to hunt fleeing suspects.
The odds of escape skyrocketed.
Tang Shen took the paper from Fang Si Ting’s hand. It listed the relevant details.
Name: Li Cuicai
Age: 42
Time of Death: Evening of the 16th, 7-9 PM
Cause of Death: Throat slit from behind
Fatal Wounds: First cut 8 cm long, 2 cm deep, deeper on right shallower on left. Second cut adjoining it, 5 cm long, 3 cm deep, same pattern. Both wounds rough-edged and everted, same weapon.
Other Wounds: None
Body Position When Found: Face-up on the ground.
“Newbie.” Peng Xiaoxiao took the paper from Tang Shen and began analyzing nearby. “Height around 175 cm. Both cuts deeper on right, shallower on left—left-handed. Acquaintance murder, premeditated, not a crime of passion. But why go for the throat? Newbies usually stab from behind or use a blunt object. Doesn’t seem bold either. Weird—how’d he have time to find a tool?”
Peng Xiaoxiao trailed off, lost in her own thoughts nearby.
Tang Shen’s forensics team quickly launched the evidence sweep.
The outer security door was locked, but the inner door hung ajar. The neighbor across the hall smelled faint blood in the morning, noticed the unlocked door, peered through the security gate, and spotted the chaos inside—plus the taped body outline.
The place was trashed. Living room and master bedroom rummaged top to bottom. No cash or valuables in sight. Per the neighbor, Li Cuicai had come home from the casino yesterday, bragging about thousands won. They argued after—and no money turned up. Hence, home invasion robbery murder.
Windows barred with sturdy old security grilles—no climb or pry marks. Door lock intact, so the victim opened up willingly. Likely an acquaintance.
Or possibly tricked.
“No fingerprints on the door. Wiped clean.”
The murder weapon sat right there: a sharp knife, fingerprints and blood stark on it.
Tang Shen bagged it carefully and sent it to the United Building for analysis.
The rest was blood everywhere. Spray pattern showed high-pressure fan burst from behind. But the back area post-fall had wipe marks.
The pursuit team figured the killer got blood on his shoes and cleaned it.
Fang Si Ting saw it differently.
“If the killer wiped that, when? Room’s a mess—he lingered with solid nerves. But look at these blood drips.” Fang Si Ting pointed to the trail on the floor. “Post-kill drips. He bolted fast.”
The forensics team sprayed luminol reagent and shone the light. No reaction.
“Someone cleaned it.” Tang Shen said.
“Door handle.” Fang Si Ting said.
Tang Shen checked it. “No reaction.”
“Throat slit leaves blood on hands and sleeves. Closing the door without traces? Impossible. Professor Peng nailed it.” Fang Si Ting said. “One killer murders. Another cleans up, fakes a robbery.”
“Two killers?” Tang Shen asked.
Before Fang Si Ting could reply, a teenager wandered in, staring blankly at the strangers bustling about. “Who are you people? What’re you doing here?”
“Li Cuicai got killed.” Tang Shen asked despite knowing. “What’s your relation to her?”
“She’s my mom. I’m Wang Xiaojun.” The boy’s voice shook. Eyes wide with disbelief, he yelled down the stairwell. “Dad! Dad!”
Tang Shen saw him sway, on the verge of collapse, and rushed to steady him, escorting him to the neighbor’s across the hall to rest.
That neighbor was the one who’d mentioned seeing Li Cunhou visit last night—a stout auntie in her forties, waist thick, lips so thin they vanished.
She looked reluctant but dragged out a chair, ushering Wang Xiaojun to sit by the door.
Tang Shen pegged her as petty.
Upstairs and downstairs neighbors peeked but stayed silent.
“Where were you last night?”
Tang Shen saw the boy go mute and told the neighbor to fetch hot tea.
As she handed it over, he slipped in: “Hear any noises from them last night?”
“What noises? That house rowdy daily—who knows if it’s death or debt collectors.”
The auntie gloated. “That family’s hated far and wide, you know? One dead’s just karma. Better if they all drop.”
“What do you mean by that?”
She eyed the camera, eyes lighting up, feigning innocence. “You don’t know sharing a building with them? Eight lifetimes of moldy blood. Man and woman both gamble—pure chaos, dog-chicken pandemonium. Borrow from friends, kin—no payback. Loan sharks block doors, splash paint, chicken blood, blast funeral dirges at midnight. Wrong-door busts at my place—not just me. Whole building suffered. Barely anyone left. And they still beg loans? Who’d dare? Chat with them, fear wallet drain.”
Tang Shen eyed her askance. “Your whereabouts last night? Anyone vouch?”
“Dinner done, TV from six-thirty—hubby and kid confirm. Bed by ten-plus.” The auntie said. “Morning market run, blood whiff from across. Figured loan sharks again. Yesterday that Li bragged winnings. I sniped back, spotted the mess inside.”
Tang Shen gave an awkward smile. Nearby, Wang Xiaojun perched stiff at the door edge—back ramrod, hands fisted on knees. Clear they all shunned him.
“See that kid? No good seed. Steals young, scams with mom. ‘Sick’ for years, still scrawny ghost. Grades? Useless. Ends like folks—jailbird.”
Peng Xiaoxiao called out nearby. He hurried over with the tea to Wang Xiaojun’s side.
Peng Xiaoxiao half-crouched to meet his eyes. “Where were you last night?”
“W-With my dad.” He whispered.
His skin was dry and sallow, face puffy. Buzz cut, tall frame, but skinny.
“What’d you do together?”
“Went to Uncle Chen’s house.”
The kid was shy.
Peng Xiaoxiao pressed for more when Li Cuicai’s husband, Wang Guozhi, showed up.
“What’re you doing?”
Peng Xiaoxiao briefed him on Li Cuicai’s death.
Wang Guozhi froze in place. But soon: “Suicide or murder?”
The question pinged Tang Shen’s suspicions.
“Thing is, we owed lately. Couldn’t pay quick. What if she despaired…” Wang Guozhi wiped his face, voice cracking. “My fault. Useless. No good life for her. Now she up and quit.”
“Suicide or murder—we’ll determine after investigation.” Tang Shen said. “Where were you last night? Doing what?”
“Went to Lao Chen’s for cards. Shoulda gone home sooner…” He choked up.
“All-nighter cards? What hours? Witnesses?”
“My son.” Wang Guozhi tugged Wang Xiaojun’s hand. “Seven PM start to just now. All at Lao Chen’s. Lao Chen and my two buddies vouch.”
“Dragging your college-entrance kid for an all-nighter?” Tang Shen clicked his tongue. “What, he sits pretty? Pours tea? False testimony’s jail time.”
“No, no—truth.” Wang Guozhi waved it off. “Kid’s sharp. Remembers cards better than me sometimes.”
Tang Shen and Peng Xiaoxiao traded glances.
So the son counted cards.
Folks with sharp memory could cheat subtle-like, hard to pin. But casinos banned it—caught, hand chopped.
“Never stepped out?” Tang Shen menaced. “Prove a midway exit, and suspicion sticks hard.”
Wang Guozhi jumped. “I-I did step out midway. Loo… Son took forever in there, like he fell in. Went to check—did my business too.”
“How long?”
“Ten, twenty minutes. Diarrhea, who tracks…”
“Your son?”
“Beat me back by near half-hour.”
Wang Xiaojun said, “Constipated. Been like this since sick.”
“Smelly brat, think I don’t know your little schemes.” Wang Guozhi flared, hand whipping toward the boy’s face.
Tang Shen grabbed it.
Wang Xiaojun sat calm, stock-still.
Info gathered, the pursuit team wrapped up and sent the father-son duo to a hotel.
