[Thing is, if we can’t get a search warrant there, it’ll drag on forever.]
[Given how the case is shaping up now, your ex-husband’s hunch was right: the wcc interest group is backed by the killers who silenced her and staged the drowning.]
Qian Xingzhi was just about to say, Why don’t you use your own phone? Here, take it back.
But he watched as Shen Li found Zhao Rong in his contacts and dialed directly.
Shen Li hadn’t planned on hiding it from him anyway, so he hung up the speakerphone before it even connected.
The waiting tone droned on—”beep… beep… beep…”—for ages, a good fifty seconds or so, before Zhao Rong finally picked up. He sounded on high alert: “Hello? Grandmaster? Don’t tell me you’re calling ’cause—well, no offense, but I’m swamped today. What’s up this time?”
Shen Li: ?
Qian Xingzhi: …
“What do you mean ‘this time’? What else has he called you about?”
Shen Li’s clear, mellow voice rang out. On the other end, Zhao Rong nearly choked on his own spit. “Cough cough cough—nothing, nothing at all! Oh, Master… uh, hi! Why aren’t you using your own phone…?”
Shen Li glanced at his phone in Qian Xingzhi’s hands, stripped completely bare without even a shred of privacy left. His face stern, he calmly said to Zhao Rong, “My phone’s dead.”
“Oh, oh, oh,” Zhao Rong replied. “That’s what I thought. You just finished calling Little Jie, so why weren’t you replying to my messages? I figured Grandmaster had punished you again, haha!”
Shen Li broke into an embarrassed sweat and shot a glance at Qian Xingzhi’s back.
But Qian Xingzhi didn’t even turn his head. He sat in his chair, elegantly sipping his bitter coffee, looking every bit like he’d claimed the queen bee spot.
Of course, Shen Li had no desire to chat about that with Zhao Rong. He steered the conversation back on track. “Anyway, business first. Tell me your plan, and I’ll point out any issues.”
“Got it!” Zhao Rong’s tone turned serious at the mention of work.
“Based on what you told me, I tracked down the crematorium manager and got the incineration records. With the mismatched timeline from the testimony and evidence of that 400,000-yuan deposit, we questioned Song Wenyu and her family, along with the casting director Liu Kai.”
“On the day Little Rain was killed, Liu Kai—the casting director—was scouting new talent at Shi Youxia’s charity gala. The victims, Little Rain and Xiao Ting, got called over to keep the drinks flowing.
“According to Liu Kai’s statement, he brought five young kids that night—two boys and three girls, all pretty ones. If an investor took a liking to them, they might get whisked away. Strike a deal on price and a one-night stand, and it could mean indirect kickbacks for him, plus resources funneled to the kids.
“But he claims he got blackout drunk and has no memory of who took Little Rain and Xiao Ting away.
“So I’m starting with the guest list from Shi Youxia’s charity gala. I’ll check them one by one—who has big ties to the entertainment industry, who has a history of keeping lovers or cheating. I’ve pulled an all-nighter and just finished vetting twelve people.”
Shen Li nodded slowly. “Anyone suspicious yet?”
“Nope!”
“How many people attended the gala total?” Shen Li asked.
“Two hundred and twenty-six.”
Shen Li was speechless.
“No good,” Shen Li said. “That’s way too slow. When you grilled Liu Kai, did he seem like he was lying?”
“Hiss… Nah, felt legit to me.”
Shen Li pondered for a moment, rubbing his brow. Then he decisively suggested, “February 24 was a Thursday. Here’s what you do: Prioritize the consumption records from the Yellow Donkey Club on Saturday the 19th and Sunday the 20th. Cross-reference for overlaps with the gala attendees on the 24th.”
Zhao Rong blinked, a bit thrown by his master’s leap in logic. “Why? Shouldn’t we focus on the gala guests?”
“Look for overlaps,” Shen Li explained. “If Liu Kai really doesn’t remember who took them, it wasn’t a regular. Whoever it was probably scouted elsewhere before hitting up actors.”
Zhao Rong was floored. “But why the weekend specifically?”
Shen Li glanced at Qian Xingzhi, who had turned around with an appreciative look in his eyes. Without hesitation, Shen Li gave credit where it was due. “Qian Xingzhi’s intel was thorough. It mentioned the Yellow Donkey Club had weekend events that February three years ago—higher odds.”
“Oh! Got it, got it, got it!” Zhao Rong said three times in a row. “I’ll check it out right now. Thanks, Master! Anything else?”
Shen Li thought for a second. “Don’t drop that overseas account either. I suspect foreign investor ties. Keep pressing Xiao Ting too—have her recall every detail. Take it slow, no rushing. Get Uncle Yu to guide her gently.”
“You got it!”
“And keep at Song Wenyu’s family. When you warn them about aiding and abetting, lay it on thick.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll hammer them hard!” Zhao Rong paused, then added excitedly, “Oh yeah, Master—off the record, though it’s not set in stone… Yesterday, the boss called a meeting about you.”
“About me?” Shen Li was caught off guard. “What about me?”
“Tsk, Director Guan’s been pushing for your return, but upper brass kept shooting it down. Said you quit so decisively back then, too stubborn, no lingering attachment to the job… so no need to keep you on. That’s why it’s been stalled. Director Guan figured maybe next year, second half, and he’d fight for it then.”
Shen Li’s brows furrowed.
Zhao Rong’s version clashed with what Guan Ning had told him—Guan Ning had only mentioned the optimistic half about next year.
Hearing it this way, though, Shen Li could totally see the logic. It even made more sense.
But seeing Qian Xingzhi rise with concern in his eyes, Shen Li turned away instead.
“It’s fine,” Shen Li reassured Zhao Rong. “Upper management’s thinking it through normally. I get it completely and fully support whatever the organization decides.”
Zhao Rong was stunned.
“No, Master, wait—I’m not done!” Zhao Rong lowered his voice and rattled off at top speed. “Yesterday’s meeting! The big shots learned you’re on this show. Once they heard the Yellow Donkey Club mess, the WCC tax evasion probe, and this three-year-old brutal rape-murder—all threads you and your ex pulled… they’re singing your praises! Sounded like if we crack these three cases, you’ll get credit on the performance review!”
Shen Li blinked.
“But that was just post-meeting chatter,” Zhao Rong went on. “Not locked in—they said handle it first. Director Guan piped up that you haven’t been slacking this year; you’ve been building up Geng Family Village, the one that saved your life. I saw the boss nod!”
Shen Li fell silent.
“…The boss even said, examples like you are a positive—”
“Enough,” Shen Li cut in before Zhao Rong could keep painting that rosy picture. “Handle the cases first. We’ll talk the rest later. Not important right now.”
“Right.”
Zhao Rong acknowledged and hung up.
Shen Li’s mind was a tangled mess. He let out a long breath and looked at Qian Xingzhi.
Qian Xingzhi had apparently finished scrolling through the phone, downed his black coffee, rinsed the mug in the bathroom sink, and showed no signs of dissecting case details or dispensing career advice.
Shen Li felt a wave of relief—bordering on gratitude—for Qian Xingzhi’s silence.
Truth be told, Shen Li just hated those touchy-feely heart-to-hearts like on TV, spilling every inner feeling and nuance. It was mortifying. No matter who asked about his future plans, it always left him uneasy.
So he sipped his warm milk, idly grabbed Qian Xingzhi’s phone, and scrolled Weibo.
The variety show buzz from yesterday was still simmering. Folks were speculating about that abruptly explained D-option game and the director’s sudden “issue”—smelled like a massive real-life scandal.
Online rumors were always a mix of truth and lies, fake blurring into fact.
Regular netizens never knew which was which until the truth dropped. Then old predictions or leaks got exhumed, earning “prophet!” shoutouts.
But it never lasted. Soon another hot scandal overshadowed it, and everyone forgot.
…
“Need to do some rehab exercises?” Qian Xingzhi’s magnetic voice drifted from the bathroom. “I’ve got to head to the program group, sort a few things.”
“Sure,” Shen Li replied. He stood and leaned against the doorframe, watching Qian Xingzhi dry his face. He handed over the phone. “Here’s yours back.”
“…” Qian Xingzhi nodded quietly and returned Shen Li’s phone.
Shen Li looked down to take it. His fingertips didn’t brush Qian Xingzhi’s, but he held his breath anyway. “What all did you see?”
Qian Xingzhi said, “Your chat with Zhou Yulin.”
Shen Li paused.
“We barely talked.”
“But you added him back,” Qian Xingzhi pointed out plainly. “When did he request you?”
Shen Li shook his head rapidly, blinking fast—not great at lying. “Sometime after the divorce. I forget.”
Qian Xingzhi nodded and dropped it. No obvious jealousy flared.
What Shen Li didn’t expect was Qian Xingzhi’s next words after a long silence. “I know you’ve known him longer. Since you were five. Me? Just fifteen years.”
Shen Li narrowed his eyes. “So?”
For once, there was no jealousy in Qian Xingzhi’s tone—just a problem-solving vibe. “I don’t want us fighting about him all the time. I hope the other day was our last argument over this guy.”
Shen Li wasn’t sure what he meant at first. He tilted his head, blinking.
They were both novices at this—loving each other for the first and only time—so every step felt tentative.
“Okay,” Shen Li said. “What do you want me to do?”
“I know he was your ideal type back then.” Qian Xingzhi’s expression turned proud. “So if I compete with him fairly, would you rethink remarrying me?”
Shen Li blinked.
…What?
Hold on.
Shen Li’s brows knit tighter. “Who told you Zhou Yulin was my ideal type?”
A faint tremor hid beneath Qian Xingzhi’s cool, aloof gaze, but his voice stayed steady. “Did I get it wrong?”
Shen Li’s slim waist tightened even more from an angry inhale, his stunning face creased with perfectly arched brows in fury.
“…If he was my ideal type, I’d have dated him? If he was my ideal type, I’d have hooked up with you?”
