20 Inquiry

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Liang Yizheng strode briskly toward the back hill. Fang Qingzhuo, sharp-eyed and quick-handed, grabbed his arm just in time to stop him. "Where are you going? Don’t disturb the scene."

Liang Yizheng snapped irritably, "It’s not necessarily a corpse; it could be a human model for a prank."

Fang Qingzhuo had already called the police. Holding his phone in one hand, he listened for the line to connect, quickly rattling off an address. Before explaining the situation, Liang Yizheng reached out to snatch the phone.

Fang Qingzhuo tilted his head back to dodge and bumped into someone familiar. Zhou Suirong caught him with one hand and gripped Liang Yizheng’s wrist with the other, her voice cold and sharp as ice shards, mercilessly cutting through: "What do you think you’re doing?"

Liang Yizheng drew a breath—whether from anger or pain was unclear—and lost his composure, cursing, "What do you want? Don’t you know how many haters there are of us content creators? Just from over a hundred meters away, you decided it was a corpse. Don’t come crying to me if you get accused of filing a false report!"

Zhou Suirong tightened her grip and pushed him toward the crowd. Smiling, she said, "Don’t worry, Liang won’t be blamed. Stop standing around here; let’s wait inside the living room."

The others, terrified by the corpse, were at a loss, unable to care about their quarrel. When tasks were assigned, they instinctively obeyed.

A group clutched their phones tightly, anxiously updating friends and family about the situation, especially sharing their feelings about the case. Police vehicles rushed up, tires kicking up dust along the mountain road, screeching to a halt at the villa entrance in a cloud of smoke.

The officers hurried inside, seeing so many people packed together and felt a chill. A foreboding sense crept from their feet to their brows, their faces clouded with grim worry.

Upon learning everyone had stayed at the villa’s back door and kept over a hundred meters from the corpse, their frozen hearts fluttered back to life.

—An incredible restraint, given how people love to crowd around scenes.

The officers were deeply moved, lowering their voices by a couple of notches, even the hoarse throats of those who smoked heavily softened with an unexpected tenderness.

The police examined the scene, confirming the body half-leaning against a tree was indeed a corpse. They immediately directed colleagues to set up a perimeter and seal off the area. Then they called the woman who found the body and the homeowner, Liang Yizheng, aside for questioning.

Fang Qingzhuo and the others were gathered around the dining table to await inquiries. Two young officers came over to soothe their nerves and supervise the deletion of photos taken at the scene.

Zhou Suirong glanced at the time, stood, and slipped into the kitchen. After rummaging around, she emerged holding an apple.

Fang Qingzhuo said, "I’m not hungry."

"It’s time to eat. Your stomach’s like a broken clock—it doesn’t signal hunger but will rebel anyway." Zhou Suirong forcefully pressed the apple into her hand, coaxing, "Eat quickly. I peeled it for you. Later, if we have to go to the station for a statement, there are still some ingredients left in the kitchen—I’ll make you fried rice."

Earlier, a few men who had confided in Zhou Suirong in the billiard room were dumbfounded by this scene, secretly cursing under their breath.

Are you kidding? This is her chasing you?

Is that the local way to pursue someone?

The police officer, familiar with such couple antics, slyly remarked, "Hey, buddy, our station isn’t in some remote forest—you can order delivery."

Zhou Suirong groaned, "Try asking this ancestor here; she can’t stand takeout."

The slightly plump man felt deceived, unable to hide his ugly true nature, and sarcastically said, "Enough. If she bites your apple, you’ll just get deluded thinking she likes you."

Zhou Suirong replied confidently, "What’s wrong? She’s giving me a chance to take care of her. Isn’t that a sign of fondness? She likes my cooking—do you understand what that means?"

The police officer had never heard such a classic declaration of devotion from such a handsome guy. Despite seeing many remarkable people, he was impressed by his elaborate self-cultivation. Comparing himself, he felt his future dim. These days, the art of courtship is just too advanced. What chance does he have?

The plump man was again stunned by his shamelessness, glaring fiercely: "You said she’s the one chasing you!"

Fang Qingzhuo turned, biting the apple, and vouched, "Yes, I’m the one chasing him."

The plump man was dumbfounded.

Before long, the criminal investigation team from the precinct arrived, faces shadowed with dark circles and stern expressions, looking like fierce demons. Their presence silenced everyone, as if the entire scene was sealed in a vacuum.

Only Fang Qingzhuo remained unshaken, unwittingly blurting out, "Oh, you’ve had two deaths in City B this month."

The investigators couldn’t bear that remark, shooting him a cutting glare.

The young officer muttered, "Don’t stab straight to the heart."

Everyone else was shocked: "What? Two deaths?"

Fang Qingzhuo coughed softly.

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Zhou Suirong casually handed over a napkin and added, "Yeah, there was a woman who died recently. I heard the detectives from City A mention it. Maybe your side suppressed the news."

This was a serious misdirection and accusation. The young officer’s mind flashed through countless official reports with subtle wording; his professional instincts screamed that they should be isolated.

He turned his head, noticing the group’s restless mood stirred by Zhou Suirong’s words. But something else crossed their minds, and several people showed unusual reactions so obvious that even a stranger could tell.

Fang Qingzhuo leisurely bit his apple and casually remarked, "It might not be a homicide. We didn’t see the body up close—maybe it’s suicide?"

Zhou Suirong said, "A dead person wouldn’t just end up at Liang Yizheng’s villa for no reason, especially at a pre-wedding class reunion, dying on the higher back hill, using the corpse to pressure us. That seems like some other motive."

Fang Qingzhuo glanced sideways, displeased: "Xiao Zhou, can we be scientific? Don’t talk about superstition from now on. That’s why I told you to read more books instead of fiddling with your camera."

Zhou Suirong pleaded, raising both hands, then shrugged helplessly at the plump man across from her.

The group exchanged furtive glances, busily rearranging tableware or checking their phones.

One criminal investigator was approaching them but, noticing the vibe wasn’t right after a signal from the young officer, took a detour and slipped out the front door. The officer quietly made a voice call on his phone.

Fang Qingzhuo tossed the apple core into a plate and asked, "How old was the deceased?"

The young officer didn’t know how to answer accurately and gruffly warned, "Don’t ask that. Don’t pry."

"About the same age as us?" Fang Qingzhuo carefully cleaned his fingers, glancing over the group, puzzled. "Could it be one of your high school classmates? After so many years, why die right here under your noses? Were there such people in your class?"

A bare-faced woman kept touching her neck and forced a laugh. "Suicide isn’t a criminal case, right? Judging by how they’re handling this, doesn’t look like they’re investigating a suicide."

Fang Qingzhuo responded, "It depends on the reason. If coercion, abuse, or mental torment led someone to kill themselves, it could be intentional homicide. Usually, the deceased would leave a note. I wonder what the scene investigation found."

"I think..." Zhou Suirong chuckled, knowing her guess was unreliable and quickly added, "Just a wild guess—don’t take it seriously. I think the investigators might be trying to lower our guard. Making us believe it’s a nailed-down homicide unrelated to us, so a few statements and we can leave. Then, when they question us one by one, they’ll reveal the victim was forced to kill themselves, and there’s some complicated connection with us. Won’t that throw everyone into panic? No one could come up with airtight excuses in such a short time. Under pressure, they’d spill everything. Only someone with outstanding criminal talent could resist. We law-abiding citizens? Impossible."

Fang Qingzhuo nudged his chair leg and admonished, "Xiao Zhou, don’t cause trouble. This is a homicide scene."

"Just killing time, joking around. Nobody’s taking it seriously," Zhou Suirong said, cozying up to Fang Qingzhuo’s shoulder and looking up at the officer. "Right, officer?"

The young officer, caught off guard while enjoying the entertainment, immediately straightened up like at attention and said, "Don’t spread panic. What’s your purpose?"

The plump man, feeling like he’d just been handed a get-out-of-jail-free card, shouted, "See! The officer said no! Can the police lie? Don’t overthink it."

Zhou Suirong smiled naturally, like they were just chatting. But the more she talked, the livelier she became, her expression full of interest. "Who says the police can’t lie during interrogations?"

The plump man got excited: "If they lie, isn’t that coercion? Officer, what do you say?"

"Then the police can only pour their hearts out to the suspects, raising their moral standards, hoping they repent," Zhou Suirong said, receiving a sharp glare from the young officer.

He softened and smiled, reaching for Fang Qingzhuo’s hand, but she angrily pulled away.

"Don’t let him influence you to question the police. Just say whatever you know. He likes playing detective games—just listen and forget it," Fang Qingzhuo said, somewhat irritated but still controlled. Her pace slowed as she spoke. "Some interrogation tactics aren’t lies, just techniques. Most can’t handle the consequences of hiding info from the police. What if they’re telling the truth? What if others confess and you don’t? What if someone pins all the blame on you? That’d be unfair—you could go from accomplice to mastermind, five years to ten."

The plump man retorted, "Since when do they just decide mastermind or accomplice by talking?"

A woman banged the table, cutting him off: "Mastermind, accomplice? Getting carried away? What nonsense are you talking about? Did you break the law? Don’t put this on yourself. Ridiculous."

Another chimed in, "Yeah, it’s been years. I can’t even remember who was in our class. How can they blame us? Old Wang, why get so worked up?"

Before anyone calmed down to think, Zhou Suirong’s irritating voice stirred the pot again.

"Not necessarily. Sometimes you think you’re fine, even after ten years, but the victim never got over it. If there’s a note or evidence pointing to you, the police have to investigate."

His clear voice flowed like a gentle spring—pleasant, likable. But everyone just wished he’d shut up.

"If it’s a criminal case, the police can get a warrant to retrieve your internet records, interview people, and investigate your life. Their search is thorough—every secret and lie exposed, analyzed piece by piece. Who knows what they’ll find?"

It was a cyber-age torture.

Everyone shifted uneasily.

Still oblivious, Zhou Suirong rambled on: "Those who cooperate willingly are treated differently than suspects who hide things. Right, officer?"

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The law requires service providers to retain data for at least six months. Some might keep it longer, but no company would bother storing trivial chat records for over a decade.

Even so, the common people believed it.

They subconsciously thought modern forensic technology was omnipotent, dependent only on police willingness to investigate.

With two homicides in a month, the situation was urgent. Fellow citizens naturally empathized, assuming the police would try every method to avoid blame.

The young officer was amazed.

Even the criminal investigator outside, overhearing with headphones, wanted to applaud.

Such masters! Far more effective than police nagging.

The young officer almost couldn’t hide a smile, adjusting his mask and teasing, "You talk so well, must have done something wrong, huh?"

"Not at all, I’m a law-abiding citizen," Zhou Suirong scanned the group, suddenly realizing, "Why so tense? Did I scare you? It’s my first big case; I was just joking. Don’t mind me. But I’ve never lost a detective game."

The officer scolded, "Shut up, you talk too much."

Fang Qingzhuo stood, craning his neck toward the stairs, pointing, "Are they done? Can we take our statements? I’m a bit tired."

Everyone looked that way.

The woman previously called for questioning sat alone on the first stair, bent over.

Soon a female officer appeared, holding a cup of water and a light blanket, whispering something.

The woman didn’t respond.

The officer covered her with the blanket and gently rubbed her back, continuing to soothe. She sat beside her, holding her close—it seemed far from over.

"She’s still scared, looks like she’s been crying. Should we keep waiting?" Fang Qingzhuo sat disappointed. "We only took distant photos of the corpse. Do we need to verify so many times? Can’t she just give you the video?"

A criminal investigator hurried past the living room, replying loudly, "The police have procedures. Please wait a bit longer. We’re short-staffed; it might take a while. If you have urgent matters, leave your info; I’ll have Captain Feng look at it. If all’s good, you can go and do your statement tomorrow or the day after. Xiao Sun, send it to my phone. I’ll find Captain Feng later."

The young officer agreed and began registering everyone’s ID one by one.

Zhou Suirong subtly gave the plump man a look.

The officer approached and patted the man’s shoulder: "How about you go first? You seemed pretty worked up."

The plump man dug into his pockets, fumbled for a long time, then remembered he forgot his ID. He reluctantly took out his phone, nervously asking, "Who died?"

The officer ignored him: "Hurry up."

The man tapped several times, switched to his electronic ID, watched the officer record the info, then anxiously asked, "Will you really check our chat records? If the dead left a note saying they were forced to die, isn’t that murder? What if it’s revenge?"

The officer said, "What’s it to you? Did you do something wrong?"

He sent the info and moved to register the next person.

From the yard came a shout from the earlier investigator: "Wang Da? Wait—don’t leave, Wang Da!"

The young officer looked up sharply, his gaze piercing the man’s soul.

"Officer!" The plump man panicked, his mind unraveling under the intense stare with countless chaotic thoughts. His lips trembled as he instinctively tried to clear himself: "I might know who died. I can report it! But really, it’s not my fault. I’m just a paid runner; I only made a phone call. I didn’t mean to force him to die, really! You should go after the mastermind!"