Chapter 51

Chapter 51 Chapter 51: Full of Flaws.

White mist swirled about.

Zhu Qiang awkwardly took a drag of his cigarette.

With something on his mind, he always felt He Linfeng’s words carried hidden meanings—truth and falsehood were hard to distinguish.

Transmigrating into a book, the original story, for Zhu Qiang, was already a very distant past. Over these years, he gradually came to understand one principle: ordinary people are just ordinary people; they would not be able to command wind and rain just because they changed worlds.

The person opposite him was a real criminal police officer; he had to be extremely careful.

“Everything I can say, I’ve already said,” the intake of nicotine made Zhu Qiang slowly relax his expression, “I haven’t had much contact with the Jian family these years.”

He Linfeng recalled the interrogation records he had gone through: “That night you returned to your hometown?”

“Yes,” Zhu Qiang said, pulling over a tea box and tapping off his cigarette ash, nodding, “It was New Year’s Eve after all, I had to get together with my parents.”

Song Xiaotong silently affirmed it.

This matched what was recorded in the files. Zhu Qiang’s hometown was a remote and closed-off mountain village; any disturbance would be known immediately. Not to mention Zhu Qiang returned generously with many gifts in large bags, and the next day he went from house to house paying New Year visits—many people could serve as his alibi.

“Spending time with your parents—what a filial son,” under Song Xiaotong’s puzzled gaze, He Linfeng raised his hand and solemnly gave a thumbs-up, “Then why didn’t you go back to see the two elderly people again after that?”

Zhu Qiang froze.

He Linfeng continued unhurriedly: “As far as I know, after the Spring Festival twenty-two years ago, you stayed in Beijiang, only occasionally sending money back home.”

“…No face to go back,” bitterly, Zhu Qiang grinned, “Look at how I’m doing now—going back would just make me a laughingstock.”

Song Xiaotong faintly felt something was off.

By Zhu Qiang’s logic, he had just been fired from the Jian family twenty-two years ago, and had no new job lined up—he could hardly be considered someone returning home in glory.

Yet he had chosen the most high-profile way to return to his village for the holiday.

“At that time I still had some spare money on hand, and the Jian family also gave me compensation,” as if seeing her confusion, Zhu Qiang explained, “Who would’ve thought… sigh.”

This sigh was genuinely heartfelt.

The original novel mainly revolved around a murder case, and how the protagonist rose again to become the richest man in Beijiang; everything was brushed over by the author in a single stroke.

In the first few years when the Jian family was on the verge of bankruptcy, Zhu Qiang could only rely on himself. At first, using a modern person’s perspective, he did make some money, but he failed to stop in time and control his greed, and ended up losing everything in a failed investment.

By the time Jian Qing took over the company, he was already completely empty-handed—he could not even get a seat at the table, let alone a share of the benefits.

“Compensation?” He Linfeng repeated thoughtfully. In the testimonies of Zhu Qiang’s fellow villagers, no one had mentioned that flashy, stylish small car.

If he had really been trying to show off, what could be more direct than that?

“The boss of the Jian family was a decent person,” Zhu Qiang continued, “Although Jian Qing cried and made a fuss trying to drive me away, I actually don’t hold any grudge against their family.”

From the mosaic-covered photos in news reports, Zhu Qiang understood that failing to earn points was a small matter—being targeted by that madman who committed the family extermination case was the real trouble.

Whenever midnight came in dreams, Zhu Qiang still felt some lingering fear. If he hadn’t been fired back then, and had instead maintained a good relationship with the protagonist, perhaps he wouldn’t even be alive today.

“A single job is indeed hard to serve as a motive for killing an employer,” He Linfeng asked, “Do you know anyone else related to the Jian family?”

Zhu Qiang shook his head without even thinking: “Someone like me, a small-time nobody—if I could really build connections with those big shots, I would’ve long since become rich and lived in luxury.”

“That wouldn’t be my life today.”

He Linfeng’s gaze slightly froze.

This ran completely counter to the clues Jian Qing had provided.

“Friends? Or work partners would also do,” he raised a brow and pressed on, “People in this world can’t possibly have no connections with anyone at all.”

Zhu Qiang clearly felt an invisible pressure.

Clearly the old sofa beneath him was still fairly soft, yet he felt as if he were sitting on an interrogation chair in the police station. Looking closely, He Linfeng still wore a friendly expression, smiling endlessly—making it impossible to see through him.

Really troublesome.

Annoyed, Zhu Qiang cursed inwardly, thinking: no wonder the author repeatedly referred to him as a fox.

Realizing he had to say something to get through today, he pretended to rack his brains and listed a few names that had dealings with the Jian family.

He Linfeng glanced sideways at Song Xiaotong: “Write it down.”

The Jian family’s interpersonal network had already been clearly documented in the files. The female officer, reminded of this, was clearly somewhat confused, but still faithfully carried out her senior’s instruction.

After they walked out of the low-rent apartment, Song Xiaotong took a few quick breaths of fresh air—the frequency of Zhu Qiang’s smoking was too high, making her throat itch unbearably.

Each floor of this building had a full row of open-air balconies outside, filled with freshly washed clothes hanging to dry. He Linfeng glanced downward and reached out to block the door Zhu Qiang was about to close.

“Charging piles without fire extinguishers are relatively dangerous,” he pointed at the densely packed electric scooters in the residential area, reminding him, “Being too close together can also easily cause problems.”

Zhu Qiang was surprised: “Consultant He even pays attention to this?” According to the novel’s description, the serious crime unit handled only major cases and shouldn’t be this grounded.

“Habit from the job. I used to be a community police officer before joining the criminal investigation team,” He Linfeng said with a nostalgic curve of his lips, then casually asked, “How do you usually get around?”

Zhu Qiang: “I drive…” Before the words finished, he suddenly realized he had slipped up and quickly corrected himself, “A bicycle. The one parked at the very edge is mine.”

“The construction site is too messy. Electric ones get stolen easily.”

“Oh,” He Linfeng said naturally, his tone short and light, “I thought you were referring to the one given as compensation by the Jian family.”

Zhu Qiang gave a faint laugh: “Listen to you. That was over twenty years ago. Even if it was valuable back then, it’s just scrap metal now. Besides, I only drove that car for a few days before it got lost—unlucky, really. Bad omen.”

He Linfeng: “Lost?”

Zhu Qiang: “Yeah, I even reported it to the police station.”

Their eyes met. He Linfeng, who had always been skilled at pressing forward when an opening appeared, unexpectedly did not continue questioning. Instead, he politely nodded, withdrew the arm holding the door, and left the building together with Song Xiaotong.

“Zhu Qiang indeed has no vehicle registrations under his name, nor any rental records,” Song Xiaotong sighed slightly after confirming no one was around.

To transport Tong Tong’s remains intact to a suburban warehouse, a vehicle capable of entering the highway would be necessary. Zhu Qiang clearly did not meet the conditions.

Flipping through the messy interrogation notes again and again, she muttered, “But something still feels off.”

“The Tong family,” He Linfeng said, reclining his chair back to a forty-five-degree angle, lazily rubbing his temple, “Zhu Qiang even thought of the Jian Corporation’s business partners, yet he never mentioned these neighbors who had the closest relationship with the employer.”

In addition, combined with intelligence privately provided by a certain CEO, He Linfeng had every reason to suspect that the other party was deliberately concealing his relationship with Tong Tong.

“And also, he should have already prepared for police coming to his door—at least he knows something about me.”

Song Xiaotong, unable to follow the reasoning: “Huh?”

“He called me Consultant He,” he guided patiently, taking a moment to close his eyes and rest, speaking softly, “Do you remember how I introduced myself when I came in?”

Beijiang Public Security Bureau, He Linfeng.

The police officer’s ID card would not contain the five characters “Major Case Team Consultant.”

“So Zhu Qiang knows you?” After a half-beat delay in reaction, Song Xiaotong’s eyes suddenly lit up, then dimmed again. “…But Brother He, you’ve only been in Beijiang for two months.”

There was no way this could be connected to a case from over twenty years ago.

However, He Linfeng had his own considerations: “Maybe Zhu Qiang was paying attention to Jian Qing.”

He vaguely recalled that a similar situation had occurred once before—Jia Xiangyu, the one who assaulted someone after a failed confession of love and was ultimately arrested.

Before dying of an illness in custody, that man had shouted that he wanted to see “He Linfeng,” even though He had never met him before.

The two suspects differed completely in age, personality, family background, and career. The only common point He Linfeng could think of was Jian Qing.

And yet, that very common point was something that kept deliberately avoiding him.

“Then I’ll go check the police call records first,” Song Xiaotong said, patting her face to quickly regain energy, her eyes bright again, “If Zhu Qiang reported his car missing after Tong Tong disappeared, there’s an 80% chance something’s off in there.”

He Linfeng responded listlessly: “Alright.”

“Also send a few more brothers to take turns keeping watch.”

“Staying at home on weekdays smoking, takeout boxes piled at the door, and no signs of overdue utilities nearby—he’s not as impoverished as we imagined.”

Applying for low-rent housing requires meeting policy standards; an income of just over a thousand a month would most likely not support Zhu Qiang casually taking time off and idling around. The source of this money—unrecorded in bank transactions—that allowed him to live comfortably without worry might very well be the key to the case’s progress.

Including that bicycle he mentioned.

Beijiang’s temperature had dropped sharply recently. Except for a few evergreen species, most vegetation was withering in large patches. If Zhu Qiang truly rode that bicycle often, how could its basket be filled with fallen leaves?

“Cough,” seeing the other party looking completely drained and listless, Song Xiaotong cleared her throat, “I heard that CEO Jian has been on a business trip recently?”

He Linfeng replied calmly: “Wang came to gossip?”

“No, no—it was in the news. A business collaboration between two major corporations,” she waved her hands, then cautiously added, “…Are you suffering from lovesickness?”

He Linfeng lifted his eyelids slightly: “Watch your wording.”

“In modern society, you can send messages and make video calls. What do you mean lovesickness?”

Song Xiaotong: understood.

So CEO Jian probably wasn’t replying to messages or answering video calls.

“Put away that tragic little drama in your head,” He Linfeng rolled up the documents in his hand and reached out, lightly tapping the top of his junior’s head, “Drive. Fasten your seatbelt.”

Song Xiaotong pretended to be hurt: “Brother He.”

“You’ve got a worse temper now.”

“However, according to unofficial intelligence gathered from the news comment section, CEO Jian was weak as a child and would get sick every time he traveled far. From Beijiang to A City, it’s a four-hour flight.”

“Are you really not planning to check on him?”

He Linfeng: …

Given Jian Qing’s punch-that-sends-suspects-flying strength, “weak constitution”? What a joke.

However, before returning to the office, he still fell two steps behind Song Xiaotong and started fiddling with his phone.

Catching, releasing; advancing while retreating; yielding while pressing… slow is smooth, smooth is fast.

Lowering his eyes, He Linfeng stared at the chat box that had been talking to itself for several pages, his teeth itching with irritation. He subconsciously touched his pocket, took out a piece of candy, and crunched it down noisily in his mouth.

He should at least have a bit of backbone.