BL Ch117

Palace No. 1 had just wrapped its small meeting when, the next day, Xingjin Sub-Bureau held a major one.

Peng Deyu, deputy head of the task force, sat at the head, cradling a cup of chrysanthemum tea, addressing the younger officers calmly. “One more month, and the Rain Alley case hits a year. If you don’t catch the killer by then, you’re done. All of you, out.”

The room fell silent, except for the fearless rookie Lu Qing, who muttered, “We’re tenured. You can’t just fire us. That’s illegal…”

Peng Deyu’s irritation, initially mild, spiked. “What good’s a sharp tongue? Can it solve cases?”

Ji Lin tried to defend his team member. “Chief, Lu Qing actually…”

“Shut it. You don’t even have a tongue—every word you say pisses me off!”

“…”

No wonder he was mad. The task force’s head was the city bureau chief, who’d leaned on them hard multiple times. Pei Ming had been detained in the hospital for over half a month, sparking rumors among the unaware public. Some claimed he was innocent, a scapegoat tortured for a confession, while the real culprit roamed free.

That “culprit,” naturally, was the powerful, notoriously shady new richest man in town, Yu Duqiu.

Pei Ming, with a pristine social media image, went to Myanmar at Yu Duqiu’s invitation, only to return gravely injured and inexplicably a suspect. Meanwhile, Young Master Yu emerged spotless. Who’d believe there wasn’t some dirty deal?

Insiders even claimed Yu Duqiu was chummy with Xingjin police, with an officer by his side during the trip—blatant collusion!

Ji Lin had the cyber unit trace the rumors, finding Peizhuo’s name in a marketing firm’s orders, as expected.

Regardless, Pei Ming couldn’t be released yet.

“It’s not a full year,” Ji Lin said, braving Peng Deyu’s stern glare. “We reopened the Rain Alley case in late May, hit dead ends, and got on track after Myanmar in early September. Just over three months… These past two weeks, we’ve made fast progress. The suspect’s fully in our trap. A few more days, and we’ll close the net.”

Feng Jinmin, seated opposite, flipped through a report and spoke. “I don’t agree with your next steps. If Yu Duqiu’s baiting the suspect at sea, our people must go. How can we let a civilian take the front line while we sit back? What’s that look like?”

Niu Feng mumbled, “Civilian? A civilian with a multimillion-yuan yacht? His bodyguards outnumber our bureau’s force.”

Ji Lin shot him a “shut up” look, then addressed Feng Jinmin. “Rest assured, we won’t leave him alone in danger. I’ll plant undercover agents as crew, and Xu Sheng will coordinate with the coast guard to track their position live. If anything goes down, they’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Peng Deyu crossed his arms. “Old Feng, I’ve reviewed the plan. It’s solid. But we’re burning all this manpower and resources just to get the suspect to confess willingly? With the evidence we’ve got, let’s request an arrest warrant, then pry out his accomplices’ crimes in interrogation. What do you think?”

Feng Jinmin frowned, recalling Mu Hao’s speculation from their hospital talk two days ago.

“Xiao Mu told me he thinks the killer wasn’t after him. I don’t fully buy it, but if there’s more to this case, rushing in might bury the full truth forever.”

Ji Lin blinked, surprised. “Mu-ge thinks that too?”

Peng Deyu glanced over. “What, you two telepathic now?”

“No…” Ji Lin coughed, focusing. “I’ve been thinking the same. Logically, the killer should want Mu-ge dead most, since they met face-to-face. Bai Zhao had chances to get to Mu-ge, but the killer never asked him to act—just obsessed with ruining Yu Duqiu.”

Peng Deyu asked, “So, you’re saying the killer’s real target is Yu Duqiu?”

“It’s possible. I’m digging into it, no solid leads yet. But if Mu-ge thinks so too, I’m 90% sure. His instincts are sharp—I trust him.”

“Trusting him doesn’t cut it,” Peng Deyu doused coldly. “Mu Hao’s mental state isn’t fully recovered. His judgment’s not reliable and could mislead us.”

Ji Lin pursed his lips, murmuring, “No one believed he was alive either, but he was… Nothing’s absolute. What if he’s right?”

Peng Deyu gave him a deep look, unspoken understanding passing between them.

Ji Lin met his piercing, knowing gaze, heart racing, but pressed on for the case’s sake. “Plus, Fei Zheng has two red flags worth checking.”

Feng Jinmin set down the report, jumping in. “Saw them. One’s from Bai Zhao—I’ve got Changhe Sub-Bureau investigating that Jiangxue apartment’s history. The other’s on you, Old Peng. This kid suspects an issue with a case you handled ten years ago.”

Peng Deyu raised his bushy brows. “Nine years ago? Du Yuanzhen’s case?”

Ji Lin nodded. “Yeah. Based on recent test results, I suspect Fei Zheng’s tied to Du Yuanzhen’s death nine years ago. Yesterday, Xu Sheng and I reviewed the old case file. It shows Du Shuyan had no idea his dad was using drugs.”

Peng Deyu said, “Right, as I mentioned at the press conference, Du Shuyan thought Pei Ming killed his dad. His uncle, Du Weiming, testified Du Yuanzhen died from an overdose.”

“So, your ruling back then relied almost entirely on Du Weiming’s word,” Ji Lin noted.

Peng Deyu’s brow furrowed. “What’re you implying?”

Xu Sheng, seeing the chief’s temper flare, cut off Ji Lin’s bluntness. “Xiao Ji’s not doubting you. We know you found no clues at Pei Ming’s, and Du Weiming provided evidence. Anyone would’ve ruled the same. But looking back now… Du Yuanzhen’s death might not be so simple.”

Peng Deyu, no stubborn boss, sipped his calming chrysanthemum tea, mulling the possibility. “Go on.”

Ji Lin continued, “Soon after his death, Fei Zheng joined the company. Not long after, Du Weiming died in a drug-related car crash. Nine years later, Du Shuyan’s tangled with drugs again. There might be a hidden link. I’ve got a hunch—if we crack these three points, everything falls into place.”

The meeting room went quiet.

With the suspect out in the open and enough evidence for an arrest, waiting days more would drive any eager detective up the wall.

“I back Xiao Ji’s view,” Feng Jinmin said unexpectedly, casting the first vote. “Antisocial criminals don’t fear death, and their twisted motives are hard to predict. Even if we nab the suspect now, we might not get much. I want the full picture of this series of cases—from twenty years ago to now, every truth, every rat and roach in the shadows, to give victims’ families closure.”

Peng Deyu hesitated. “But the group leader…”

“We’ve dragged this long—what’s a few more days? I’ll talk to the city bureau, buy us time.” Feng Jinmin’s gaze swept every face—different ages, same resolve. “Our job isn’t just catching criminals or ticking boxes. It’s making people believe good triumphs, justice exists. This op must succeed—no failures. Hear me?”

“Yes!”

Peng Deyu gave a thumbs-up, his stern face breaking into a grin. “You’ve got the high ground, Old Feng. If you’re on board, you handle the group leader. I’ll get people moving.”

Feng Jinmin realized he’d been played, glaring. “No wonder you didn’t shield the calf today, you old bull. Setting me up.”

Before he finished, his phone buzzed. Pulling it out, he gave a rare smile. “Speak of the devil—leader’s call. Keep it down.”

“Alright, that’s it for today. I’ll hash out the plan’s details with Feng. Wait for updates.” Peng Deyu began gathering files, others preparing to leave.

Then Feng Jinmin raised a hand, signaling them to sit, his faint smile gone.

Everyone froze, hearts in throats.

Feng Jinmin ended the call, face grave as he scanned the room. “They moved faster than we thought. Got the USB yesterday, leaked it today.”

Ji Lin’s chest tightened.

This was within their plan, but Feng Jinmin’s expression hinted at unexpected developments.

Bai Zhao had handed Fei Zheng internal Themis project data yesterday. A quick analysis would reveal issues: Yu Duqiu’s brain-computer interface device, touted for addiction treatment, was far from delivering short-term miracles.

Strictly speaking, Yu Duqiu hadn’t hyped the device’s effects or profited from it. Even its sole investor was his own alias, harming no one.

The worst-case scenario was Yu Duqiu’s tech-world credibility collapsing, branded a fraud, with the company’s stock tanking. But he wouldn’t face jail, and it wouldn’t shake his vast empire—This was just a sliver.

Yet Du Shuyan, inheriting his father’s knack for stoking conflict and emotions, weaponized public outrage masterfully.

“They dug up old news of the mayor visiting the lab, endorsing Themis,” Feng Jinmin said. “Online backlash is fierce—people question the government’s credibility. The mayor’s in the crosshairs. Just now, city bureau brass called… ordered us to detain Yu Duqiu.”

At Palace No. 1’s gate, a mob swelled.

The bronze gates had never seen such a media frenzy. Two guards called in bodyguards to maintain order.

After dispersing one wave, they spotted five or six police cars racing up the hill, red and blue lights flashing, unlike Ji Lin’s discreet visits. This was straight out of a crime drama arrest scene.

One guard gasped, “Who’re they here for? Why didn’t President Yu warn us?”

The other, grim-faced, replied, “What if… they’re here for President Yu?”

His words proved prophetic.

September 23 became a historic day in Pingyi City’s news, with the mayor and richest man topping national trends. Stories flooded feeds all day. The hottest was a video of police escorting the tycoon to a squad car—

Unlike the stereotypical greasy, middle-aged magnate, this tycoon’s looks did Pingyi’s mayor proud. Emerging from his mansion’s gates, surrounded by cops, he walked like a star on a dazzling runway, outshining everyone around.

The silver-haired man, handcuffed, strode to the car, unfazed by the media’s flashing cameras, not blinking once.

A reckless reporter broke through the bodyguards, thrusting a mic toward his face. As it neared, two ferocious dogs charged from the gate, barking thunderously, fangs gleaming like they could shred flesh. Reporters scattered in panic, none daring to approach.

Unscathed, the man laughed maniacally, bending to pat the dogs’ heads, glancing at the gate—where a man leaned, arms crossed, mouthing: Come back soon.

Yu Duqiu winked at him, sauntering into the car, speeding off.

The brazen, eye-catching video stirred a storm online. Some cursed the “fraudster’s” arrogance, flouting authority; others treated it as tabloid gossip, praising the CEO’s star quality, suggesting he’d rake in billions in showbiz, no need for scams.

In a hospital room, someone rubbed scar cream on their neck, sneering at the news. “Yu Duqiu, you’ve got your day.”

Yet inside Palace No. 1, leaderless, calm prevailed.

Vivid poppies still swayed in the breeze, the loyal guard dogs back to chasing butterflies, tumbling playfully.

Yu Jiangyue sipped black coffee, admiring the flowers, as if the police hadn’t just taken her son, a faint smile on her lips. “He planted these for you?”

Bai Zhao nodded.

“You’ve got some sway, making him break his rules.” Yu Jiangyue tucked a stray lock behind her ear. “I know my son best—hard to win, harder to shake. When he planted these poppies for you, you lost any chance to back out. For the rest of your life, either love him well or let him destroy you.”

Bai Zhao replied softly, “I’ve died once, you know. He saved me. My only fear is a life too short to grow old with him.”

Yu Jiangyue showed rare warmth. “He forgot, but you remember?”

“Since then, every autumn feels like that autumn.” Bai Zhao’s gaze drifted, lost in the dreamlike poppy sea. “As long as I remember, it’s not a dream.”

Yu Jiangyue sighed. “Foolish kids, both of you.”

Bai Zhao smiled. “He’s the bigger fool, risking himself. Outsiders just call him mad, never praising his deeds.”

“Deeds are just shackles,” Yu Jiangyue said unhurriedly. “They cage you in morality, slap a ‘good’ label on you, and from then on, every word and act must fit that box, or you’re branded an escaped convict.”

“Duqiu wants no shackles—moral or emotional. He thinks living freely, unburdened, lets him control his life, even others’ fates. But that belief shows he’s still chained to past shackles. Afraid to lose anyone he cares for, he pretends not to care.”

Bai Zhao added, “Only when loss looms does his care show—for Mu Hao, for me.”

“You missed someone,” Yu Jiangyue said, eyes gleaming. “He’s not into punishing evil or upholding good. This grand play—who’s it for? Can’t be Mu Hao, who’s already safe.”

Bai Zhao stayed silent, clearly instructed not to spill.

Yu Jiangyue huffed, displeased. “Not even to me? That kid’s getting too big for his boots. Let’s see if he gets out of this himself or begs me to clean up his mess.”

Feng Jinmin sent officers to detain Yu Duqiu per orders, rushing back from the meeting. Ji Lin, worried about public backlash hurting Yu Duqiu, rode along.

Sure, the Yu empire could weather losing one project, but angering the higher-ups and public might keep him locked up, derailing their plan.

The priority was springing Yu Duqiu.

Sirens blaring, Ji Lin leapt from the car, racing to the interrogation room—empty.

Grabbing a passing officer, he asked, “Hey, where’s the white-haired fraud they just brought in?”

The officer, initially confused, clocked the “white hair” detail. “Him? Taken to the chief’s office.”

Ji Lin blinked. “Huh?”

Feng Jinmin approached, overhearing, and said, “I’ll check it out. Xiao Ji, find somewhere to wait.”

He paused, adding, “Mu Hao’s desk is free. Clean it up for him—probably a layer of dust.”

Ji Lin, thrilled, barked, “Yes!” and jogged off, clearly knowing the way.

Feng Jinmin watched him dart to the right office, sighing and shaking his head, heading to the chief’s office. “Ugh, bunch of troublesome kids.”