Chapter 36: Clues

Seeing my grim expression, Director Zhou spoke again: “Of course, our Ninth Bureau is absolutely your best choice. We offer generous benefits—our lowest-ranking members receive a minimum annual salary of one million. There are quarterly assessments and open promotion channels. What’s more, you don’t have to give up your regular profession. Aside from one fixed quarter of assigned tasks each year, all other tasks are voluntary.”

He glanced at me for my reaction and continued, “Most importantly, completing tasks earns you contribution points. These can be exchanged for all kinds of materials, ritual implements, and talismans that simply aren’t available elsewhere.”

I closed my eyes and silently recited a calming mantra. I had to admit, this old fox was truly persuasive. I was actually starting to waver.

“I’d like a few days to consider,” I said.

“Of course,” Director Zhou replied cheerfully. Then he added, “I can tell you’re interested in this case. Why not join us? You can observe how the Ninth Bureau’s field team handles assignments.”

“I—”

“No need to say more. I’ll handle things with the hospital for you.”

And with that, Director Zhou left.

I felt a headache coming on. To be honest, I was tempted. I wasn’t worried about money—with Xu Baoguo around, finances weren’t an issue for now. But I’d come to realize there are things money can’t buy.

...

Early the next morning, I received a bank notification—my balance had increased by a hundred thousand.

After freshening up, I went to the kitchen and made myself a bowl of noodles. Just as I brought it out, I was startled to see a teenager—seventeen or eighteen, dressed in black, tall and thin as a bamboo pole—standing in my room, grinning at me.

My whole body tensed in an instant, one hand reaching for the Blood Fiend Blade at my waist.

“Don’t be nervous, I’m not a thief. Let me introduce myself—I’m Phantom, from the Ninth Bureau. We’re colleagues,” he said quickly, raising his hands in an exaggerated smile.

“Who the hell is your colleague? Does everyone in the Ninth Bureau barge in without knocking?” I snapped. Thinking back, it seemed only that girl Chen Ying’en had knocked yesterday.

Phantom chuckled. “My bad, my bad. Orders from Director Zhou—I was told to make sure you join the operation, Qin.”

I said nothing more, set my bowl on the table, and started eating.

Phantom watched for a while, then couldn’t help blurting out, “Um, I haven’t eaten either. Is there any more?”

I looked up. Phantom scratched his head sheepishly, just like a kid next door.

“There’s more in the pot. Help yourself,” I said. Despite my annoyance with the Ninth Bureau and that fox Zhou, I couldn’t bring myself to dislike this kid.

“Thanks!” Phantom scampered into the kitchen and returned with the whole pot, slurping away noisily.

“Does the Ninth Bureau not even provide food?” I asked.

He looked up from the pot. “It’s not that. It’s just that your noodles smell just like my mom used to make.”

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Sixteen,” he replied, even younger than I’d guessed.

“You’re so young—doesn’t your mother worry about you joining the Bureau?”

He fell silent, quickly finished the noodles, then drained the broth and wiped his mouth. “My mom died when I was six—strangled by a hanging ghost. The Ninth Bureau found me and raised me.”

“I’m sorry,” I said softly.

Phantom smiled, checked the time, and said, “Let’s go, Qin. The captain’s waiting.”

I followed Phantom to a secluded building by the river, surrounded by trees with only one road leading out, the mighty river flowing beside it. Across the water stood the skyscrapers of Jiangnan New District.

Inside, the first floor’s rooms had all been connected and tastefully decorated, with bar counters and water cabinets dividing different areas.

Four people were there: two men and two women. One was Chen Ying’en; another was a petite, round-faced girl with a bun, looking about twenty. Of the men, one was burly with a bristling beard, the other wore black-rimmed glasses and looked scholarly.

Chen Ying’en’s gaze turned frosty upon seeing me.

I pretended not to notice, though I wondered if I’d angered her so much yesterday that her period had stopped altogether.

“Captain Chen, I’ve brought Qin,” Phantom announced.

Chen Ying’en sniffed. “Since everyone’s here, let’s begin.”

“Captain, shouldn’t we introduce ourselves to the new member?” the bun-haired girl piped up.

Chen Ying’en shot her a glare and she immediately stuck out her tongue and fell silent.

“Five minutes. Meeting area,” Chen Ying’en said curtly, heading for the conference space.

The bun-haired girl bounced over to me, smiling brightly. “Hello, welcome to Action Team Three. I’m Ye Luo, in charge of analysis and communications.”

“I’m Zhao Zheng, responsible for research and IT,” the bespectacled man said a bit stiffly, adjusting his glasses.

“Niu Dali—combat onmyoji,” grunted the bearded man.

“Qin, you know me. Phantom. I’m an onmyoji too, mostly recon,” Phantom said.

I smiled. “My name is Qin Feng. I’m an onmyoji as well. Pleased to meet you all.”

Ye Luo and Zhao Zheng were ordinary people, their skills lying in analysis and research. Niu Dali and Phantom were both onmyoji, though this distinction between combat and recon types was new to me—maybe something unique to the Ninth Bureau.

We gathered in the meeting area, where Chen Ying’en rapped the table. “Ye Luo, analyze the leads Zhao Zheng has gathered.”

Ye Luo stood up. “Wang Qing and Zhong Guofeng have a daughter, Zhong Yue. On the surface, their social connections seem normal. But there’s one oddity: two months ago, Zhong Yue took a leave of absence from Capital University for depression. Around that time, her classmate Xu Jiao came down with a strange illness. Her attending doctor was Wang Qing. Three days later, Xu Jiao died. Cause of death—”

Ye Luo blushed.

She took a deep breath. “The cause was sexual mania. She used a wooden stick and… killed herself with it.”

Everyone was stunned. I’d never heard of such a bizarre case. Suddenly, I recalled the extreme emptiness I’d felt when the Eye of the Nether Dragon couldn’t absorb enough yin energy. A chill ran down my spine—thank goodness I could still charm women. Otherwise, would I have exploded and died?

“Is Zhong Yue’s depression related to this?” Chen Ying’en asked.

“It’s likely. Rumor has it their relationship wasn’t quite normal—possibly romantic,” Ye Luo replied.

“What else can you tell us?” I pressed.

“That’s the main information,” Ye Luo said.

“Then tell us some of the less important details,” I insisted. What she’d shared was obviously suspicious, but there was no clear lead.

Ye Luo glanced at Chen Ying’en, but seeing she didn’t object, began listing off dozens of minor facts, most of which the others found trivial. But I kept urging her on.

“Qin Feng, you’re just here to observe. If you’re not a full member and not capable of investigating, stop talking and wasting our time,” Chen Ying’en snapped.

I waved her off impatiently. “Shut up… Ye Luo, repeat the previous point.”

Ye Luo glanced nervously at the fuming Chen Ying’en, but continued, “Two months ago, Zhong Yue and Xu Jiao attended a solo concert at Capital Grand Theatre by the renowned young pianist Fu Yiman.”

I frowned, closing my eyes, my mind flashing back to Li Mei’s suicide at Linjiang Grand Theatre, the possessed Cao Min, and that police officer. Then there was the corpse in the water tank—the vengeful ghost case in Zhangjia Village. Li Mei’s yin fetus was intricately linked to that vengeful spirit. It all seemed connected.

I had always thought these were separate incidents, but never found proof. Now, with this new case, I noticed a common thread: Fu Yiman’s concerts.

“Zhao Zheng, check how many concerts Fu Yiman has given recently. Among the attendees, see if any suffered accidents in the days following the concerts.”

Zhao Zheng didn’t answer, only looked to Chen Ying’en—the captain—for approval.

“Do it,” she said coldly, thinking she’d indulge me this once. If nothing came of it, she’d make sure I kept my mouth shut from now on.

I took out a pack of cigarettes, lit one, and sat back to think as Zhao Zheng’s keyboard clattered away. My thoughts drifted, replaying Fu Yiman’s gestures and mannerisms. She seemed nothing but spirited and innocent—could she really be connected to these tragic cases?

“Ah!” Zhao Zheng suddenly exclaimed, his fingers stopping mid-typing.

I exhaled a plume of smoke, stubbed out my cigarette.

Zhao Zheng projected his screen onto the whiteboard. “Fu Yiman has held ten concerts since returning to China—in Zhongdu, Fushi, Xichang… the capital, Linjiang. After every concert, audience members died accidentally within days.”

Photo after photo flashed by: scenes of the deceased, all looking like suicides or accidents.

The others’ gazes toward me changed instantly.

Anyone could see something was wrong. Once or twice might be coincidence, but every single time? That was no accident.

“Qin, you’re amazing!” Ye Luo looked at me, eyes sparkling.

“You should be called Niu instead!” Niu Dali laughed, giving me a thumbs-up.

But my face was grim. Without a word, I stood up. “Carry on without me. I need to make a call.”