The weak moonlight shone on the ground, illuminating a person's face. He was sprawled out on the ground, his blood-swollen face almost unrecognizable, with only a small crescent-shaped scar visible on his temple. A piece of irregularly torn white paper covered his forehead, looking like a ghostly talisman used to suppress corpses.

The person was stone dead.

A bristling stray cat was so frightened that it lost its footing, accidentally slipping off the low wall. It rolled on the ground and fled without looking back.

Author’s note:

Note: “...Brian Cooper replied: ‘I have some hidden enemies.’...”

“...‘A road does not lose its beauty just because it is lined with thorns. The traveler still moves forward, letting those hateful thorns wither away there.’...”

Both are from "The Red and the Black"

Volume One

Chapter 2 Brian Cooper I

Yancheng Public Security Bureau Headquarters, exactly eight o’clock in the morning.

Staff from various departments had already begun to arrive one after another. Little Scott, a logistics worker from the administrative office, yawned as he carried a new water jug to the old director’s office. As soon as he pushed open the door, he found that Director Clark had already brewed his first cup of tea and was making a phone call with a grave expression.

The old director was already over fifty, very thin, and a real firebrand—an old relic who always brought his own tea wherever he went. He used a non-smartphone that could last half a month on a single charge, and never wore casual clothes to work. All year round, he rotated through a few sets of uniforms. There was a deep crease between his brows, like the third eye of Erlang Shen, the result of a lifetime of “finding fault with everyone.” Seeing him smile was as rare as an iron tree blooming.

The old office landline was a bit leaky with sound. Little Scott, half-kneeling on the floor as he tore open the water jug packaging, heard a noisy voice on the other end: “Chief, I know this happened in my jurisdiction, and it’s true that I failed in my duties, but...”

Little Scott glanced at Director Clark’s tightly knit brows and thought: What’s happened now?

Yancheng was currently hosting a very important international conference. Leaders and journalists from all over the world were present, many businesses and schools were on holiday, all private cars in the city were subject to alternate-day driving restrictions, and every security department was on high alert.

Little Scott saw the old director’s face start to thunder from the neck up. He deliberately lowered his voice, trying to sound as calm as possible: “North Nanping Avenue, less than three kilometers from the main venue. I said during the last meeting that nothing must go wrong this month—ideally, even the street vendors should be cleared out. And now you’ve gone and given me a homicide case, Old Miller, you’ve ‘overachieved’ your task.”

“But Chief, it was in the middle of the night...”

“The notice to strengthen night patrols was sent to every unit a month ago. Do you expect criminals to stick to an eight-hour work schedule too?”

“Yes, yes, I’m not shirking responsibility, it’s just that you know the west side of the Flower Market is always chaotic, and there are a lot of migrants...”

Director Clark patiently argued with the head of the Huashi District sub-bureau for five minutes, only to find that the other party had no sense of remorse and kept making excuses. He finally lost his temper, erupting without warning, his pent-up anger bursting out in a roar: “What the hell do I know! Isn’t the west side your jurisdiction? Isn’t it your turf? Now you’re telling me it’s chaotic—what the hell have you been doing all this time!”

Both Little Scott and the sub-bureau chief on the other end of the line were stunned into silence by his outburst.

Director Clark picked up his cup and took a sip of tea to cool off, but accidentally sucked up some tea leaves and spat them back into the cup with a “puh.”

Then, he extended his “one-yang finger” and tapped out the words “strangling” on the dusty keyboard. The internal network system was instantly flooded with news screenshots.

Early this morning, a male corpse with a gruesome expression was found in an alley in the west side of the Flower Market. At first, someone posted it online as a local oddity, but the internet is full of sensational stories, so it didn’t make much of a splash. However, the leaders of the Huashi District sub-bureau, afraid of trouble during this sensitive period, did something stupid—they tried to quietly suppress the incident, first deleting posts, then clumsily claiming that an unidentified homeless man’s body had been found.

Unexpectedly, a few of the punks who first discovered the body took clear photos of the scene and spread them in a sensational manner. Combined with the sub-bureau’s evasive attitude, this set off the imaginations of commuters on buses and subways during rush hour, turning a minor incident into a citywide uproar—even the municipal government called to inquire.

Director Clark put on his reading glasses and clicked on the most-viewed post before it was deleted, titled “Suspected Strangling Robbery Gang Appears in City Center.” Clearly, this catchy phrase, along with the “pictures as proof,” was very effective. As soon as he opened it, a graphic, unblurred photo of the corpse was shockingly displayed on the screen.

Director Clark: “...”

He felt he’d lost his temper too soon, but at his age, he couldn’t raise his voice any higher. He could only return to his normal tone: “I think you’re wasted in our system. You should go work for an advertising company—this publicity effect is just brilliant.”