He never brought those spoiled rich-kid bad habits into the company, and his outward “steadiness” was basically a well-executed act. He rarely exercised decision-making power or fulfilled his work duties. Occasionally, he would joke around with the young women, but always with great restraint, strictly following the principle of “the rabbit doesn’t eat the grass by its own burrow,” never crossing the line.

Edward Bennett wiped off the spilled hot water with a napkin before handing the cup back, casually asking, “What were you all just talking about?”

“We were talking about the West District across the street. There was a robbery and murder there just yesterday, and it seems the suspect still hasn’t been caught. Should we have HR send out a group email to everyone? Remind everyone to be extra careful going to and from work.”

“Sure,” Edward Bennett said seriously, “or we could just take a break—wait until the bad guy is caught before coming back to work. What’s work compared to your safety?”

The two girls knew he was joking, but still left in high spirits, delighted as they went back to work.

A while later, Edward Bennett did indeed receive a group email from the HR department.

He squeezed more than half a cup of hazelnut chocolate syrup into his coffee, planning to marinate every caffeine molecule in sugar. With nothing better to do, he stirred his coffee while clicking open the video attached to the email.

“Late last night, behind a residential area in the West District of our city’s Flower Market, a vicious crime occurred. As of now, the police have not released any official statement. Reportedly, the deceased, He Mou, lived in a shared rental near the crime scene…”

The video came from a notorious clickbait online media outlet. The fake-serious narration had barely gone on for two or three minutes when suddenly, a loud commotion erupted off-camera.

The shaky camera, eager for chaos, immediately shifted focus to a food stall.

A middle-aged woman in an apron, probably the stall owner, was glaring and shoving a teenage boy: “You little brat, can’t you do math or did a dog eat your conscience? You’re greedy for just a few bucks—what for? Taking it home to buy your mother a coffin?”

A few idle middle-aged and elderly folks were eating wontons at the illegally parked food stall. Their mouths were as sharp as ever; eating and drinking didn’t stop them from loudly commenting for the camera.

“That kid bought a sesame flatbread, you know? The owner told him to put the money there and make his own change from the basket—on the honor system, right? He gave her ten yuan and tried to take fifteen from the change box. I saw it myself.”

“Pay five, take five—he’s really something. Not far from getting rich, huh.”

“He needs a beating—stealing and sneaking around as a kid, what’s next, drug dealing and murder? You know what the security’s like around here? As soon as it gets dark, no one dares walk outside. I say, it’s all these out-of-towner scumbags causing trouble.”

“We’ve reported it so many times, but no one does anything. Well, now someone’s dead, just like I said would happen.”

Once the middle-aged cheer squad started egging things on, the effect was dramatic—the conflict quickly escalated.

The stall owner’s temper flared to new heights, and she started hitting. The boy, caught stealing, covered his head with both hands, curling up into a ball, his neck and ears flushed red, silent except for dodging.

At this point, a few bystanders, unable to watch any longer, stepped in to separate the stall owner and the boy, only to get dragged into the scuffle themselves.

The conflict instantly escalated, turning into a full-blown shouting match between local West District residents and out-of-town renters, with no regard for right or wrong.

The scene was utter chaos—feathers flying everywhere, the camera knocked askew three or four times. Edward Bennett finished stirring his coffee, found this “three rats, four eyes” conflict utterly boring and not worth watching, and was about to close the video.

Suddenly, someone in the video shouted, “The police are here!”

After a burst of chaos, several uniformed officers struggled to squeeze in, trying to separate the brawling crowd, but were quickly swallowed up by the sea of people. One young officer even had his glasses knocked off.

Edward Bennett spotted a familiar figure among them, and his hand, about to close the window, paused.

In the afternoon, at the Flower Market District police substation, Matthew Miller used the excuse of a “meeting” to slip away.

William Carter, hands behind his back and bent at the waist, leaned in to look at Eric Harris: “Last time we helped the anti-narcotics team catch drug dealers, there was a twenty-minute shootout, and no one got this ‘seriously injured,’ right? I knew it—leave you out of my sight for a second and something happens. Don’t forget to get a rabies shot at the hospital tonight.”

Officer Harris had a bloody scratch on his chin, courtesy of some hero’s “Nine Yin White Bone Claw.”

The substation was in chaos. The citizens involved in the group brawl were still full of fighting spirit, refusing to calm down even at the police station. Amid the cacophony of shouting, a few officers kept repeating the same lines—“Get down,” “Behave”—their vocabulary pitifully limited. Officers drafted from several local precincts stood in a dazed line, unsure what to do. When William Carter entered, he slammed the door hard, his own imposing presence immediately overwhelming both sides of the conflict. Everyone was startled by the noise and turned to look at him.

William Carter leaned against the doorframe. “Who here assaulted a police officer?”

No one said a word.