Chapter 16

Ruan Mingxi couldn’t hold back a laugh. He felt wronged — most of the time when he was out on assignments, the schedule was tight and parking spaces were scarce, so he had no choice but to park wherever he could.

“You’re still laughing?” Feng Yuping was furious.

Ruan Mingxi replied seriously, “I genuinely think our city doesn’t have enough public parking areas. Parking is extremely inconvenient. I suggest the relevant departments improve this.”

“You’re even giving them advice now?” Feng Yuping was so angry he laughed.

Ever since Ruan Mingxi joined the bureau, his repeated parking violations had forced the office into frequent dealings with the traffic police.

It wasn’t just during fieldwork — even on ordinary days he was fined often. To reduce these incidents and encourage civilized driving, Director Feng had set a rule: anyone who got a ticket had to buy instant noodles and marinated eggs for the team. After all, as police officers they should set an example.

He thought this would curb the problem, but instead their storage cabinet for marinated eggs was nearly overflowing. Ruan Mingxi had become the bureau’s biggest donor.

His fines were so frequent that at provincial meetings he was often teased by leaders — praised for his achievements but mocked for his tickets. He was probably the only officer in the province to receive both commendation and ridicule at the same time.

Yet aside from parking violations, Ruan Mingxi was highly capable. At just thirty years old, he had already reached the rank of division chief.

For Feng Yuping, it was bittersweet. In other bureaus, the deputy leaders were seen as a source of pride, something to “bring honor to the family.” But in his bureau, their deputy was more like a “street rascal” — no matter how you looked at him, he wasn’t someone you could show off with pride.

Ruan Mingxi glanced at Jiang Xuzhou and clicked his tongue softly.

He mouthed: Funny?

Jiang Xuzhou raised his brows slightly, acknowledging with a subtle smile.

Seeing the two exchange looks, Feng Yuping wasn’t surprised. Ruan Mingxi was naturally sociable, able to chat with anyone — a classic “social terror,” the kind of person who never hesitates to strike up conversation.

“Soon there’ll be another meeting at the provincial department. I don’t expect you to change overnight, but at least take it easy for the next two months. Stop getting tickets — the team doesn’t have money left to pay your fines.”

Ruan Mingxi looked at Feng Yuping’s pained expression and couldn’t help laughing.

Immediately, he was met with a sharp eye‑roll, so he quickly straightened up: “I guarantee I’ll complete the mission.”

Luckily, Feng Yuping was truly busy. After a few more words of scolding, he “invited” the two of them out of his office.

Once outside, Jiang Xuzhou couldn’t hold back his laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Ruan Mingxi raised a brow. “My private car tickets also got you meals at school. Laughing at me makes you look ungrateful.”

Jiang Xuzhou didn’t deny that parking near the school was difficult, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as Ruan Mingxi made it sound. “You only drove me once a week. I won’t take the blame for the rest.”

Ruan Mingxi chuckled. “Do you really have to be that precise?”

Jiang Xuzhou nodded. “I won’t carry false charges.”

Ruan Mingxi did get tickets often, but not excessively — maybe seven or eight a month. Still, because he was well‑liked, people teased him constantly, and the jokes spread.

“I brought you crab‑roe soup dumplings. They’re on your desk.”

At the mention of dumplings, Ruan Mingxi’s eyes lit up. After staying up all night, the thought of hot food felt like a dream.

Even before reaching his desk, he could already smell the rich aroma of the buns.

That morning, Jiang Xuzhou not only brought breakfast for Ruan Mingxi but also for everyone else in the bureau.

When they arrived, Ruan Mingxi saw his team devouring the food, their mouths shiny with oil.

“Captain, come eat some buns! Consultant Jiang brought them, and they’re delicious.”

Ruan Mingxi gave Jiang Xuzhou a meaningful look. “So soon they’re calling you Consultant Jiang? Seems you’re popular.”

Jiang Xuzhou nodded. “All thanks to the crab‑roe soup buns.”

…

After breakfast, the case analysis meeting began. Unlike usual, Jiang Xuzhou was present this time.

Lin Cheng spoke first, recounting how he and Ruan Mingxi had gone to the internet café the previous night, and what they learned from the manager and Wen Yang’s interactions.

“From the game videos and the manager’s account, it’s clear Yan Zhan wasn’t skilled enough to pursue professional e‑sports. His reason for dropping out of school doesn’t match the reality.”

Lin Cheng continued: “I investigated Wen Yang’s background. He’s eighteen, from Village Four in Hongkou Town. His father was an alcoholic who abused his mother, eventually beating her to death. He’s now serving time in Jinghai No. 1 Prison.”

On the projector, Wen Yang’s background information appeared, scrolling across the screen for everyone to see.

“After his mother’s death and his father’s imprisonment, Wen Yang lived with his grandfather. Three years ago, his grandfather, Wen Bingcheng, passed away, and Wen Yang moved from Village Four to Jinghai City.”

Because his family lacked labor, Wen Yang dropped out of school early to help with work.

After his grandfather’s death, Wen Yang worked odd jobs in Jinghai — waiting tables, washing dishes — and later earned money by playing video games for others as a paid substitute.

“After Wen Yang earned a little money by playing games as a substitute, he started streaming online. This is his gaming account.”

Ruan Mingxi was surprised. “Not bad — over a million followers.”

Lin Cheng pulled up Wen Yang’s match history, and Ying Shi immediately raised doubts. “How does a streamer with so many fans have nothing but losses? Is he some kind of reverse‑skill streamer?”

Normally, technical streamers attract fans with high‑level gameplay. But Wen Yang’s account showed a string of defeats, and his rank was mediocre.

“That’s not enough to be a technical streamer,” someone noted.

Ruan Mingxi said, “Scroll down.”

Lin Cheng moved the mouse, and beneath the losses appeared a string of consecutive wins.

From the match records, it was clear that during the winning streak Wen Yang’s account was ranked at the King level, with a high star rating.

“This rank is strange. It’s like someone else suddenly took over the account. At first he’s incredibly strong, then later he plays terribly. Could it be that too many wins made the system suspect cheating, and the account was penalized?”

The meeting room wasn’t very warm. After several minutes at the computer, Lin Cheng’s hands grew stiff from the cold, and he clenched his fists instinctively.

Ruan Mingxi noticed, glanced at Jiang Xuzhou, and saw him staring intently at the screen.

Sniffling unconsciously, Ruan Mingxi stood up, walked to the door, and raised the room’s heating by three degrees.

Feeling everyone’s eyes on him, he kept a straight face. “Continue.”

Lin Cheng looked back with admiration, thinking how considerate his captain was.

“After getting Wen Yang’s account password, we ran diagnostics. We also contacted the game company. The results showed the account was normal — the losing streak wasn’t caused by the system.”

Lin Cheng explained: “The company told us that large losing streaks can sometimes mean the player was deliberately targeted in match‑fixing.”

“At the same time period, when players are of similar rank, the system balances win rates by giving them a high chance of being matched in the same game.”

Lin Cheng explained: “If players in the same match deliberately target Wen Yang, then in this kind of team‑based game, even if his skills are strong, it would be very hard for him to win.”

Hearing this, Zhang Shuang quickly added: “Yesterday, when we talked about gaming, Wen Yang mentioned that Zhou Canran was finding people to mess with him — suppressing his livestream and sabotaging his matches.”

“But this still needs verification. Wen Yang himself has no evidence to prove he was deliberately targeted.”

“What does this have to do with Zhou Canran?” Yao Panpan, who was taking notes, suddenly looked up when she heard the familiar name.

Lin Cheng scrolled the mouse, and Zhou Canran’s profile appeared on the screen.

Zhou Canran, 26, from Jinghai City, is a signed artist under Tianhai Entertainment, and also the only son of Zhou Chongmin, chairman of Tianhai Group.

When Jiang Xuzhou saw Wen Yang’s gaming ID earlier, he had already quietly entered it into his own laptop.

The first search result showed Wen Yang’s account “Abyss” matched in a casual game with the celebrity Zhou Canran.

#ZhouCanran Abyss

#GAD strongest youth trainee

Jiang Xuzhou clicked on the most popular post and finally understood the situation.

In that match with Zhou Canran, Wen Yang had performed very well. Zhou Canran, besides being a famous star, was also a wealthy heir with strong connections — he even owned his own e‑sports company.

Zhou Canran extended an olive branch to Wen Yang, hoping he would join his e‑sports team.

While many netizens envied Wen Yang’s stroke of luck, he turned the offer down.

“After Wen Yang refused Zhou Canran’s invitation, a flood of negative rumors about him appeared online. Even his personal information was exposed, though for some reason it was quickly deleted.”

Lin Cheng added: “Although the posts were removed, Wen Yang’s reputation on the internet still suffered. Zhou Canran’s fans repeatedly called for him to quit the scene altogether.”

As the screen shifted, several screenshots from Wen Yang’s livestream appeared.

Some people — whether truly Zhou Canran’s fans or not — hurled insults at Wen Yang during his livestreams.

Because of this, Wen Yang felt he was being deliberately targeted, and believed Zhou Canran was the one orchestrating it behind the scenes.

Just as the discussion grew heated, Ruan Mingxi suddenly turned to Jiang Xuzhou: “Consultant Jiang, how much do you know about Zhou Canran?”

Jiang Xuzhou’s eyes were still fixed on the computer screen, and only when someone tapped the desk did he snap back.

“Sorry, what did you say?” Jiang Xuzhou quickly refocused.

Ruan Mingxi repeated the question: “How much do you know about Zhou Canran?”

“Not much. But from the few times I’ve met him, I’d say he’s impatient and quick‑tempered.”

Jiang Xuzhou’s family had business dealings with Zhou Canran’s father’s company, Tianhai Group. He had seen Zhou Canran at several banquets when accompanying his mother. The impression wasn’t good — what stood out was that Zhou always brought famous actresses as his companions.

This brief exchange drew everyone’s attention to Jiang Xuzhou. The “sudden consultant” not only had ties to the investigation but also personal contact with a celebrity, proving he wasn’t an ordinary figure.

Because of the repeated losing streaks, his rank dropping again and again, and the constant insults flooding his livestream, Wen Yang eventually stopped streaming altogether and spent his days playing in internet cafés.

Zhang Shuang said: “The timeline of Wen Yang suspending his livestream matches the testimony we heard during yesterday’s interrogation.”

Based on the current evidence, Zhou Canran at most had disputes with Wen Yang, but nothing directly links him to Yan Zhan’s death as a criminal case.

Lin Cheng finished presenting his information and handed the projector cable to Zhang Shuang.

The computer screen now displayed the record from last night’s interrogation of Wen Yang.