Chapter 17

“According to Wen Yang’s statement, after he refused Zhou Canran, he suffered various forms of suppression. He couldn’t provide evidence, but insisted Zhou Canran was behind it.”

Zhang Shuang enlarged the projection so everyone could see: “He also testified that on the night of the 17th, after meeting Yan Zhan, they left the residential complex together.”

Hearing this, Jiang Xuzhou’s expression darkened.

No one had expected Wen Yang’s involvement to flip the situation so completely.

Ying Shi was the first to raise doubts: “That doesn’t add up. We already reviewed the surveillance footage — it only showed one person leaving the complex. The two of them…”

He stopped mid‑sentence, suddenly realizing that the surveillance also hadn’t captured Wen Yang entering the complex at all.

“Is there a blind spot in the residential complex’s surveillance?” Ying Shi asked.

Ruan Mingxi stood up: “According to Wen Yang’s testimony, the recycling station’s camera in Yan Zhan’s complex was broken. Anyone entering or leaving through the low wall there wouldn’t be caught on video. We’ve already confirmed the location and sent the field team over.”

Holding a laser pointer, Ruan Mingxi added to Zhang Shuang’s earlier remarks.

“Fifteen minutes ago, the security division sent over a surveillance clip.” He signaled for Zhang Shuang to pull up the video.

The footage had been obtained after Lin Cheng’s phone call, when officers conducted a surprise inspection of the internet café. Along with the inspection, they retrieved the surveillance recordings.

Reportedly, during the raid they discovered fake ID registrations allowing minors to enter, and even found a private cinema in the basement, confiscating a large number of pornographic discs.

Now both the café manager and the system operator were in custody, and the surveillance was first located by their captain before being forwarded to Ruan Mingxi’s team.

The timestamp showed the footage was from the night of the 17th into the early hours of the 18th. In the upper right corner of the screen sat a figure. Though the image was blurry, it was still recognizable as Wen Yang sitting in the corner.

“Fast‑forward to 12:30,” Ruan Mingxi instructed.

Zhang Shuang dragged the progress bar forward to the 12:30 mark.

At that point in the video, Wen Yang looked up several times toward the door, and finally, at 12:40, he stood and left his seat.

The café’s system operator was wearing headphones and focused on his own game, completely unaware that Wen Yang had gone.

Ruan Mingxi said: “Fast‑forward to 1:10.”

In the early hours of the 18th, around 1:10 a.m., two people dressed in black walked in together.

During this time, the system operator’s eyes never left his own screen. From his perspective, Wen Yang and Yan Zhan were just as he remembered — every Friday night into Saturday morning, sitting in that same spot playing games.

“Last night, when we told Wen Yang about Yan Zhan’s death, he immediately said someone was trying to kill him, and that Yan Zhan had died in his place.”

After finishing with the surveillance footage, the focus shifted back to Wen Yang himself.

Ruan Mingxi set the tone by summarizing Wen Yang’s testimony, and Zhang Shuang followed his lead, continuing from Lin Cheng’s earlier remarks.

It was a rushed morning, and most of the team hadn’t yet reviewed the written transcripts. Without a clear baseline, everyone risked being confused.

Jiang Xuzhou pulled his gaze away from the computer screen and looked at Ruan Mingxi.

Ruan Mingxi explained: “According to Wen Yang, during the period when Zhou Canran was suppressing him, a manager from another e‑sports team also extended an olive branch. He told Wen Yang they could help him fight back against Zhou Canran.”

To prove their influence, when Wen Yang’s personal information was exposed online, this manager immediately arranged for the trending topic to be taken down.

This explained why Wen Yang’s personal information, after briefly appearing online, was able to disappear so quickly.

“Yan Zhan, because of his gaming skills, hired Wen Yang — who was temporarily unemployed — to accompany him in playing. As they grew familiar, he learned that an e‑sports team had extended an olive branch to Wen Yang, and he expressed envy.”

Ruan Mingxi tapped the case file to turn the page, and the transcript on the screen switched to the next entry.

“Wen Yang wanted to refuse, but Yan Zhan volunteered to go in his place, saying that even a few days of that life would be worthwhile.” Ruan Mingxi continued, “Wen Yang agreed. The next morning, after Yan Zhan left the internet café, he went to the address given by the e‑sports team manager — which happened to be near the crime scene.”

Jiang Xuzhou frowned deeply. He didn’t know much about e‑sports teams, but he understood the basics.

Youth training programs are designed to cultivate promising players. Over a trial period, the team evaluates their skills and how well they mesh with existing members. Only after a comprehensive assessment do they decide whether to keep the recruit.

According to Ruan Mingxi’s investigation, Yan Zhan’s gaming ability was not high. Even if he took Wen Yang’s place in the youth training program, the team would quickly realize he wasn’t up to standard after just one match.

At that moment, the meeting room door was knocked.

“Come in.”

Lin Peixin entered with a newly completed lab report: “The blood samples taken from the air‑conditioner installation area and under the bed both match Yan Zhan.”

“Additionally, two palm prints lifted from Yan Zhan’s windowsill were compared. One of them matches Wen Yang, proving he was indeed in Yan Zhan’s room.”

Ruan Mingxi took a deep breath. “Wen Yang’s phone and gaming account are already with the tech team. Track down the e‑sports manager who sent him the youth training offer. Also, check all local teams to see which ones fit the description and confirm the suspect target.”

He turned to Ying Shi: “You take Lin Cheng and visit the e‑sports teams.”

Ying Shi nodded.

Ruan Mingxi said: “Zhang Shuang, keep an eye on the investigation of the recycling station in the residential complex, and also follow up on the clarity of surveillance footage across different locations.”

After giving those instructions, Ruan Mingxi picked someone to accompany him later when he went to meet Zhou Canran.

The meeting ended, and everyone dispersed to their tasks.

Ruan Mingxi walked over to Jiang Xuzhou and sat on the desk in front of him. “During the case analysis, what were you thinking? You didn’t respond the first time I called you.”

Jiang Xuzhou leaned back slightly so he wouldn’t have to keep looking up at him.

“I was thinking about the motive,” Jiang Xuzhou said. “From what I know of Zhou Canran, if he made a big public offer and was rejected, he might lash out in anger for a while. But based on the current situation, Wen Yang has been under pressure for several months.”

“If Wen Yang really quit streaming because of Zhou Canran’s suppression, Zhou wouldn’t gain anything from it. Spending so much time and effort — is it worth it?”

Jiang Xuzhou reflected: “A deal where the cost outweighs the benefit isn’t something a competent businessman would pursue.”

Zhou Canran was not only a celebrity, but also the owner of an e‑sports team.

“What if he simply doesn’t care about the cost? Money might not matter to him — as long as he vents his anger, that’s enough. It’s not impossible,” Ruan Mingxi raised his eyebrows.

Jiang Xuzhou took a deep breath. “Instead of speculating here, why don’t we go and ask him directly?”

Just as he reached the door, Jiang Xuzhou lifted his foot to step out, but Ruan Mingxi pulled him back, causing his back to bump into him.

Meeting Jiang’s puzzled gaze, Ruan Mingxi handed him a scarf he had taken from the cabinet. “Put this on. The wind is strong.”

Jiang Xuzhou looked miserable, not even raising his hand. “Where do you keep finding all these ugly things?”

Ruan Mingxi froze for a moment. “Ugly? This looks perfectly fine to me.”

Jiang found it unbelievable. Ruan Mingxi had good taste — his clothing style was proof of that. Yet somehow he always managed to pull out strange items. Just the other day it was a pair of dark purple fleece‑lined long johns, and now this scarf.

As soon as he spoke, a sharp gust of cold wind blew in, making Jiang shiver instinctively.

Without hesitation, Ruan Mingxi wrapped the scarf around his neck. “I’ll go move the car. Fix yourself up and come out when you’re ready.”

At that moment, Ying Shi and Lin Cheng walked over and saw Jiang standing at the door, a fluorescent pink scarf around his neck — twisted and wriggly like some kind of worm. Their eyes widened instantly.

Hearing footsteps, Jiang Xuzhou turned and met the shocked stares of the two men.

“This scarf—it’s not mine…”

He had just started to explain when Ying Shi spoke faster: “Looks great, really! The color suits you, youthful and full of energy. College students should wear something this bright.”

Lin Cheng quickly nodded: “Yes, yes, it looks good. I even want the link so I can buy one myself.”

Jiang Xuzhou: “…”

That kind of “youthful energy” wasn’t exactly what he wanted.

Outside, the sound of a car horn rang out—Ruan Mingxi had finished backing out the car.

Jiang Xuzhou took a deep breath and gave up resisting. “I’ll go first.”

Ying Shi and Lin Cheng nodded quickly: “Alright, take care on the road.”

The officer who were supposed to accompany them to the scene were already seated in the back. The moment Jiang Xuzhou opened the car door, he was met once again with stunned looks.

This time, he simply gave up explaining, kept his face serious, and stared straight ahead.

……

Ruan Mingxi’s wound was slightly inflamed. After examining it, Lin Peixin told him to go to the hospital for a tetanus shot. He wanted to refuse, but when he turned and met Jiang Xuzhou’s gaze, the words of refusal stuck in his throat.

“I’ll get the shot! Right away!”

Seeing his expression relax, Ruan Mingxi finally breathed out in relief.

After leaving the hospital, the three of them immediately rushed to Zhou Canran’s location.

Tracking Zhou Canran’s schedule was not easy, and it took considerable effort before they found him.

By the time they arrived, Zhou Canran had just finished filming.

“We’re very sorry, our artist is resting right now. If you need to investigate, please wait a little while,” his staff said.

They thought “a little while” meant just a few minutes, but nearly twenty minutes passed and the door of the RV still hadn’t opened.

Ruan Mingxi, losing patience, stepped forward and knocked.

The moment the assistant opened the door, he scolded them coldly: “What’s wrong with you? We told you to wait a bit. How many times are you going to ask? Enough already.”

Even though he knew they were police officers investigating a case, his attitude remained dismissive.

“Cooperating with the police is a citizen’s duty,” Officer Ren Xian, who had come along with Ruan Mingxi, snapped angrily.

The assistant shot him a glare. “Did we say we wouldn’t cooperate? Our artist isn’t feeling well and just needs a little rest — what’s wrong with that?”

The argument was about to escalate, and nearby people were already turning to watch.

Just as the assistant was about to close the door, Jiang Xuzhou stopped him: “Please, could you pass this along to Mr. Zhou?”

The assistant didn’t want to bother, but when he saw the words “General Manager” on the document, he hesitated and finally accepted it. “Wait here.”

As soon as he spoke, the RV door slammed shut with a sharp bang.

Ruan Mingxi muttered, clearly losing patience: “I’ve got a bad temper. Is this RV door sturdy enough to withstand a kick?”

But Zhou Canran didn’t give him the chance. Less than thirty seconds after the door closed, Zhou himself opened it.

He wore a smile, and to anyone watching it looked as though he and Jiang Xuzhou were old acquaintances. “Young General Jiang*, it was all my assistant acting on his own. He didn’t tell me you were outside. Please, all three of you, come in and sit.”

( *“小江總” (xiǎo Jiāng zǒng) is a form of address. In Chinese business and social contexts, “總” (zǒng) is a respectful title used for people in high positions, like a company president, CEO, or general manager. Adding “小” (xiǎo) in front softens it — it can mean “young,” “junior,” or simply a familiar way of addressing someone with status but also youth.)