Chapter 116

The next morning, early on, Old Liu put on a suit and carefully combed his hair.

Though there wasn't much left.

He took out his razor with care and meticulously sculpted his face.

The photographer beside him said, "Uh, what's this?"

"Nothing. Pay attention to your appearance—these people are starting to play for real."

Play for real?

The photographer didn't understand; morning livestream viewership was low, only about ten million, mostly people heading to work.

Yesterday's anti-gambling campaign trended, but the comments below were strange—people didn't seem to care much about anti-gambling; they cared about Chen Fan.

"Wait, why do I feel like Chen Fan looks happier when playing cards than anyone else?"

"Maybe we should investigate Chen Fan's personal income—my gut tells me his earnings are definitely off."

"Is he using his card games as an opportunity to show off?"

"Strange—this guy doesn't look anything like a gambling god, yet he always wins easily."

But the second trending topic was about the Fayida Sect's competition—the handling of cold cases.

Such events are held annually by provincial authorities: the Zhiwen Society battle, or blood analysis battle, or image analysis battle, and so on.

The names differ, but the goal is the same: to pool resources once and dig up, then resolve, old cases.

Places that host these events typically see crime rates drop and cold case backlogs decline.

It can be said to be an excellent initiative.

Yet some people began investigating past years' data on how many cases were resolved.

In one province, a short-term concentrated effort usually resolves only a dozen or so cases, mostly from recent years.

Cases from ten years ago are much harder to handle.

Another trending topic drew everyone's attention: a special statement from a medical college's Fayida Sect.

The poster was a student.

"Teacher, Chen Fan says we Fayida will all lose our hair, become greasy, and end up bachelors."

The teacher was furious: "Absurd! How could that be? We Fayida are the coolest! I call on everyone—today, be serious!"

Then everyone suddenly remembered the meme—the dungeon meme.

At the Fayida Sect's entrance, car doors opened, and 930 people stepped out.

Middle-aged men wore suits, clearly outdated in style.

Their hair was slicked with gel, and they wore new leather shoes.

Their belts were polished to a shine.

Some even wore wigs on their heads.

Each stood together, faces grim, as if attending some solemn ceremony.

Netizens who saw this could no longer hold back.

"Hahahaha, I'm dying—do Fayida even have internal competition?"

"Wait, something's off—is my viewing method wrong? This is insane, they're acting like kids."

"These Fayida are just too adorable."

"Sorry, I shouldn't laugh—but I saw my teacher—he actually shaved! That suit… isn't that the one he wore at his wedding?"

Groups formed, entered the office, and took seats.

Thirty people arrived; normally they'd chat, but now everyone was solemn—the cameras were rolling.

Chen Fan, biting into a steamed bun, passed by the office and looked inside at the group.

"Whoa, everyone's wearing suits?"

The group turned to Chen Fan, glaring with disdain.

As if to say: Who told you Fayida are all proper people? We're not greasy bald men.

Chen Fan walked to a nearby tree and stared intently at its leaves.

He fell into thought, raised his hand, lowered it, raised it again, lowered it again.

In the livestream studio, everyone watched Chen Fan's hand.

Even in the hallway, a few people gathered, watching each other, staring at Chen Fan's hand.

The air grew tense.

Chen Fan finally couldn't hold back—he slapped it.

The wig flew up.

The man's face darkened as he turned to Chen Fan.

The funniest part wasn't the wig flying off—it was half of it still stuck to his head.

Countless viewers in the livestream burst into malicious laughter.

The man turned to Chen Fan, chuckled, then lifted his head—the wig slid effortlessly back into place.

"That's it?"

Chen Fan gave a thumbs-up: "You're ruthless. You win. Here's my application—take it."

The man looked at the document in Chen Fan's hand: "You're sure?"

"Yes. You've all worked so hard—I can't lose face. I'll join the Fayida Sect, become one of you. But beforehand: my side job stays untouched. I'll do my best on cases."

Old Liu stared at the document, stunned—it was a paper he'd waited far too long for.

"Pick a teacher. Fayida is built on master-apprentice bonds."

Chen Fan looked at the group, hesitating—everyone watched him.

"Can I not choose?"

Old Liu grew angry and said, "Haven't I been treating you well lately?"

"Alright, alright, I'll choose you, I'll choose you."

Old Liu nodded happily, while the remaining few forensic experts looked at him with contempt, as if saying, "This kid really has no shame."

Pah, I'm ashamed to be grouped with him.

Viewers who had been through university graduate programs had already explained this in popular science.

"Chen Fan as a student—remember, no matter what forensic-related documents Chen Fan writes in the future, his supervisor will be listed on them."

"From what we can see now, many of Chen Fan's techniques can be written into textbooks; these will endure for a long time."

"The image enhancement technique, I suspect, will be named after Chen Fan—or perhaps after this city."

Li Tian walked over and said, "Enough with the nostalgia—let's get straight to the case. The system is already online. Everyone, get ready to begin."

In the observation room, Sister Jing Tian asked curiously, "Will Boss Yang let Chen Fan go?"

Bai Lu said, "It's not about letting him go—if he's a civil servant, the company's contract is automatically void."

Sister Jing Tian said, "Boss Yang has treated Chen Fan very well."

Teacher He said, "I'm curious—what agreement did the two reach? Why didn't Boss Yang get angry or cause a scene?"

"That trick won't work."

Sister Jing Tian muttered to herself.

Everyone turned to look at Sister Jing Tian, instinctively picturing a scene.

Sister Jing Tian, wearing a Qihong porcelain-pattern qipao, stood beside Chen Fan, tugging at his arm, crying and pouting, just to make him fall in love with her and stay with her.

That scene—wasn't it a little too beautiful?