Chapter 361: What Is True Art

The motorcade sped along the highway.

Inside the car, Gong Qi leaned sideways against the genuine leather seat, his gaze burning as he stared at Feng Mu, as if expecting something.

Feng Mu smiled faintly, slowly pulling a document from his chest————the Ninth District Patrol House Forensic Pathology Identification Document sdecs-458.

The paper was very new, still carrying a residual ink smell; it was a photocopy of the autopsy report.

The photocopy was obtained from Chang Erbing; the original had been snatched away by Feng Ju, but the Patrol House's computer system had a backup — such a trivial matter required no upward report from Chang Erbing, who simply printed it out on a computer and handed it over.

Gong Qi took the document, flipped open the report, his gaze rapidly scanning every line, his pupils gradually dilating as he delved deeper into the content.

Every detail on the autopsy report was clear to a heart-stopping degree — the lung-penetrating wound, the burning traces, the impact point from the fall...

These detailed words professionally and meticulously recreated the murder scene; every word seemed to grow perfectly onto Gong Qi's XP.

In the past, Master-Apprentice team building activities were mostly planned in concrete detail by Second Senior Sister Liu Xie; he had always felt those plans lacked a certain flavor, but he couldn't articulate exactly which flavor was missing.

Now, he suddenly realized — what those plans lacked was precisely this meticulousness, this precise control over every link in the execution of a planned murder; what was missing was the professionalism highlighted in this report.

The autopsy report is art!

"This is..." Gong Qi's voice was somewhat tight, as if his throat were strangled by something intangible.

Feng Mu leaned against the seat, gaze looking out the car window into the distance, tone light and casual:

"I spoke on the phone with Junior Sister Hong Ya earlier; this is the reward I promised her."

He paused, turned his head to look at Gong Qi, his smile deepening:

"I'll be staying at the Second Prison recently, won't be returning to the Martial Arts Hall at night. Trouble Senior Brother to help pass the gift to Junior Sister."

Gong Qi's fingers unconsciously rubbed the paper's edge, his breathing gradually becoming rapid.

His gaze lingered on the report for a moment, then he looked up at Feng Mu, eyes flashing with a barely concealable excitement:

"Junior Brother, you intend to..."

Feng Mu did not answer directly, but leaned in slightly, approaching Gong Qi's ear, and explained a few sentences in a low voice.

Feng Mu's voice was very calm, but falling into Gong Qi's ears, he felt every word his junior brother spoke carried a bewitching power.

Gong Qi's breathing grew heavy, his fingers unconsciously clutching the report tight.

"So that's how it is..."

Gong Qi took a deep breath, striving to calm his inner agitation; his gaze returned to Feng Mu's face, his expression becoming exceptionally serious:

"Junior Brother rest assured, I will definitely deliver this gift to Hong Ya on time."

Chen Yang walked out the Patrol House's main gate; the night wind carried a damp breath that rushed into his face.

He stood on the steps, tilted his head back slightly, took a deep breath, as if wanting to inhale all this free air into his lungs.

He had thought he would be detained for a long time, had even made the worst preparations, yet unexpectedly the interrogation suddenly halted and he was released.

The night was very thick; the street had almost no pedestrians, only a few dim yellow street lamps swaying in the wind, casting mottled light and shadow.

Chen Yang's steps were somewhat floating, as if treading on cotton; his whole being was still immersed in an unreal feeling.

He felt his pocket, took out the cigarette case, pulled out a cigarette and lit it, inhaled deeply; the smoke slowly dispersed in the night, as if some intangible pressure was temporarily released.

He walked to the roadside, raised his gauze-wrapped hand, hailed a taxi, and gave his home address.

The car sped along the empty street; the scenery outside the window rapidly receded; Chen Yang's gaze was somewhat scattered, his mind a mess.

"Despicable and shameless, framing and entrapment, the Patrol House is truly too dark, damn them, they all deserve death." Chen Yang muttered curses nonstop.

The car stopped below his building; Chen Yang paid, got out, and walked into the corridor.

The corridor light was broken, pitch black all around; only a trace of faint light from outside the window barely illuminated the steps underfoot.

He reached his front door, took out his key, inserted it into the lock, turned gently, and the door opened.

The room was pitch black; the air permeated with a faint strange odor, like some chemical smell.

Chen Yang frowned, reached out to feel for the switch on the wall.

Suddenly, his movement froze.

In the darkness, he felt a cold breath strike from behind, like some cold-blooded creature approaching.

His heartbeat suddenly accelerated, his fingers trembling slightly, yet he still pressed the switch.

The light came on.

The room was empty, but that cold breath still existed, as if right behind him.

"Who?" he asked in a low voice, his voice somewhat hoarse.

No one answered.

Chen Yang abruptly turned around, but saw nothing.

His back had already seeped a layer of cold sweat; his gauze-wrapped palm clenched hard, blood seeping through the gauze.

The room was terrifyingly quiet, only his breathing echoing in the air.

"No one, is it that I'm under too much pressure today?"

Chen Yang took a deep breath, forced himself to calm down, turned and walked toward the living room.

However, just as he took his first step, a sharp pain suddenly struck from behind, as if some sharp object had pierced into his body.

His pupils violently constricted; a low muffled groan escaped his throat; his whole body froze in place.

He looked down, only to see a section of sharp blade protruding from his chest, the blade covered in fresh blood, blood drops falling along the blade onto the floor with a "drip" sound.

His lung had been pierced; breathing became extremely difficult, every inhalation accompanied by intense pain, as if a fire were burning in his chest cavity.

"You... who are you..." he spoke with difficulty, his voice seeming squeezed from deep in his throat, carrying a desperate tremor.

No one answered.

He felt the blade slowly rotating inside his body, like some cruel game, torturing his nerves.

Suddenly, a stream of ice-cold liquid poured from the top of his head, flowing down his hair, cheeks, neck, over his whole body.

It was oil.

The strong smell of gasoline filled his nose cavity, nearly suffocating him.

His pupils constricted violently, his heart jumping madly, as if it would leap out of his chest cavity.

"No... don't..." he spoke with difficulty, his voice carrying a desperate plea.

However, the only response to him was a snicker like a poisonous snake flicking its tongue.

"Crack—"

The sound of a lighter rang out in the darkness, followed by a flame jumping before his eyes.

Through the flame, Chen Yang saw a pair of snake-like eyes coldly watching him, carrying a cruel pleasure.

"Feng Mu asked me to tell you, he likes your gift very much, and hopes you will like this return gift too."

A sinister voice rang out beside his ear, carrying a morbid satisfaction.

The next second, the lighter spun and fell toward his body.

End of Chapter