Chapter 381: He's far more dangerous than his father; fortunately

When Chang Erbing learned that a corpse cart had driven away from downstairs, he stood frozen in place, as if struck by lightning, and did not come back to his senses for a long time.

After a long time, he squeezed out a dry, hoarse "Ah?" from deep in his throat, as if someone had his neck pinched.

Cold sweat snaked down his spine, soaking his uniform, leaving a dark patch on his undershirt.

He raised a hand to wipe his face, trying to make himself look calmer, but the dampness in his palm completely exposed his nervousness.

"Corpse cart?"

His voice seemed squeezed out from between his teeth, carrying a barely perceptible tremor, but on his face he forced out anger, trying to use rage to cover that bit of unease,

"Hah, they really dare! Captain Li, if we swallow this anger, won't the people of the Second Prison think our Patrol Bureau is made of mud?"

Li Shang did not lack anger in his heart, but when his gaze fell on that black box, the whole person strangely calmed down.

He was by no means a good-tempered person, but at this moment he appeared exceptionally "magnanimous."

He reached out and pressed on Chang Erbing's hand, his tone light and casual:

"Forget it, you said they're crazy, we are rational people, why bother arguing with madmen? Moreover, he came to make friends with me."

"Make friends?"

Chang Erbing's voice instantly rose two degrees, the expression on his face as if he had heard some Arabian Nights tale,

"Bringing a corpse cart to make friends? This is simply unheard of!"

Li Shang did not respond immediately, just glanced coldly at Chang Erbing.

That gaze contained something indescribable, making Chang Erbing's heart tighten.

He suddenly exclaimed in surprise: "Captain Li, you wouldn't have... agreed, would you?"

Li Shang reached out to push aside the black box, revealing the golden light inside, and said faintly:

"One hand brings the corpse cart, one hand brings gold—this madman's sincerity in making friends is quite full, what do you think?"

Chang Erbing's eyes flashed with golden light, and he nodded with a dry mouth and parched tongue:

"Captain Li makes sense, occasionally having a madman as a friend doesn't seem so bad, only, his father isn't on good terms with us..."

Li Shang closed the box lid with a "bang," and the golden light was instantly swallowed by darkness.

His face showed an extremely strange expression, as if infected by a madman, his expression twisted:

"His father doesn't matter. This madman's behavior is far more dangerous than his father. To be honest, the pressure Feng Ju brings me is not even one-tenth of his son's."

Chang Erbing moved his gaze away from the black box with difficulty, and upon hearing this, nodded in agreement, saying with deep conviction:

"Indeed, Feng Ju is still rational, far from being this dangerous. The most terrifying thing is that his son is not the only madman; he also brought a group of madmen, and the danger is multiplied."

Li Shang grinned, suddenly letting out a strange burst of laughter, the laughter echoing in the room, as if long-suppressed emotions had finally found an outlet:

"Yes, Feng Mu is mad, but this madman doesn't help his father; instead, he supports me—this truly makes me very happy! I like the friendship of madmen, Maniacal Laughter—"

Under the combined gift of gold and the corpse cart, the friendship between Li Shang and Feng Mu was laid with the most unshakable foundation from the very beginning.

The rain stopped.

Upper City put away its ferocious exposed prostate, once again aiming its lumpy buttocks, bright and shiny, at Lower City, releasing heat and light.

Zhou Hu woke up early, frightened awake.

Early that morning he received bad news—Zhao Xing was dead, dead in last night's rainstorm, said to be an accident.

The truth of the news was not hard to confirm; one inquiry at the Patrol Bureau would reveal it.

Zhou Hu not only called to confirm but was still uneasy, so he personally went to the Patrol Bureau to examine the body.

The body lay in the Patrol Bureau's morgue cabinet; when the iron door was pulled open, a gloomy cold air rushed toward him.

The white cloth covering the body was lifted; at that moment, Zhou Hu's eyes stared fixedly at the corpse.

A headless corpse lay quietly on the cold metal table, the cut at the neck smooth as a mirror, as if severed instantly by some extremely sharp tool.

The congealed bloodstains around it looked especially glaring under the pale light; a fishy smell faintly seeped out through the cold air, drilling into Zhou Hu's nasal cavity, making his face turn deathly pale.

Zhou Hu was stunned; the next second, his mouth corner suddenly twisted into a cold laugh—full of uncontrollable anger and a sense of absurdity.

His voice echoed in the morgue, as if squeezed out from deep in his throat:

"Where's his head? His head is gone, and you Patrol Bureau tell me this is an accident?"

His voice rose higher and higher, until it almost became a roar:

"Are you blind yourselves, or do you think I'm blind?"

The constable on duty had a cold face, arms crossed over his chest, standing straight, as if long accustomed to such scenes.

His face showed no ripple, even his tone carried an annoying coldness:

"Current evidence indeed points to an accident, Chief Zhou of the Security Bureau, are you questioning our Patrol Bureau's professionalism? To be frank, I'm afraid your prison doesn't know how to investigate cases?"

Zhou Hu's fist clenched with a creaking sound; he said fiercely:

"If it's an accident, then tell me, where did his head go?"

The constable, upon hearing this, didn't even frown, but shrugged instead:

"Last night the wind was strong and the rain heavy, who knows? Maybe wild dogs dragged it away; we regret this very much."

"You—"

Zhou Hu, furious, suddenly reached out and grabbed the constable's collar, yanking him forward with such force that the constable's gaze changed instantly.

The constable was forced to stumble forward a step; a flicker of horror flashed in his pupils, but his stubborn stance did not lessen in the slightest.

"Enough!"

The forensic doctor Bai Ye on the side could finally bear it no longer.

He had been busy all night; at this moment he was bending over to pack up a toolbox on the side. Hearing the quarreling here, he raised his head impatiently, his tone carrying some weariness and mockery:

"You think he didn't die in an accident? Fine, then tell us, who killed him?"

Chang Erbing, who had heard the noise from the morgue outside, walked in, looking gloomily at Zhou Hu.

Zhou Hu, hearing this, abruptly froze.

His hand still clutched the constable's collar, suspended in midair, his momentum momentarily tripped up by these words.

His complexion shifted uncertainly, his lips pressed into a line, and finally a name was squeezed out from between his teeth:

"Feng Mu, it was definitely Feng Mu who did it!"

As these words fell, the air in the mortuary instantly grew several degrees colder.

Forensic Doctor Bai Ye, who had been lowering his head to pack up his tools, suddenly halted his movements; he glared, his eyes bulging wide.

Chang Erbing's pupils contracted, his thin lips pressed tight, he said nothing, yet his right hand unconsciously reached into his pocket, pinching the few small yellow croakers inside.

Those were the "reward" Captain Li had allotted him; the metal edges dug painfully into his palm, yet also warmed his palm.

………

(End of Chapter)