Chapter 429

The night grew deeper; gazing out through the wooden window lattice, one could see the endless blackness of night faintly tinged with deep blue.

At first, there was no light at all in the corridor, but as white snowflakes drifted past the window, their glow spread across the windowsill and the wooden floor like moonlight.

A gentle breeze surged through the gap in the corridor's window, dislodging a paper slip stuck to the door; as it fell to the ground, the words written on it read: "Do Not Disturb."

Beyond the door, a figure sat beside the bed, already dressed in pajamas, having turned off the ceiling lamp and wall sconces, leaving only the bedside lamp glowing.

When the bedside lamp lit up, it cast a conical halo upward onto the wall and corner near it; everywhere beyond that glow was thick shadow.

The dim yellow light mingled with the reflected shimmer of falling snow; merely looking at it made one feel the cold outside and the warmth within, deepening drowsiness.

Shiler put his glasses into the case, looked up at the snow falling heavier outside the window, and pulled an umbrella from the shadows beneath the bed.

He leaned the umbrella's handle against the nightstand; a sliver of lamp light poured down the shaft, illuminating the strange, arcane patterns on the canopy—resembling snake skin, yet with wider, more sinuous curves that seemed to shift slowly under the light.

After placing the umbrella, Shiler lay on the bed, pulled the blanket over himself, and gradually slowed his breathing until his consciousness neared the white void—when suddenly, a rapid series of thuds echoed through the floor, heels striking the wooden planks.

"Thud, thud, thud…"

The knocking came through Shiler's dream, yet failed to rouse him immediately.

"Thud-thud-thud-thud! Thud-thud!"

The knocking grew more urgent; Shiler, just falling asleep, slowly opened his eyes, rose from the bed with deliberate slowness, picked up the glasses case, removed the spectacles, and put them back on—then heard Kella's voice from outside the door.

"Professor Rodriguez! Are you there? Professor Rodriguez! Please wake up! Another murder!"

My Healing Game

Shiler sat on the edge of the bed, turned his head to glance at the wall clock—it read 3 a. m., only an hour and a half since Kella had come to inform him of Mrs. Davis's death.

Shiler stood, made no move to change into formal attire, turned, and picked up the umbrella.

He opened the door; Kella's hair was loose, as if she had been preparing for bed before being abruptly summoned. She looked into Shiler's eyes and said:

"Leonel LuSe is dead."

Shiler took a step forward, as if to leave immediately—but Kella did not move aside, so he did not step out. She scanned him from head to toe and said: "I'm sorry, but are you really going out like this?"

Her gaze settled on the umbrella in his hand.

Kella glanced out the corridor window at the snow falling heavier and heavier, sighed, stepped aside, and followed behind him: "Our luck is poor—if this blizzard continues, no one will be able to leave this estate."

"Isn't that exactly what you wanted? You gathered everyone here, cut off all signals—wasn't it to find the spy among us?"

"If this snow lasts a month, you'll have a month to finish your work. Don't tell me your investigative efficiency is worse than the FBI's—even the FBI would need only a month to solve this."

Kella was momentarily speechless, but she replied: "Four murders in a few hours—this spy's methods are brutally cruel."

"Or rather, now that old LuSe is dead, you're barely holding up under the responsibility. If not for this blizzard, you'd have lifted the lockdown and let everyone leave already."

"This blizzard isn't trapping us—it's trapping you," Shiler concluded.

Shiler was right. The combined influence of all the East Coast elites was still immense. Though the Central Intelligence Bureau held great power overseas, it still faced domestic pressure. With so many dead—including the head of the LuSe Group—the uproar rivaled that of the former mayor candidate's assassination.

Kella sighed inwardly. All the interrogation techniques she had learned were useless against Shiler. She could never seize the initiative in conversation. In all her time with the Central Intelligence Bureau, she had never encountered such an opponent.

The two crossed the corridor, descended the stairs, and entered the mayor's reception room. Shiler glanced around and said: "You're all here. I suppose I'm the last to arrive."

At this moment, the reception room was crowded: to the left stood Agent-in-Charge Benjamin; to the right stood Bruce and Selina; slightly right of center stood Lex LuSe with his red hair; in the center of the room lay a corpse—Leonel LuSe.

Leonel LuSe's condition was horrific: his face was caked in blood, a deep bruise marred his chin, his forehead bore signs of blunt-force trauma, and blood pooled where his head met the floor; shards of a vase lay scattered around his head.

Seeing Shiler in his pajamas, Bruce cast him a glance, then turned away as if he could not bear to look at the professor. His expression did not escape Benjamin's notice—but only deepened his frown.

"Thank you, Kella. Please go outside and maintain order. Make sure this news doesn't leak—otherwise, panic might spread." Benjamin turned to Kella. She looked surprised, but after a moment's hesitation, she obeyed.

Once she left, only five remained: Bruce, Lex, Benjamin, Shiler, and Selina. Benjamin spoke first, locking eyes with Shiler: "As I understand it, before LuSe died, he met with you in this room."

"Officer Benjamin, your unprofessionalism surprises me," Shiler replied without hesitation. He stepped forward to the corpse, planted the umbrella on the floor, and looked at Benjamin: "What matters isn't whether I met him—it's who saw him last."

Benjamin turned to Bruce: "Mr. Bruce Wayne discovered the crime scene. Let him speak."

Bruce, supported by Selina, struggled to stand straight; he rubbed his eyes hard and spoke with the slurred tone of a heavy drinker: "I had a drink… just one. Felt too hot in the room, so I came out for air…"

"I was walking… I think I vomited. A servant came to help me—I shook him off. Didn't want him touching me. He should've kept his distance. Cough… cough…"

"So… so I kept walking… then heard a sound. I heard… movement behind this door. I knocked—but no one answered…"

"I smelled something strange—like blood. Don't ask me how I knew—I'd only had a drink, wasn't drunk…"

"I opened the door—and saw Leonel lying here. That's when I realized I must've been drunk. I still am… hehehehe… cough…"

As he finished, Bruce began retching. Selina held his waist, patting his back to soothe him. Shiler turned to Benjamin: "Before this, the last person to see Mr. Leonel was you, wasn't it?"

"After Mrs. Davis's body was found, Leonel confessed everything—he admitted to killing old Parker and Mayor White. You took him away."

Benjamin remained silent. Shiler lifted his wrist, glanced at his watch, then tapped the floor with the umbrella's tip.

"Leonel wasn't innocent. He wasn't a good man. He just murdered Mayor White and old Parker. His death here is justice served. No one needs to pay extra for it."

"It's late. And this is the fourth time you've woken me from sleep."

"So let's skip the guessing, the evidence, the accusations, the denunciations—and just state the truth."

Shiler looked around; everyone remained silent. He placed both hands on the umbrella's handle and said: "Alright. I'll start."

"Officer Benjamin, I don't know where you meant to take him for 'proper custody.' All I know is your so-called 'proper measures' accomplished nothing."

"After I returned from the bathroom to my room, not long after, I received a call from Leonel—he told me to come to the reception room…"

As Shiler spoke, time rewound to roughly an hour and a half earlier.

The moment Shiler's words struck Leonel's core, his face turned ashen. Long moments passed before he clutched his chest and coughed heavily, like a man consumed by rage.

He had lost all pretense, glaring at Shiler with a venomous stare—but Shiler remained unmoved.

Just as Shiler was about to speak, Benjamin gestured toward the door; two burly agents entered.

Benjamin gave them instructions. They stepped forward, cuffed Leonel. Leonel opened his mouth to speak—but Benjamin cut him off: "Mr. Leonel, it seems you've confessed to two murders. Best cooperate with our investigation."

As Benjamin turned away, Shiler could not see his expression—but Leonel, facing him, never took his eyes off Shiler.

Only after Leonel was led out did Benjamin turn back to Shiler: "Professor Rodriguez, thank you for your cooperation. Brilliant deduction. Now, you may return to rest."

The words sounded like praise, yet carried no courtesy or politeness—only stiffness and coldness. But Shiler didn't care. He only wanted to go upstairs and sleep.

Just as he returned to his room, loosened his tie, and prepared to change clothes, the room's phone rang.

The mayor's mansion was more than a private residence; most guests visiting the mayor or attending events stayed here, so there were many guest rooms, each equipped with an internal service phone.

Shiler picked up the phone. Unsurprisingly, he heard Leonel's voice, strained with suppressed fury: "Rodriguez, I'm waiting for you in the reception room…"

Before Shiler could reply, Leonel added in a chilling tone: "I know what you did during last year's mayoral election. If you don't want those troubles to find you, you'd better come…"

Shiler slowly narrowed his eyes after hanging up.