Yin Wuwang drove for five minutes, the entire time trying to rationalize what had just happened.
Character setting. Right—the setting is two years of dating. Handing your partner a bottle of water is baseline behavior. Even without NPCs present, maintaining the habit is reasonable—if he developed a pattern of "only caring when someone's watching," the one time he forgot in front of an NPC, it would blow their cover.
Therefore his behavior was correct. Strategic. In service of mission integrity.
Mm. Flawless logic.
"Yin Wuwang."
His self-persuasion was interrupted.
"Hm?"
"When you handed me the water just now—" Xie Qingyan's tone was even, gaze resting on the bottle in his hand. "There was no one else in the car."
Seven words. Dropped into the quiet of the cabin, each one perfectly clear.
Every meticulously constructed piece of logic in Yin Wuwang's head shattered to dust.
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, then deliberately relaxed. Expression management: maximum.
"The script… requires it," he said.
The three words sounded so hollow leaving his mouth that even he felt the deficit. If this were a battlefield in the cultivation world, his current aura couldn't have intimidated a spirit rabbit.
Xie Qingyan didn't press. He screwed the cap back on the bottle and placed it in the cup holder.
The cabin was silent for roughly ten seconds.
Then Xie Qingyan spoke. His tone identical to before—level, steady, carrying nothing extraneous.
"Mm. The script requires it."
He was repeating Yin Wuwang's words. But Yin Wuwang caught a layer beneath the intonation—not agreement, not challenge. A kind of I'll accept your explanation for now. A temporary shelving.
Like a player spotting an opening on the board but choosing not to place the stone.
Yin Wuwang stared at the road ahead, a thin sheen of sweat on his back.
Little Deer Assistant's voice drifted through his mind: "Master, I feel that your explanation just now—"
Shut up.
"Understood."
Yin Wuwang drew a deep breath and forcibly dragged his focus back to the case.
"When we see Dragon Brother—" he spoke first, tone switching to case mode. "This sovereign opens. You observe."
"Mm." Xie Qingyan accepted the topic shift as if by unspoken agreement. "Dragon Brother has been in business for decades. His street smarts won't be lacking. Don't use interrogation tactics—he's not a suspect, he's a creditor. His relationship with Chen Wan was contractual, at least on the surface legal."
"This sovereign is aware," Yin Wuwang said. "Chat with him, don't question him. Let him want to talk on his own."
"Three things to confirm." Xie Qingyan tapped three times against his knee. "First, how Chen Xiulan's debt transferred to Chen Wan. Second, what Chen Wan was doing at the bar besides repaying debt over those five years—as the owner, Dragon Brother would have a handle on the operations. Third—"
He paused.
"Whether Chen Wan ever mentioned anyone."
Yin Wuwang glanced at him. "You're looking for Zhou Wen."
Xie Qingyan neither confirmed nor denied. He simply placed his hand back on his knee and looked out the window.
The key to this interview wasn't pressure or technique. It was making Dragon Brother feel that telling you things costs me nothing. A man who'd spent decades in gray-zone business wouldn't fear you because you carried a badge, but wouldn't make an enemy for no reason either. He'd calculate—what does sharing this cost me, what do I gain?
Yin Wuwang ran the numbers. Dragon Brother's contract with Chen Wan was legal, repayment records clean—zero legal exposure. Chen Wan's murder was actually bad for him: the man was dead, and the remaining four hundred thousand-plus had no one left to pay it.
From a pure interest standpoint, Dragon Brother should want the case solved. His debtor had been killed; he was a victim too—at least financially.
That was the entry point.
He had his opening line ready. Not a demand, not a probe. A sentence that would make Dragon Brother immediately realize these two cops were different from the ones before.
The car stopped at a red light near Long Teng Tower.
Yin Wuwang fished his phone from his pocket and opened an unread notification.
A confirmation from the jewelry shop: "Dear customer, your custom platinum plain-band ring (size 14) has entered production. Estimated completion: November 2nd. You will receive a text notification when it is ready for pickup."
He scanned it, closed the message, locked the screen. Under three seconds.
"Work message?" Xie Qingyan asked. He hadn't looked at Yin Wuwang's phone—not deliberate avoidance, just not his habit to glance at other people's screens.
"Mm. From Little Lu." Yin Wuwang slipped the phone back into his pocket.
The light turned green. He hit the gas.
Long Teng Tower stood two intersections ahead. A twenty-some-floor commercial building, dark glass curtain walls throwing off a cold gleam in the sunlight. Eighteenth floor. Long Wei Group.
Yin Wuwang pulled into the visitor lot and killed the engine.
He turned to glance at Xie Qingyan. Xie Qingyan was adjusting his jacket collar—entering a formal business setting, a forensic examiner's appearance couldn't be too casual. His fingers fastened the topmost button, the motion quick, fingertips brushing past his collarbone.
Yin Wuwang pulled his gaze back.
"Ready?" he asked.
Xie Qingyan looked at him.
"Are you?"
The corner of Yin Wuwang's mouth twitched.
"This sovereign has yet to encounter an opponent requiring preparation."
"Dragon Brother isn't an opponent." Xie Qingyan pushed open his door. "He's an information source. Don't push him into an adversarial position."
"Fuguang, since when do you worry about this sovereign's social skills?"
"Since the day you nearly treated the convenience store's automatic door as a formation array."
Yin Wuwang opened his mouth to argue, then realized he had no ground—because that had, in fact, happened.
He got out of the car.
The two walked shoulder to shoulder toward Long Teng Tower's revolving door. Their reflections slid across the glass—one slightly taller, strides matched, spacing even.
Yin Wuwang's hands were in his jacket pockets. Left: phone. Right: car keys. The jewelry receipt from the inner pocket had been moved to a drawer at the apartment, but the message on his phone was still there—November 2nd. Pickup.
A few more days.
When that day came, his pocket would hold not a receipt but a ring.
A ring as cold and clean as the flash of Frost Bloom clearing its sheath—plain, austere, belonging to only one person.
He followed Xie Qingyan through the revolving door. The building's air conditioning hit them head-on, the marble floor polished to a mirror.
"Eighteenth floor." Xie Qingyan pressed the number on the elevator panel.
The doors closed.
Yin Wuwang glanced at Xie Qingyan beside him. The elevator's cool white light rendered his profile in sharp detail—clean jawline, lashes casting a small wedge of shadow across his cheekbone.
Today in the car, he'd said: There was no one else in the car.
Even now, Yin Wuwang wasn't sure what that sentence meant. A reminder—you don't need to perform? Or a confirmation—you weren't performing?
Maybe both.
Maybe Xie Qingyan himself wasn't sure. And the uncertainty itself was already one step further than "purely acting."
The elevator arrived. Doors opened.
The corridor was quiet. Dark carpet absorbed their footsteps, abstract oil paintings on both walls lit by warm spotlights. At the far end stood a dark wooden door, a brass plate beside it: Long Wei Group.
Yin Wuwang shelved every thought that had no business existing during a case and followed Xie Qingyan out of the elevator.
Eighteenth floor. Long Wei Group.
The other end of the chain that Chen Wan had purchased with five years and five million six hundred thousand yuan was right here.
And the man behind that door might know what Chen Wan had been hiding beneath that smile at the bar—things no one had ever been allowed to see.
[End of V2_Chapter 52]
Next: Dragon Brother Pours the First Cup of Tea—and Doesn't Touch His Own