Chapter Sixty-Five: A Web of Doubts

Qiao Junhao was by no means a fool—otherwise, in the thriving and populous Qiao family, he would never have stood out to become the second-in-command of the Qiao Group. He had not considered these issues before, but now, with Xiao Cheng’s pointed questioning, he realized many things in an instant. His lover was merely a kindergarten teacher; how could she possibly know Zhuo Qinglian?

Could it be that there was more to this matter? Once suspicion took root, it spiraled out of control—he even began to suspect his lover had been using him all along by telling him these things.

“The masked man was a little taller than me and rather thin, with exceptionally good skin. I also have a recording of our conversation,” Qiao Junhao confessed everything to Xiao Cheng, having already guessed his lover had been manipulating him. He wanted no part in taking the fall for someone else’s scheme.

Xiao Cheng took the phone Qiao Junhao handed over, opened the recording, and listened to a bizarre, distorted voice: “You don’t need to know who I am. I can help you contact Guanyu Security, but first you must wire five million dollars to my Swiss account. If you want to request Guanyu Security’s services, you’ll need to offer at least twenty million. Otherwise, you won’t be able to move them at all…”

Patiently, Xiao Cheng listened to the entire recording, but gleaned nothing of value. The voice had clearly been tampered with—it was not the person’s natural tone, as though something was lodged in their throat. Xiao Cheng could easily recognize the technique: it was likely achieved by channeling energy through the vocal cords to alter the frequency and timbre. Was this mysterious masked man a cultivator as well?

A cultivator who could contact Guanyu Security—this narrowed the field, yet still revealed nothing about the person’s true identity.

Since this lead was useless, the only option left was to start with Qiao Junhao’s lover. Yet half an hour had already passed—would that woman still be alive?

“Enough. Now tell me your lover’s address,” Xiao Cheng demanded.

“She lives not far from here, in Tianhe Community, Building 15, Apartment 403,” Qiao Junhao answered immediately, anxiety twisting in his heart as he wondered how Xiao Cheng would handle him. But everything he had done was due to manipulation; surely Xiao Cheng wouldn’t deal harshly with him.

“Qinglian, I’ll leave him to you. Do as you see fit,” Xiao Cheng nodded, memorizing the address before turning to Zhuo Qinglian. Having said that, he turned away and gazed into the night beyond the window, paying Qiao Junhao no further mind.

He handed Qiao Junhao over to Zhuo Qinglian precisely because Qiao Junhao had targeted her. Now she could vent her anger, rather than keep it bottled inside.

Hearing that he was being handed to Zhuo Qinglian, Qiao Junhao’s heart pounded with dread. After all, it was Zhuo Qinglian he had schemed against. If it were Xiao Cheng, things might not be so dire—he wasn’t the direct victim—but now, with Zhuo Qinglian having Xiao Cheng’s support, she surely wouldn’t let him off easily.

“Young Master Xiao! I know your family is in pharmaceuticals. Our Qiao family is in that line too. I can arrange for the Qiao Group to cooperate with your Shanghai Xiao Pharmaceuticals. That way—”

If he wanted to survive, the best path was to prove his value; Qiao Junhao understood this well. Rather than beg for mercy, he tried to demonstrate his usefulness.

But Xiao Cheng didn’t care for any of it. He waved dismissively, instructing Zhuo Qinglian to handle the matter.

Zhuo Qinglian could guess why Xiao Cheng handed Qiao Junhao to her: to let her vent her anger. She couldn’t help but marvel at how much Xiao Cheng had changed—not only was he shrewd and attentive, but he also considered such subtle matters.

Since she was given free rein, she saw no reason to hold back. If not for Xiao Cheng tonight, she might already be dead, still owing Ning Jingzhe a heavy favor—someone she already disliked. To be in his debt would mean bowing her head before him in the future.

The weapon Zhuo Qinglian used was highly unusual: not a blade, nor a gun, but a flying dagger—no, more precisely, a shard of flying ice. A sliver of ice, no larger than a fingernail, appeared suddenly in her hand. With a flick of her fingers, the ice shot out and pierced Qiao Junhao’s brow with a soft thud.

Qiao Junhao stared in terror at Xiao Cheng’s back, unable to comprehend, even in death, why his survival—so much more valuable than his death—was cast aside without the slightest hesitation.

With Qiao Junhao dealt with, Xiao Cheng immediately led Zhuo Qinglian to Tianhe Community, hoping that Qiao Junhao’s lover was still alive. He was determined to uncover whoever was hiding behind these schemes.

As for whether the Qiao family would suspect him in Qiao Junhao’s death, he gave it no thought. Even if he had openly slain Qiao Junhao, so what? It was Qiao Junhao who had struck against them first.

Arriving at the woman’s apartment, everything was just as Xiao Cheng had anticipated: she was dead, lying naked on her own bed, her lips slightly parted in a frozen smile, as if she had been trying to please someone.

She had been killed during intercourse—the murderer striking at the very moment of their intimacy, ending her life in a single blow.

Xiao Cheng frowned. He didn’t know who had killed the woman, but the method disgusted him—killing a woman while being intimate with her was beneath contempt.

Zhuo Qinglian was disappointed. With the woman dead, the trail had gone cold, and the mastermind would be hard to find. She checked the body; it was still warm—dead for about fifteen minutes at most.

“She died only fifteen minutes ago. Now the trail ends here; I doubt we’ll find anything,” Zhuo Qinglian said, disheartened.

But Xiao Cheng, unlike her, seemed unfazed. He let out a cold chuckle. “A broken trail is the greatest clue of all.”

Zhuo Qinglian didn’t understand what he meant. The woman had been their only lead—now that she was dead, what clue could remain?

Xiao Cheng smiled mysteriously. “If she was killed fifteen minutes ago, that means the murderer must have learned about the failed plan at least fifteen minutes ago. We got here from the overpass in twenty-five minutes, including a few minutes’ delay at the Qiao residence. Don’t you find it odd how quickly the killer acted? It means the mastermind must have been present at the scene when the plan failed.”

Zhuo Qinglian frowned, still unable to follow Xiao Cheng’s reasoning.

The logic was actually simple. First, Xiao Cheng could tell from the method of killing that the murderer was a cultivator—the same person who had dealt with Qiao Junhao. The fewer people involved in such matters, the safer, so the mastermind would never allow others to be privy to the conspiracy.

Furthermore, knowing the capabilities of Bloodshade Security, he was certain that during their operation, all communications within a two-kilometer radius were jammed by electromagnetic shielding. No one could transmit news from the scene.

Even if bystanders had witnessed something on the overpass, they would not know exactly what had transpired. Only the mastermind, present at the scene to witness Bloodshade Security’s arrival, could have known the plan had failed.

Once Bloodshade Security appeared, the mastermind realized the plan was doomed, left immediately, and rushed here to kill the woman. The timeline matched perfectly.

Of course, Xiao Cheng could not be absolutely certain, but he was eighty percent sure his deduction was correct.

With these insights, uncovering the mastermind became straightforward: simply check the traffic records through the traffic police system to see who had traveled from the scene to this apartment in that window of time.

Xiao Cheng explained his deductions to Zhuo Qinglian, who was suddenly enlightened. She would never have thought to infer so much from the time gap, even knowing Bloodshade Security's ability to jam communications.

She was amazed—just a month ago, Xiao Cheng was a good-for-nothing second son, muddling through life, but in only thirty days, he had become formidable. Not only that, his mind had grown terrifyingly keen. At this moment, she truly wanted to ask—was he really only eighteen years old? Was he really still Xiao Cheng?

The reason Xiao Cheng could deduce all this so quickly was inseparable from his five years of experience before his rebirth. After his family was destroyed, apart from cultivating his strength, he spent most of his time deducing the identity of his enemy from scant clues. Five years of relentless deduction had honed his insight, enabling him to link even the smallest details together.

Heaven entrusts great responsibilities to those it tests—only after enduring hardship, hunger, and deprivation does one grow in what one once lacked. This is no empty saying.