Chapter Forty-Seven: Old Wang Meets His End!

Mr. Lin led us through a reenactment of the scene. After the suspect had altered the time, he suddenly realized someone was approaching. In a panic, he tried to flee, only to discover he was completely surrounded and had no way out.

In his desperation, he first wiped away his own footprints and then sought a place to hide. But where would be the safest spot? Mr. Lin asked each of us for our opinions.

To our surprise, everyone agreed almost at once: the basement where Old Mo had been held captive. Perhaps the suspect, just like last time, intended to take us all down in one fell swoop.

But with so many people this time, it wouldn’t be so easy for him to pull it off!

We quickly surrounded the entrance to the basement. Several special police officers, armed with Type 95 assault rifles, jumped down one after another and conducted a thorough search. But the space was small, and no one was found inside.

“That’s odd,” I sighed. “Where could he have hidden himself?”

Wait a minute. Suddenly, something occurred to me, and I said, “That big clock—the space beneath the swinging pendulum is empty, and the pendulum itself seems to have been damaged.”

Mr. Lin turned to look at me. “You mean...?”

“I heard a strange noise earlier. Thinking back, it sounded like someone breathing.” I immediately turned to check, but to my horror, I found that the cover of the big clock had already been opened. The space beneath the pendulum was hollow, and a white nightgown was hanging from it.

Damn it!

Li Xingchen jumped up, terrified. “The suspect just slipped out right under our noses. He must have been hiding in that clock, mocking us as we adjusted it. Maybe he even flipped us off before leaving, just to show his disdain.”

It was entirely possible.

My mind went blank with a buzzing sound. I rushed to the clock without hesitation and touched the white nightgown—it was still warm.

I grabbed a walkie-talkie from one of the special officers and shouted to those stationed outside, “Attention, everyone! The suspect has just escaped from the cement warehouse. Immediate red alert!”

We immediately began searching the scene for clues.

Soon, a trail of tiny “footprints” caught our attention. They weren’t really footprints, more like marks—a small patch of iron had left traces on the ground.

What could this be? Question after question popped into my mind.

After a careful look, Tang Jingjing spoke up. “It’s a prosthetic.”

“What kind of prosthetic looks like that?”

“Have you heard of the Blade Runner? It’s similar to his kind of prosthetic—a highly elastic metal blade that lets people run extremely fast.”

“Isn’t Blade Runner the guy who hunts vampires? He’s a normal guy, isn’t he?” Li Xingchen asked, confused.

“Nonsense. I mean the disabled athlete called Blade Runner,” Tang Jingjing explained.

I slapped my forehead. Of course—it was just like the prosthetic used by the Blade Runner. It wasn’t shaped like a leg, but rather a flexible, elongated metal strip.

“Attention, everyone: the suspect is a disabled person with a prosthetic leg, and it’s likely a young girl.”

No sooner had I spoken than a panicked voice came over the radio: “Report! We’re under attack at nine o’clock! The assailant is using a melee weapon—our team is about to collapse!”

“Hold the line! Everyone, head to nine o’clock and provide support!” I tossed the radio back to a special officer, then immediately called Li Hong. “Li Hong, go check on Mr. Wang’s room—see if he’s still there.”

Li Hong replied, “I’ve been watching. Mr. Wang is sleeping in his room.”

“Go check inside, quickly,” I urged. “Mr. Wang is already gone.”

“I can see his feet,” Li Hong insisted.

“They’re fake. Go inside, now!”

Li Hong burst into the room, and after a quick glance, reported back, “Mr. Wang is missing! There are two mummified lower legs on the bed, but no sign of Mr. Wang.”

“Hurry to the cement warehouse—Mr. Wang is here. You must be quick.”

We immediately headed toward the nine o’clock direction. As we ran, I asked Tang Jingjing to prepare guns and ammunition, only to learn that her application for a firearm had not yet been approved—she had not been reissued a weapon.

Sigh. The busier we got, the more chaotic things became.

Suddenly, gunshots rang out, echoing far across the empty fields.

Mr. Lin was lagging behind at the rear of the group, so I assigned a special officer to protect him. Mr. Lin shouted loudly from behind, “Be careful! Those are gunshots—stay alert!”

One of the special officers quickly radioed the team at nine o’clock. “What’s happening up ahead?”

It turned out the suspect, exhausted, had been subdued by our people, but at the last moment, he pulled out a pistol and killed himself.

The man was around fifty, strong, wearing public transport company overalls. He was highly skilled with a dagger, had wounded over a dozen special officers, and was suspected of having a military background.

I asked if they had found a disabled person with a prosthetic limb. They said no.

Clearly, this was a diversion. I immediately ordered all special officers to pursue in the opposite direction—the real suspect had escaped the other way.

When we reached the dead man, it turned out to be Mr. Wang himself. There was a faint smile on his lips, suggesting he died at peace. A bullet hole in his skull was the fatal wound; blood and brain matter had flowed down, covering his face in a truly horrific scene.

Mr. Wang—why did you do it? Was he really the murderer after all?

I crouched down, looking at Mr. Wang’s body, overcome with emotion. If Chief Wang learned that his old friend had committed suicide and lost his dignity in the end, I couldn’t imagine how devastated he would be.

I asked Mr. Lin, “Should we report this to Chief Wang?”

Mr. Lin thought for a moment. “Let me speak to him myself.”

Mr. Lin was a man of great experience and knew how to break the news gently.

Soon, the call went through. Mr. Lin, pretending to be composed, said, “Chief Wang, we’ve apprehended Mr. Wang.”

Chief Wang was silent for a moment, then asked in a low voice, “He’s a hot-tempered man—he wouldn’t surrender without a fight. Is he dead?”

Mr. Lin was startled, nearly dropping his phone.

He didn’t answer, but the shrewd Chief Wang guessed the truth. “I understand. That’s all.”

Chief Wang’s calm sent shockwaves through every one of us.

Mr. Lin quickly arranged for the wounded to be taken to the hospital.

Not long after, Li Hong arrived. When he saw Mr. Wang’s body lying on the ground, he stood there in a daze for a long time. He probably never imagined that the esteemed elder he revered would kill his own dear friend.

Noticing Li Hong’s distress, I went up and patted his shoulder. He forced a smile, saying he was fine, but his trembling voice betrayed him—it was the sound of someone trying not to break down.

Soon, the searching special officers returned with a report. While pursuing the suspect, they spotted a young girl. She was incredibly fast, practically flying. Then a black SUV appeared, picked her up, and drove off. The special police unit was mobilizing more men to give chase.

Tang Jingjing sighed. “So many of us, yet we couldn’t catch a single girl. If word of this gets out, what face will our serious crimes unit have left?”

I searched Mr. Wang’s body. All he had was thirty-two yuan in small bills, and the heel of his worn-out shoe had a huge hole in it. Inside the left pocket, a hidden compartment was sewn in, and something seemed to be inside.

I cut it open and found a letter. The first line read: “To Old Wang, personal.”

Forget it—it’s best to show this to Chief Wang.

I handed the letter to Mr. Lin, who nodded and put it away for safekeeping.

My father always told me: no matter where or in what situation, always show due respect to the dead. Because you never know how many of the living are still watching over them.

We didn’t have to wait long before Chief Wang arrived. As he stepped out of the police car, I suddenly noticed he looked much older.

Though he was still the same steely, upright chief, the way he walked, the exhaustion etched on his face—he no longer possessed the vitality he once had.

Chief Wang approached us, glanced down at Mr. Wang’s body, and asked if an autopsy had been performed.

I nodded immediately.

“Any findings?”

“I found a letter,” I replied.

Mr. Lin handed him the letter. As Chief Wang opened it, his hands trembled ever so slightly.