Chapter Six: Are You Doubting a Detective's Abilities?

The next morning, the sun rose slowly, but the master bedroom was still shrouded in darkness thanks to the special curtains drawn across the windows.

Knock, knock, knock.

The soundproofing in the detective agency left much to be desired, and Li Changqing was soon roused from sleep by the noise. He hurriedly dressed, made his way to the living room, and opened the door. On the ground lay a small gray box. He picked it up, brought it inside, and opened it—a videotape was inside.

There was no one outside. Whoever had knocked must have waited for a while, and, seeing no answer, simply left the package at the door and departed.

Li Changqing turned and walked back into the living room, where he found Tang Xiaoyu, still in her pajamas, sitting on the sofa and staring fixedly at the incense sticks they had bought the day before. From time to time, she would glance at Li Changqing, her gaze filled with unmistakable meaning.

This girl, though she loved incense, was afraid of fire. She didn’t dare light the sticks herself and always had to wait for Li Changqing to "cook" for her.

He took out the most expensive Brahma-thread incense, lit it, and placed it in front of Tang Xiaoyu. Then he turned on the television and inserted the videotape into the player.

The old television flickered for a moment before displaying a segment of surveillance footage.

It was much as Fang Qing had described the day before: a man in a brown leather jacket, hair streaked with gray, hunched back, and a slight limp, wearing a hat and keeping his head low, left a stack of Ten Lang coins at the door of each residence.

He watched the footage over and over, but no other clues revealed themselves.

Li Changqing glanced at Tang Xiaoyu, who was busy “eating” the incense, and asked, “How does it taste?”

“It’s wonderful!” Tang Xiaoyu replied cheerfully. “It smells like money—full and rich!”

She seemed determined not to waste even a wisp of the smoke, inhaling intently, barely sparing Li Changqing a word.

When she finally finished, Tang Xiaoyu remembered the matter at hand. “Well? Did you find anything useful on the tape?”

Li Changqing shook his head. “It’s too blurry. You can’t make out his face, and even identifying him as a man is based only on his clothes and hair.”

“So can we find him?” Tang Xiaoyu sounded worried; they hadn’t received their final payment yet.

“He’s lame—it would be hard for him to travel far. The only useful clue is that he’s probably a resident of a nearby community.” He paused. “Of course, that’s assuming his limp isn’t just a disguise.”

From the surveillance footage, though, the man didn’t seem to be intentionally avoiding the camera. Perhaps he simply hadn’t considered it.

Li Changqing felt a headache coming on. He wasn’t stupid, but detective work was highly specialized. In the two weeks since he’d arrived in this world, he’d bought many books to study the field, and he’d made considerable progress, but he was still a far cry from a top-level detective.

A competent detective needed not only a meticulous mind but also the ability to disguise themselves, to uncover hidden details, to find the faintest traces that eluded ordinary people.

The intermittent fragments of memory left by the previous Li Chang’an, the original detective, offered little real help.

After all, if he’d been that capable, he wouldn’t have ended up a down-and-out detective.

Of course, even though they had no valuable leads at present, one thing was certain: this case was tied to the supernatural.

Li Changqing returned to his bedroom, opened a drawer in the wardrobe, and took out a second-hand revolver and more than a dozen cartridges.

The Zhuque Federation didn’t restrict firearms; there were gun shops right on the street. However, regulations were strict and prices steep.

Ordinary citizens couldn’t purchase such items. To do so, one had to apply for a gun license at the Federal Police Bureau, provide proof of employment, fill out detailed paperwork, and wait for approval before buying a gun.

Detectives met the requirements to own firearms, but only handguns and other limited-power weapons; even ammunition was strictly regulated and couldn’t be bought in large quantities.

He picked up the revolver and caressed it. Li Changqing had never fired a gun, but he liked them—what man didn’t harbor a fascination for firearms, especially after watching so many Hollywood blockbusters?

Once, he’d considered joining a shooting club just to fire a few rounds and satisfy his curiosity, but after learning that each bullet cost two hundred Lang coins, he abandoned the idea and cursed the prices as daylight robbery.

After looking over the revolver, he set it down and picked up the cartridges.

He’d been pondering a question: if he engraved a Summoning Talisman onto a bullet, could it grant the bullet the talisman’s effect?

Ordinary bullets couldn’t harm supernatural entities. Ghosts, for example, were immune to conventional ammunition.

But if he added a Summoning Talisman—even a weak one—perhaps it would at least allow the bullet to touch the entity.

In that case, the bullet’s force, when striking a supernatural being…

He took out a cartridge and tried to draw a talisman on it.

After five minutes, it was clear it wouldn’t work—the bullet was simply too small for him to inscribe a complete talisman.

He sighed, tucked the revolver and a handful of bullets into his pocket for self-defense, then threw on his trench coat and soft felt hat. He stepped out of the bedroom and said to Tang Xiaoyu, “Come on, let’s go investigate.”

“Investigate? But we have no leads.”

“Leads don’t just fall from the sky.”

“So you think just going out will help?”

“Oh? Are you doubting a detective’s abilities?”

…

The Federal South District Police Station in Nanlin City was bustling. Most federal officers eschewed uniforms, preferring white shirts and suit trousers, giving them the air of office clerks. Still, they all wore the federal police badge over their chests to identify themselves.

At that moment, in a report room, a young, attractive mixed-race policewoman handed Li Changqing a cup of hot water, then sat down opposite him and took notes with professional seriousness. “Mr. Li, please take your time.”

Li Changqing placed a photo from the surveillance video on the table. “I swear, it was him who stole my wallet! I saw it with my own eyes! Please, you have to catch him for me! The money in that wallet was all my hard-earned savings.”

“All right, don’t worry,” the policewoman said kindly. “Can you describe him? Where did he take your wallet?”

“I’m not sure—somewhere near Linmei Gardens. He walked with a limp…”

Tang Xiaoyu, hidden under her felt hat, could barely stand it. Li Changqing was shameless! With no other options, he’d come to the police station to report his wallet stolen!

How had she never realized how brazen he was before?

No, he’d always been like this.

Li Changqing’s performance was convincing; his anxious demeanor quickly got the case filed. The policewoman collected the photos and summarized the report. “Mr. Li, as soon as we have any news, we’ll contact you right away. Please don’t worry.”

“Thank you, thank you so much.”

Only after they left the police station did Li Changqing finally breathe a sigh of relief. This was a last resort.

The suspect was somewhere near Linmei Gardens, but there were several large communities nearby. Finding him alone would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.

“If reporting a case could really find someone, why did Fang Qing bother to hire our detective agency?” Li Changqing asked.

“What grounds would she have to file a report? Littering the neighborhood with money—polluting public sanitation?”

“Besides, her company wants to handle this quietly. If it became a big deal, it would seriously damage their reputation—especially as it involves the supernatural. Hiring a private detective is obviously the best option.”

That was the niche for detective agencies: so many investigations were for clients who didn’t want attention, didn’t want a scene, and would rather pay to keep things discreet.

Just like the café owner before, and Fang Qing now.