Chapter 323: A Self-Directed Drama

2022-05-20

Early the next morning, I woke up at the crack of dawn only to find Zhao Mingkun had already beaten me to it. No matter how early I got up, she always seemed to be ahead of me. I never saw her refuel the motorbike either, which meant she did a lot while I slept. Did this sister not need sleep at all? The thought left me genuinely puzzled.

After a quick breakfast, I practically dragged Zhao Mingkun off with me. As usual, she drove the motorbike while I rode pillion, and our destination today was that narrow alley next to the train station. Judging by what happened before, it was likely those people had already skipped town after finding out who we were.

But as the old saying goes, you can run from the monk, but not from the temple. Even if they left, this house wasn’t going anywhere. As long as we had the house, we could find out who owned it. Find the owner, and you could trace who rented it out. And if you could get ahold of any one of those people, the rest would follow and we could piece together the truth about Lü Xiangyang.

This is a pretty common way to investigate—nothing complicated, just standard procedure.

All we really knew was what Gu Chen and Lü Xiangyang had told us. The courtyard gate was closed, but not locked from the outside. I gave the gate a gentle push and, sure enough, it swung open. No lock from the inside either. As soon as we stepped in, it was clear the place had been abandoned.

The yard was small, with random clutter stacked up in the corners. A thick layer of dust covered the ground, showing no one had cleaned in a while. The whole place was a two-story building, and through the windows on both floors, I could see there wasn’t much furniture inside—just a few bunk beds here and there.

I checked out the lock at the door. It was brand new, probably just replaced.

Looking through the window, I saw all the furniture was gone. The only thing that seemed fresh was the shiny floor—it looked like someone might’ve swept it recently. Zhao Mingkun pointed to a sheet of white paper by the stairs with a phone number and a couple of lines written on it. It was an ad saying the house was up for rent and to contact a Ms. Wang if interested.

After we got in touch with Ms. Wang, she showed up an hour later. When we asked her about the previous tenants, she refused to say a word. She told us it was a matter of privacy and wouldn’t share a thing—not even after seeing my ID. She insisted on absolute silence.

But after Zhao Mingkun gave Ms. Wang a little ‘friendly persuasion,’ she loosened up and told us what had happened here before.

Turns out, two months ago, a man offered ten thousand to rent the little two-story house for two months. The usual rent was only three thousand a month, but he made one request: bring in as many bunk beds as possible. The beds were included in the ten grand, but they didn’t cost much, so Ms. Wang made a few thousand without lifting a finger.

I asked, “So you’re saying those bunk beds were only brought in two months ago? There weren’t any here before?”

Ms. Wang nodded.

I asked again, “Who rented the place? Was it a young man?”

“No,” Ms. Wang shook her head. “He wasn’t young. He looked around thirty. He was the one who came to talk to me. When he asked for that many bunk beds, I thought something was off—like he wanted to pack a lot of people in there.”

After a pause, Ms. Wang added, “But I just rent out houses. I don’t concern myself with what people do. Besides, two months isn’t that long, so I agreed. A bunch of people did come by afterward, glanced around then left, and after that, it seemed no one actually stayed here.”

I tugged at my hair, the pieces falling into place. They’d only moved in two months ago, and the house usually sat empty. That ruled it out as their main hideout.

Someone had rented it in advance for exactly two months—the same length of time since Lü Xiangyang vanished. The sum of money matched too. I remembered that at the train station, someone mentioned people often loitered around with placards, and Lü Xiangyang himself spent a lot of time pacing out front that day.

Could this all have been staged on purpose—deliberately set up for us to see?

“Do you have that person’s phone number?” I asked Ms. Wang. “The one who arranged the rental.”

“I do!” Ms. Wang nodded slowly. “Let me find it for you. Just don’t say I gave it to you—I promised I wouldn’t spill their details.”

We nodded, then dialed the number. When we said there was ‘work’ and money to be made, the guy showed up at our agreed meeting place. He looked around thirty, and we realized we’d seen him in the alley before.

He recognized us too—the moment he saw us, he tried to bolt. But Zhao Mingkun and I moved quickly, so he didn’t get far.

He stopped, turned back, and slowly walked over to us. He stood still in front of us, no more running.

Zhao Mingkun grinned. “Go on, weren’t you about to run?”

The man gave a helpless smile. “Run where? Like I’d dare. I might as well play along.”

I let out a sigh and asked, “Two months ago you rented a two-story house, filled it with a bunch of bunk beds, brought in a crowd of people—why?”

He nodded, thinking it over before saying, “About two months ago I was working odd jobs near the train station.”

“What kind of jobs?” I pressed.

He looked embarrassed, then said quietly, “It’s just scamming really. We’d lure people into an office, say there was a job where you could earn a hundred in an hour, as long as you paid a hundred up front as collateral—you’d supposedly double your money. Most people didn’t fall for it, but sometimes folks from out of town got sucked in.”

I gestured for him to go on.

He continued, “Then, two months ago, a guy came along looking for work. He wore a mask and hat, so I couldn’t see his face. I started my pitch, but he turned it around and asked if I wanted to make forty thousand instead.”

“I thought maybe he was in the same line of work.” The man smiled, “But he tossed me twenty grand in cash and told me to rent a house, buy a bunch of bunk beds and get the place ready. He even picked the spot—I just had to make the calls.”

He paused briefly before continuing, “Ten thousand was for the setup, the other ten was mine. He told me to find some people, and even though I thought it was strange, money’s money so I agreed.”

I tugged on my hair again, realizing how interesting this was getting.

He sighed. “I still don’t know what his deal was but I did the job. Then he gave another twenty thousand for recruiting people. Since I took the money, I figured I should do good work, so I scrounged up seventy-something people and split a ten-thousand reward among them.”

“After that, officially, those people were supposed to hang around me and learn—basically play along. The employer said a high schooler would show up and told us to grab him, then quietly release him. So I followed instructions. I don’t know what the others did, but they were all good at this stuff.”

“Go on,” I urged.

He nodded. “Yeah. We grabbed the kid, then told everyone else to leave. Once they were gone, we let the high schooler go. Not long after, the employer told me someone would come asking questions, and the high schooler moved back in for a week or so. After that, you know the rest.”

He shrugged. “The kid stayed for about a week, then things played out like you already saw…”

I nodded. After that, Gu Chen went in to rescue him and got ambushed.

I frowned and asked, “One question. That mysterious employer and the high school student—were they the same person?”

He thought it over. “Similar height and build, but I never saw the employer’s face, and his voice was raspy—whether from a sore throat or just putting it on, I couldn’t say. The high schooler spoke differently. I really don’t know if it was the same person or not.”

That was enough. Now I understood the score.

“After the high schooler was rescued,” the man added, “the employer paid me ten thousand more to forget about it. If I hadn’t run into you, I’d never have gotten involved again. I wasn’t part of any murder either—nothing to do with that case. That’s all I know. Nothing more.”

It was the perfect cover—a solid alibi. Those people had unknowingly played out a staged drama with Lü Xiangyang at its heart. That meant Lü Xiangyang was definitely involved.

“By the way!” I turned to Zhao Mingkun. “Do you know what day it is a month from now?”

“And what day is that?” Zhao Mingkun looked at me.

I replied, “Lü Xiangyang’s eighteenth birthday.”