A week after the cursed piano case ended, Huang Xiaotao called me in high spirits. Her department had awarded her a first-class merit and a sizable bonus.
Apparently, her official report generously praised my forensic genius. Because of that, I was also granted a bonus—along with a new title: "Special Consultant." Not bad, right?
Soon after, 18,000 yuan landed in my bank account. For a broke college student, that was a fortune. I split it with Wang Dali fifty-fifty. He looked embarrassed.
"Yangzi, I didn't really do anything. Isn't this too much?"
"Unexpected money is best shared," I said. "Anyway, I'm taking 1,000 out to pay Laoyao."
"No way. I'll cover it. You did all the work and ended up with less than me. Doesn't feel right."
He insisted, so I let it go. When he returned, he laughed, "Laoyao said you're stingy."
"He got paid. What's he complaining about?"
"He said if he'd known you'd make money, he would've joined in and gotten a bigger cut."
Typical Laoyao.
I used the money to stock up on herbs and chemicals I might need in future investigations, borrowing a lab to brew some special formulas. When all was said and done, my actual earnings were pretty thin.
But that's not the point. Solving cases—it's my passion.
Two nights later, Huang Xiaotao called around 11 p.m. "Song Yang, can you come out? We've got a seriously strange case on our hands, and we need your help."
"It's eleven. No buses now."
"I'm sending someone to pick you up. Wait at the gate in thirty."
She hung up. I splashed cold water on my face to wake up and tried to rouse Wang Dali.
Turns out, he wasn't even in bed—just a pillow under the blanket. I found him at a nearby internet café chatting up some girl, surrounded by greasy skewers and soda bottles.
"Yo, Yangzi! Can't sleep either? Come on, I'll teach you how to play Demacia's Sword!"
"Cut it out. The counselor's doing room checks!"
"What?! It's almost midnight!"
"That's why it's a surprise inspection. If they catch you, you're not graduating."
He bolted. On our way back, we reached the school gate and spotted a black Mercedes with a tough-looking man leaning against it, smoking.
"That's our ride," I said, grabbing Wang Dali's arm.
"What? I thought we were heading back?"
"Lied to get you out. Got a new case."
"Damn! I didn't even say goodbye to that girl!"
The man by the car looked like a boxer—bulky, unshaven, and dead serious. Not the friendly neighborhood cop type. If I hadn't known better, I'd think he was from the mafia.
"You Song Yang?" he asked in a raspy voice.
"Yes, sir."
"Captain Huang sent me. Get in."
Wang Dali pulled me aside. "You sure he's a cop? Could be someone out for revenge!"
"Relax. Who'd come after us? Get in."
Inside the car, I asked, "How should I address you?"
"Wang."
"What's the case this time?"
"You'll see," he said flatly.
He didn't say another word. The silence was so intense, even I started doubting his identity.
Half an hour later, we pulled into a grimy street filled with closed shops and sketchy signs for adult stores and "massage parlors." Garbage littered the road, and filthy water pooled in the drains.
We turned into a narrow alley with glowing signs for hourly motels. Outside one called "Yuelai Inn," police cars surrounded the area, lights flashing.
"You ever been here?" Wang Dali whispered.
"No," I said. "Don't get out much."
"This place... I heard it's the red-light district."
"How would you know that?"
"Sun Fatty told me! Not me!"
This area, I remembered, was notorious—near the bus station and full of crime. Fights, scams, even murder.
Uncle Wang parked the car. Huang Xiaotao ran toward us. "Song Yang, thank God you're here! I'm completely stumped!"
"What happened?"
"There's a dead girl under the motel bed," she said grimly. "And the way she died… it's hard to describe."