Wu Qiong had a genetic defect—immortal, ageless, and sterile.
In a fit of rage, he became a Taoist priest. Since then, he cut off all earthly attachments and lived unburdened by relationships.
Only those women obsessed with astrology would actually believe this version of the story.
Even Wu Qiong himself didn't believe such far-fetched nonsense, yet he insisted on acting out the terrible script he'd written with striking conviction.
Especially in the first ten years of his fake Taoist life—there was no scam he hadn't tried, no trick he hadn't pulled.
Celibate by appearance, melancholic in bed. That kind of fragile beauty was exactly the type female devotees loved back then.
Afterward, Wu Qiong would shamelessly string together a nonsensical combo attack of star signs, Chinese zodiacs, and tarot readings!
Then humbly add,
"This humble Taoist possesses no great talents, only the wish to help the lady reverse her fortune and turn calamity into blessing."
Many a devotee was moved to tears by the "kind-hearted and beautiful" little Taoist. One after another, they cried about offering their lives to help him cultivate to immortality—as his furnace, no less.
Of course, plenty of male devotees also willingly offered their bodies, happily sharing his bed.
But just because the men had no complaints didn't mean Wu Qiong had none. He swung both ways in his fake Taoist gig, but he certainly preferred the beauty of women!
In the blink of an eye, two centuries had passed, burying all past absurdities.
Time had changed; people had changed.
Wu Qiong looked into the mirror, carefully inspecting the red marks on his neck—they were clearly hickeys.
The red mark from the day before hadn't faded, and now two more had appeared on his collarbone overnight.
The day before yesterday, he dreamt of Qu Mengfan.Yesterday, he dreamt of Bai Mutian.
Sure, he'd done many shameless things in his youth—but Wu Qiong could swear to the heavens: he never touched either Qu Mengfan or Bai Mutian.
Qu Mengfan was just a child, barely two years old when placed in Wu Qiong's care. No matter how despicable he was, he wasn't vile enough to have such thoughts toward a toddler.
As for Bai Mutian, sure, the guy looked like a god out of legend...But the real story behind Mutian—ugh! Better left unsaid.
Besides, both had been dead for two centuries. Even if their ghosts had come for Wu Qiong, it wouldn't have left such physical traces.
"Dad?"Bai Shuang's face appeared in the mirror behind him. "What are you looking at?"
Wu Qiong, feeling guilty, tugged at his collar to hide the hickeys—only making things look more suspicious.
"Shuang'er..." he said, avoiding eye contact, "I'm trying to figure out where these marks on my neck came from."
Bai Shuang, now speaking with a tone unlike her usual innocent self, said coldly:
"I checked the surveillance. No one entered your room last night."
That made Wu Qiong even guiltier.
"Well… we are in space now. Maybe—like the legends say—after people die, their spirits float into the sky. Maybe I'm... reuniting with old souls?"
"Oh?" Bai Shuang's sharp eyes locked onto his neck. "Let me guess. Was it my father Bai Qing? My grandfather Bai Yuan? Or my great-grandfather Bai Yu?"
"No no no, don't misunderstand!" Wu Qiong waved his hands frantically. "Not them! I didn't see them!"
Bai Shuang raised an eyebrow.
"So you did see someone. Or something. Who was it?"
Just as Wu Qiong was cornered, a sweet voice came from outside the door:
"Taoist Master, should we invite Officer Zhuang to dinner tonight?"
"Yes! Yes, of course!" Wu Qiong answered hurriedly.
He needed a distraction—any further digging from Bai Shuang might uncover something far too indecent. Bringing in the young officer was the perfect shield; with him around, Bai Shuang would definitely return to her sweet, gentle persona.
It worked like a charm.
Upon hearing that Zhuang Mo was coming for dinner, Bai Shuang instantly lit up, her features softening into a girlish charm.
"I'll go bring Xiao Hei in!"
Only after she skipped happily out of the room did Wu Qiong finally exhale in relief.
That was close. She almost saw through everything!
＊＊＊
The next day, Zhuang Mo clocked in at the police station.
Carefully, he pulled out a small sealed plastic bag from his pocket—inside were two strands of hair.
He'd plucked them from Bai Shuang's head while kissing her last night.
Sure, he could've found some fallen strands in her room. But they might be contaminated with others' hair.
To be safe, he'd acted like a total creep—digging his fingers into her hair mid-kiss and yanking!
Thankfully, Bai Shuang was thoroughly enjoying the moment and didn't notice.
Zhuang Mo handed the hair to the forensics lab.
"Never again," he muttered to himself.
Officially it was for an investigation, but honestly, it felt more like some underhanded shady business.
Detective Huang Peiyu looked him over with interest.
"So? You've stayed in Whale Fall for two days. Seen anything suspicious?"
Zhuang Mo nodded like a pecking chicken.
"I used to think Whale Fall was just a hospital and a viewing platform. But it turns out, it has full internal systems: carbon, water, oxygen cycles—self-sustaining!"
He went on excitedly for ten minutes, describing every detail of the city's infrastructure.
But Huang Peiyu's expression remained flat. Eventually, he cut him off:
"Zhuang, I sent you to investigate a case, not do a market analysis. The president of Du Ma Corporation died horrifically in Whale Fall. How are people reacting?"
Zhuang paused, then admitted,
"Honestly, Master, no one seems to care. Can you believe that?"
Peiyu raised an eyebrow.
"Whale Fall's a hospital," Zhuang continued. "Dozens die there every day. One more death—no matter how gruesome—barely makes a ripple. The doctors are used to death. No one bats an eye."
That was precisely what Huang Peiyu feared most.
Doctors are a detective's natural nemesis—trained to face death calmly. If one of them were a killer, they'd be cool and collected enough to toy with the cops.
After a pause, Peiyu shifted topics:
"Is Wu Qiong in a relationship with anyone?"
That question caught Zhuang Mo off guard.
"No, he's a Taoist priest. Why would he be dating anyone?"
Peiyu sighed. "You really need to work on your observation skills."
"You've stayed there for two days and still haven't noticed anything strange on Wu Qiong's neck?"
"Strange? What kind of strange?"
Peiyu, disappointed, pulled out a photo:
"I took this two days ago. If I'm not mistaken, those red marks on Wu Qiong's neck look like love bites."
Zhuang stared at the photo, then murmured:
"He does have a personal assistant—Chen Chahua. She handles everything for him. Now that you mention it… they do exchange some suspicious glances."
"Why didn't you say this earlier?!" Peiyu snapped.
"I didn't think it counted! She's really shy, always blushing after a few words. Doesn't look like the killing type."
"That's not up to you to judge. Facts speak louder than vibes. Let's go—time to invite Miss Chahua for tea."