Le Grand Jugement Divin Qing

Chapitre 1

【text】

【Finate dye】

Chapter One: Jumping from the Building

When the tip was received, Feng Qi and his mentor Wang Qingyun were preparing to go home after get off work.

"Someone committed suicide? Is he dead? Where?" Wang Qingyun asked lazily, showing no intention of leaving, but Feng Qi immediately perked up. He had been working at the newspaper for over two months, and every day he just followed his mentor around covering community news—nothing more than piles of uncollected garbage here, or neighborhood disputes there—all trivial matters. He was already fed up with it, and every day he couldn't stop thinking about writing a sensational story.

Wang Qingyun hung up the phone and sighed. Today was his daughter's birthday, and he had promised to leave work early to celebrate together. He silently looked at his eager apprentice beside him. Young people always have more energy. People like him, who had been reporters for decades, had either been promoted or become editors; he was the only one left—nothing, nothing at all. He was tired, too tired to run anymore. Now, all he wanted was to spend quality time with his wife and children, whom he had neglected for so long.

"Teacher Wang? Shall we go now?" Feng Qi deftly stuffed his interview notebook and pen into his bag, then turned around and saw his mentor's self-deprecating smile.

"I have something to do, Xiao Feng, you go ahead, I'll be there in a bit."

Go alone? Feng Qi hesitated. He was just an intern with no experience in interviewing and reporting breaking news alone. Although he really wanted to go, there were certain rules he couldn't break.

Seeing Feng Qi's concerns, Wang Qingyun patted him on the shoulder: "It's okay, I'll come as soon as I'm done."

Feng Qi wasn't stupid. Before receiving the tip-off call, Wang Qingyun didn't have anything absolutely important to do; she just didn't want to go. If he didn't know his place, this rare opportunity might slip away, and he might even get himself into trouble. Thinking of this, Feng Qi nodded: "Then, Teacher Wang, I'll go first!"

Handing the slip of paper with the address written on it to Feng Qi, Wang Qingyun patted him on the shoulder symbolically: "Young man, do a good job!"

When Feng Qi arrived at the scene, all that remained was a pool of blood on the cement ground and a lingering crowd of onlookers. Standing beside the bloodstain and looking up, one could see an eight-story building, weathered and dilapidated from its age. Surrounded by two-story bungalows or street gardens, the eight-story building stood out conspicuously.

"What about the person who committed suicide?"

As soon as the words were spoken, the crowd erupted like a drop of water falling into a pot of oil.

"You didn't see it, it was terrifying! That girl's arms and legs were broken. When they carried her away, her arms were still hanging out, swinging back and forth."

"Wrong! It hit its head on the ground first, and the back of its head was broken. See those white things on the ground? That's brain matter!"

Upon hearing this, everyone gasped.

"But I don't think that girl is dead yet! Wasn't she taken to the hospital?"

"I saw it. When they lifted him up, he didn't move at all. He lost so much blood, his brains were even flung out. It would be strange if he didn't die!"

The discussion continued, and Feng Qi was exasperated to find that everyone's account differed, making it clear that trying to get information from these middle-aged women was futile. With a sigh, he closed his notebook and decided to go to the hospital.

A cold, stern voice rang out at that moment.

"There are no people who commit suicide, only people who fall from buildings."

Feng Qi looked in surprise toward the source of the abrupt voice. The speaker was a thin, hunched old man with meticulously groomed white hair. His cold gaze through his black-rimmed glasses sent a chill down Feng Qi's spine.

"Grandpa, do you know what happened back then?"

Feng Qi's intuition told him that this old man was very different from the chattering onlookers; perhaps he knew the inside story. Just as he was about to pick up his pen to take notes, the old man raised his hand to stop him, asking, "Are you a reporter?"

“Yes, sir, I am Feng Qi, a reporter from Zhicheng Daily. How did you come to be here—” Feng Qi automatically omitted the word “intern” and was about to ask a question when he was interrupted.

"Just started working?"

“Yes, may I ask you…” Feng Qi was interrupted before he could finish speaking.

Which school did you graduate from?

"Zhicheng University"

"Zhicheng University does not have a journalism department."

"I studied public administration..."

"Your *Zhicheng Times* has a few reporters who graduated from reputable university journalism programs, but just because someone studied journalism doesn't guarantee they'll be a good reporter. People from Zhicheng?"

"Yes"

"Where are your parents? Which organization do they work for?"

"..."

"I didn't hear you! You're so young, your voice is as soft as a mosquito's buzz!"

Feng Qi was even more troubled. What exactly did this old man who suddenly appeared want? From the very beginning, he was asking probing questions: Was he giving an interview, or was he interviewing someone else?

"Old man, did you witness that girl commit suicide with your own eyes?"

"No!"

The forceful reply left Feng Qi feeling utterly powerless. Are retired old people these days just looking for trouble when they have nothing better to do? It's such a waste of my time and energy. Feng Qi gave up on arguing with him and turned to leave.

“One last question!” The old man stepped forward, grabbed Feng Qi’s shoulder, and his five seemingly withered fingers gripped Feng Qi’s collarbone with unexpected strength. “The police haven’t determined whether this girl committed suicide, was murdered, or it was just an accident. Yet you insist she committed suicide, which shows that this impression is deeply ingrained in your mind. That’s why your first impression is so strong. How did you come to this conclusion? The girl was only taken away five minutes ago, and the hospital is just across the street. You took a taxi, paid the driver a fifty-yuan green bill, and the driver gave you two ten-yuan bills in change, which means you spent 30 yuan on the fare. If I remember correctly, it costs about thirty yuan from the Zhicheng Times newspaper office to this area. It would take at least twenty-five minutes for you to get here from the Zhicheng Daily. You need to know that twenty minutes ago, nothing happened. All the eyewitnesses only saw her fall, but they don’t know anything about what happened before that. Suicide, homicide, accident—these are all just speculations. Or do you know someone who saw what happened?”

Stunned by the question, Feng Qi stared blankly at the old man.

"Who are you?"

"police"

Judging by his gray hair, he must be at least 70 years old. What kind of policeman is that old and still out at crime scenes? Are you kidding me?

Seeing Feng Qi's disbelieving expression, the old man rarely showed an unnatural expression: "A retired policeman is still a policeman."

The problem came somewhat unexpectedly; Feng Qi hadn't considered it much beforehand. His purpose was quite simple—to report a big news story to prove himself. Now, thinking about it more carefully, it makes sense; if the old man's story is true, then the case isn't so simple. What should he do? Wang Qingyun answered the phone; he hadn't handled the case himself. Should he tell the truth?

"I think we should go to the hospital to get a checkup and find out the facts before making any decisions."

“Going to the hospital will only get you a corpse. You should go check out the crime scene first; you might find something. Ugh, these cigarettes these days aren't even cigarettes, they have no flavor at all!” The old man pulled a crumpled cigarette from his pocket, grumbling as he pulled Feng Qi into the old building. Just as they reached the stairwell, he seemed to remember Feng Qi and pulled another one out of his pocket: “Little reporter, want one?”

Looking at the cheap, bent cigarette, Feng Qi quickly waved his hand and said, "Thank you, sir, but I don't smoke."

The old man retrieved the cigarette that had been hanging in mid-air, tucked it behind his ear, and snorted, "If you look down on an old man's cigarettes, just say so. You don't smoke? Who are you kidding? Your right hand has already sold you out!" With that, he took two steps ahead of Feng Qi and went up the stairs. Feng Qi opened his right hand, found nothing unusual, and then smelled it under his nose. A faint tobacco scent wafted from his fingertips.

The staircase in this building was extremely narrow. Nowadays, buildings either have wide, flat staircases or simply have two elevators placed on one side. Such buildings are rare in the entire city. Feng Qi walked along the stairwell, constantly looking around. He hadn't climbed such a high and steep staircase in over ten years. The lime-plastered walls on both sides were covered with children's graffiti; some of the surface layer had peeled off, leaving patches of dark and light ink. There was even moss clinging to the base of the walls on the first floor. On the low ceiling, a spider lay motionless on its web.

"This building was built in the late 1970s. Don't be fooled by its current dilapidated state; back then, it was the tallest building in the entire city of Zhicheng, and it enjoyed a period of glory!"

Why did that girl choose to commit suicide here? Was she a resident of this area?

The old man turned around and glared at Feng Qi: "How many times have I told you? It's still unclear whether this girl committed suicide or was murdered. As a reporter, you should know not to speak recklessly. As for your next question, I don't know!"

"I didn't know he was so enthusiastic," Feng Qi thought to himself, but his face remained beaming. "He just can't seem to change, haha, look at me!"

"Tell us about the person who leaked this information!"

"I don't know, my master answered." Only then did Feng Qi realize that although he knew his master wouldn't come, he still really hoped his experienced master would show up in this situation. The old man was too domineering; he couldn't argue with him and could only be led by the nose. If things dragged on and he missed his chance at the hospital, it would be a huge loss.

Upon reaching the sixth floor, Feng Qi began to pant heavily, while the much older and thinner old man walked ahead of him without even breaking a sweat.

"I haven't even asked the old man his surname yet!" He grabbed the old man's hand, wanting to take a break. The old man stopped and said dismissively, "Look at your skinny frame, you're already this tired after climbing such a short distance. Young people need to exercise more! My name is Cao Xiangui, just call me Old Man Cao!"

To be described as having the physique of a bamboo pole by an old man who looks like a dried bamboo shoot was something Feng Qi found utterly unacceptable. But despite his dissatisfaction, he couldn't forget to smile.

"Grandpa Cao"

"Don't be so mushy, just call me Old Man Cao!" The old man's stubbornness was extraordinary.

"Old Master Cao..." Feng Qi swallowed the word with difficulty, and was pleased to see that they had arrived at the rooftop.

The only iron gate leading to the rooftop stood there silently, its entire surface covered in mottled red rust. Cao Xiangui pushed open the gate and stood frozen in place, just like the gate itself. Feng Qi looked over Cao Xiangui's shoulder and, apart from a few people in police uniforms pacing back and forth, couldn't find anything that would make Cao Xiangui stop.

"Hey, Grandpa Cao, don't just stand there at the door!"

Surprisingly, there was no sarcasm. Cao Xiangui turned to the side, his calm and unwavering gaze fixed directly on Feng Qi.

"Go in first, and when they ask you questions, just say you're a reporter."

"Then you..." He didn't finish his sentence, gazing at Cao Xiangui's aged body and deeply lined face, and suddenly understood. This man, like his teacher, must also be someone who had failed in his career. As you get older, others take you less seriously. Some are pessimistic like Wang Qingyun, while others, like the old man before him, take themselves seriously but are forced to face reality.

He opened his mouth and then closed it again. Feng Qi shook his head and stepped through the iron gate.

Yi Lan peered down and felt dizzy. He'd never felt dizzy standing dozens of stories high before, probably due to the building's age. The low stone railings on the rooftop seemed useless, giving him the feeling that the building might collapse if he accidentally bumped into them. He vaguely remembered that this building was on the government's demolition list, but most of the residents were unwilling to leave.

He turned his head back and patted the lime off his hands.

"Everyone, that's a wrap!"

The door to the rooftop was then pushed open.

The person who entered was too young, and behind him was someone who gave Yi Lan a lot of headaches.

"What's the matter?"

"Hello, I'm Feng Qi, a reporter from the Zhicheng Times. I'd like to conduct some interviews about this case. Would it be convenient for you?"

"Just started working? Never seen you before." Yi Lan pulled out a pack of cigarettes, shook it a couple of times, and realized the pack was already empty. He crumpled it up haphazardly and tossed it into a broken flowerpot beside him. Just as he was about to ask his colleague, Xiao Fang, for a cigarette, a pack of cigarettes appeared in front of him, a yellow filter trembling in the cold air. The calm smile of the young reporter who called himself Feng Qi inexplicably irritated Yi Lan. If he hadn't misheard, just as he took the cigarette and lit it with the reporter's light, a cold snort came from the nose of the person who gave him the most headaches.

“You need to get approval from the political department to interview a criminal police officer, you know that?” Yi Lan shifted his gaze to the distance, but his brows furrowed as Cao Xiangui moved around.

Feng Qi was taken aback; he had never heard of Wang Qingyun before.

"But I didn't interview the detectives; I just wanted to interview about the case that just happened here."

"It's just suicide, nothing to write about. Doesn't this happen all the time in this city?" Exhaling a puff of smoke, Yi Lan tapped his cigarette with his index finger and turned his head in another direction. "Captain Cao, don't touch the evidence."

The old man, who was squatting on the ground intently looking at something, looked up and stopped his hand, which was about to touch it.

Yi Lan sighed and walked over.

"Captain Cao, don't make things difficult for me."

The old man pursed his lips: "Weren't you all planning to leave? What's the big deal if I touch it?"

Feng Qi, who had been there before, saw several blood-red characters written on the ground.

"If you ignore me, I have no choice but to die?" He looked at the old man with suspicion: "Is it really suicide?"

"It's just appearances. How can a journalist be so easily fooled by appearances?" the old man said indifferently, while touching the red characters with his index finger and then placing it under his nose.

"That's ketchup," Yi Lan said, dismissing his teammates before turning back to Cao. "Captain Cao, why don't you just stay home and enjoy your retirement? What's with all this trouble?"

Ignoring Yi Lan, Cao Xiangui and Feng Qi continued.

Did you bring a camera?

"Brought it."

"Take a picture of this."

Feng Qi didn't take out his camera from his bag. Instead, he looked at Yi Lan with a questioning gaze. Only after Yi Lan nodded helplessly did he take out his camera and take a few pictures of the eleven characters.

"There are still some fries left on the spot..." The old man stood up, but because he had been squatting for too long, he swayed unsteadily. Fortunately, Yi Lan helped him up in time.

"Captain Cao!"