The Novelist Forced to Become Famous
Chapter 58

"Hold on," Wu Writer stopped Liang Police Officer, his face as black as the bottom of a pot. "For such a trivial matter, you want to search my luggage?"

Liang Police Officer said calmly, "I have the right to do so."

Wu Writer gritted his teeth, his cheekbones protruding. After a long pause, he said, "You just want to know if I went to see her, right? Yes, I did, around ten o'clock. I went to see her for a bit." sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ NƟvelFɪre.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of nøvels early and in the highest quality.

Liang Police Officer asked, "What did you do?"

"What could I do? I just chatted with her about some personal matters," Wu Writer said.

"Did you two have an argument?"

Wu Writer hesitated. "We quarreled a little, but we settled it in the end."

"What did you argue about?"

"Some personal matters, I don't need to tell you that, right? Anyway, when I left, she was still alive and well." Wu Writer said this very confidently.

And it was true that Chang Painter seemed normal when Kang Mu Cheng saw her afterward.

Could the suspicion still fall on Kang Mu Cheng, the last one who saw her?

Jian Jing couldn't sit still anymore. She decided to return to the scene and investigate further.

A dressing gown was hanging on the hanger in the bedroom. It seemed to be part of a set, with the strappy slip found in the bathroom. The outer silk robe had been hung up—wow, she seemed to be wearing this when she went to chat with Kang Mu Cheng.

Scandalous.

There was a cell phone on the nightstand, half a cup of water, and a box of tissues—all commonly used items. On the dresser was a wine glass with a lip imprint; the lipstick color had been identified as a bright red that was left uncapped on the table.

She tried to replay last night's events in her mind: after midnight, Chang Painter finished discussing the publication of Yang Guan's letters with Kang Mu Cheng in the study, then returned to her room to get ready for bed.

She had run a bath with bath salts and poured herself half a glass of wine, then someone knocked on her door.

The most likely murder weapon so far was the pillow, so Chang Painter must have let the person into the room. She was quite drunk, and perhaps not fully aware. They sat on the sofa chatting for a while, and the other person suddenly grabbed a pillow and smothered her face... No, that scenario didn't make sense.

Jian Jing had checked under Chang Painter's fingernails—they were very clean, no skin cells or fabric. However drunk one might be, wouldn't they struggle instinctively if unable to breathe?

Yet Chang Painter showed no signs of a struggle, as if she had died unconsciously.

Could it be that she was so drunk she lost consciousness, and someone took the opportunity to sneak in, smother her with a pillow, then staged it to look like she drowned while bathing before escaping over the balcony and locking the door?

"Any new discoveries?" Liang Police Officer asked.

Jian Jing rubbed her temples and smiled wryly. "I'm afraid I'm more confused the more I think about it."

Liang Police Officer folded her arms. "Would you like to hear my thoughts?"

"Please."

"I think that the painter and Kang Mu Cheng hit it off during their conversation, and under the influence of alcohol, got the idea to take things further," Liang Police Officer analyzed coolly. "The painter took the initiative to invite him back to her room, then there was an accident, and she died of asphyxiation."

Jian Jing covered her face, torn between laughing and crying. "Are you suggesting sexual asphyxiation?"

"You think you understand Kang Mu Cheng, but many things are unpredictable," Liang Police Officer said calmly. "He probably didn't expect such an accident either?"

Jian Jing opened and closed her mouth, at a loss for words. "I can't defend him on that, but if that's what you think, we can examine the body again. The body doesn't lie."

After inspection, no traces of a man were found in the painter's body, and no used condoms were found anywhere in the room.

Jian Jing was visibly relieved. "If it happened in bed, it would be more convenient to use a pillow. Why would they use a throw pillow from the sofa?"

Liang Police Officer shook her head. "Just because the pillow was on the sofa doesn't mean it was always there."

"The bed showed no signs of use either. The painter's sheets and pillowcases were silk, any vigorous activity would have been very obvious," Jian Jing said. "Also, although the water temperature would affect the estimated time of death, I still think the painter died around 2-3 AM."

This was a very convincing point. Liang Police Officer thought for a moment, then asked, "What about Eddie? He said he came to see the painter around 10 PM but didn't mention why, and no one can corroborate his story."

Old Yang had corroborated the time of Wu Writer's visit to Chang Painter, but no one could account for Eddie's movements. The Chengs downstairs hadn't seen him, and Xiao Tian and Xiao Lu who came back around the same time hadn't run into him either. Wu Writer also hadn't mentioned him.

They called Eddie in for questioning again.

Eddie was very perceptive. "You suspect me now?" Not waiting for their reply, he said irritably, "Why would I hurt Lisa? With her dead, I have nothing to gain."

"We just want to understand the situation," Liang Police Officer said imperturbably. "Last night, why did you go see the painter? Did she act unusually?"

Eddie licked his lips, his voice hoarse. "To ask for money. I have a problem with that?"

Liang Police Officer perked up. "Was the painter willing to lend you money?"

"You didn't understand me. I was asking her for money," Eddie suddenly calmed down and came clean. "I owed people money. I was hoping Lisa could pay it back for me. She wasn't too happy about it and wouldn't agree at first, so we had some disagreements these past couple days. I was still looking for another way out."

Saying this, he glanced at Jian Jing, clearly hinting that she was the "other way out."

"The guys came to hound me for repayment again tonight, so I had no choice but to ask Lisa again." Eddie said, "She agreed to help pay back part of it. I accomplished my goal and went back after that. You tell me, what good does her death do me now? Who's going to pay back my debt??"

Liang Police Officer furrowed her brows, judging the truth of Eddie's words in her mind.

Jian Jing spoke up, "Did the painter have a habit of drinking wine before bed?"

"Yes, Lisa had trouble sleeping, she would not only drink but sometimes need to take pills to fall asleep."

"Did she have a habit of locking her door?"

"If she was getting ready for bed, she would lock the door," Eddie emphasized. "Like I said, Lisa was a very poor sleeper. She didn't like people disturbing her rest."

Jian Jing seemed to understand something. "So that's why your room is in the other building?"

"Obviously."

She knitted her brows, finding it increasingly baffling. The bath water and bath salts, the wine by the bedside—they undoubtedly showed that Chang Painter had been getting ready for bed at the time. Such personal habits would be hard to fake. At that time, whose arrival would make her open the door and invite them in?

Kang Mu Cheng? He could have accepted her advances earlier if he wanted to be intimate with her. There was no need to go back to his room for a while first before seeking her out again. Jian Jing didn't think he would do that either.

But if not Eddie, who else could it be?

*

At 8 PM, Jian Jing and Liang Police Officer reviewed all the statements and concluded that Wu Writer was lying.

According to the timeline, Wu Writer claimed he and Chang Painter had reached an agreement about something, but later in the conversation between Kang Mu Cheng and Chang Painter, the painter implied she didn't care whether the grudge was settled or not.

The manuscripts tidied up in the study proved this—Chang Painter still intended to publish Yang Guan's letters mentioning Wu Writer, seemingly hinting there was something fishy about Lost Jade Gate.

This clearly contradicted Wu Writer's account.

Moreover, based on Jian Jing's impression of Chang Painter, the probability of Wu Writer persuading her after an argument was extremely low. She was more likely to escalate out of anger.

But there was an issue—in the dead of night, would Chang Painter open the door if Wu Writer came to see her?

"What if he got in by climbing over the balcony?" Liang Police Officer said solemnly. "We've been thinking the murderer came in through the front door, then escaped over the balcony after locking the room door. But what if he got in by climbing over the balcony in the first place?"

Jian Jing asked back, "Then why wipe off fingerprints?"

Liang Police Officer's shoulders slumped, but she insisted, "We should go over the scene again carefully. There must be some important clues we've overlooked."

Jian Jing agreed.

They focused their search on the balcony, combing it inch by inch on their knees.

Just as she was about to scrub every inch of the balcony floor with her knees, Jian Jing finally discovered an easily overlooked clue thanks to her keen observation skills.

On the inside of the balcony railing in the art studio, there was a spot of still-wet yellow oil paint. Based on the location, it seemed Chang Painter had gotten some on her hand and accidentally smeared it on the railing while steadying herself with her hand.

Now, part of this paint smear had been scraped off.

Jian Jing clapped her hands: "Wu Writer."

"Hmm?" Liang Police Officer looked puzzled.

Jian Jing explained: "Earlier I glanced at Wu Writer's slippers, and noticed some yellowish-brown stains on the toes that I thought was just mud, so I didn't think much of it."

At the time, her main focus had been on Wu Writer himself, only occasionally shifting to the suitcase. She had barely glanced at the shoes. If not for the intermediate observation card's boost, she might have missed this tiny detail.

Liang Police Officer's expression brightened slightly: "It seems we're very close to the truth."

But Jian Jing remained silent. She was not so optimistic, as some questions still remained unanswered in her mind.

Of course, this didn't prevent them from confronting Wu Writer.

Naturally, Wu Writer would not admit to climbing over the balcony. But when the shoes were brought out as evidence, the proof was irrefutable, and whether he wanted to admit it or not, admit it he must.

"Mr. Wu, you'll have to come with me," said Liang Police Officer coldly and impersonally, not leaving an inch for him to maneuver.

Wu Writer's face turned green and white in turns. After a long pause, what burst out was: "It's got nothing to do with me. She was already like that when I went in!"

As if afraid of being a step too late to defend himself, his attitude took a 180 degree turn as he quickly explained: "I thought she was taking a bath in the bathroom, I had no idea she was dead. Later I accidentally made some noise, and there was no response from inside, so I took a peek, and who would've thought she'd be lying there completely lifeless!"

"What did you do?"

"Of course I locked the door! If someone found out I had snuck into her room in the middle of the night, even jumping into the Yellow River wouldn't wash me clean!" Wu Writer said indignantly. "But her death had absolutely nothing to do with me. I just, just did what I went there to do and left, without laying a finger on her."

Jian Jing picked up on a key piece of information: "Locked the door? It was open?"

"No kidding, how else could I have gotten in if it wasn't open?" Wu Writer was unwilling to show weakness to her as a junior colleague, responding coarsely, "There was no sound from the room, and the door was open, so I assumed she wasn't there, had gone off somewhere with someone. If I had known she was already dead inside, wild horses couldn't have dragged me in there."

His self-defense was unexpectedly logical and coherent.

Wu Writer was already in his fifties or sixties, and out of shape. It did seem somewhat far-fetched that he had climbed over the balcony to sneak into Chang Painter's room while she was sleeping.

Chang Painter was neither deaf nor blind. What if he had been caught red-handed? Waiting until she was out to sneak in was surely more suitable.

"Were the wiped fingerprints on the locked door yours?" Jian Jing verified.

"Yeah, what's wrong with that?" Wu Writer looked rather uneasy. Funnily enough, it was a small detail he had picked up from reading some mystery fiction - stories he had heavily criticized.

Jian Jing fell silent in contemplation.

Liang Police Officer maintained her professional demeanor: "Please clarify what exactly you did in that room."

Things had come to this, so Wu Writer knew he couldn't hide it. Reluctantly, he said, "It was stuff Old Yang had promised to give me."

Liang Police Officer asked him to open his suitcase.

After resisting unsuccessfully several times, Wu Writer finally opened the case and took out a partial manuscript.

It was an early handwritten manuscript by Yang Guan called "Yu Men Yi Shi" ("Leftover Tales of the Jade Gate").

"Back then, Old Yang and I had chatted about some things in Northwest China, and we both wanted to write something about it. But he only wrote three chapters before losing inspiration. I did some more research and finished the story. Our source material came from the same person, so it seemed pretty normal. Old Yang never said anything about it while he was alive either."

Wu Writer was very shrewd, knowing that a love affair was no big deal, but some things could potentially ruin his reputation, so he had to clear his name. Luckily Yang Guan and Chang Painter were both dead, with no way to counter his claims, leaving him free rein.

At the moment though, neither of the two women had the heart to pursue this matter.

Liang Police Officer asked, "Where did you find this manuscript?"

"The safe, of course. Where else could it be?"

Jian Jing had inspected the scene and knew there was a safe under the bedside table. But since it required a password, she had not opened it, and so asked in surprise: "You knew the password?"

"The safe was open when I went in," Wu Writer replied.

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