frightfiction Chapter 968 is somewhat useful, but not very useful.
Chapter 968 is somewhat useful, but not very useful.
Su Man's eyelashes trembled violently, and her eyes quickly flushed red. But she remained seated: "The child needs psychological counseling; I will get him the best doctor." She reached for the water glass on the table, but knocked over the photo frame, revealing small pencil writing on the back—it was Zheng Jun's handwriting, densely repeating "My daughter."
Meanwhile, on Zheng Jun's side, when Xiao Wang produced the forged document, "Zheng Jun's Mother's Informed Statement," this tough guy finally couldn't hold back anymore. The signature on the document, "agreeing to let her son take the blame for Su Man," stung his eyes, and the dull thud of his fist slamming on the table startled the sparrows outside the window: "My mother can't even write! This is a frame-up!" He suddenly coughed violently, and the blood seeping from between his fingers dripped onto the document, spreading into dark red blotches.
Lu Chuan and Xiao Wang exchanged information via walkie-talkie, deciding to launch a final assault. Lu Chuan pushed over the test report from Li Qingmin's fingernails: "The baby powder in the cosmetics is the same one you used on your son." He deliberately slowed his speech, each word like a nail striking the other's heart, "When you killed him, had you just finished putting the child to sleep? Did the hand that held your son and hummed a lullaby tremble when you strangled your lover?"
Su Man's breathing suddenly became heavy, her left hand gripping her cashmere shawl tightly. Just as she was about to speak, Zheng Jun's furious roar came from the interrogation room next door: "Don't believe them! It's all fake!" This roar completely shattered her psychological defenses. Su Man jumped up, only to be pulled back to her seat by handcuffs, the clanging of metal exploding in the small space: "Zheng Jun is an idiot! He would do anything for me..."
But just as Lu Chuan was about to press his advantage, Su Man suddenly bit her tongue, the taste of blood spreading between her teeth: "I didn't say anything." She wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth, her eyes turning cold again, "Unless there is solid evidence, I will sue you for torture." At the same time, Zheng Jun also began to repeat the mechanical answer: "No comment," no matter what "evidence" was presented, there was no longer any emotional fluctuation.
The torrential rain outside had stopped sometime earlier, and moonlight streamed through the iron bars of the interrogation room, casting lines of light and shadow on the two men's faces. Lu Chuan watched the suspect regain his composure on the monitor screen and realized that this psychological battle was far from over. Su Man and Zheng Jun were like two meshing gears, operating flawlessly even under immense pressure, keeping the truth firmly locked in the depths of darkness.
In the Criminal Investigation Division's conference room, the electronic clock on the wall glowed bright red, the countdown numbers like a bleeding wound—only 5 hours and 23 minutes remained until the release. Lu Chuan's fingernails dug deeply into his palms, drawing question marks around the four characters "Beihong Village Cellar" on the whiteboard, the marker ink seeping through three layers of paper, leaving dark marks on the wall.
"We felt like we were being led around by the nose." Zhang Lin suddenly slammed the autopsy report on the table, the clatter of papers startling Xiao Sun so much that her coffee spilled from her cup. This usually composed forensic doctor adjusted his glasses, his eyes bloodshot behind the lenses: "The cosmetics under Li Qingmin's fingernails, the coal ash in Zheng Jun's warehouse—these irrefutable pieces of evidence became jokes in their mouths." Su Man could even recite Article 55 of the Criminal Procedure Law, reminding us that the chain of evidence was incomplete.
A suffocating silence fell over the conference room, broken only by the dying whirring of the projector's cooling fan. Suddenly, Xiao Wang kicked his chair away, the metal leg scraping the floor with a screeching sound: "Let's just lock them both in one room! Let's see how long they can keep up this act!"
"It will only force them to give the same story." Lu Chuan calmed his restless subordinates, his gaze sweeping over the interrogation plan repeatedly crossed out in red on the whiteboard. "Zheng Jun spent eight years in prison, and Su Man lives like a spy drama; conventional methods are ineffective against them." His fingertips hovered over the words "Beihong Village." "Xiao Sun, re-examine the satellite maps within a three-kilometer radius of the cellar, digging out all the imagery from the last ten years. Zhang Lin, perform a second autopsy on Li Qingmin, focusing on checking for any implants not found on the body surface."
As Xiao Sun laid the old map on the conference table, a few withered locust leaves suddenly drifted down onto the yellowed paper. "The 2010 survey map shows that the cellar's location belonged to a state-owned timber factory." He circled a dense cluster of factory buildings in red pen, "But after the restructuring in 2012, the land changed hands several times, eventually ending up with..." His voice trailed off, and the official seal of "Hongyuan Group" on the map gleamed eerily under the desk lamp.
Lu Chuan's pupils suddenly contracted. This name was like a thorn, piercing through all the unresolved clues: Li Qingmin's mysterious death after refusing to cooperate with Hongyuan, the intimate photos of Su Man and Hongyuan's young master, the unexplained funds suddenly obtained by Zheng Jun's company... He grabbed the phone and dialed the technical department: "Immediately restore the old hard drive in Li Qingmin's office! Even if only magnetic powder remains, piece together the complete data for me!"
Meanwhile, the operating lights in the autopsy room came on again. Zhang Lin, wearing two masks, gently made an incision at Li Qingmin's pubic symphysis with a scalpel. "Routine autopsies overlook this area," he explained to the recording equipment, picking up a metal piece the size of a soybean with tweezers. "Modern businessmen are used to implanting miniature locators, perhaps to prevent kidnapping..." The metal piece gleamed with a bluish hue under the inspection light, and the etched code perfectly matched the internal equipment of Hongyuan Group.
When Lu Chuan stormed into the interrogation room with evidence, Su Man was combing her tangled long hair with a hairpin. "Do you know what Sun Tzu's *Art of War* says about the strategy of sowing discord?" She didn't look up, the tip of the hairpin tapping rhythmically on the table, "Suspicion upon suspicion, deeper and deeper." But when she saw the documents from Hongyuan Group on the projector, her hand holding the hairpin paused for 0.3 seconds.
In the interrogation room next door, Zheng Jun's composure crumbled when he saw a photo of his mother in her youth. On the back of the photo, faded pen writing read, "To my beloved A Yuan—Hong Yuan." "You thought it was 200,000 yuan for the surgery to save your life," Lu Chuan slammed the bank statements on the table, every transfer pointing to Hong Yuan's overseas account, "but it was nothing more than the final payment for murder."
Time ticked by, the red light on the digital clock nearing its limit. Su Man began repeatedly rubbing the same fingernail, while Zheng Jun's knees trembled uncontrollably. But when Lu Chuan questioned them again about the details of the crime, both fell silent, like two statues under a spell.
Thunder roared outside the window, and torrential rain poured down. With 47 minutes remaining before the release, Lu Chuan suddenly turned off all the lights in the interrogation room and projected a video of Li Qingmin's daughter onto the wall. In the video, the little girl called out "Daddy" in a childish voice, her teddy bear missing half an ear. Su Man's fingernails dug deeply into her palms, leaving five bloody marks on the leather chair.
During this interrogation, Lu Chuan and his team actually tried many methods, but none of them were particularly effective. Now, at the final moment, although they were on the verge of a breakthrough, they were always just a little short.