Chapter Sixty-Nine: Dying Because of the World and the Orphan Left Behind

The three men walked into the private room, but Chen Qing’s expression remained unchanged. He continued to nibble on sunflower seeds, quietly gazing out the window.

He looked at the four people inside the room, just as he was about to speak, but loud cries and wails erupted from outside.

“Help! Someone, help!”

The voice was so loud it nearly penetrated the soundproof padding of the private room, but only a faint hint of the commotion filtered through. More cries followed, hysterical wailing slipping through the gap in the door left ajar by the three men, reaching Chen Qing’s ears with clarity.

“Someone’s dead! Someone’s dead! Get her out of there, quickly!”

The voices sounded vaguely familiar. Chen Qing thought for a moment—they belonged, he realized, to the female receptionists at the front desk.

He stood up, tossing the jade pendant he held to Karans, and spoke calmly to the two others, “It’s just a jade pendant. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

He walked out alone, but the three thugs at the door tried to block his way.

Just as their hands rose, Karans had already moved to stand beside Mr. Su, his demeanor grave.

“You’ve crossed the line,” he said.

Mr. Su laughed awkwardly, pointing at the men by the door. “The problem is… they’re really not mine.”

Before Mr. Su could finish his sentence, he acted, rising and moving to Chen Qing’s side, pressing down the thug’s hand. “Sir… please, go ahead.”

He spoke softly, and Chen Qing stepped into the corridor, with Mr. Su following closely, his expression stern.

Behind them, the three thugs lowered their voices, scoffing, and swaggered to the dining table, waiting quietly.

Karans followed Chen Qing and Mr. Su through the clamor to where people had gathered in the hallway.

A dense crowd had formed a circle; the outer ring held people quietly retching, while in the inner ring, the clicking of camera shutters could be heard.

Chen Qing looked at the tightly packed crowd, glanced back at Mr. Su.

“Could you clear a path for me?”

“Of course, certainly.” Mr. Su nodded, cleared his throat, and shouted to the crowd, “Make way! Isn’t anybody working today?!”

He hadn’t finished speaking, but the crowd had received the signal, shifting aside by half a step. Most of the restaurant’s staff retreated far away, peering around the corner.

A few middle-management staff lingered, faces worried, looking at Mr. Su but not daring to speak.

“What happened?” Mr. Su asked someone at random.

“Someone… someone died…”

“Who? Who died? A guest or an employee?”

“An employee…”

“An employee…” He fell silent for a moment.

“Is she a permanent staff member, an executive, or a temp?”

“A temp, sir.”

He frowned, “Does she still have unpaid wages?”

“About three hundred yuan left.”

“And after deducting today’s pay?”

“None left, sir.”

He nodded, “Let it be.”

The words echoed in Chen Qing’s ears. He looked at the blood splattered near the elevator, his expression darkening.

He couldn’t say where the feeling came from, only that something felt odd, as if someone was missing by his side.

He stepped forward, blood staining the edge of his shoes.

“Sir, you can’t go any further.”

An employee stopped Chen Qing in front of him.

They had seen enough people curious about blood to think he was just another. They assumed he was no different.

Chen Qing smiled, shook his head, and stepped behind them. “What happened?”

They turned, gazes fixed on the elevator.

“Someone died.”

“Who died?”

“Someone insignificant. She’s nothing compared to you. Don’t let it trouble you.”

“How did she die?”

“An accident, supposedly. Who cares?” He laughed, nudging Chen Qing to step back.

“Did you call the police?”

“We did. Someone should arrive in about half an hour.” He shook his head, adding, “It’s just an accident.”

They laughed as they stepped through the blood, the crimson river washing the filth from their shoes—the black, the gray, all the unseen stains left behind.

Mr. Su came forward, patting Chen Qing’s shoulder, “You can go back now.”

“Go back?”

“To the private room. They’ll handle everything.”

Chen Qing glanced behind him—yes, people were already cleaning the blood from the floor.

“You’re tampering with the scene before the police arrive?”

“It’s just an accident. A pure accident. Accidents happen every moment in this world.”

Mr. Su moved to Chen Qing’s side, wrapping his arm around him, and leaning his body to guide Chen Qing away.

But Chen Qing, sensing it all, turned back, his smile vanishing, replaced by cold indifference.

He looked at Mr. Su, annoyance in his heart. “Do you think I’ve been too lenient?”

He stared at the middle-aged man before him, and in that moment, all traces of youthful innocence faded from Chen Qing. In its place, a chilling demeanor, the unique air of an investigator, emerged.

He locked eyes with Mr. Su, his voice dropping, “Or do you think I’m too easy to deal with?”

Mr. Su’s face turned awkward, and his grip loosened at once. The hotel executives beside him grew anxious, raising their brooms and rags, clearly intending to attack.

But as they brandished their blood-soaked implements, not one cast a glance at the victim.

Chen Qing gave Mr. Su a cold look. Seeing he had no further objections, Chen Qing stepped forward, across the blood.

At the elevator doors, the blood still flowed warm.

But he doubted anyone could still be saved.

He looked at the half-body left inside the elevator, letting out a quiet sigh.

“Who was she?”

“She’s not important…”

That was the voice of the sales manager.

“Who was she?”

Chen Qing asked again.

“She was our hotel’s front desk receptionist! But… her death was her own fault!”

That was the voice of the logistics supervisor.

“Does nobody know her identity?”

He frowned, picking up a blood-stained phone from the floor.

The phone was old, left there so long that nobody had thought to steal it.

Indeed, a filthy phone worth barely a hundred yuan—did anyone really care?

He stepped forward, about to search the corpse for information when a voice came from behind.

“Lin Ningjing. Her name was Lin Ningjing. She was the hotel etiquette hostess who started last month.”

The voice was timid, but summoned courage, tinged with a hint of bitterness.

Chen Qing turned to see the speaker; he had met her before—on the first floor, she had been the closest to him until another pushed her aside.

“She… she’s the one who just guided you.”

His outstretched hand hung in hesitation as he listened, only nodding indifferently.

He looked at the elevator, confirmed the emergency stop was engaged, then leapt inside.

He searched the pockets, finding a few slips of paper in the left one.

“Mom! Here’s our gift for you!”

He read each note, his gaze falling by chance on the phone.

He gently lit up the screen—on the back, words were written boldly.

“A gift to my beloved mother.”

The date was this year.

He looked at the device, gently pressing it on.

“The children spent an entire year’s allowance. Perhaps I should take them to the amusement park at the end of this month.”

On the phone’s screen, the memo read thus.

He scrolled down—yesterday’s earnings.

“Twenty-third: cucumber 1.3 yuan, lean meat 5 yuan, balance 3 yuan.

I must work harder today… They were right, I still need to support these three children.”

“Work hard, keep going! Take care of these three children!”

He read the memo, then curiously asked behind him, “Why didn’t you pick up the phone? At least it could be returned to her family.”

The supervisors exchanged glances, surprised. “Most front desk receptionists have two phones—one for use, one for display.

For gentlemen like you, if you show pity, they’re more willing to spread their legs.”

Chen Qing listened, then bowed his head and laughed.

“This is definitely not the second phone…”

He fell silent, but the phone’s icons caught his attention.

A text message had vanished.

Yes, vanished was the only word. It had been there in the app, but when you switched away, the contents disappeared.

Chen Qing switched between apps, and finally, at a frozen moment, he caught the photo in the message.

It was a person—a scene of terror and gore. Four people, four dead.

Their bodies had not a single intact part, but Chen Qing could easily recognize the background.

“The surveillance room… Who took this?”

The angle was almost crouched atop the monitoring equipment; such a bizarre perspective would never appear in a police officer’s hand.

It could only be the work of a child.

He fell silent, then asked Mr. Su, “Where’s her head?”

He gestured at the scene, “Everywhere.”

Chen Qing looked up at the gap between the elevator doors—yes, her eyes were still staring at him.

Her eyes were small enough to wedge in the elevator’s gap.

Her eyes were bright enough that, even nearly an hour after death, they still shone.

He raised his head, avoiding Lin Ningjing’s gaze. “Mr. Su, I suggest you have a word with me next.

If you wish to stay alive, if you hope to preserve a shred of your estate.

I sincerely advise you to talk with me.”