Chapter 381: The Informant
Chapter 381: The Informant
For the next hour, Feng Bu Jue returned to his private room to await the mysterious “incident” whose timing remained unknown.
This scenario was, by far, the most relaxed nightmare scenario he’d ever played. True, his character abilities were heavily restricted, but aside from the initial car explosion, he hadn’t encountered any overt death flags. The Npcs were all surprisingly courteous, treating him with respect.
As long as Feng Bu Jue himself didn’t provoke trouble—like revealing his true nature—he should remain perfectly safe.
“So the challenge hinges on the ‘Thirty-Three Chapter Rule,’ does it?” Feng Bu Jue mused lazily, lying back on the soft bed with his hands behind his head. “Typically, in mystery novels or detective films, the setup and incident only take up a quarter of the story. So… something must happen before Chapter Eight.”
As he muttered these trivial thoughts, faint footsteps echoed down the corridor outside. Feng Bu Jue immediately sat upright, ears straining.
He’d long studied footsteps—not systematically, but practically. A person’s height, gender, social class, clothing, habits, and even personality left clues in their gait.
He recognized the rhythm instantly: it was the short gardener, Barton.
Knock knock—
Barton tapped lightly on the door.
“Who is it?” Feng Bu Jue already stood behind the door, knowing the visitor’s identity, but he played along.
“Uh… I’m the gardener, Barton. We met outside—do you remember me?”
Feng Bu Jue opened the door, greeting him calmly. “Of course. Hello, Mr. Barton. How may I assist you?”
Barton exaggeratedly glanced both ways down the corridor before lowering his voice. “Mr. Feng… are you really a detective?”
“Yes,” Feng Bu Jue replied evenly, his tone exuding quiet confidence. He stepped aside. “I assume you have something to tell me. Please, come in.”
“Er…” Barton hesitated, double-checking that no one watched before stepping inside. “Apologies for the intrusion.”
Feng Bu Jue shut and bolted the door, then naturally fetched a chair for his guest. “Please, sit down, Mr. Barton.”
“Thank you.” Barton took the chair but stood awkwardly, waiting for his host to sit first.
Feng Bu Jue noted this detail but said nothing, grabbing another chair and settling down. Seeing this, Barton finally sat.
Through simple gestures and dialogue, Feng Bu Jue had already cultivated the impression of a relaxed, approachable detective.
“There’s something urgent I must share,” Barton began, tension etched on his face. “But before I speak, I’d like to confess a personal matter.”
“Please, I’m all ears,” Feng Bu Jue replied.
Nodding, Barton seemed to steel himself. “I… was once a burglar.”
“Was once?” Feng Bu Jue echoed.
“Er… yes, not anymore, of course.” Barton explained, “In my youth, I had a promising future… Ah, never mind. At thirty, I spent two years in Pan Dongwei Prison. That place was dreadful. Even in winter, prisoners wore only coarse hemp uniforms. Our meals were boiled gray betel beans with no oil, and the labor never ended. One night, soaked by rain, freezing and starving, I thought I’d die of cold.”
“Get to the point, Mr. Barton,” Feng Bu Jue interjected.
“Haha… Sorry,” Barton flushed. “That experience changed me. I reformed.”
“And what does this have to do with the urgent matter you’re sharing?” Feng Bu Jue asked.
“I just hope you’ll trust me,” Barton replied.
“Hmm…” Feng Bu Jue leaned back, “Strange logic. Why would confessing past crimes help me trust you? Surely whatever you’re about to say harms someone in this manor?”
“How did you—”
“Obvious, really,” Feng Bu Jue cut in. “If A slanders B, B’s best defense is attacking A’s credibility. ‘Would you believe a thief?’ That’s the angle, isn’t it? You know others might use your past against you, so you chose to reveal it first.”
“Mr.! You’re brilliant! Truly a master detective!” Barton gaped.
“Flattery won’t hurt,” Feng Bu Jue smirked, feigning humility.
After a pause, he added, “Speak freely, Mr. Barton. I’ve no bias. Truth and motive are my judgment.”
Nodding, Barton swallowed nervously. “What I must tell you is…” He leaned closer, voice dropping, “Young Master Dennis may be plotting to murder Madam Odette.”
Feng Bu Jue’s eyes glinted. “What’s your basis?”
“I overheard an argument between Dennis and Lord Kolston in their room,” Barton explained.
“Let me guess,” Feng Bu Jue raised two fingers, mimicking air quotes, “You were ‘coincidentally’ trimming branches near that room?”
Barton blinked, embarrassed. “Er… yes.”
“Continue. What did they say?” Feng Bu Jue shrugged.
“They argued briefly. I caught Dennis urging his father to remove Madam Odetta’s name from the will.”
“And Lord Kolston refused?”
Barton nodded. “He flew into a rage, berating Young Master Dennis. Then, Dennis said something…”
(End of Chapter)
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