There's definitely something wrong with this murder mystery game

The phone had been in the chef's grip for quite some time now, and even if there had been any information, it was probably deleted, but the detective still wanted to come over and take a look.

Xu Shuo leaned against the doorframe, watching him fiddle, without stopping him.

Apart from the slight inconvenience of poisoning the dish with his own identity, the chef really was quite decisive—his phone was so clean that after dialing a few contacts, they all turned out to be disconnected numbers.

Perhaps this was because the chef never intended to leave himself a way out.

So he had erased his own life.

...

In the kitchen, the sink had already been completely dismantled.

The furniture in the villa was high-end; the pipes beneath it were scrubbed spotlessly clean by machines, without a trace of leftover food or vegetable leaves, but chemical substances are not so easily cleaned away without professional tools.

Next came the police's turn to test for toxins with reagents.

Watching them busy at work, the photographer glanced at the rapidly approaching countdown timer, then looked towards the direction of the hall.

The chef was no longer on the couch; he looked surprised, couldn't help but glance around the room, and then saw the figure leaning against the doorway at the corner of the corridor on the first floor right side.

Then it seemed as if the young man had keenly sensed his gaze and turned his head to look over.

Their eyes met across the distance for an instant before quickly looking away.

With this competent assistant searching the chef's room, the photographer, despite feeling the pressure, remained relatively calm.

This game truly wasn't challenging; the only thing missing was evidence.

...

The detective sat back down at the desk with high expectations, turned on the chef's phone and, after a cursory view of the social media apps and internally commenting on how "really clean" it was, opened the photo gallery.

There were quite a few photos in the gallery, mostly pictures of beautiful dishes, as well as roses taken previously in the manor, and two or three selfies of the chef.

The detective tilted his head to look, saw the young man leaning on the doorway playing with his nails, as though waiting for him to finish using the phone so he could take it back.

He diverted his gaze, took out his own phone, and sent one of the chef's selfies to himself.

At that moment, in the kitchen, the officer supervising the dismantling of the kitchen suddenly took out his phone to look at it. He received an authentication message, recognizing it as yet another impulsive detective attempting to access the police system to look for something.

The officer had cooperated with the detective multiple times before, which is why the detective had directly snatched the search warrant this time and rushed to the manor first.

While reluctantly replying with "Don't mess around," the officer gave him authentication access.

...

Upon authentication, the system began scanning the picture.

Solving a case wasn't only about using one's brains, but also high-tech tools. Watching the rapidly matching system screen, the detective pretended to push up non-existent glasses on his nose.

...

Game countdown, ten minutes.

The officer testing the water pipes looked up and said, "Cyanide residue, it hasn't faded away."

It hadn't faded away; it was still very fresh.

The photographer's gaze flickered, and he quickly said, "Eliminating the possibility of cyanide being pre-applied to the bowl, the only ones in the kitchen at that time were two chefs, and the maid who came in only to fetch bowls and chopsticks didn't have the opportunity to flush cyanide down the sink in front of the chefs."

Although the range of suspects had narrowed down again, one person still needed to be ruled out.

...

As he watched the rapidly flickering phone screen, images were also flickering in the detective's mind. He recalled every scene since he had entered the manor, gradually piecing the clues together.

Miss Zhan had come to the manor because she was commissioned by Mr. Guo to investigate the "ghost" who delivered roses every night.

While roses could lead one to think of "Madame Guo's return" or "seeking revenge for Madame Guo," if one considered it from another perspective, it seemed like a reminder to Mr. Guo—

Beneath the roses lies someone.

All those you once buried.

Intimidation.

All those bloody letters sent to Mr. Guo were also meant to intimidate him. From July, the killer had psychologically tormented that devil for a whole month, until finally committing murder last night.

The other party knew all of this but didn't report to the police because the goal was to personally kill Mr. Guo.

He didn't want this man to face legal punishment.

So, was he doing it for Madame Guo, or for—

At this point, the flickering screen on the phone gradually stabilized. Facial recognition found the data stored in the public security records, and Chef Zhang's details were laid out.

"You indeed have something to do with her," the detective muttered under his breath.

"I heard from the manor's servants that you came to work here a year ago. And that year, after a two-year hiatus due to Madame Guo's suicide, Mr. Guo resumed his criminal activities and killed another high school girl. In August, during the summer vacation, Zhang Ya disappeared here and her body has still not been found."

"You're Zhang Shou, Zhang Ya's brother!"

"So you don't want to send Mr. Guo to jail, all you did was to kill him!"

"You disguised yourself as Madame Guo's ghost to torment him, sending him roses and threatening letters, also just to make him feel the despair before death, just like those girls, because you knew Mr. Guo wouldn't dare to call the police or hire a detective."

"Until last night, with many travelers around, it was your best chance to strike—"

Click.

The detective, caught up in the heat of deduction, suddenly stopped short as the youth, who moved without a sound, had somehow come up behind him and lightly pressed something against the back of his head.

The detective's eyes widened; he turned around recklessly, trying to see.