Chapter 174: The First Corpse

Jun Ge’s abdomen and back were wrapped in bandages, both arms dislocated, and a violent impact had caused severe concussion. He remained unconscious for over three hours before finally waking up.

The five older brothers were all considerably older than Jun Ge, with the youngest being at least three or four years his senior. Sun Xiaolin stood at the door, unwilling to leave, eager to hear what had happened.

The man with the tumor on his neck shouted, “Jun Ge, are you alright?” Jun Ge shook his head. “Five brothers, please step out for now. This matter isn’t something you can help with. I need to talk to Xiao Qi. You all go back, and once I’m discharged, I’ll treat you to tea.”

The five men remained calm. Since Jun Ge had woken up and could still speak, they weren’t worried—men who had faced life-and-death situations weren’t afraid of a few scrapes. They patted my shoulder and left.

Jun Ge looked at Sun Xiaolin and smiled. “You should go too.” Sun Xiaolin frowned, clearly displeased, but still instructed, “Don’t talk too much.”

Once everyone had left, I asked Jun Ge what had happened. He said, “When that car tried to sideswipe me, I had Iron Ox take a photo. Look at it—there’s something very strange about this person.”

The person in the photo had an eerily stiff expression.

I couldn’t believe it. “Are you saying… this is a dead man?”

Jun Ge nodded. “Yes. Abe Yumegawa is back.”

I froze. I had personally crippled Abe Yumegawa with a Type 54 pistol—though he hadn’t died, he had been reduced to a vegetative state, and his two ninja companions had suffered the same fate. That incident was supposed to be a secret. But if it wasn’t Abe Yumegawa, how else could a dead man be driving a car?

Sweat poured down my forehead, my back turned cold, and even the soles of my feet grew icy. If the Abe family had found a way to restore Yumegawa from his brain-damaged state, then everything was…

“If I had known this would happen, I should’ve put a bullet through that bastard’s skull back then.”

Jun Ge said calmly, “We’ve always faced challenges head-on. Panicking won’t help. We’ve never been afraid of the Japanese.”

His words were simple but invigorating.

I steadied myself and grinned. “I get it. At worst, I’ll just have to beat him senseless again.”

I transferred the photo from Jun Ge’s phone to mine. As I was about to leave, Jun Ge asked me to call the man with the tumor—he had something to discuss.

My hearing was sharp, and I could faintly make out Jun Ge’s instructions: he wanted the man to stash a Black Star Type 54 pistol and a few spare magazines under his pillow.

The man with the tumor emerged from the hospital room, his expression tense after their brief conversation.

With Jun Ge under protection, I didn’t need to worry about him for now. I took the photo and went to find Sun Xiaolin, asking her to help me locate Old He.

Sun Xiaolin was reluctant at first, but when I promised to share all of Jun Ge’s personal details—marital status, preferences, even his QQ number—she finally agreed to take me to Old He.

As we passed a TV in the hallway, a polished news anchor was reporting: *”Our city has just signed a major cooperation agreement with Japan’s Abe Group today.”*

Sun Xiaolin didn’t want to see Old He herself and simply shouted from the doorway, “Old He, someone’s here to buy you a drink!”

Before leaving, she reminded me not to forget my promise. Old He wasn’t that old, probably not even fifty. He was actually a skilled doctor, but after two accidents and a habit of arguing with superiors, he ended up assigned to the morgue. He had started drinking to steel his nerves, but the habit stuck—now, he wasn’t afraid of stiff, lifeless corpses, but he couldn’t quit the bottle.

Morgues, like funeral parlors, served as places to confirm death. People who worked there often carried an aura of coldness.

Old He was no exception. As I handed him the photo, I could feel the chill emanating from him. He squinted at it, then adjusted his glasses in shock. “Isn’t this… what was his name again?” He tapped his head. “Number One.”

“Number One?” I asked. “Are you sure this is one of the corpses that walked out of the morgue?”

Old He scowled. “I may drink, but I don’t mess up my work. Yes, that’s him.”

“Do you have photos of the other six?”

Old He stared at me silently. I pulled out two red bills from my nylon bag. “Help me out. Dead men driving cars? That’s the kind of weirdness that disrupts a harmonious society.”

Old He grabbed a stack of records and pointed at the photos inside. “This is Number Two, this is Three, this is Four… and this is Seven.”

After taking pictures with my phone, I thanked him repeatedly.

As I turned to leave, Old He called out, “Exorcising evil and upholding righteousness is needed in every era. Roaming the mortal world, I hope you never feel alone.”

I never expected that in this bustling city, a quiet morgue attendant like Old He would say something so profound—even if it did cost me two hundred yuan.

I strode out, brimming with confidence, feeling like a single flick of my finger could turn the tide and secure victory.

But reality wasn’t so simple.

Behind me, Old He pulled out his iPhone, opened an app, and cursed, “Damn, no updates again.”

Turns out, he was reading *The Last Feng Shui Master* too.

Not far outside, someone must’ve been cursing me—I sneezed.

I tried calling Shen Yihu to tell him about Jun Ge’s accident and the dead driver, but after several attempts, all I got was two rings before the call disconnected.

Maybe he was in a meeting? I waited a while and tried again, but still no luck.

Had something happened to Shen Yihu too?

I called Chen Tutu instead. Her voice was soft and gentle—she was probably on a date with that university professor. She whispered, “Didn’t you know? Inspector Shen was suspended last night for investigation.”

I was stunned. “What for? I had dinner with him just the night before! Wasn’t he investigating the seven missing corpses?”

Chen Tutu replied grimly, “No, it wasn’t that. Last night, someone accused him of covering up evidence in an assault case. He’s being questioned at the bureau and won’t be reachable for a while.”

A refined male voice murmured in the background before Chen Tutu said goodbye and hung up.

At a time like this, Shen Yihu being suspended for questioning? Even a dog could smell something fishy, let alone me.

Was this about Yumegawa? Things were escalating.

I called Gao Mo and asked her to let Meng Xiaoyu take the phone.

Gao Mo sounded impatient. “We’re swamped right now. President Meng flew to the U.S. yesterday afternoon to secure some funds from the Meng family.”

“When will he be back?” I asked. “Shen Yihu’s under investigation—does President Meng know?”

Gao Mo replied, “I have some connections. I’ll reach out.”

Shen Yihu was Gao Mo’s idol—she’d definitely protect him. But in the world of politics and business, merchants held the least power. With rumors swirling that Meng Xiaoyu’s empire might collapse, would the officials he had bribed still shield Shen Yihu?

I told Gao Mo to update me immediately. Whatever the case, Inspector Shen might be in trouble because of me.

My worst fear had come true. I wasn’t afraid of a direct fight—what terrified me was being manipulated behind the scenes, leaving me powerless.

That was exactly how I felt now.

Everything was tangled together, a mess I couldn’t unravel.

The only things I could still control were my own two hands.

I returned to Jun Ge’s hospital room and peeked through the window. He was resting peacefully, no immediate danger.

Iron Ox had already woken up. Two bouquets of flowers sat by his bed, and Yu Yuwei was cheerfully peeling an apple for him. Only Liu Jibao remained unconscious.

Yu Yuwei chatted away while Iron Ox listened quietly. After slicing the apple, she fed him small pieces. Iron Ox, slightly embarrassed, still took a few bites.

Jun Ge was well-protected—a group of hardened men stood guard outside, disciplined and quiet.

The man with the tumor was in an empty room, still talking. I approached and asked if they’d found the dump truck.

He nodded. “We located it, but by the time we got there, no one was around.”

I forced myself to stay focused. Right now, it felt like drawing water with a sieve—our enemy was invisible, and we had no way to fight back.

I gave the man my number. He flashed two gold teeth. “You’re Jun Ge’s friend. My name’s Long Qishan—call me Brother Shan.”

“Brother Shan,” I said, “Jun Ge’s in your hands.”

Long Qishan nodded. “Don’t worry. If anything happens to Jun Ge, I’ll be finished in this line of work too.”

As I walked through the hospital lobby, my phone rang again.

At this point, nothing unnerved me more than an unexpected call—because every call meant another life-or-death situation.

I checked the number—unfamiliar. But the voice on the other end was warm and hearty.

It was Uncle Datan.

“Xiao Qi!” he laughed. “I’m in Jiangcheng to buy some piglets. How about we grab a drink tonight?”

I leaned against the wall. “Uncle Datan, it’s not even spring yet—why are you buying piglets now? It’s freezing.”

I suspected he was joking. Normally, farmers bought piglets after spring, when the rivers thawed and the weather warmed. Raising them for two months, they’d have them castrated, fattened up, and ready for slaughter by year’s end.

Uncle Datan chuckled. “I’m different. Piglets are cheaper this time of year.”

I steadied myself. “Where are you? I’ll come get you. Don’t trust anyone who approaches you—only me. And keep that copper coin cleaver on you. Got it?”

Uncle Datan agreed, laughing. “Relax. I’m a butcher—I’m not afraid of death.”

Outside, snowflakes drifted silently from the sky.

Uncle Datan had been dragged into this storm too.