The weapon by the pillow

Chapter 100: The Netherworld Sparrow Livestream!

"So, according to you, this 'stage'... you've set it up again?"

Cheng Jing's voice rang out in the stuffy private room, her chilling, sharp voice, unique to a criminal investigator, making the atmosphere even colder. Her eyes were fixed on the man with the gun, but her fingers behind her back twitched subtly, making a few extremely small gestures—Cheng Tan recognized them as silent codes: Stay calm, wait for the right moment, I have my own plan.

"Of course," the man's lips parted into a thin, razor-sharp grin, gleaming with a cold light. "What kind of ritual is it if there are no spectators? Since the person in charge, who's been hiding his face, refuses to show himself, I'll just keep singing from my script until he can't sit still anymore and jumps out on his own..."

"You think you can still keep singing?" Cheng Jing interrupted him, her voice icy cold. "After that last 'performance,' the higher-ups are already on your guard. The moment you start playing your drums, they can immediately cut your strings."

The man chuckled softly, the sound echoing in the closed room: "They can try to squeeze my resources, but they dare not truly overturn my facade. Simply because—"

His gun barrel moved slowly, sliding from Fang Jie to Cheng Tan, then pointing at Cheng Jing, and finally lazily drawing a circle, encompassing everyone present: "Everyone, you're all sitting in my 'play'."

He laughed even wider, revealing a row of gleaming white teeth: "It's a pity this act couldn't be performed on that old stage in Anping Lane, but instead it's been moved to this tiny mahjong parlor. How about calling it... 'Netherworld Mahjong' Live Broadcast? What do you all think?"

He paused slightly, his gaze sweeping across each person's face: "Since there are no objections, then... let's get started."

Before he finished speaking, he had already pulled out his phone from his pocket and tapped the cold, glowing screen several times. Then, he placed the phone upright in the center of the mahjong table, the camera pointing directly at the bizarre game.

The screen lit up, displaying the interface of a live streaming platform. The number of online viewers was initially "0", then it suddenly jumped - 10, 50, 200, 1000... The number soared like snowflakes after being poured on boiling water.

The man nodded in satisfaction: "Good. It seems there are quite a few spectators eagerly anticipating the second half of this 'show'."

Cheng Tan felt a chill rise from the soles of his feet to the top of his head. He stared at the live stream screen; the comment section was already a boiling cauldron.

"It's here! It's connected!"

"That scene last night was so frustrating, it drove me crazy!"

"Where is this place?"

"Does this look like a mahjong room?"

"Who are those people at the table? Why do they look so pale?"

……

The city bureau command center was in complete chaos.

"Report! The 'Ghost Live' account is online! The IP address has been traced to the West City District, and we are working to pinpoint its exact location!"

"What?! Didn't I tell you to completely seal it off?! The higher-ups are investigating!!" Director Li slammed his hand on the table, making the enamel mug jump high into the air.

"It's blocked! The technical department has blocked it three times! But every time it's blocked for less than a minute, a new account with the same name pops up with exactly the same content! It's like... like there are countless mirrors reflecting the same play at the same time!" The technician's forehead was covered in sweat.

"Then report it immediately and let the higher-ups handle it!"

On the large screen, a live view of the private room at "Ah Hao Music Tea House" was displayed. Although the angle was somewhat off, like peeking in, the picture quality was clear and the sound was audible.

Director Li's face was ashen. He saw Cheng Jing, Cheng Tan, the armed thug, the stark white bone dice on the table, and the faded old photos.

"Their cell phones had no signal, but they made a gesture, it was..."

He also saw the frantically jumping numbers in the upper right corner of the live stream interface—the number of online viewers had exceeded 10,000 and was still soaring.

"The criminals have taken control of the entire building, sealed off all the stairwells, and locked all the doors... They're determined to finish this 'show.'" A detective rushed in, holding a note in his hand. "This was found at the main entrance downstairs, taped tightly to the door."

Director Li took the slip of paper; the printed handwriting on it was cold and austere:

"Let the 'play' finish peacefully, and everyone will be safe. If anyone dares to sabotage it, I'll throw a corpse out the window every fifteen minutes. Who should I start with? That policewoman? Or that clever programmer? You choose."

At the end of the signature was a skull drawn in blood red.

"You damn fool! You're challenging us again!" Director Li cursed through gritted teeth, then quickly suppressed his anger and forced himself to calm down. He glanced at the screen; Cheng Jing was still in the station, facing imminent danger, but the fire in her eyes had not been extinguished.

"Where are the negotiators?" he asked. "They've deployed helicopters and drones!!"

"It's already on its way, but it will take at least twenty minutes to get close to the scene."

"Twenty minutes... we can't wait that long." Director Li abruptly stood up. "Where is Yang Hong?"

"Captain Yang has already led his men there, but she insisted on going upstairs alone to deal with the situation, saying that she... has some 'understanding' of that scoundrel."

"Nonsense!" Director Li's face darkened further. "Where is she right now?"

"They're already inside the building. Our people are being held up on the first floor. She said... she has a way."

"I'm not at ease," Director Li said, grabbing his coat. "Prepare the car; I'll go myself. Also, order the SWAT team to secretly set up surveillance around the area. Do not move without my orders. Remember, there are hostages inside, and our own comrades!"

……

The card game continued inside the private room.

The live stream had been running for five minutes, and the number of viewers had already surpassed one million. The comment section was already a frenzy, with speculations, inferences, and even bets on death flooding the screen.

The man with the gun seemed to relish the attention he was receiving. The gun was no longer pointed at anyone, but hung loosely at his side. However, everyone knew that if he made the slightest move, the iron weapon would instantly rise and spew fire.

"Whose turn is it?" the man asked, as relaxed as if he were chatting with an old friend over tea.

"I...I..." Mr. Zhao's voice trembled as he picked up a card and played it without even looking at it—it was a red dragon.

"Pong," the man said, picking up the red dragon tile and matching it with the two in his hand to form a set. He then picked up the set of tiles, glanced at it, and smiled.

He revealed the hand on the table—it was a blank card.

"A winning hand on the kong." The man pushed over his hand. "A pure suit, a suit of honors, a winning hand on the kong, totaling... eight points. Mr. Zhao, you've lost quite a bit on this bet."

Mr. Zhao's face turned ashen. He glanced at the live-streaming phone, then at the gun in the man's hand, and finally lowered his head to silently count the long-useless chips.

The man waved his hand, saying, "No need for money. As I said before, this round is a bet on 'truth.' Since you lost, then... I'll ask you one question, and you'll answer one question honestly."

Mr. Zhao looked up, his eyes filled with fear.

"Thirteen years ago," the man said calmly, yet each word carried immense weight, "Jin Dafu's company won the bid for the Anpingli demolition project. But during the bidding process, there were clearly three other companies with lower bids and stronger financial backing. Why was Jin Dafu the one who ultimately won?"

Mr. Zhao's lips trembled.

The live stream comment section immediately erupted in chaos:

"Here we go! Let's get down to business!"

"A demolition case from thirteen years ago!"

"I knew it would be this!"

"Speak! Speak!"

General Manager Zhao glanced at Sister Fang, who closed her eyes and lowered her head, seemingly lost in thought. He then looked at Director Sun, who shrank back with his head down, his body still trembling slightly.

Finally, his gaze fell back on the live-streaming phone. The numbers flashing on the screen were like red-hot branding irons, searing his heart.

"Because..." Mr. Zhao finally spoke, his voice dry and hoarse, "because those three companies... later withdrew their bids on their own."

Why was the bid withdrawn?

"They...were frightened."

"What kind of fright?"

Mr. Zhao remained silent.

The man raised the gun and aimed it steadily at Mr. Zhao's forehead: "Speak."

"It's...it's a death trap." Mr. Zhao's voice was barely audible, as faint as a mosquito's buzz. "Someone...sent them photos...photos of their family members, and...and severed...fingers."