Kiwi Beyond the Cage 006

**Fog Outside the Cage (III)**

Ou Yang Lin identified the suspect who had been stalking and surveilling Ji Wei—

Wu Fali, a private detective.

Surveillance outside a café captured him following and secretly filming Ji Wei. Brought in, Wu Fali confessed readily: “Guilty. I took the job for the pay.”

“It wasn’t my idea to watch her—I’m not a creep. She brought it on herself, acting as a homewrecker. The client hired me to catch her cheating on camera. I’m doing a public service.”

“Who’s the client? We don’t pry. As long as we’re paid, we do the job—no questions asked.”

Regarding the micro-cameras in Ji Wei’s home, he admitted planting a few in the living room and bedroom, no more than ten total.

“Even one is illegal, you know!” Officer Wang snapped.

Wu Fali tried to justify, “They broke soon after. And the footage was the client’s—I didn’t snoop.”

Ou Yang’s gaze sharpened. “Are you sure you didn’t snoop?”

Wu Fali averted his eyes. “No.”

“Really?!”

“Alright, I admit it—I had insomnia and took a peek late at night. Just a few glances, honest. I shut it off right after.”

It wasn’t that he wanted to watch; Ji Wei was unnerving. “That girl’s like a ghost—roaming her house, hair disheveled, sitting in corners, crawling under beds. Clearly unhinged.”

Most chilling were the moments she’d freeze mid-walk, twist toward the “eyes” in the room. “Can you imagine? Late at night, lights off, she’d suddenly appear on my screen, pale as a ghost. Scared me into dropping my phone.”

Within days, the cameras failed. Wu Fali realized Ji Wei’s odd behavior had been about finding the hidden eyes.

But how had she found them, so cleverly placed?

Wu Fali dared not reinstall new cameras and resorted to tracking Ji Wei the hard way, amassing nearly ten thousand photos sent via email.

His phone records were meticulously cleaned, but cyber police were restoring them. Using the email he provided, authorities traced the IP to a luxury mansion in an affluent neighborhood.

“This address…” Ou Yang reached for Sheng Linrong’s files.

Zhao Liang, monitoring the ward, called in. “I’ve spoken to Sheng Long. He claims Ji Wei was his only girlfriend, no other romantically involved women. As for the cheating allegations… after hearing Wu Fali’s confession, he mentioned—”

“His mother misunderstood Ji Wei, thinking she seduced Sheng Linrong.”

Cross-referencing, the mansion belonged to Sheng Linrong and his wife, Meng Qingde.

A third surveillant emerged: Sheng Long’s mother.

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Meng Qingde married Sheng Linrong in a family alliance. She pursued art, gaining prominence as a painter.

Rumors painted Sheng Linrong and Meng Qingde as deeply in love. Early on, Meng even published a love-themed picture book, though its stiff style flopped. The “Love Art Studio” she founded ran at a loss, sustained solely by her private funds.

When asked why she kept the studio afloat, Meng, poised and smiling, replied simply:

“Because of love.”

Whether their love was genuine or a publicity stunt mattered little. The police saw that after Sheng Linrong’s murder, Meng Qingde, abroad, didn’t rush back, citing an art exhibition. She handled Sheng Linrong’s affairs via proxy.

Her voice over the phone was steady and indifferent, betraying no sorrow.

“Sheng Long has contacted Meng Qingde; she’ll return in three days.”

Ou Yang stood before a whiteboard, mapping connections between everyone in the two cases. Every thread led to one person—

Sheng Long.

In photos, the young man in a beige suit smiled disarmingly. Public opinion hailed him as promising and courteous, even Guantai employees praised him as a rare “humane” capitalist.

“Monitor his arrival time, don’t tip him off,” Ou Yang ordered.

On the night of Sheng Linrong’s murder, Meng Qingde was abroad.

Though Meng Qingde was implicated in surveilling Ji Wei, no direct link to Sheng Linrong’s murder existed—the sole connection was Sheng Long.

“The frame and carpet analysis is in!” Officer Wang burst in with reports.

Forensics extracted DNA from blood samples. The blood on the frame and carpet came from three people: Ji Wei, Sheng Long, and…

“Sheng Linrong?!” Ou Yang paused.

Wang explained, “Neighborhood surveillance shows Sheng Linrong entered Huanmeng Jiayuan at 22:58, while Ji Wei went upstairs at 22:30. They could’ve crossed paths.”

Ou Yang added, “Sheng Long’s driver received his call at 23:35. The car left at 23:50, and Sheng Linrong died in the early hours… The timing is too close.”

Ou Yang fixated on Sheng Long because the car’s interior wasn’t fully captured. The driver testified that Sheng Long, bloody and clutching his forehead, waited downstairs when he arrived. Doctors confirmed this.

Whether Sheng Long was in the car or not, his hospital appearance was real, but this didn’t confirm he was alone in the car or that no one else was with him.

Nearby surveillance for the past month revealed nothing. Either the killer lived in Huanmeng Jiayuan or used an owner’s vehicle to hide movements—a puzzle unsolved.

Regarding Ji Wei’s “confession,” no one believed she killed on the third floor. Key points: the murderer was left-handed, and Ji Wei’s mental and physical state made it unlikely she inflicted fifty-four stab wounds and eye-gouging without leaving evidence.

Fifty-four stab wounds, each penetrating the body—beyond a woman’s capability.

“What if there were two killers?” Wang hypothesized. “One stabbed, the other cleaned up.”

Ou Yang sensed something off.

The murderer deliberately avoided Sheng Linrong’s vital spots, torturing him for dozens of stabs before killing him—a calculated, confident act.

Given this, Ji Wei and Sheng Long’s alibi-stretching seemed implausible, especially with Sheng Long’s bloody state.

All clues were suspicious.

Wang’s theory: Sheng Linrong, long surveilling Ji Wei, broke into her home on July 13th. A scuffle ensued, injuring Sheng Linrong. Sheng Long then moved him to the fourth floor, stabbed him until he lost resistance, and returned to the third floor. Ji Wei injured Sheng Long to fabricate an alibi. After Sheng Long left, Ji Wei timed her elevator return to the fourth floor to deliver the final stabs, causing Sheng Linrong’s pre-dawn death. Ji Wei’s mental illness provided her alibi.

“A perfect crime,” Ou Yang remarked.

Sheng Long was astute, showing immense mental fortitude in police interactions. Wealth, status, motive, and anti-detection skills—he fit the profile of a high-IQ criminal.

Left-handedness could be faked.

A meticulous mind could erase evidence.

Sheng Long’s repeated claims of Ji Wei’s illness now seemed strategic.

The missing piece: evidence of Sheng Long’s involvement.

Ou Yang called Zhao Liang. “Is Ji Wei awake?”

Zhao yawned, peeking into the ward. “Just woke up, still groggy from meds.”

“And Sheng Long?”

Zhao returned to Sheng Long’s ward.

The spacious room was bright and clean. Sheng Long, in a hospital gown, sat propped up in bed, a medical desk with a computer before him, occasionally checking his phone—likely chairing a virtual meeting.

Sheng Linrong’s sudden death left chaos to manage.

“Any updates?” Zhao asked.

Ou Yang and Wang were already en route. “Watch him. We’ll be there soon.”

If he had the energy for a virtual meeting, his headache must have subsided.

The two arrived swiftly. Exiting the elevator, they encountered Ji Wei’s caregiver fetching water.

After a brief chat, reassured of Ji Wei’s stable condition, Ou Yang proceeded.

Upon reaching the ward, Sheng Long had just ended his call. Ou Yang knocked and entered. Sheng Long extinguished his phone, placed it aside, and faced the three officers unperturbed. “Any progress on my father’s case?”

“Soon,” Wang sneered.

Pulling a chair to the bedside, he jabbed at the bandage on Sheng Long’s forehead. “But first, explain your injury.”

The room fell silent.

“How else?” Sheng Long toyed with his phone, then laughed abruptly.

Meeting the officers’ gaze, his red mole standing out like a bloodstain, he retorted, “Aren’t you all informed?”

Ou Yang’s resolve hardened. “What exactly happened that night?!”

.

**Hallway.**

The caregiver, returning with hot water, noticed her ward’s door ajar.

Unthinking, she entered, finding a masked doctor staring at the comatose Ji Wei. As she opened her mouth, the doctor raised an arm—revealing a surgical knife.

The kettle crashed to the floor.

The caregiver fled, screaming, “Help! The doctor’s killing someone!!!”