[Cloud City · Central District · Night Wanderer Bar]
2:00 PM.
A bar in daylight was an entirely different creature from its nighttime self.
The neon tubes spelling "Night Wanderer" on the sign weren't powered on, looking dusty and gray in the sunlight, the gas inside the glass tubes lounging listlessly. The main door stood open, pre-opening cleaning underway inside. The floor was wet, the air mixing disinfectant with the lingering smell of last night's alcohol.
Yin Wuwang caught that odor and wrinkled his nose.
Completely different from cultivation world taverns. The wine cellars of the Wuwang Sea held three-thousand-year-old spirit wines; when a jar was opened, the entire island could smell the rich aroma. But this alcohol smell was cheap and harsh, mixed with the chemical scent of plastic cups and cleaning agents.
Not that this sovereign is here to sample the wine.
They'd notified the bar's assistant manager before coming. After the incident, the bar had closed for a few days and only reopened yesterday. The assistant manager's surname was Yang, early thirties, wearing a polite smile when he met Yin Wuwang and Xie Qingyan—but the dark circles under his eyes betrayed him. He probably hadn't slept well these past few days.
Little Lu had stayed at the station to organize the morning's search findings, so only the two of them had come.
Yin Wuwang hadn't thought it would be a problem. Two people visiting a bar—standard investigative procedure. But as they entered, he noticed a young bartender behind the counter polishing glasses, eyes constantly darting their way.
That look wasn't wariness. It was curiosity.
Little Deer Assistant chimed in his mind right on cue: "Reminder—Jiang Ye and Shen Han's character settings are a couple who've been dating for two years. Everyone at the police station and the bar knows. Suggest maintaining natural body language."
Yin Wuwang's heart stirred.
Without changing expression, he shifted half a step closer to Xie Qingyan, his arm naturally coming to rest on his shoulder. The pressure was light—the kind of casual contact that only came after being together for a long time. Not deliberate intimacy, but habitual closeness.
Xie Qingyan's shoulder stiffened slightly.
Only for an instant, very brief—so short that no one nearby could possibly notice. But Yin Wuwang noticed. He made a rapid mental calculation and decided not to pull back—Little Deer Assistant was right. If they seemed too distant, it would look strange. Natural physical contact was normal for a couple who'd been together two years.
What he was thinking: Investigative necessity.
What he was actually thinking: Fuguang's shoulder is a bit narrower than I imagined.
And then he smelled it.
The bar's air was murky—last night's alcohol, disinfectant, cleaning agents, the floor's dampness, all churned together. But standing this close, those miscellaneous odors were suddenly suppressed by something else.
Very faint. Clean and crisp, like cedarwood. Underneath, a barely perceptible sweetness—not perfume sweetness, but a scent he'd only ever encountered in the cultivation world. Like spirit honey.
Three thousand years, and Fuguang had always carried this scent. Even in a mortal body, it hadn't changed.
Yin Wuwang's breath caught for half a beat. He fixed his gaze straight ahead, expression utterly unchanged.
His hand didn't pull back.
Xie Qingyan didn't push him away.
They walked toward the bar counter side by side like this. Xie Qingyan's pace remained steady, his expression showing no change whatsoever, as though the hand on his shoulder didn't exist. But Yin Wuwang's palm could feel it—his shoulder wasn't stiff anymore.
Assistant Manager Yang led them to a corner booth to sit, then called employees over one by one.
The first was a night-shift server surnamed Wang, very talkative.
"Brother Chen, he was really such a good person." He opened up the moment he sat down. "When I first started, I didn't know anything. Brother Chen taught me everything hands-on. Mixing drinks, greeting customers, how to handle drunk troublemakers—all from him."
"How was his relationship with customers?" Xie Qingyan asked.
"Super good! Especially the regulars—he remembered everyone's favorite drinks. Some customers came in to drink away their sorrows, and Brother Chen would just sit with them and chat. No upselling, just listening." Server Wang's expression turned wistful. "We all said Brother Chen was the gentlest person on this street."
"What about romantic relationships?" Yin Wuwang asked.
Server Wang hesitated. "Well... Brother Chen's private life was a bit... how should I put it... open. Both men and women. But he never messed around in the bar—that was all private business."
Yin Wuwang nodded without pressing further.
The second was a senior bartender who'd worked at Night Wanderer for nearly four years. His answers were more guarded, but he provided one useful detail.
"Brother Chen never talked about money." The bartender said. "He dressed pretty well, occasionally bought drinks for regulars—everyone thought he was doing fine."
Yin Wuwang mentally placed this statement alongside the morning's discoveries: the ten-ping studio, convenience store bento, 5.6 million in bank statements. Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place.
This person was performing. At the bar, he played a warm, generous, composed manager. Back home, he was a debt-repaying machine living in an empty room.
A group photo hung on the wall. Chen Wan stood among the staff, smiling warmly, the curve of his lips perfectly calibrated—appearing friendly and genuine.
Yin Wuwang stared at that photograph for several seconds.
This sovereign has seen too many people. A real smile and a fake smile—the eyes are different.
When someone was truly smiling, fine lines appeared at the corners of their eyes, pupils contracted slightly, light danced across the iris.
Chen Wan's mouth was smiling. But his eyes were empty.
That wasn't a happy person. That was someone who'd grown so accustomed to pretending happiness that even he might not be able to tell the difference anymore.
Yin Wuwang looked away without voicing this observation.
The employee interviews had reached the fourth person when movement stirred at the entrance.
A woman walked in carrying a bucket and mop. Around forty, wearing a faded gray polo shirt embroidered with "Morning Light Cleaning" on it. Her hair was pulled into a low ponytail, neat and efficient. She walked quickly, eyes straight ahead, crossing the main floor toward the storage room in back.
Assistant Manager Yang offered a casual explanation: "That's our contracted cleaning lady, Li Jing. Comes Saturday and Sunday mornings to clean."
Yin Wuwang's gaze followed her.
Only for one second.
The woman's back disappeared into the storage room doorway, her mop leaving a faint water trail across the floor.
Nothing special. An ordinary cleaner doing ordinary work. Movements practiced, not talkative, didn't greet anyone—came in, did her job, left.
But a string in Yin Wuwang's mind was lightly plucked.
Not because she was suspicious. Quite the opposite—she was too unsuspicious. Too ordinary. Ordinary to the point of near-invisibility.
Three thousand years of experience told him: at any location connected to a homicide, every person who "naturally belonged there" deserved a second look. Because the best hiding spot was always in a place where everyone assumed you were supposed to be.
But this was just instinct—barely even instinct. Just the faintest shift of attention.
He filed away "Li Jing, Morning Light Cleaning, Saturday-Sunday" in his mind, then returned to the interview at hand.
[End of V2_Chapter 17]
Next: "Give me a heads up next time"—wait, does that mean next time is allowed?