The ear on the table was unmistakably the prince's. Judging by the clean cut, the attacker was incredibly fast—every fiber in the cross-section was perfectly visible. The blood had already started to coagulate; by the degree of clotting, the ear must have been severed about five or six hours ago.
Who on earth was so formidable as to take this revenge on my behalf?
More importantly, how did they even know about this? And how did they find the prince? The only ones who knew about this incident were Huang Xiaotao and Sun Laohu. Could it be that although they claimed otherwise, they secretly played the role of masked vigilantes dispensing justice?
But Huang Xiaotao trained in police Sanda and grappling, not knife fighting. And I've never seen Sun Laohu show any fighting skills. Besides, would either of them be meticulous enough to preserve a freshly cut ear in an icebox?
I resealed the icebox carefully. Freshly severed organs can be stored under refrigeration for a long time; they can still be reattached within ten hours. Since the ear was preserved on ice, I figured the prince would come to retrieve it.
Sure enough, around seven o'clock, the prince burst in with a group of men. His right ear was bandaged, blood soaking through the gauze. As soon as he saw me, he glared fiercely, ready to explode, but in the end, he swallowed his pride and bent at the waist. His men quickly followed suit.
My roommates were stunned silent.
The prince said, "I was blind yesterday and offended you greatly. Please return that thing to me."
I asked, "Where's Bald Qiang?"
"I didn't lay a finger on him," the prince replied.
...
...
"No way. I want to see him before I give it back!" I said.
The prince raised a hand and swore, "I, Cao, swear to heaven: if I lie to you, may I be stabbed to death on the street!"
In the underworld, swearing "may I be stabbed to death" is the deadliest oath. I believed him and handed over the box.
After they left, the dorm exploded with excitement. Wang Dali gawked, "Yangzi, how did you do it? That's badass! The guy was bragging to you yesterday, but today he acts like a little puppy, almost begging on his knees. Spill your secret!"
I smiled, unsure myself. There was no way I could ask the prince who exactly chopped off his ear!
At 7:30, Bald Qiang showed up, shouting, "Brother Song! Brother Song!" The whole corridor could hear him.
He wasn't injured—just some old wounds from yesterday, smeared with iodine. When he saw me, he immediately wanted to kneel. I quickly said, "Hey hey, what are you doing? Killing me with kindness?"
Bald Qiang clasped his fists in gratitude, "Brother Song, I can never repay your life-saving favor. Come, let me treat you to a meal."
He dragged me outside campus and asked where the best, most expensive breakfast was. I pointed to a steamed bun shop nearby: two bowls of egg soup and six meat buns for just five yuan.
Bald Qiang laughed loudly, "Brother Song, are you mocking me? How can I express my gratitude without treating you to a thousand-yuan breakfast?"
I chuckled, "Come on, this is school, not a nightclub. There's no way I'm eating a thousand-yuan breakfast here. These buns are delicious—thin skin, big filling, and juicy. Try one!"
He bit into a bun and asked, "Brother Song, what's your major?"
"Electronics," I answered.
Immediately, Bald Qiang stood up and shouted, "Everyone quiet! Electronics major Song Yang, Big Brother Song, is treating you all breakfast! Eat up! Song's got the place reserved!"
My face twitched as everyone cheered and rushed to ask the owner for extra soup and buns. After that day, I barely dared to enter that shop—every time the owner saw me, he grinned like it was Chinese New Year.
Bald Qiang excitedly recounted last night's events. Just as the prince was about to torture him, the lights went out, and a white figure suddenly appeared from nowhere. The prince screamed. A voice said, "Do not harm this man. Apologize to Song Yang by tomorrow morning, or forget about your ear!"
When the lights came back on, the prince's men searched everywhere, but the mysterious white figure had vanished without a trace.
The prince was furious, wanting to tear Bald Qiang limb from limb, but his men persuaded him otherwise—after all, his ear was more important than Bald Qiang's limbs.
Bald Qiang asked if the masked hero was sent by me. I just smiled and stayed silent. I was clueless myself. Who could it be? Someone who helped on a previous case? But no one fit the bill.
After breakfast, Bald Qiang insisted on taking me to town for fun. I finally declined. He looked troubled, "Brother Song, you're so detached from the world, how am I supposed to repay you?"
I waved my hand, "I have no interest in your crude hobbies. To repay me, just live well. You might come in handy one day."
Bald Qiang pounded his chest fiercely, "My life is yours, Brother Song. Just say the word, and I'll walk through fire and water!"
After sending him off, I felt exhausted—partly because I hadn't slept last night, partly because he was just too enthusiastic. Back in the dorm, the dorm supervisor was waiting, hands on hips, eyes glaring. I knew trouble was coming.
She warned me not to bring these shady characters to campus again. I nodded like a good little subject.
After she left, Wang Dali laughed, "So it goes: the underworld fears Song Yang, Song Yang fears the dorm supervisor, and she fears the underworld. Funny, huh?"
I snapped, "Enough with the chatter!"
Wang Dali asked curiously, "What tasty food did Brother Bald treat you to?"
I climbed into bed, "The steamed buns across the school. He reserved the place in my name—unlimited supply. Go grab some while you can."
Closing my eyes, a thought struck me. The person who could strike so precisely in the dark—could he possess the same "Ghost Eye" ability as me? But that was a secret of the Song family, never passed down to outsiders.
Besides, I was the sole heir, and Grandpa never mentioned any relatives. Puzzled, I drifted off to sleep.
A few calm days later, Huang Xiaotao called, saying there was a case and asked if I wanted to come. I was surprised, "You always say I have to come—why ask for my permission this time?"
She said, "This isn't a murder. It's complicated. Do you want to come or not?"
I agreed and brought Wang Dali to the station. Huang Xiaotao handed us three envelopes—bonuses and stipends for me, Wang Dali, and the rookie. The money was from two cases, involving Qu Tingting and Chu Yan. Over eight thousand yuan each. I thought, finally, some extra cash to upgrade gear.
She led us to a conference room where a middle-aged officer introduced himself as Lao Zhang.
I noticed one button missing from his collar. Police uniforms have strict rules—only detectives working criminal cases can wear plain clothes. Wasn't Lao Zhang worried about losing pay?
I soon learned the missing button was linked to the strange thing he encountered last night.
A female artist in his district had been missing for three days. She often traveled for fieldwork and stayed gone for days, so the local station hadn't escalated the case.
Last night, while patrolling, Lao Zhang decided to check if she had returned. Her door was ajar. When he pushed it open, a skinny man stood inside.
About six feet tall, wearing a white trench coat, sunglasses pinned to the collar, carrying a weapon resembling a katana.
Lao Zhang panicked, realizing this might be a criminal. Thinking quickly, he reached for his stun baton. Generally, police who have served three years can carry guns, but Lao Zhang was just a beat cop and only had a stun baton.
He shouted, "Police! Don't move!"
The man bent at the waist, gripping the hilt like a samurai drawing his sword. A flash of silver. Before Lao Zhang could react, two slashes came down:
First, the stun baton was cleaved in half.
Second, the collar button was sliced off cleanly.
Then the man jumped out the window—from the sixth floor.