Frame-Up

An Changqing smiled. “After all, concluding that a ninth-tier powerhouse died from backlash caused by demonic power is a little too hasty.”

“This is the Liu family’s business. It’s not your place to meddle.”

Liu Chengjun let out a cold snort and ordered the guards beside him, “See them out.”

“The joint investigation ends here.”

He directed those words at both An Changqing and Liu Feiyu.

Liu Feiyu leaned against the wall, a mocking smile on his face as he watched the show.

“Big Brother is right. Family scandals should stay within the family.”

His words carried a hidden meaning. “But this is quite a mess to clean up. I hope you don’t get yourself dragged into it, Big Brother.”

Liu Chengjun ignored him and turned, walking straight toward the manor. His back was proud and aloof.

…

In the guest room.

An Changqing’s expression was more solemn than it had ever been.

“Liu Chengjun’s reaction was far too strange.”

He paced back and forth, analyzing the situation in a low voice. “From the moment Thousand Faces said the name Astaroth, he completely lost control. A demon god is certainly terrifying, but his reaction was excessive.”

Long Ao leaned against the wall and muttered, “That guy definitely has a problem.”

“But Thousand Faces is already dead. There’s no one left to corroborate it.”

Hong Yuan frowned. “He’s pinned all the blame on a dead man. There’s nothing we can do.”

Everyone’s eyes fell on Chen Guan.

Chen Guan sat on the sofa, unusually quiet from beginning to end.

“Chen Guan, what do you think?” An Changqing asked.

Chen Guan shook his head. He wasn’t Detective Yuan Fang—he could only judge things by what he saw.

Inside his mind, Baal’s lazy voice echoed.

“Heh heh heh, kid, things are getting interesting.”

“That explosion just now was caused by someone borrowing Astaroth’s power to remotely detonate that pawn. They even left a message behind.”

Baal became more talkative whenever he was in a good mood. “The technique was very sophisticated. Every trace was wiped away completely. Now that eldest son of the Liu family can’t clear his name even if he jumps into the Yellow River.”

Chen Guan asked inwardly, “Was the real culprit trying to frame Liu Chengjun?”

“Who knows?”

Baal let out a strange, mocking laugh. “Maybe. Or maybe he wanted to frame everyone. Heh heh heh. Just sit back and enjoy the show.”

Meanwhile, in Liu Feiyu’s room…

He stood before the enormous floor-to-ceiling window, gazing at the manor outside, which was brightly lit and under the guards’ control. An undisguised sneer curled across his face.

Liu Chengjun.

Of course, he didn’t believe Thousand Faces was the mastermind. Nor did he believe that the final explosion had been caused by backlash.

He recalled the instant Liu Chengjun’s face turned deathly pale upon hearing the name Astaroth. The more he thought about it, the deeper his gaze became.

Just then—

Knock, knock.

Someone lightly tapped twice on the window.

Liu Feiyu’s eyes sharpened, and he instantly went on guard.

He slowly turned around and saw a young woman in a Liu family maid’s uniform standing blankly outside on his balcony.

Her eyes were vacant, and her face was expressionless. She looked like a puppet whose soul had been ripped away.

Liu Feiyu recognized her. She was the maid responsible for cleaning this floor.

He didn’t open the window. He merely stared at her coldly.

As if she hadn’t noticed the wariness in his eyes, the maid mechanically raised her hand and pressed a pure-black envelope against the glass.

After completing the gesture, she stiffly turned around and disappeared into the night with the same wooden steps.

Liu Feiyu remained where he was for a full minute. Only after confirming that there were no other traces of anyone nearby did he open the window.

He picked up the envelope and returned to his room, carefully inspecting it.

Then he tore it open.

There was no letter inside—only a black chip the size of a fingernail.

Liu Feiyu stared at the chip, his expression shifting unpredictably.

He knew it was definitely a trap.

That maid’s condition had clearly been caused by someone controlling her.

But he also knew that anyone bold enough to deliver something to him at a time like this must possess information capable of turning the entire board upside down.

After hesitating for a moment, he finally turned on his computer and inserted the chip.

The screen lit up.

A silent video began playing automatically.

The scene showed the bottom of the artificial lake in the Liu family manor.

In the footage, a person who looked exactly like Liu Xiao was grinning viciously. A long, pitch-black spear condensed in his hand, and without the slightest hesitation, he drove it straight through another Liu Xiao’s chest.

He then sank the corpse into the mud at the bottom of the lake.

Liu Feiyu’s breathing suddenly faltered, almost stopping altogether.

But that wasn’t all.

Just as the “Liu Xiao” who had committed the murder turned to leave, the camera shook slightly. Several figures wearing the uniforms of Liu Chengjun’s personal guards flashed through the shadows in the background, seemingly standing watch for him.

The video ended there. It deleted itself automatically, and the computer screen went dark.

The room fell into deathly silence.

Liu Feiyu stood frozen in place, completely motionless.

This irrefutable evidence pointed everything—the murder of his second brother, the falsification of the scene, and the framing—perfectly and unmistakably at his good elder brother, Liu Chengjun.

Of course, he knew the video’s origins were suspicious.

Who had filmed it? And how had they happened to capture the scene at precisely that moment? No one in this world had a camera growing out of their forehead.

He dialed a number he knew by heart and raised the phone to his ear.

The instant the call connected, he suppressed the rage burning within him and spat out two words.

“Brother Nandou.”

A flat, synthesized male voice came from the other end.

“Speak.”

“Liu Chengjun killed Second Brother. Someone gave me a video.”

Liu Feiyu’s voice was hoarse as he sent over the encrypted video file.

“Now I’ll have to trouble you to analyze it for me.”

There was no immediate response.

Silence descended on the other end of the line.

The only sound Liu Feiyu could hear was a faint electronic hum, as though countless streams of data were being processed at high speed.

His fingers tightened around the phone until they turned white. During that suffocating wait, every passing second felt like torture.

Just then, someone knocked on the door.

“Student Liu, it’s us—An Changqing.”

Liu Feiyu’s expression darkened. He glanced at the tightly closed door and finally called out, “Come in.”

The door opened, and An Changqing entered with Chen Guan, Long Ao, and Hong Yuan.

An Changqing’s gaze swept over Liu Feiyu’s gloomy face before he spoke in a gentle voice. “We feel there are still some unanswered questions, so we wanted to come over and discuss things with you.”

Liu Feiyu looked at them, his eyes shifting uncertainly. After a brief hesitation, he turned his personal computer toward them.

“See for yourselves.”

The video began playing.

When they saw the brutal scene at the bottom of the lake, along with the Liu Chengjun guards’ uniforms flashing through the background, Hong Yuan’s breathing caught.

She suddenly felt that being born into an ordinary family might actually be a good thing. At least she wouldn’t have to deal with all this scheming and infighting.

An Changqing stared at the screen with a deep frown.

“There’s something wrong with this video.”

His calm voice cut through the room. He pointed at the frozen frame.