Chapter 24: Once Again, He Has Returned from the Dead!

At this moment, the atmosphere in the live broadcast studio was thick and oppressive, like cement set in place. Though the images still flowed across the screen, everyone before the camera seemed caught in a strange stasis.

The three detective contestants, each entrusted with high hopes, sat with their chins in their hands or eyes tightly shut, clearly struggling to digest the official briefing just delivered by the beautiful policewoman.

Su Qingzhu said nothing more. With a gaze colored by indifference, even tinged with a trace of aloofness, she quietly surveyed the crowd assembled by the production team.

Though cooperating with their filming was a task assigned from above, this elite woman of the police force harbored nothing but contempt for those before her. Sensationalism. Ostentation. As she regarded the contestants’ bizarre costumes, an ineffable sense of distaste welled up within her.

Every case, whether it involved murder or not, carried the raw tragedy of the victims and their families. Yet, the production team and these so-called detectives seemed to peel open old wounds with a light, almost playful touch, as if the suffering were mere entertainment.

Look at Liu Hong, who was present. The complex, nearly heartbroken expression on her face said everything. From the moment she first stepped into the investigation unit to file her report, the police had repeatedly persuaded her, tirelessly searching for new clues to support their conclusion—Luo Xiangdong’s tragedy was, truly, nothing more than an accident.

So why dredge up the past again, placing it under the harsh glare of the spotlight for endless scrutiny? Why probe into why Luo Xiangdong had come to that isolated house years ago? Why investigate how Dong Zhan treated his late brother’s widow after so many years? Was any of it truly meaningful?

Certainly, these rumors, flavored with scandal and intrigue, were enough to capture public curiosity and imagination. But had the production team ever truly cared about Liu Hong’s feelings?

Now, even the live chat had thinned, some bored viewers spamming messages about how they were drifting to sleep.

Inside the director’s van, the director’s brow was tightly furrowed, his expression dark. He was clearly dissatisfied with the contestants’ stifled performance, already considering whether to send the host, Lin Bing, in to rescue the scene.

Yet, just as the stifling silence threatened to suffocate, the chat suddenly erupted again without warning.

A sharp-eyed viewer, like discovering a new continent, cried out first: “Look! What’s going on with that camera over there?”

“What the—? He’s back! He’s back again!”

“Wow, brother! That’s my brother!”

“What’s he doing? What’s he planning? No way!”

In an instant, the dormant studio was plunged into chaos once more. The director’s eyes lit up, and he sprang from his chair, pressing his face to the monitor, eager to see what was happening.

The source of the commotion was a new, unique camera angle that had just cut in. It showed, unmistakably, the exclusive footage of Chen Yu and Yan Zheng.

At this moment, the special operations vehicle they rode in had stopped, coincidentally, right where the program had begun yesterday—in front of the dilapidated house in the wilds.

The camera slowly zoomed in, showing the familiar interior of the locked room. The oppressive gloom remained. The room was empty, without windows or furnishings. Slippery, thick moss covered the walls and floor.

But what made every viewer draw a sharp breath was this: in the center of the room lay another “corpse,” silent and unmoving.

This time, it was not Luo Xiangdong from eleven years ago, nor was there a hint of antiquated dress. Lying there was none other than Chen Yu himself.

Suddenly, he sprang upright from the ground, as if “revived,” his expression dazed and searching.

“What the—! Revived again?”

“This guy really loves playing dead! But honestly, I enjoy watching!”

“This is it! This is the vibe! The Revival Squad! Rise up!!”

After a brief silence, the studio erupted like hot oil on water, the viewer count shooting upward at an astonishing pace.

In the control room, the director’s face flushed with excitement, shouting at the top of his lungs, “This kid! He really knows how to work a show! Give him a bonus! He deserves a bonus!”

Amid shouts and cheers, curiosity simmered.

Why had Chen Yu chosen, at this moment, to return to the scene of the crime that had already been thoroughly examined? Was there something they’d missed? What new spectacle was he planning this time?

Even more puzzling, the usually stern and taciturn Captain Yan was standing outside, apparently permitting—or even indulging—Chen Yu’s antics.

Suspense, emotion, atmosphere, anticipation—all reached a fever pitch.

More and more viewers joined the “Revival Squad,” cheering Chen Yu on. Meanwhile, the lifeless camera in the investigation unit meeting room was completely ignored.

Captain Yan, standing outside the house, watched Chen Yu’s performance in the locked room, his lips twitching involuntarily several times.

This kid really loved to act—what a drama king!

Chen Yu slowly rose from the room, a sheepish grin on his face as he walked out, saying, “Just reliving it—hehe, it still feels pretty special!”

“You’ve gotten addicted to playing dead, haven’t you?” Yan retorted, then asked in a low, serious voice, “Well? Any new discoveries?”

“Uh…” Chen Yu paused.

He had just meticulously checked the walls and floor again, hoping to trigger his retrocognition ability. But the aloof system clearly had no interest in cooperating; there was no response at all.

Awkwardly scratching the back of his head, he forced a smile. “Looks like there really aren’t any new clues. I guess that poor guy, Luo Xiangdong, really did die just as we deduced—trapped inside when a gust of wind slammed the latch shut.”

Finished, Chen Yu wore a helpless expression as he stepped to the door and closed the battered wooden panel.

Almost instinctively, he reached out and slid the rusty latch outside, as if to secure the door completely.

But just then—

His mind went utterly blank.

His pupils darkened, black as ink, fathomless.

A faint, yet unmistakably clear set of footsteps echoed in his ears.

The retrocognition skill was activated!

The scene before his eyes shifted abruptly.

It was a night so dark one could not see a hand before their face.

Inside the house, Luo Xiangdong sat alone, gazing with obsessive intensity at the photo on the wall—a scene Chen Yu knew well.

Suddenly, a blurred shadow, ghostlike and silent, crept toward the house.

The figure moved decisively, with no hesitation, closing the door from outside with a sudden motion!

Then, with force, slid the latch into place!

Immediately afterward, Chen Yu heard, clear as day, Luo Xiangdong’s heart-rending, desperate, furious roar from inside:

“Damn wind! You… you’re really going to kill me!”

Whoosh!

The darkness in Chen Yu’s eyes faded, his pupils returning to normal.

His forehead and back were drenched in cold sweat.

“What’s wrong?” Yan Zheng noticed his frozen posture and strange expression, frowning in concern.

The live chat grew lively again.

“What the—he likes non-static shots, huh? Addicted to acting? Why’s he frozen again?”

“That’s my brother’s unique style! You mortals don’t understand! He must’ve found some earth-shattering clue!”

“Are you alright?” Yan Zheng asked again, worry seeping into his tone.

“Captain Yan!”

Chen Yu still faced away, refusing to turn.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t let Yan see his face, twisted in horror.

In a voice low enough for only the two of them to hear, Chen Yu said,

“Luo Xiangdong…”

“He really was…”

“Murdered!”