Chapter 101: The Mentor of a Superstar

To get a clearer view, Li Tianque climbed onto the windowsill and stood there, peering down at the alley and the bag of garbage below.

Unfortunately, he found nothing of value.

With no other options, Li Tianque jumped down from the windowsill, nearly bumping into the corpse.

Realizing that the crime scene could no longer yield any useful clues, Li Tianque prepared to leave the old patriarch’s house.

Just then, the beam from his flashlight inadvertently illuminated the opposite wall.

He noticed that the wall opposite the old patriarch was adorned with numerous picture frames—a photo wall.

Over thirty frames, all handmade from wood, painted in varying shades of deep vermilion. Some were glazed with glass, others covered with a plastic sheet that had begun to wrinkle with age.

Li Tianque paused and gazed at the photo wall.

Most of the photographs were family portraits of the old patriarch with his kin, along with some snapshots of youthful travels.

Each photo carried the old patriarch’s memories of a cherished life, bearing the worn marks of time.

However, a few pictures caught Li Tianque’s attention—they depicted the old patriarch being interviewed by reporters for an exploration program.

These photos were relatively recent. The old patriarch appeared kind and patient, calmly answering the reporters' questions.

As Li Tianque continued to examine the collection, a particular photograph stood out.

It was a group photo featuring a well-known celebrity.

The photo was aged, yellowed with curled edges.

Li Tianque recognized the man instantly—his name was Rosang.

His impression of Rosang dated back to his childhood. Rosang was famed for his extraordinary vocal mimicry, having performed on the Spring Festival Gala stage for two or three consecutive years.

Back then, Li Tianque was in middle school. The Gala’s performances were often similar year to year, lacking the special effects and elaborate staging seen today.

Rosang’s appearance in his distinct traditional attire was unforgettable.

His talent was astonishing—he could imitate various musical instruments and even mimic other celebrities’ voices with uncanny precision, earning widespread admiration.

Tragically, Rosang’s burgeoning career was cut short by a fatal car accident during his prime, a loss that saddened many fans.

In today’s era of entertainment saturation, without this old photograph, Li Tianque might never have recalled this once-renowned star.

Seeing Rosang again stirred an indescribable sense of melancholy in him.

The photo suggested a close relationship between the old patriarch and Rosang.

Rosang stood with his hands folded before his chest; the old patriarch stood behind him, dignified and solemn. Rosang appeared to show great respect toward him.

Noticing Li Tianque’s unusual focus, Liang Zhichao asked:

“Officer, is something wrong?”

Li Tianque snapped back to reality, pointing at the photo on the wall.

“That’s Rosang, isn’t it?”

“Yes, everyone in our generation knows him,” Liang Zhichao nodded.

“Right, he was a superstar in the last century. Since this photo is placed right at the center, the old patriarch must have valued him greatly. What was their relationship?”

“Oh, their relationship... you could say they were master and apprentice, or even confidants.

You know, whenever we visited the old patriarch’s home, he would bring up this story—and each time, he spoke of it with deep sadness,” Liang Zhichao said, his gaze fixed on the photograph.

Li Tianque listened intently as Liang Zhichao continued:

“Actually, the vocal mimicry Rosang learned was originally invented by Kang Min. Back then, it wasn’t called vocal mimicry but ‘whistling’—a skill used to lure wild animals or send warning signals.

To develop this unique art, Rosang traveled the grasslands seeking out the expert whistlers, including the old patriarch, who was a master of whistling.

The old patriarch could imitate the calls of insects, birds, and wild animals, and even mimic other tribesmen’s voices. He was well-known locally and often interviewed by television stations.

After seeing reports about the old patriarch, Rosang came all the way to learn from him. At first, the old patriarch refused.

But seeing Rosang’s sincerity and his willingness to work hard, he eventually passed the skill to him—Rosang was his only direct disciple.

Rosang practiced diligently and quickly became a master of vocal mimicry.

Though he had learned from many teachers, Rosang admitted in interviews that his main foundation came from the old patriarch, Luo Dichao Lu.

Rosang later became a household name, much to the old patriarch’s joy. But, as you know, Rosang’s career was tragically cut short by a fatal drunk-driving accident.

The old patriarch deeply regretted this and even fell gravely ill because of it, sigh…”

Li Tianque nodded slightly, his eyes still fixed on the photo. After a long pause, he said:

“A truly wasted talent.”

Liang Zhichao nodded in agreement.

After another moment, Li Tianque finally lowered his flashlight and said:

“The police should be arriving soon. Let’s head to the morgue and see what’s going on.”

“Alright!”

Liang Zhichao, eager to leave, agreed readily.

The two exited the earth building, locking all the doors they had opened behind them.

On their way to the morgue, they encountered Xiao Liu from the local police station, leading a team of auxiliary officers rushing toward the old patriarch’s house.

After briefing Xiao Liu on the situation, Li Tianque instructed Liang Zhichao to return to the scene with the police while he proceeded to the morgue.

Before reaching the destination, a pungent smell of burning filled the air from afar.

In the distance, thick black smoke billowed into the sky, obscuring the already faint stars and moonlight.

Running forward, Li Tianque pondered the connection among the three murders.

So far, all three victims seemed to harbor some resentment toward insects.

Lin Ya, deeply aligned with Professor Lü’s philosophy, naturally saw insects as creatures meant to be dominated by humans, and her experiments inevitably killed countless insects.

From Grandma Zhuoma’s curses outside the morgue today, it was clear she also bore deep hatred for Lin Ya.

As for the old patriarch, from what Li Tianque had learned, his wife died of insect-related cancer, and he himself loathed insects.

Scientifically, insect cancer is a parasitic disease caused by protozoa—not insects—and differs from the Deva spirits Grandma Zhuoma worshipped.

But Kang Min’s education level likely prevented him from discerning this distinction, so it was understandable that the old patriarch blamed Grandma Zhuoma.

If Grandma Zhuoma were the murderer, killing the old patriarch would make sense as a motive.

But why did forensic doctor Xia suffer an undeserved death?

Li Tianque considered one possibility: Grandma Zhuoma might have thought Lin Ya’s death alone was insufficient to ease her wrath, so she resorted to setting fire to the corpse as an act of vengeance.

Unaware that Dr. Xia was inside, she unintentionally burned him alive as well.

Regardless, given the current circumstances, Grandma Zhuoma remained the prime suspect.

Li Tianque quickened his pace and arrived at the scene, where many locals were already trying to extinguish the fire.

Though the flames had noticeably subsided, the smoke thickened.

The earth building housing the cold storage warehouse was partially collapsed, its walls blackened and crumbling.

Within, faint red glows flickered like demonic eyes peering out.

What baffled Li Tianque was that the cold storage was extremely cold and humid; igniting such a fire there seemed nearly impossible. How had the arsonist done it?

“How’s it going? Have they rescued anyone?” Li Tianque hurried to the side of Ma Baoguo, who was directing the scene.

Seeing Li Tianque, Ma Baoguo grew even more agitated, shouting:

“Rescue? There’s no way! This fire won’t go out, and there are so many electrical wires inside—we can’t even get in!”

His voice was both helpless and hoarse.

“What exactly happened?” Li Tianque asked.

Ma Baoguo sighed, exasperated and despairing.

“I want to know too—how did this happen? The warehouse is so cold, yet this fire flares up so fiercely. It’s just unbelievable!”

He spat his cigarette butt onto the ground in frustration.