Mo Du (默读) - Silent Reading

Macbeth III

“A car crash?” Luo Wenzhou asked in astonishment. “Why do you need me for a car crash? Send the traffic police next door to deal with it.”

Lu Youliang said, “Have you heard of Zhou Junmao?”

“Which Zhou Junmao?” Luo Wenzhou gave a start, feeling the radiant afternoon light become turbulent. “Not that Zhou Junmao?”

Next to him, Fei Du paused. He silently raised his head.

Zhou Junmao was a famous overseas Chinese national, seventy-three years old this year. He had been born in the East Daogou District on the outskirts of Yan City and sojourned overseas when he was young. Starting from nothing, he had worked hard dealing in building materials, and had later built the Zhou Clan Conglomerate, an enormous multinational enterprise. In recent years, as he’d gotten older, he had perhaps begun to think of returning to his roots; the core of the Zhou Clan’s investments had begun trending back to China.

Zhou Junmao wasn’t an ordinary celebrity. He was low-key and lived simply. He was very public-spirited; he had in particular made outstanding contributions towards building up the infrastructure of his hometown. He was responsible for half of all the prosperity in the East Daogou District; there was a road there called “Junmao Road”, the only road in the whole Yan City area named for a living person.

Half an hour ago, Zhou Junmao had been en route from the airport to his Yan City residence when his car had met with a tailgating truck. The rear of the car had been smashed in, and the old man sitting in the backseat had died on the spot. The driver and the bodyguard in the passenger’s seat had been seriously injured and were receiving emergency care at the hospital.

This was a very bitter traffic accident; it could be imagined that there would be a dramatic impact on the Zhou Clan’s stock once the news got out.

And now, the Zhou family’s younger son, who happened to be in Yan City, was maintaining that his father had been murdered and insisting that the police handle it. 

“Director Ceng has already gone over with the medical examiners. We’ll go to the scene to have a look, say a word to the traffic police team, then go to the Zhou house.” Luo Wenzhou was heading towards the airport highway, taking along Lang Qiao, who’d been on duty, Xiao Haiyang, who hadn’t felt comfortable leaving early on his first day at work, and an extraneous Fei Du. “Relax, it won’t be another month of working overtime. We don’t even know what’s happened yet. Even if the car crash was deliberate, I figure the economic crimes division will take the lead, and we’ll be assisting them at most.”

Lang Qiao stretched out her head curiously. “President Fei, you know so many rich people. Have you met Zhou Junmao?”

“I’ve met him, though I couldn’t really speak to him.” Fei Du, seeming to have become a model student, still maintained his studious attitude sitting in a car headed out to the field. “I’m more familiar with his younger son—the same one who insisted on calling the police.”

Lang Qiao looked down and started researching online. “Zhou Junmao has two sons. The eldest is Zhou Huaijin… Oh, a youthful talent. Went to all the famous schools, started helping manage his family’s assets very young, stays abroad most of the year. The second son is Zhou Huaixin. He’s a painter? Hey, President Fei, is this the one you mean? How do you two know each other? Is it because you both like art?”

“Oh, no,” Fei Du answered, “it’s because we’re both wastrels who don’t do any honest work.”

Lang Qiao: “…”

There was no traffic heading out of the city on the airport highway, and it wasn’t yet fully dark. They soon arrived at the scene.

Fei Du was about to get out of the car when Luo Wenzhou pushed him back inside. First he started, and then he came around. His lips moved slightly. He looked at Luo Wenzhou’s receding back like a weasel that had been soothed by a chicken thigh; he didn’t display happiness, only calmly sat waiting in the car.