Qin Guan didn't understand why Old He was bringing this up.
His mad mother had been dead for twenty years.
It was so long ago, he'd almost forgotten. And besides, not just now, but even back then, there was nothing "suspicious"—his mad mother was found by a villager passing by early the next morning. The villager shouted for the village chief, who looked around and then sent someone to call Qin Guan and his father.
He didn't even mention calling the police.
A neighbor fetched Qin Guan.
Qin Guan, wrapped in his coat, rubbing sleepy eyes, arrived at the scene. A neighbor beside him urged him to kneel quickly. The village chief just sighed, "Qin Guan, cry if you want to. Your mother accidentally fell to her death! You have no mother now! Ah, poor child!"
Yes, everyone believed the mad mother had fallen to her death—a madwoman's actions had no logic or reason. It was perfectly normal for her not to sleep at night and wander around. Running around in the dark, accidentally falling, dying—it was all her own responsibility.
No one blamed the owner of the pit.
Later, the owner, out of humanitarianism, did give some money. Qin Guan's drunkard father took it, shaking the man's hand while wiping tears and expressing gratitude. Qin Guan didn't know if he was grateful for the money or grateful that the man's pit had finally rid him of his mad wife, saving him a big headache.
In short, no one suspected Qin Guan had anything to do with it.
"Your mother died horribly," Old He said slowly, enunciating each word, his gaze heavy on Qin Guan. "Her head hit a rock in the pit. She bled to death. Meaning, when you went home to sleep, she lay in that pit, quietly bleeding, quietly waiting to die."
What was this man trying to do?
Qin Guan felt a prickling irritation under that stare—of course he knew how his mad mother died. He'd seen it happen. But there was no proof. Why was this man digging up these ancient, worthless details?
"You actually managed to sleep that night after running home. How old were you then? Ten? Eleven? About that age. Impressive, Qin Guan. So young, yet so ruthless and venomous, with top-notch nerves."
Old He didn't blink. "All these years, your mother must have visited your dreams often, hasn't she? Did she accuse you? Did she show you her bleeding head?"
"What exactly are you doing?"
Qin Guan snapped.
He wasn't afraid. He'd done it back then, so why fear it now? Something he hadn't feared as a child, he certainly wouldn't fear as an adult. As for dreams—yes, he'd had a few nightmares. The mad mother had visited his dreams. But so what? He always knew ghosts and gods were fake. Real life, things held in his hands, that was what mattered. He was never afraid of illusions!
He was just annoyed. Annoyed this was being dragged out. He needed a perfectly calm and composed state to face the battle ahead.
He glared at Old He. "Why are you spouting this meaningless stuff? Are you accusing me of killing my mother? Do you have evidence? If you have no evidence, kindly shut up! You're exposing your pitiful intelligence!"
"Of course I have no evidence. That incident wasn't even reported back then. Where would evidence come from? Even if there was, you cleaned it up long ago, didn't you? You're so clever. So young, yet you knew how to set up the trap, how to cover your tracks, how to act to avoid suspicion. Tsk tsk. So shrewd and capable at such a young age. You're practically a born criminal mastermind."
Old He readily admitted it. His sharp eyes fixed on Qin Guan's rapidly blinking eyes and his uneven breathing. He continued, "In my many years as a detective, I've seen plenty of criminals. But never one like you. So young, yet capable of a perfect crime and walking away scot-free. Tsk tsk. Really, Qin Guan, I can only say some things are truly innate. But I'm also curious. Your father was a drunk, your mother had mental illness. How did a combination like that produce someone as cunning, venomous, and skilled as you?"
"Are you finished?"
Qin Guan shot to his feet, his breath becoming increasingly ragged.
"Not finished!" Old He showed no sign of backing down. He stared straight at Qin Guan and suddenly screeched, "Sit down!"
Qin Guan was momentarily stunned, staring blankly at Old He. The next second, he actually sat back down, compliant.
He'd dealt with this He guy for so long. He'd seen Old He's slow, stubborn, even foolish side. He'd never seen him so unyielding.
A clearly defined, unyielding attitude.
This kind of hardness only ever had one reason: the other party held sufficient evidence.
Sure enough.
"Your mother's death—you truly pulled it off flawlessly. We couldn't touch you! Let you roam free all these years! But—"
Old He had already taken out another photo and placed it on the table.
"This is your father. Two years later, your father also died in an 'accident'," he stared into Qin Guan's eyes. "This time, I have evidence!"
Qin Guan's father's death was also an "accident."
"Drunk, accidentally fell into a fish pond and drowned," Old He pulled out a yellowed case file and placed it on the table—the thing was covered in the dust of ages, seeming to blow straight into Qin Guan's eyes.
"Here. This is the police dispatch record from back then. You didn't expect this, did you? That it was still around? And that I found it!"
Qin Guan truly found it hard to believe—he knew Old He had gone to his hometown these past few days. But he'd never imagined Old He was heading in this direction.
He couldn't understand—had the Qi Min case been set aside? Had someone else taken over? Wasn't the trial about to start? Why wasn't he focusing on the Qi Min case, instead digging up his parents?
"Someone saw it back then and called the police immediately. The officer who responded was an old cop. Observant. Detailed records."
Old He opened the file.
"That night, your father, Qin Shigui, was drinking in town with three other men he'd been playing cards with. The four of them drank half a kilogram of baijiu and five bottles of beer. Divided equally, he didn't drink much. The other three testified to this."
Old He narrated flatly.
"This wasn't close to his real capacity. Your father was a famous drunk in the village. He could hold his liquor, had no equal. It's said he once drank over a kilogram of baijiu alone."
"So, that amount was nothing to him. Logically, he should only have been slightly tipsy. Usually, in that state, he could keep playing cards all night."
"Playing cards requires much more alertness than walking," he looked at Qin Guan. "If he could still play cards after drinking that much, how could he possibly trip on a familiar path? Even trip badly enough to stumble over a railing and fall into a fish pond?"
"The answer, Qin Guan—you know it best!"