Siheyuan came through and sent Jia Zhang to prison

At this moment, the beggar no longer bore any trace of his former humility and cowardice. He stood ramrod straight, his once hunched back now ramrod straight, like a taut gun. His cloudy eyes shone brightly, the gloom fading away to reveal an almost cruel clarity, as if capable of piercing the heart. A strange smile even played at the corners of his mouth, its curve stiff as if carved with a knife. Jiang Hu's heart skipped a beat; a chill ran from his feet to the top of his head, up his spine to the crown of his head, making every hair on his body stand on end.

Before he could speak, the beggar had already moved. His movements were astonishingly fast, unlike that of a frail old man who had been begging for years; he resembled a wild beast that had been poised for a long time. Jiang Hu's pupils contracted sharply, his heart pounded in his chest, and he sprang to his feet: "You…"

“I understand,” Jiang Hu’s voice trembled with disbelief, the last syllable barely audible. He stared at the short knife that had appeared in the beggar’s hand, its narrow, sharp blade gleaming coldly in the dim light, like the fangs of a viper. “You didn’t come to save me, you came to kill me!”

The beggar grinned, revealing a few yellowed, chipped teeth, his tone full of undisguised sarcasm: "You only realize it now? Isn't it a little too late?"

Before he finished speaking, he pounced like a cheetah, the wind he stirred carrying a murderous intent. Although Jiang Hu had long enjoyed a life of luxury and privilege, he had practiced a few martial arts moves in his youth. In this critical moment, the instinct for survival overcame his fear. He dodged the fatal blow, grabbed a broken wooden stool with a missing leg from the corner, and smashed it down with all his might. However, the beggar was faster, his movements like a ghost, always managing to evade his attacks at the last second. His footwork was unpredictable, as if he were gliding along the ground. The short knife in his hand seemed to come alive, stabbing precisely at Jiang Hu's vital points time and again, the wind from the blade carrying a chilling coldness.

Jiang Hu gradually lost his strength, his breathing becoming increasingly rapid, like a broken bellows. Several wounds quickly appeared on his body, blood soaking through his prison uniform, dripping a string of dark red spots onto the ground. He knew he was no match for him, a flicker of despair in his eyes, his hand gripping the wooden stool trembling. In that moment of distraction, the beggar seized the opportunity, his wrist twisting, the short knife plunging into Jiang Hu's chest with lightning precision—right where his heart was.

Jiang Hu's body stiffened abruptly, all movement ceasing. He looked down at the hilt of the knife in his chest, blood gushing from between his fingers, quickly staining his clothes red with his body heat. He slowly collapsed to the ground, his eyes wide open, the dim ceiling of the cell reflected in his pupils, seemingly still unable to accept this reality. His lips moved, but he couldn't utter a single word.

The beggar drew his knife, drops of blood dripping from the blade, spreading into grotesque patterns on the ground. He stared at the corpse, his face expressionless, showing neither the satisfaction of a successful kill nor the remorse for the murder. He knew his mission was not yet complete—as a suicide soldier, he had never intended to leave alive. He looked up at the corner of the cell, where a few loose bricks lay, seemingly concealing something, yet also seemingly nothing at all, only water droplets slowly sliding down the wall.

The next second, without hesitation, he pointed the dagger at his own neck and slashed his wrist forcefully. Blood gushed out, splattering onto the cold stone wall like a cluster of eerie flowers. He fell straight down, his body twitching twice before coming to rest, a strange, relieved calm on his lips. No one knew that his wife and children were already firmly controlled elsewhere by the mastermind; his life and death were never a matter of his own choosing. From the moment he became a suicide soldier, this ending was predetermined—either commit suicide after completing his mission, or be silenced; there was no third way.

The night passed without incident. Only two gradually cooling corpses and a deathly silence remained in the cell. The stench of mold, blood, and sweat mingled together, permeating the air, causing even rats to avoid them.

The next morning, the first rays of sunlight struggled through the iron bars of the bars into the cell, casting long, thin beams of light on the floor, within which the floating dust particles were clearly visible. He Feng, leading his officers on a routine patrol, had just reached the cell door when he was shocked by what he saw inside. His face paled, and he shouted sharply, "Quickly! Seal off the scene! No one is allowed in! Immediately investigate the guards who watched Jiang Hu last night, from the duty logs to the patrol routes—leave no one unchecked!"

The air tensed instantly. Officers scattered, their footsteps and shouts shattering the morning's tranquility. He Feng stood at the cell door, his brow furrowed, his knuckles white from the strain. He looked at the two corpses inside, at the still-dripping dagger, and knew in his heart—this was no simple revenge killing. To be carried out in a heavily guarded cell, and to have it arranged so cleanly and efficiently, meant there was a much larger conspiracy at play, one whose tentacles were likely deeper than he imagined.

He Feng frowned as he stared at the figure covered by a white sheet on the ground. The outline of a human body was vaguely visible beneath the sheet. A faint smell of blood mingled with the dust in the air, making his chest tighten. He took a deep breath and turned to Zhao Lei beside him, ordering in a low voice, "Get the technical department here immediately. Thoroughly examine and process this place, inside and out. Don't miss an inch of the area; don't overlook any clues. Send the body to the morgue for cold storage. Once the autopsy report is out, we'll follow the clues and thoroughly investigate the whole story. We must get to the bottom of this."

Zhao Lei replied solemnly, "Understood, Chief." He then turned and waved to the officers waiting behind him. Several young men in uniforms immediately stepped forward and skillfully and carefully wrapped the body in a specially made leak-proof body bag, then gently lifted it onto a stainless steel trolley. After all, this was a major case involving a life, and any detail could affect the subsequent investigation, so no carelessness was allowed.

Just then, Ma Xin strode over, carrying a blue-covered notebook. Her short, shoulder-length hair swayed slightly with her steps, and her face wore a professional seriousness, clearly indicating that she had just received a notification and rushed from her office to investigate the scene. He Feng caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye and said, "Ma Xin, you're just in time. I didn't expect Jiang Hu to die so mysteriously. The body is about to be sent to the morgue. Go and keep an eye on it, pay attention to any unusual wounds on the body, especially... any needle marks or faint bruises. These details might be crucial."