Chapter 487: The Hanfu Homicidal Maniac (1/2)

As she spoke, her eyes inadvertently flitted to Song Xingchen.

Since the lady asked, I said, ”Aunt Song, can I take Song Jie out for a bit?”

”No drinking and come back early,” instructed Song Heting.

”Mom, you’re the best!” beamed Song Jie as she wrapped her arms around Song Heting's neck and kissed her cheeks.

As soon as we were out of the door, I handed Song Jie over to Song Xingchen. While the two spent time together, I headed back to the store. Bingxin was still there waiting for me. ”What a dashing woman your aunt is!” she laughed. “I didn't know you had such relatives.”

My head throbbed, ”Her reign of terror has descended upon Nanjiang City.”

”Who’s the lovely girl?” she asked curiously.

”A distant cousin!”

”Are you guys close?”

”Don't even think about it. She likes Song Xingchen. The two grew up together.”

My words seemed to allay her worries. ”But aren't they close relatives?!” exclaimed Bingxin.

I did ask Song Xingchen about this matter. It turned out that they were distant relatives as well. Song Xingchen's parents were both martial arts masters who died during a mission so Song Heting raised him as a son. In theory, he could marry Song Jie, though I wasn’t sure if Song Heting would approve.

Over the next few days, I lived in constant unease. Both mother and daughter would visit when they weren’t shopping. Upon discovering our pigsty-like apartment, Song Heting had us scrub every nook and cranny!

At the sight of our takeout, Song Heting tossed them into the trash can without so much as a word, headed down to the supermarket to buy a bunch of groceries, and proceeded to personally cook us a meal.

Song Heting's cooking was excellent, but eating at the same table was torture.

In order to keep me away from my ‘unhealthy' diet, she even taught Luo Youyou how to cook!

The special team hadn’t received any cases of late, but according to regulations, members had to show up in the office to deal with emergencies. Though I wasn’t very happy to sit in an empty conference room, I took the initiative to apply for duty with Song Heting’s arrival.

One morning as Bingxin and I chatted in the conference room, Xiaotao suddenly walked in and interrupted, ”Bingxin, do you like the Hanfu?”

Bingxin’s eyes flashed with an eager gleam, ”Do you mean Quju robes? I love them! When CCTV broadcasted the ancient poetry contest last year, there was a craze for Chinese cultural studies. I too purchased a Hanfu. My dad insisted it was bizarre and wouldn't let me wear it.”

Xiaotao placed two photos on the table–the first showed two female corpses dressed in Hanfu and locked in an iron cage, one in red and the other in white. They were soaking wet, and their faces disfigured so the flesh had melted and blended into the blood.

In the second photo, a man in Hanfu was hung from a tree with his hands tied, his stomach was cut open, and his bloody intestines were draped from his torso. Similarly, his face had been disfigured by some sort of chemical.

At first glance, I got the feeling this wasn’t an ordinary case. My blood boiled with excitement.

Upon examining the photos, Bingxin arched her eyebrows, ”Wow, they’re wearing the Hanfu!”