Chapter Twenty: Come, Holy Monk, Come and Play with Me

In his previous life, Lu Zhongxin truly stumbled because of this case.

At that time, the situation was exactly the same as now—the task force unanimously regarded the missing Kong Lingjie as the prime suspect.

A few days later, Kong Lingjie was apprehended at a nearby hotel.

It went even smoother than expected. During interrogation, the suspect confessed without hesitation, admitting that he was driven by lust after seeing the victim’s beauty.

He had abducted Zhang Yan on her way home from school to a rented room with the intent to commit a crime.

However, Zhang Yan fiercely resisted, preferring death over submission, which enraged Kong Lingjie to the point that he strangled her to death.

The task force believed the facts were clear, the evidence solid and sufficient.

They concluded the suspect was indeed guilty and should be held criminally responsible.

The case was then transferred for prosecution.

In that previous life, the case proceeded smoothly to this point.

The only doubt the task force had was during the trial phase.

The defendant, Kong Lingjie, surprisingly hired a very famous lawyer.

Citing his client’s good attitude and cooperation during the investigation, the lawyer requested a lenient sentence.

As a result, the court actually sentenced Kong Lingjie to death with a two-year reprieve.

Did everyone think that was the end of it?

At the time, all who knew about the case believed so.

No one anticipated that the real wonders were just beginning.

Because Kong Lingjie committed no intentional crimes during his probation and behaved well, his sentence was commuted to life imprisonment after two years.

Another year later, in his third year of incarceration...

He overturned the verdict.

Can a prisoner overturn a case while serving time?

Of course. Not only can a case be overturned during imprisonment, but even after release.

The same famous lawyer who had helped Kong Lingjie escape the death penalty three years prior reappeared.

This time, he presented new evidence: an alibi for Kong Lingjie.

According to the forensic autopsy report, the victim Zhang Yan died between 2 p.m. and 5 p.m. on June 5, 2014.

Because the body was discovered four days later, the time of death could only be narrowed down to a three-hour window.

The lawyer provided audiovisual evidence—a surveillance recording from a shopping mall.

The footage began at 3:20 p.m. on June 5, 2014.

In the video, Kong Lingjie was seen wandering on the fourth floor of the mall for at least ten minutes.

He then lingered for twelve minutes in a men’s clothing store and purchased a men’s jacket.

And this mall... was not in Songhai!

The two locations were 240 kilometers apart.

What does this distance mean?

To put it simply, at a speed of 100 kilometers per hour, traveling 240 kilometers one way would take 2 hours and 40 minutes.

Moreover, such speed is only achievable on highways.

Realistically, this time would need to be extended by at least 20 minutes to account for highway entry and exit.

In other words, during the time Zhang Yan was murdered, Kong Lingjie could not possibly have been in Songhai!

But that was not all—the lawyer also produced store receipts and paper invoices for the jacket Kong Lingjie bought.

Following that, surveillance footage from inside the store was presented.

This was enough to prove the authenticity and validity of Kong Lingjie’s alibi.

So the question arose: if he wasn’t at the scene, why did he confess during interrogation?

Kong Lingjie’s explanation was: torture and coercion.

He pointed the finger directly at Lu Zhongxin, accusing the officer of applying torture during the interrogation, and even described the methods used.

He recited, almost verbatim, what Lu Zhongxin had said to him.

One such phrase was: “Tell me, why did you kill Zhang Yan?”

This was a classic example of leading the witness.

It provided the answer outright: you are the killer; no need to admit it, just explain your motive.

Of course, this wasn’t the only phrase; there were others...

“The landlord has already identified you. Whether you admit it or not, you’ll be convicted. If your attitude is bad, the sentence might be harsher.”

This was a tactic to extract a confession under false pretenses.

“Once you confess everything, we'll treat it as a voluntary surrender. We’ll tell the court you cooperated well so they can give you a lighter sentence.”

This was inducement to confess.

All of these fall under the category of illegal interrogation.

And Lu Zhongxin had used almost all of them.

Curious? These are common scenes in television dramas.

On TV, police interrogations always follow this pattern.

What does this imply?

Simply that the screenwriters don’t understand the law.

Besides, no one expects to see authentic interrogation procedures on TV; most people just watch for the plot.

You can enjoy even the most unrealistic wartime dramas, let alone crime thrillers.

Three years later, Kong Lingjie could accurately recount Lu Zhongxin’s exact words, nearly verbatim.

During the court’s retrial, they pulled up the interrogation footage, which matched Kong Lingjie’s account perfectly.

Think that’s scary enough?

There’s more—the real horror lies ahead.

He accused Lu Zhongxin of using severe physical torture.

But the court found no evidence of violence in the interrogation videos.

Kong Lingjie described specific methods.

During interrogation, he said he was hungry; Lu Zhongxin gave him a cup of instant noodles.

But when he ate, he noticed the broth was excessively salty—as if someone had added extra salt.

The water given afterward was also salted, making him increasingly thirsty.

He also detected a strong aroma of sesame oil in the food, which caused him to have diarrhea daily and feel hungry even after eating.

Over time, he could no longer endure it and ended up confessing to crimes he hadn’t committed.

This is the invisible cruelty of torture-induced confessions.

Such methods are two-way; if the torturer leaves no trace, neither does the victim.

Three years later, Lu Zhongxin was left speechless—no matter how much he denied, he had no evidence to prove his innocence.

The other side was playing a reverse game.

By then, Lu Zhongxin had already been promoted to head of the criminal investigation team, largely thanks to the successful resolution of this case.

But when the backlash came, this methodical veteran investigator couldn’t withstand it.

He might not have cared about his life, but he certainly cared about his reputation.

When a massive scandal fell upon him, staining his name, Lu Zhongxin chose to use his life to clear his honor.

He committed suicide.

Before his death, he returned all police equipment, including his firearm, neatly to the team.

He even folded his police uniform tidily and placed it on his dorm bed.

He wore the plain clothes he often favored and leapt from a bridge.

As a result, Yu Dazhang was in a daze for over a month.

Later, after reviewing the case, he reached the following conclusions:

When Lu Zhongxin first took over the case, he was at a critical upward point in his career.

Therefore, the case was extremely tempting to him.

This led Lu Zhongxin to be eager for quick success, which resulted in his use of unconventional interrogation methods.

It was like a seductive fox spirit tempting Tang Sanzang: “Come on, holy monk, come play with me.”

Once Tang Sanzang fell into the trap, the other side revealed their true form: “No way, holy monk, please respect yourself.”

Do you think Tang Sanzang could swallow that insult?

However, Yu Dazhang was certain that his master would never resort to such low tactics as “adding salt to instant noodles.”

Lu Zhongxin might have made verbal mistakes but would never cross his principles.

At the same time, he firmly believed his master would never do anything beyond the moral baseline.

If Lu Zhongxin had truly been that kind of person, he wouldn’t have resolutely chosen suicide in his previous life.

Therefore, Kong Lingjie must have been lying.

He spent three whole years setting a trap to ensnare Lu Zhongxin and clear his own name.

Since Yu Dazhang was not a member of the task force in his previous life, he could only make these conjectures.

This life was different—he not only knew how things unfolded but also joined the task force.

Since his master still chose to take on this case, he would join him in the madness.

“Master...” Yu Dazhang murmured, standing in the corridor.

“This time, I’ll do my best not to let you be Tang Sanzang.”