Accidental Hero: The Rookie Who Outshines the Force - Chapter 61

The restaurant was quiet.

Warm light poured down like golden gauze, casting Su Qingwu’s profile in a near-translucent alabaster glow, subtle and serene.

The interplay of shadow and light around her sharp nose and slightly pursed lips made her fair skin seem even purer, colder, exuding an almost untouchable tranquility.

Lu Cheng stared blankly, time seeming to freeze.

Su Qingwu met his gaze. Seeing him so stunned, and combined with the restaurant’s ambiance, her delicate face tensed slightly.

Tick… tick… tick…

“Had enough staring?”

Su Qingwu finally couldn’t hold back, her voice carrying a faint trace of mock annoyance.

“No.”

Lu Cheng shook his head. Truthfully, he could never get enough.

Su Qingwu: …

Not wanting to waste time on trivialities, she asked, “This really is your first homicide case?”

“Huh? Yes.”

Lu Cheng nodded.

So this kid really was exceptionally gifted?

At the time, she had noticed that third fingerprint as a suspicious clue but couldn’t connect it to the real killer, so she’d set it aside.

All evidence pointed at Wu Hao—it was a done deal.

Many cases were actually simple; unlike the convoluted plots in TV dramas, you just needed solid evidence to solve them.

That habitual thinking had prevented both her and Captain Qin Mian from questioning other possibilities.

But Lu Cheng dared to hypothesize boldly. It reminded Su Qingwu of something her master Ji Bochuan had once said: “Any trace that becomes suspicious must exist for a reason.”

The fingerprint on the window latch was subtle, yet there it was.

The real killer, Ruan Sicong, had indeed worn gloves while committing the crime. Those gloves were thick, the ones he used delivering food on his e-bike.

But when he tried to lift the window latch to close the window, he had to remove the gloves.

In retrospect, everything now made perfect sense.

Recalling Lu Cheng’s reasoning process, a rookie on his first homicide case could reconstruct the entire crime scene—almost like a live reenactment.

Genius, perhaps.

Ten minutes later, the dishes arrived.

The waiter cheerfully introduced them: “Beef tongue and pork tongue, taken from their most tender parts—excellent texture. The dish has a special name: Tongue Kiss, Seal of Love.”

Next came abalone, high-quality nine-head, rich and fragrant sauce.

“It’s called Deep Affection Abalone.”

Lu Cheng’s expression twisted, while Su Qingwu’s eyes widened slightly.

“These dish names… so strange,” Lu Cheng said awkwardly, smiling.

Seal of love? Affection?

Was this her hint?

But Su Qingwu’s style wasn’t so overt. Yet she had brought him here—an upscale, reservation-only place.

Meticulous planning, custom-named dishes, suggestive titles…

Could it be… Su Qingwu was too shy to speak her feelings, using actions instead?

Lu Cheng swallowed hard…

Another dish arrived.

The waitress smiled. “This one’s called Love on the Mind, Words Hard to Speak.”

Pfft!

Lu Cheng, mid-sip, sprayed water across the table. Droplets splashed onto Su Qingwu’s smooth, fair cheek.

“S-sorry!”

He reached for a napkin, but Su Qingwu took it herself and dabbed at her face, frowning.

Lu Cheng laughed awkwardly; how could he resist? The dish name was just too ridiculous.

“The rest of the dishes, just bring them—no need to introduce,” Su Qingwu said, dialing Hu Ya on the phone right there.

“Does a Michelin restaurant even accept custom orders? What kind of dishes are these?”

On the other end, Hu Ya froze, then scolded, “What dishes? I begged the chef for months! This was a couples’ anniversary meal for my baby and me! Weren’t you going with your trainee boyfriend? Enjoyed the meal and still complain…”

Su Qingwu hung up. Lu Cheng finally understood—this wasn’t her style. It was a misunderstanding.

Still, Tongue Kiss Seal of Love and Deep Affection Abalone were delicious. Lu Cheng silently gave the chef a thumbs-up.

Interestingly, Su Qingwu didn’t touch the dishes he ate. She ate quietly, head down, reserved.

“Is Love on the Mind, Words Hard to Speak tasty? I’ll try.”

Lu Cheng picked some up—a small portion of pan-seared mushroom with pistachio sauce. Rich flavor, firm yet tender.

A pistachio-seared mushroom with a creative name—clearly, the chef had talent.

Lu Cheng’s eating was casual and messy, but the sounds oddly stimulated Su Qingwu’s appetite.

She maintained her cool, finishing all her food, and even burped softly.

Lu Cheng thought: nothing wrong with a goddess being human sometimes.

Her ears flushed slightly.

Eating silently, they finished within an hour.

Lu Cheng expected to part ways, but Su Qingwu drove him to a shooting club in the western suburbs.

Shooting? Guns?

Excitement flashed in Lu Cheng’s eyes. It had been a long time since he’d handled a real firearm.

Which man didn’t love guns?

Even watching gun-assembly and shooting videos made his fingers itch to shoot.

In police academy, live-fire training was limited—both in rounds and opportunities.

Su Qingwu led him inside. The owner personally greeted them—VIP, perhaps.

Lu Cheng didn’t care. Guns = happiness.

The owner, Mr. Ouyang, was a short, stout man in his forties, hair thick, voice strong, gaze sharp.

Normally, customers had to show ID and sign disclaimers—but not them.

And the guns were real, with real recoil.

At the range, they received their guns and earmuffs. Ouyang pointed at Lu Cheng:

“Officer Su, does your friend need an instructor?”

Lu Cheng glanced at him—slightly offended.

Su Qingwu’s eyes met his. “Do you need one?”

“No.” Lu Cheng shook his head.

Sanliqiao’s legendary sharpshooter—who needed a coach?

“Oh,” Su Qingwu smiled faintly.

“The captain stored a thousand rounds here. Just give his name if you want to shoot.”

Lu Cheng’s heart skipped a beat. A thousand rounds? That could wipe out a village!

He’d only fired a hundred rounds in academy.

He understood Qin Captain’s intentions: all to benefit him.

Loading the clip, pulling the bolt, hearing it snap back—pure joy.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Two-handed, Weaver stance, front and rear sights aligned, firing.

Three minutes later, the magazine was empty.

Looks fierce, but scores ranged from 8 down to 2.

Su Qingwu glanced at his target, expression flat: “Were you shooting a shotgun?”