Investigation Report of the Gods

Chapter 5: Bounty on the Black Table

Han Su let out a low breath, deciding not to bolt just yet.

He turned to the man in the baseball cap; the man, wearing sunglasses, showed no expression as Han said, “A reckless friend once told me: hurting people is illegal, especially when the cameras are rolling.”

The two men blocking Han opened their mouths in silent smiles, as if what he said was a big joke.

The man seated in the chair, wearing the baseball cap, laughed and said, “What are you thinking, kid? We’re not here to hurt you. We just want you to help with our investigation.”

“Maybe you just got too emotional and tussled with my guys, a misunderstanding, that’s all. There are no cameras here—don’t spout nonsense…”

“Besides, I think it’s best you cooperate with us.”

“Perhaps you don’t know: someone posted a bounty on your kidnapping case on the Black Table. The amount—three million…”

When he said that number, he paused.

A greedy glint appeared in his narrowed eyes: “We’re not the only ones looking for you, and we’re definitely not the easiest to deal with. Some things can’t stay hidden; you’ll spill them eventually.”

“They say you were kidnapped by monsters—ridiculous. But who’d believe that?”

“So why don’t you just tell us what really happened back then? Let’s sort this out calmly, once and for all—it’d be good for you too…”

“…”

“Three million?”

Hearing that, Han frowned slightly: a bounty on the Black Table?

On his current life line, living at the bottom of society, he didn’t know much about the odd things in Qinggang City.

But in the life where he had been “adopted” by rich people, he knew all about high-society etiquette, lifestyles, and some tactics!

Take this Black Table—it seemed like a shady website so bizarre that even the government couldn’t shut it down.

They often posted off-the-books personal missions and covert deals—investigations, hired work, smuggling, violence—you name it.

Many private detectives, bounty hunters, and outlaws made their living taking missions or chasing bounties on that site.

But this kidnapping happened ten years ago—it was old news.

The papers long ago dropped the gossip.

Why would someone suddenly post such a huge bounty?

The three surrounding him saw Han’s expression change and noticed he realized how serious it was.

They paused instead of attacking.

They exchanged glances, and two of them helped him sit down.

'If someone actually believed it, I’d consider taking that three‑million bounty myself...' Han sighed inwardly. He looked up at them with a polite smile and said, “You can’t smoke in the library.”

“Huh?”

The three were taken aback, especially the man with the cigarette.

Before they could react, Han suddenly flipped his backpack onto the muscular man’s face, then spun and slapped the cigarette‑man hard across the mouth.

“Hey hey?”

The man was stunned, the knife in his hand frozen mid‑air, not knowing what to do.

They were supposed to just scare him for 200 yuan—why go this far?

Before that thought could finish, Han unleashed another slap and grabbed the man’s wrist holding the dagger.

He twisted it sharply—CRACK.

The man screamed, and the knife clattered to the floor.

Han kicked it under a bookshelf, then turned to face the muscular man, who had ripped open Han’s backpack, eyes fierce, and advanced in long strides.

He pushed off his rear foot and launched a punch—fast, ferocious, clearly from a professionally trained fighter with combat stance.

But he didn’t expect Han to remain calm.

Han’s one good eye stared coldly.

As the punch came, he subtly shifted aside, and with his thumb and fingers splayed, he struck the man’s throat with brutal force.

The man was shocked by Han’s speed. He hurried to retract his arm, but Han was on him like his shadow.

He grabbed the arm, drove a knee upward, twisted his back, and slammed an elbow—CRACK.

“Ow ow ow!”

The muscular man’s scream was swallowed by his throat; veins bulged on his forehead. He stumbled backward, clutching his broken arm, legs trembling.

Meanwhile Han nonchalantly picked up his backpack.

People might see him as refined, but years locked in a dark castle searching for escape paths under endless pressure had honed his spatial awareness and reflexes.

Even boxing coaches said he was a natural fighter.

Also, whenever he got kidnapped he trained hard so he could escape again.

Even with a ten‑year‑old body locked in place in that castle, his strength was stifled—but his reaction speed and technique let him act efficiently.

Moreover, because of the torture in that dark fortress, he’d lived many lives—blind, disfigured, disabled, gravely ill—so he learned to use his healthy parts to maximum effect.

And importantly, real-world tough guys, no matter how fierce, were nowhere near the monsters he’d faced.

“I got chased by monsters in that castle every day, screaming my lungs out—but in reality, you lot still think you can bully me?”

Slung his backpack over his shoulder, Han looked at the baseball‑cap man and stepped forward.

“Give me that arm.”

The man, now oily-haired under his cap, no longer smiled. His eyes flickered with shock.

These two—one hired for two hundred, fine, but the other had cost over five thousand.

He was the muscle, hired regularly for these private ops.

How did this inconspicuous student knock them both out in two moves?

Sweat poured from his forehead. He forced out a smile. “Kid… kid, you don’t have to do this. Hurting people’s against the law…”

“You said there are no cameras,” Han replied without hesitation. He raised his hand to slap him, and the man instinctively raised his arm—only to have it grabbed and his body stiffened.

Han looked at him with a half‑smile. “Since you’re a private detective, don’t you know: at least two types of people you shouldn’t mess with in this city?”

“One is the rich—you can’t cross them.”

“The other is people like me, who are damn close to not surviving each day…”

“…”

“Don’t be hasty…”

The baseball‑cap man was sweating cold drops. He cried out, “You got into Qinggang U—you have a bright future…”

“But every day I’m pissed off as hell…”

Amid his cries, Han slammed the man’s arm onto the edge of the table—once, twice, thrice.

On the third hit, there was a crunch, followed by gut‑wrenching agony.

“Ow oww…”

The man slumped, revealing oily hair beneath the cap.

Han finally released his arm and stood straight, feeling refreshed.

He rummaged among the books, found the symbol he’d drawn earlier for the long‑haired classmate, and redrew it—making it more vivid.

He slapped the paper in front of the oily‑haired man and signaled silence. Then he said, “I’m not letting you walk away empty‑handed. You want clues—this symbol is your clue. Go check it out!”

“If you actually find something, I’ll give you thirty million!”

“…”

Having said that, he left the library without further word.

Though these bottom‑dwelling private detectives and bounty hunters were usually no talent.

Still, Han didn’t mind dropping another clue—what if it really turned out to be jackpot?

Of course, he didn’t actually have thirty million.

“Who suddenly put up this bounty? And who had the guts to lay out three million in one go?”

After leaving the library, Han’s emotions calmed.

On the way to the bus stop, his mind spun.

Now people could kill someone for 200,000 yuan or break someone’s leg for 100,000—three million was huge.

But the key was: for him, that kidnapping case still followed him—but for others, it was a ten‑year‑old cold case.

Why would someone suddenly offer such a large reward now?

His “present” was unstable, so he hadn’t paid much attention to daily life lately.

The only thing he could think of was: this bounty might bring him more trouble. But whatever—it was just another half‑month before he’d be dragged back to the past. And who knew if he could escape again?

Thinking that, Han reached the bus shelter outside and silently lifted his collar to hide his face.

“Mr. Han…”

Just as he patiently waited for the bus, a figure appeared before him.

He looked up to see a thin man in a black raincoat, his face bearded and rough.

He looked only in his thirties, but his eyebrows showed fatigue. He carried a dusty silver briefcase—like a traveler returning after a long time.

What a day—it was one stranger after another coming to him…

Han was already in a foul mood. But since cameras were around, he politely gazed at him, eyes narrowing. “May I ask who you are…”

“Song Chu‑shi. We’ve met before.”