Chapter 3 The Gunshot

Feng Bujue followed the butler upstairs. As he passed the landing, he spotted a duffel bag discarded by the side of the corridor, presumably dropped by young Master Jack when he’d heard the shot.

A minute or so later, Feng Bujue trailed Henderson to the master bedroom on the second floor. The door was open, and the sound of a heated argument spilled out.

One of the voices was clearly Dennis. He shouted, his tone agitated, "This is none of your business, Jack!"

Jack retorted, equally unwilling to back down, "Hey! I'm not a three-year-old anymore. I have a right to know what you told Dad to make him flip out!"

"Enough!" A third voice rang out, one that was unfamiliar to Feng Bujue. It sounded deep and commanding. "All of you, shut up!"

Bang—

Another gunshot. Judging by the sound, it came from the same weapon.

At that moment, Odette and Karol also arrived, having heard the commotion. They appeared from the other end of the corridor.

"Oh, my God! What's happening?" Odette said, a look of worry on her face.

Karol’s expression mirrored hers, showing unease.

They weren't the only ones drawn by the gunfire. The maid, Oliver, whom Feng Bujue had met earlier, the gardener, Barton, and another man in his fifties, tall and thin, wearing glasses, whom he hadn't seen before, also appeared in the corridor. Each of them wore a look of stunned uncertainty, and they muttered things like, "What's going on?" and "I heard a gunshot."

"Master, young masters…" Henderson, the butler, was the first to step inside. "This…"

No one in the room replied, and the scene fell into an oppressive silence.

Feng Bujue didn't care about any of that. He quietly approached, peered over Henderson's shoulder, and surveyed the room. There were three people in the bedroom: Dennis, Jack, and the third, naturally, was the master of the Lovecraft household.

To most people, Dennis would be considered tall and handsome, but compared to his father, his presence and aura were lacking.

The patriarch’s appearance was unforgettable. His features were stern, his face sharply defined, and his eyes were cold and composed. Every gesture he made exuded the authority of someone in a position of power, giving off an air of transcendence, unquestionable command, and inviolability.

*Hmm... no wonder he was able to marry a woman thirty years younger than himself; he definitely has the charm,* Feng Bujue thought, his eyes darting around, taking in every detail of the bedroom.

The patriarch was sitting in an armchair, wearing a crimson dressing gown. In his hand, he held a silver-bodied, wooden-handled Colt revolver, a classic six-shooter, the barrel still smoking.

Dennis and Jack were standing a good six feet away from him, looking unharmed.

*Tch... so he just fired a warning shot at the ceiling...* Feng Bujue thought, his eagerness for chaos perhaps inappropriate. *So that's why the previous chapter's title had a question mark at the end...*

"Coleridge!" The tall, thin man from the corridor rushed in. "Excuse me, sorry to intrude." He squeezed past Feng Bujue and Henderson and entered the bedroom, saying to the patriarch, "Coleridge, have you lost your mind? Put the gun down before someone gets hurt!"

*Yeah... if he committed a crime in front of all these people, how could I possibly drag this out for thirty-three chapters?* Feng Bujue mentally complained.

"Hmph..." Coleridge placed the gun on a small table next to the chair, took a deep breath, and then looked up at his two sons. "Both of you, get out."

Dennis and Jack exchanged a look, the air thick with animosity, but neither of them said anything. They simply obeyed their father's order and left the room.

"Powell, you stay. I have something to say to you," Coleridge said to the tall, thin man, revealing him to be the "Doctor Powell" that Odette had mentioned earlier.

After his two sons had left the room, Coleridge gestured for Powell to close the door.

The atmosphere in the corridor was a bit awkward. Clearly, everyone had their own theories about what Dennis and Coleridge had been arguing about, and each person's eyes betrayed a particular emotion.

"Darling, are you alright?" Karol went forward and took her husband's hand with concern.

"Don't worry, darling..." Dennis was good at hiding his true emotions. After walking out of the room, his expression had returned to normal. "Father was just... upset about some trivial matters. You know, his temper has been getting worse in recent years. I think it might be related to his illness."

"Ha! You say that like it's the truth," Jack sneered, turning to leave.

"Is that how you speak to your older brother?" Dennis called out.

"You should be glad I don't have a gun like that," Jack replied flippantly. Perhaps he didn't realize it, but the implication of his joking remark was quite dangerous. In Feng Bujue's eyes, if Dennis were to be murdered soon, this line could basically serve as a major suspect flag.

After saying that, Jack headed towards the stairs, presumably to retrieve the luggage he had dropped. Dennis snorted coldly and didn't call him back.

As an outsider, Feng Bujue naturally felt it wasn't his place to interject. He merely observed the reactions of everyone present—Henderson the butler, Barton the gardener, Oliver the maid, Mrs. Karol, and Mrs. Odette. In Brother Jue's opinion, each of them was hiding a secret of their own.

"Alright, everyone, disperse. Nothing to see here. It's over," Dennis said loudly, dismissing the crowd. As he spoke, he finally noticed Feng Bujue standing there, so he stepped forward and said, "Oh, Mr. Feng, I'm so sorry you had to see that. That... my father used to be a soldier. That gun is a souvenir from the war..."

Feng Bujue wasn't interested in such perfunctory explanations. He replied in a very open-minded tone, "Oh, it's alright. I'm used to scenes like this. I am a detective, after all."

Those words seemed to freeze the air. Those who were leaving all visibly paused, and even Jack, who had already walked quite a distance away, turned around to look at Feng Bujue.

The expressions on Dennis and his wife's faces also changed slightly. Although Feng Bujue had mentioned this when they were chatting in the car, Dennis and Karol hadn't taken it seriously at the time. A car crash survivor with a slight concussion, who couldn't even remember his own birthday or the year he was living in, could claim to be an astronaut, and who would believe him?

However, Feng Bujue had now cleaned himself up and changed into a clean set of clothes. Looking him up and down, the man had bright eyes, was physically unharmed, and his speech and demeanor were clear and measured. It seemed... he really might be a detective.