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Everyone was stunned by the revelation, even the police officers were taken aback.

"You're lying!" Jian snapped back to reality, his eyes red with fury. "My son has always been obedient, excelling in both character and academics. How could he possibly be involved in a murder case!?"

Mingyoo handed the arrest warrant to a nearby officer. "You help him look at this, explain it to him."

The officer took the warrant and read it carefully, then said to Jian, "This is an arrest warrant issued by the Criminal Investigation Bureau. Your son is indeed suspected of multiple murders and has been taken into custody."

Jian snatched the arrest warrant, veins bulging on his forehead, his thick eyebrows almost standing on end. He was a completely different person from the one who had been pleading desperately earlier. "My son wouldn't even hurt a fly, let alone a person! You need to explain this to me clearly, or no one is leaving today! Don't think you can take advantage of us just because we're from the countryside!"

Several people around him chimed in, "That's right! Don't try to fool us, tell us what happened to him, where is he being held!"

Mingyoo's cold gaze swept over them. In a deep voice, he said, "Zeeshow Wong's case involves a series of confidential regulations and is being handled directly by the Criminal Investigation Bureau. He is currently in custody and cannot be visited."

"I don't know anything about a Criminal Investigation Bureau, all I know is that my son wouldn't commit a crime!" Jian took a few steps towards Mingyoo, his face full of hostility. "You can't frame him, or I'll make you regret it! I only have one son, anyone who harms him is crossing my family line!"

Mingyoo slightly lifted his chin, looking down at him with an indifferent expression, his voice full of oppression, "The law will not wrong a good person, nor will it let a bad person go."

Jian's breath hitched, then he angrily swung his fists. "No, where is he? I want to see him now!" His companions also crowded around, shouting in agreement.

"Please calm down!" A nearby police officer immediately stepped in to block the crowd, telling Jian, "Don't make a scene. If you dare to attack a police officer, we'll have to take you to the station!"

Mingyoo, on the other hand, was extremely calm. Jian's fist was less than an inch from his nose, but he didn't even blink. His dark eyes were constantly observing the other's expression. When he noticed the frenzy on Jian's face slowly disappearing, he squinted his eyes and said, "When visitation is allowed, I will notify your local police station first. You can wait for news at home."

After a lot of commotion, Jian and his group were finally persuaded to leave by the officers from the Maplewood Town Police Station. Wenjay saw them out, watching the tail lights of the police car disappear into the darkness. When he returned to the living room, it was already half past three in the morning.

In the living room, Mingyoo was still standing there, his slender body as straight as a javelin. Wenjay estimated that he was only a couple of inches taller than himself, probably around 6 foot 2 inches, but for some reason, whenever he looked at him, he always felt an overwhelming sense of awe, as if he was looking up at a towering mountain.

"Hello," Wenjay felt it was necessary to formally introduce himself. As he began to speak, he unconsciously used a respectful tone, "Mr. Jow, I am..."

"Wenjay," Mingyoo finished his sentence for him, "Hello, I'm Mingyoo Jow."

"You can call me Wenjay," Wenjay hesitated for a moment, extending his right hand, "I grew up in Chinatown, so I'm used to using my Chinese name."

Mingyoo reached out and shook his hand, saying, "Alright."

Their first meeting as an engaged couple seemed a bit chaotic, but luckily Mingyoo seemed to be used to making headlines, and Wenjay had an exceptional ability to accept bizarre situations. So, the scattered weapons and novelty handcuffs didn't cause any awkwardness, and they shook hands cheerfully.

"Are you okay?" Wenjay noticed that Mingyoo's hand was cold, with a thin layer of cold sweat on his palm. He couldn't help but worry about his health, "How's your leg? Can you walk?"

Mingyoo, clearly not one for drama, said bluntly, "It's stiff, I can't walk."

Wenjay asked straightforwardly, "What's stiff?"

Mingyoo's frowned, "My leg, it's rigid."

Understanding dawned on Wenjay, and he immediately offered his sturdy shoulder, "Should I carry you upstairs?"

But Mingyoo shook his head, pulling car keys from his pocket and handing them to Wenjay, "First, bring the car into the garage."

Wenjay took the keys, driving Mingyoo's million-dollar SUV into the garage, parking it next to his own $3,000 lemon-yellow Geely Panda.

The disparity seemed a bit large... Wenjay comforted his Panda, patting its head, "Don't feel inferior, at least you're more fuel-efficient."

Back in the living room, Mingyoo had already sat down on the sofa, removing the metal brace from his right leg. Wenjay had to admit that his choice of pants was excellent. Although they looked ugly, they were very convenient for removing the brace, no need to take them off!

Mingyoo removed the entire brace, letting out a long sigh of relief. Wenjay noticed a radiating scar on the inside of his calf near his knee, likely a gunshot wound. It was fresh, and he couldn't help but feel pained for him, wondering how many steel pins had been inserted into the bone.

Mingyoo leaned back on the sofa to rest, and Wenjay poured him a glass of water. Mingyoo lifted his eyelids slightly, tapping his fingers twice on the armrest of the sofa in thanks.

The soft light illuminated his face. His features were not delicate, at least compared to Wenjay's quarter-blooded mixed-race features, they were much more rugged. He had the look of a typical Northwestern man, with slightly protruding eyebrows, a high nose with a slight hump, and a firm jawline. His entire face had a subtle depth, not as aggressive as a Caucasian, but with a certain restrained sharpness.

After resting for a quarter of an hour, Mingyoo regained some energy, and the sweat on his forehead had dissipated. It was then that Wenjay noticed the tattoo behind his ear had disappeared, probably only visible when wet or during emotional arousal.

He must have quite a hidden depth to him!

"I might need to ask you for a favor," Mingyoo hesitated before speaking.

Surprised, Wenjay quickly responded, "Please, go ahead?"

"You don't need to use formal language with me," Mingyoo said. "There's something in the trunk of my car. Could you bring it in for me?"

"What is it?" Wenjay asked.

"You'll see when you open it," Mingyoo replied.

Wenjay thought his expression was a bit strange, but didn't think much of it. He took the car keys and went to the garage. When he opened the trunk, he was stunned.

What was this thing? Wasn't this a person?

A young man in his twenties was curled up, lying sideways in the trunk. He didn't know if the man was unconscious or asleep. His eyes were tightly closed, his raven-wing-like eyelashes resting on his lower eyelids, not moving at all.

Wenjay deeply felt that his decision to marry was a bit hasty. Mingyoo was the kind of person whose name alone suggested a life of blood and violence!

But it was too late for regrets now. Wenjay clenched his fists, hesitated for a moment, then bit the bullet and lifted the man out of the trunk, carrying him into the living room.

Seeing him come in, Mingyoo took out a key and tossed it to him, saying, "Two heads are not better than one. Could you take him directly to the third floor?"

Speechless, Wenjay had no choice but to carry the man upstairs.

Opening the oak door, there was a short hallway, somewhat like an entrance hall, with a screen at the end. Turning around the screen, the whole third floor was open, with no walls or partitions, only a few square pillars for support.

In the spacious space, a row of original wooden bookshelves reached the ceiling along the wall, and a large desk and comfortable rocking chair were placed by the window. In the middle of the room, about twenty meters deep, a set of linen sofas were placed near the door, and behind the sofa was a huge wool carpet. The carpet was scattered with various books, magazines, laptops, and game controllers. There were even old-fashioned nine-ring puzzles and music boxes, disassembled and scattered, with parts all contained in a square paper tray.

A large four-poster bed was placed in the depths of the room, without any curtains. The bed was piled with messy quilts and pillows, and the sheets were crumpled, as if two tigers had just fought on it.

"Put him on the sofa," Mingyoo, leaning on his crutch, followed him in and said. Wenjay did as he was told, and after a moment's thought, added a cushion behind the man's head.

Mingyoo put down his crutch, took off his dirty T-shirt and threw it on the floor, then pushed open a bookshelf, revealing a walk-in closet behind it. He hopped in to change his clothes, while Wenjay stood there, unsure whether to leave or not. He hesitated before asking, "Who is this man?"

The rustling sound came from the closet, and Mingyoo's muffled voice replied, "Zeeshow Wong."

"What?" Wenjay was shocked, "Wasn't he taken away by the Criminal Investigation Bureau? How did you bring him back?"

Mingyoo emerged from the closet, pushing the bookshelf back into place. "There are certain questions that aren't suitable to ask at the police bureau." he said.

Wenjay was taken aback. "Just because it's unsuitable, you can bring him home for questioning? Isn't that... illegal detention? Even police can't take suspects home for questioning, right?"

"Right, I seem to have violated some regulations," Mingyoo admitted nonchalantly, sitting down on the sofa. "So, do you still want to go through with our fake marriage?"

Wenjay was speechless. He knew that a fake marriage was also illegal...

If he had known that Mingyoo was the director of the Criminal Investigation Bureau, he would never have agreed to a fake marriage, no matter how desperate he was! Wenjay felt like he'd been set up. How could the Criminal Investigation Bureau be considered a "non-profit organization"?

Well, they probably didn't make a profit.

"Alright, I was just joking," Mingyoo said, noticing Wenjay's bewildered expression. He gave a small smirk. "This place is the Criminal Investigation Bureau, Supernatural Case Division. It's not against the rules for me to interrogate him here."

"What?" Wenjay was struggling to keep up with the night's events. "Isn't this your home?"

"Uh-huh," Mingyoo adjusted his collar, his long legs stretched out on the coffee table, exuding an air of authority. "I told you this is my office. I'm the director, wherever I am, that's where Supernatural Case Division is. Understand?"

His cobalt blue shirt hid his unique aura of danger, and the well-tailored trousers covered the terrifying scar on his leg. Wenjay began to doubt whether the ragged farmer-like Mingyoo he had seen before was just an illusion.

The elegant, golden-skinned man in front of him now was the real Mingyoo, the director of Supernatural Case Division.