The Buddha's Eye Hunts Killers

"Ten billion dollars and a portfolio of lucrative projects?" Huo Xuan raised an eyebrow. "That's not asking much."

"You're full of yourself," Shangguan Meixue retorted, studying him. "You seem awfully confident. Got some secret you're not sharing?"

"Worry about becoming Senior Investment Officer first," Huo Xuan deflected.

Shangguan Meixue frowned. "What I lack is a track record. With proven results, even Chief Investment Officer wouldn't be out of reach."

A "track record" meant successful investments. With trillions in foreign exchange reserves sitting idle, the nation relied on savvy investors to grow wealth and mitigate losses. Exceptional performers received unwavering state support.

Even a 1% return on trillions meant tens of billions in profit—rivaling some provincial GDPs.

Huo Xuan mused, "Investments, huh? Let me give you a few pointers someday. You'll leapfrog the competition."

"Spare me the bravado," she laughed, then changed subjects. "When are you collecting those gems?"

"In a few days, after I wrap up here."

Their conversation lasted until the early hours. Only when Shangguan Meixue yawned did they retire—Huo Xuan booking an adjacent room.

As she slept, Huo Xuan watched her serene form, the graceful curves making it hard to look away. He resisted temptation, channeling restless energy into martial cultivation until dawn.

Over breakfast the next morning, they exchanged contacts before parting ways.

Tong Haichuan picked up Huo Xuan for the two-hour drive to Tianyun County—technically part of Beijing but economically middling by eastern standards.

Recent years had transformed Tianyun through relentless property development. Entire neighborhoods vanished overnight; returning residents found their hometown unrecognizable.

Skyscrapers now lined the roads as far as the eye could see. Huo Xuan blinked. "How many people live here? This scale is insane."

Tong Haichuan scoffed. "Spot on. Tianyun's population barely tops 500,000, with 300,000 in the urban core. Yet they've built over 400,000 housing units in five years!"

Huo Xuan whistled. "That's capacity for a million residents—not counting rural households and existing homeowners."

"I reported on this. Even Beijing took notice." Tong Haichuan shook his head. "But land sales are the local government's cash cow. They'll keep developing until every inch is sold."

Dismissing the topic, Huo Xuan asked, "Now—about this deputy county chief and his son."

"Zhou Ba's a political animal—ruthlessly effective with powerful backers. Frontrunner for next county chief. His son Zhou Ziqiang? Thirty-five, but already a decade into real estate. His 'Mighty Dragon Development' boasts three billion in assets."

Tong Haichuan added pointedly, "Ironically, Zhou Ba's reputation is spotless—no corruption ties."

Huo Xuan snorted. "Spotless? How do you think the son amassed billions?"

"Even without Zhou Ba's direct involvement, officials roll out red carpets for Zhou Ziqiang. Land acquisitions, bank loans, permits—all streamlined."

Their car entered a shoddily constructed apartment complex. Cracked walls, moldy ceilings, and shattered tiles testified to negligent construction.

Huo Xuan grimaced. "These are death traps."

"These are the better ones," Tong Haichuan said bitterly, parking near a demolished lot. "Right here—where the old couple lived before 'redevelopment.'"

He accepted a cigarette from Huo Xuan, inhaling sharply. "I know this case is cold. But I can't let it go."

Huo Xuan paced silently before entering the elevator alone. The rickety contraption groaned its way down to the basement storage level.

Musty air choked the dim corridor lined with metal doors. His Buddha's Eye scanned for anomalies—but found nothing until spotting an odd cement protrusion on one wall.

Beneath it, his X-ray vision revealed a fingernail-sized bone fragment.

Only someone with Huo Xuan's anatomical expertise would recognize it as a severed fingertip. And when his left eye focused, visions unfolded:

A pitch-black predawn. An elderly couple asleep. A shadowy figure picking the lock with wire, slipping inside. The hiss of a gas valve turning—safety alarms disabled.

The old man awoke gasping, fighting paralysis to bite off his own pinkie tip—a desperate bid for clarity to save his wife.

The fragment fell. Darkness swallowed them both.