Hey! The Criminal Assistance System Can Even Be Used Like This? 176

Work was too painful. When Xu Zhizhi woke up the next day, she felt like she wanted to sink back into bed. Feng Jie jokingly remarked that this was just a reflection of young people enjoying good sleep. If one were a bit older, it would be easier to suffer from less sleep and have difficulty resting.

Dragging her fatigued body to the set, she organized her makeup, hair, and costume, and positioned herself for the scene while memorizing the script. This scene mainly involved analyzing the circumstances surrounding the murder, during which Bai Yumo also inadvertently discovered that her master had once mentored a newcomer before her.

In the room, the forensic experts were bustling about, while her master had stepped outside to smoke. After seeing such a gruesome scene earlier, he had come out to catch his breath. Inside the room, Bai Yumo was dealing with some matters alongside another colleague, mainly focused on positioning and photographing the evidence.

Bai Yumo was already very familiar with her work, her movements skilled and fluid. Her colleague, a gossip enthusiast on the team, occasionally shared tidbits with her to ease the tension because the atmosphere on set was unbearably grim. Everyone wanted to lighten their spirits; being too tightly wound could lead to mistakes.

Watching Lin Zongfu leave, her colleague stole a glance, grabbed a quick photo, and asked in a low voice, “Do you know why your master didn’t want to take you on before?”

“I heard a bit from Zhang Qu before, but I didn’t catch the whole story,” Bai Yumo replied, her eyes wide with curiosity. After all, she had put in a lot to persuade her master to reluctantly accept her.

Her colleague glanced back at the door to ensure Lin Zongfu was still outside before whispering, “The female officer he mentored previously died because of a moment of negligence. He’s felt guilty about it for years, so he wouldn’t take on any newcomers. I’ve never seen someone last this long under him.”

“Is that so?” Bai Yumo tensed her small face, sorrow reflected across her features. No wonder her master was unwilling to mentor her—was he still unable to forgive himself? Or was he afraid of repeating the past? Her mood sank, and she dared not ask any further.

Just as the two finished their conversation, footsteps echoed from outside the door. Bai Yumo immediately looked up to see Lin Zongfu, ready to speak but was interrupted by him.

“Hurry it up! Why are you so slow? Don’t you know how you passed the police academy assessment to be first?”

The man had about a third of his hair graying; his weathered appearance belied a tone that dripped with arrogance. Bai Yumo opened her mouth but quickly settled for a swift, “Oh,” and busied herself with her tasks.

The gossip-loving colleague discreetly moved aside, wary of getting pulled into the commotion. At the same time, unseen by Lin Zongfu, he gave Bai Yumo a thumbs-up. Now he admitted that for someone to survive under such a commanding presence, Bai police flower was definitely not just a pretty face.

Bai Yumo remained silent as everyone started searching for various evidence, packing items into evidence bags. After a forensic colleague carried the corpse outside, the team briefly discussed the details of the crime before they returned to the police station.

After several adjustments in the filming, including positions and expressions, the scene moved along quickly. Wang Xingxing, who played the corpse, sat up, visibly delighted. Yet in that happiness, there was an undertone of disappointment and a hint of unnoticeable persistence.

The following parts were more routine with Xu Zhizhi intersecting with the performances. There was a significant time gap, and later there would be the search for crucial evidence. As the character played by Xu Zhizhi, Bai Yumo started to sense something was off, drawing nearer to the truth from years ago.

The script woven with tales of grudges and vendettas, filming techniques, and scene arrangements were exceptionally well-crafted, making it bearable for Xu Zhizhi despite occasional critiques.

During lunch and rest, Xu Zhizhi prepared to take a brief nap in her car before her scene resumed at four. With the break starting at one, sitting around in the production team for three hours was quite a slog.

Before even reclining her seat, a voice came from beside her, a conversation on the phone. The filming crew had rented a small, aging industrial area next to residential buildings from the 1960s and 70s. After renovations, it became the set for various scenes.

Emphasizing affordability and quality, modern backgrounds could be edited in without viewers detecting anything odd. The production team had around seventeen or eighteen vehicles parked along the area’s roads. Xu Zhizhi’s car was among them, and crew members frequently passed by, either driving or fetching things from their vehicles.

Someone talking on the phone walked by, and Xu Zhizhi wasn’t surprised. “You sure you haven’t?” The person on the other end probably thought no one was around, speaking loudly enough for Xu Zhizhi to hear.

It was a young male voice asking something. Xu Zhizhi looked outside. The single-layered car window allowed her to see Wang Xingxing on the other side, looking quite aggrieved. His voice was as thin as a mosquito’s buzz, saying, “I… I haven’t said yet. It’s about to wrap up…”

“Are you trying to drive me crazy? You made a promise yesterday! And now you go back on your word?” The voice on the other end was sharp, tinged with anger.

Wang Xingxing pulled the phone away from his ear; his brother’s voice was too loud. After a moment of thought, he said, “Bro, I swear, I’ll finish up this time, just these two days. The director shoots fast, and I’ll be done soon! Just let me finish this one, and I promise I won’t go against you again.”

As he spoke, his voice dwindled to a whisper, sounding more like a murmur. Xu Zhizhi stayed silent; this was a matter he needed to resolve on his own.

“I’m going to say this only one last time: if you don’t leave the set today, I’ll find the director!” the male voice on the line escalated, outright threatening.

Wang Xingxing remained silent, ultimately squatting on the ground. The voice on the other end continued to berate him, insisting he shouldn’t cherish this job too much, insinuating that if he wanted to do anything, he could do it at home.

He gently coaxed, “What’s wrong with just playing at home? The outside world is full of bad people, you’re too kind-hearted, it’s easy to be fooled by them. Online and in reality, so many people want the kind of life you have, and they toil for their money.”

“Work is just a little fun; the nine-to-five is torturous…”

Xu Zhizhi listened, finding it amusing. Not having to work, can just play games and eat, was a powerful temptation for most people today, to even work just for that kind of lifestyle.

Wang Xingxing didn’t need to work, didn’t have to put in any effort, directly surpassing others to achieve that life. Thinking about it, it was quite enviable.

Of course, Xu Zhizhi didn’t think Wang Xingxing was ungrateful. He was likely restricted in his freedom, with limited avenues for entertainment, hence developing a strong sense of rebellion. He wanted to work, not to stay cooped up at home.

Xu Zhizhi felt the behavior of Wang Xingxing’s brother was a bit extreme; if he truly couldn’t bear to see his brother suffer, sending him to work would be wiser.

At most, in two years, the majority of people wouldn’t want to work for the rest of their lives. However, she could only murmur these thoughts in her heart; it had nothing to do with her.

Even friends shouldn’t interfere in other people’s consequences. After squatting beside the car for a while, Wang Xingxing finally stood and walked towards the filming area.

Once he was out of sight, Xu Zhizhi thought for a moment before opening the car door and getting out. She mainly wanted to see what was going on; Xu Hua was not someone to be trifled with. If Wang Xingxing decided not to film, it would surely lead to a major conflict in the production team.

“Are you out of your mind? If you’re sick, just say you have terminal cancer! I might reluctantly forgive such a foolish statement!” Xu Hua’s resonant voice pierced through the entire set as he glared at the actor in front of him, seemingly on the verge of exploding.

Xu Zhizhi rushed over, and what she saw was Xu Hua glaring with wide eyes. The person being berated had their head down, constantly fidgeting with their hands in front of them, clearly extremely tense.

After hesitating, the actor’s lips quivered, yet he couldn’t utter a single word. Seeing the other party silent, Xu Hua roared, “Idiot! You still don’t answer? Do you think other people’s time and money are just nothing? If you take back what you said, I can let this slide as if it never happened! After two days of filming, you’ll just take your money and get lost!”

By the end of that outburst, Xu Hua’s voice cracked due to frustration, his words turning chaotic in his rage.

Xu Zhizhi stood a few meters away but didn’t speak because this mistake was all Wang Xingxing’s fault. She stood there, frowning as she watched the scene unfold.

She realized she disliked Wang Xingxing even more than Xu Hua—his weakness and cowardice dragged others down with him. After so many scenes, he chose to give up because of his brother’s words.

The others on set fell silent, stopping their movements to glance at the unfolding drama, too scared to breathe, lest Xu Hua’s fury be unleashed upon them next.

“My brother will compensate the production team for their losses…” Wang Xingxing stammered under Xu Hua’s almost fiery gaze.

Xu Hua stormed back and forth, his forehead veins bulging, angrily asserting, “Fine! Just fine! Are you out of your mind? Is your brain damaged or are you stupid? Whatever your brother says goes? If he says compensation, then that’s it? You think my crew’s manpower and expenses are just a joke?”

Xu Hua felt like he would combust from anger, glancing at a nearby stool before he kicked it across the floor. The kicked stool was a tiny folding stool—lightweight, it flew in a parabolic arc and landed in front of the props. The props team didn’t dare pick it up, and everyone watched the scene unfold.

“How much?” Finally, after quite a while, Xu Hua asked, hands on his hips, directly inquiring how much could be compensated.

He then extended his hand, signaling someone to fetch the crew’s finances. The financial officer stood nearby, quickly running calculations and reporting a sum of three hundred thousand. This amount accounted for the manpower, resources, hotel costs, and other miscellaneous expenses incurred over the shooting days.

Xu Zhizhi wasn’t included in the calculations; she was paid much less for her roles, and her contract had specific provisions for reshoots, so she wasn’t counted.

If they withdrew, they would need to spend more days on set filming anew. Additionally, the filming schedule would be delayed, so all these considerations fell on Wang Xingxing’s shoulders.

The price was whispered to Xu Hua, while Wang Xingxing, overhearing calculations, murmured, “My brother is willing to compensate five hundred thousand…”

Xu Zhizhi stepped forward, assuming this amount was directly transferred to Wang Xingxing’s phone. She looked at Xu Hua and said, “Director Xu, let’s not get frantic; if we release him, we can continue filming.”

This was the first time she addressed him as Director Xu, having previously just referred to him as “director.” The unfamiliar title momentarily shocked Xu Hua. Xu Zhizhi wasn’t being kind; she simply wanted this matter resolved swiftly.

If they could settle it all in one go, they could continue filming later. Lingering over this could lead to disagreements, and if the other party backed down, Xu Hua would inevitably suffer in silence.

Because going to court wouldn’t yield a compensation of several hundred thousand. Wang Xingxing looked at Xu Zhizhi, his eyes reddening.

But Xu Zhizhi ignored him. She made it a principle to be clear on her grudges, disdaining those who were weak and brought harm to others. With Wang Xingxing’s exit, the entire crew would need to work overtime, reshooting the scenes he had already filmed.

It was exhausting, and it was hard to evaluate the emotional toll it took. Xu Hua’s chest heaved violently, but he eventually suppressed his rage and agreed.

At that moment, Wang Xingxing’s brother’s representative arrived, presenting a five hundred thousand bank check. The parties formally terminated the contract, and the self-proclaimed assistant led Wang Xingxing away.

As he left, Wang Xingxing’s eyes glistened, and he looked at the crew with tears cascading down, repeatedly uttering his apologies.

Feng Jie stepped beside Xu Zhizhi, murmuring, “A bit bothersome.”

“It’s all settled now; whatever’s left, Xu Hua will handle it,” she glanced at Xu Hua with the check, thinking he was still lucky. If Wang Xingxing had played dumb, Xu Hua probably would have blown a fuse today.

Xu Hua handed the check to the finance person to exchange while looking at the crew members. Finally, he fixed his gaze on Xu Zhizhi, slowly saying, “The other party overpaid by two hundred thousand. I know you all don’t like me and don’t like overtime either.

But the matter has reached this point, so we must face it head-on. I’ll distribute this two hundred thousand evenly among you as overtime pay; everyone had better buckle down and get ready for reshoots!”

This was still reasonable, but Xu Zhizhi didn’t get it, looking at him as if asking, “What are you trying to say?” This production team, it wasn’t just her who disliked working extra hours; who enjoys overtime work?

However, she didn’t voice her thoughts, merely following the crew’s zeitgeist. At this point, it couldn’t be helped. The finance officer left, and the crew scattered to rest.

Xu Hua was still in a frenzy, reshuffling the shooting plans and reorganizing the line-up. They would also need to reach out to actors, specifically previous auditionees, and bring them back for shoots.

These were chores that were quite complicated. Xu Zhizhi found a camping chair and sat down, while Xu Hua conferred with two other directors nearby. One was in charge of the set, and the other was handling the actors.

After their discussions, Xu Zhizhi sipped on fruit tea. It was bought by Feng Jie, and Xu Zhizhi thought the weather was too hot; given the recent events, it was inevitable that everyone bore a little anger, thus she ordered milk tea and fruit tea for everyone.

Having a drink would help ease the tension and lift spirits. Everyone seemed happy. Though they would have to work overtime, they had beverages and were assured of extra pay, which, when calculated, turned out to be not bad.

“You sure look relaxed,” Xu Hua remarked, taking a sip from an unopened milk tea and conversing sarcastically.

Xu Zhizhi observed him silently, retorting, “Director Xu, you’re actually quite nice.”

“Huh?” Xu Hua was taken aback, thinking he heard her wrong. Xu Zhizhi wasn’t quarreling back at him, but rather complimenting him? Such a thing seemed impossible today!

Xu Zhizhi continued, “It’d be better to stay quiet.”

Xu Hua: …

“Surprisingly, you can’t hear a good word come from your mouth,” Xu Hua was momentarily stunned, yet he found Xu Zhizhi’s comment predictable, shrugging off any desire to rebut her.

His earlier anger released, he didn’t engage Xu Zhizhi further. He dragged a chair over to sit opposite her and frowned, muttering, “Wang Xingxing really… has no ambition!”

He originally wanted to angrily berate him, but upon remembering Xu Zhizhi’s close ties with Wang Xingxing, he swallowed the words and simply said he was unambitious.

Considering it further, he felt unsatisfied, “What’s with him being so obedient to his brother? If he says to leave, he leaves. Also, his family seems quite wealthy! Just throwing out five hundred thousand to fix problems.”

Xu Hua himself was quite affluent, typically spending without being frugal. Yet he wouldn’t carelessly drop fifty grand over such trivial matters when he could’ve held on for a few more days.

He was born in the ’80s; his family never taught him to live that way. Sigh, young people these days!

Xu Zhizhi shot him an impolite glance, her expression leaving him at a loss for words. “Director Xu, if you feel stifled, just speak up; as long as you don’t insult anyone, it’s fine. Complaining is also normal; you just have to be mindful of your words. Your earlier outburst was quite… filthy.”

Xu Zhizhi offered without much hope. The other person had truly spoken unkindly. It was just like Wang Xingxing to have a soft temperament; if it were anyone else, who knows how it might have ended up.

Engaging in a verbal feud might escalate to physical fighting, leading the police station to step in—it wasn’t impossible. By then, if word got out, he could end up being heavily criticized online.

No advantage would come from being abrasive. Xu Hua touched his nose, for the first time not countering Xu Zhizhi’s words.

Still, he remained unhappy with her; this girl was quite difficult to deal with. She talked back too readily, showing little respect for her elders.

Seeing the expression on Xu Hua’s face, Xu Zhizhi understood his thoughts and decided to ignore him. If he encountered any troubles in the future, he’d have only himself to blame.

After an hour of rest, Xu Hua began shooting the scenes with Xu Zhizhi in the afternoon. They would shoot ahead of schedule and then reshoot when the actors for Wang Xingxing arrived.

Xu Hua estimated that once the actors arrived, they would still need more adjustments. Amateur actors were the toughest to manage; they needed extensive coaching due to a lack of experience.

With that thought, Xu Hua’s anger boiled over once again. What ill luck to have someone like Wang Xingxing on the production team!

The afternoon shoot involved a confrontation scene between Bai Yumo and Lin Zongfu. The conflict arose when Lin Zongfu attempted to send Bai Yumo away from a particularly dangerous scene, saying it was for her own good, while his past shadows influenced his decision.

The location was a corridor outside the office. While the camera crew prepared, Xu Zhizhi exchanged lines with the actor playing Lin Zongfu. It mainly involved reciting dialogue, planning movements, and discussing expressions and actions.

This scene required high emotional intensity; Bai Yumo was driven by a mix of anger and heartache, wanting to prove her worth. She felt her master was too stubborn, believing she wouldn’t meet the same fate as her colleagues who had perished from negligence.

Lin Zongfu was primarily obstinate, unwilling to accept a new apprentice. He was trapped in his memories, unwilling to save himself and persistently believed every fault was his.

Both characters held their grounds, their own beliefs firmly in place. After confirming their lines multiple times, they officially began filming.

Bai Yumo led off, her voice laced with grievance, “Master, why didn’t you let me come to the scene this afternoon?”

“Why are you asking so much? It’s just one scene you missed,” Lin Zongfu replied, turning away and unable to face Bai Yumo’s gaze, pulling out a cigarette from his pocket.

Yet burdened by his thoughts, his movements slowed. Being the more serious of the two, Bai Yumo stepped in front of her master, angrily asserting, “I want to go! If I don’t go, how can I train? How am I to solve cases in the future?”

She wasn’t a fragile vase; why should she remain stuck in the office? “What nonsense are you talking? You think without you, we can’t solve cases!” Lin Zongfu’s voice rose, a guilty glare aimed at Bai Yumo.

Bai Yumo looked defiantly at Lin Zongfu, her lips pressed tight in defiance. She lowered her gaze, hurt reflected in her eyes, “I’m capable! I’ll be cautious! Wasn’t it just a case involving an illness on the victim? The teacher taught us how to handle such scenes!”

She truly didn’t understand why she couldn’t attend a scene with an HIV patient in order to learn.

Looking into her master’s eyes, she challenged, “If I can’t handle this kind of case, then how am I supposed to be a detective justifying my position?”

She loudly pressed her challenge.

“Don’t get so worked up…” Lin Zongfu took a step back, bringing the cigarette to his lips as he bent low to light it.

With a click, the cigarette ignited. Watching this scene, Bai Yumo’s eyes reddened as she angrily retorted, “I’m not anyone else! I won’t repeat past mistakes! Who are you to dictate what I can or cannot do? I regret the former colleague who didn’t protect herself and contracted HIV, ending up committing suicide. That pains me too.”

“But she’s not me! I want to say, even if my case were the same, I wouldn’t commit suicide! I want to die on the job, catching criminals!”

“This is my belief…”

After finishing, Bai Yumo felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her, leaving the entire set in an electrified silence.

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