For days, Madame Charlemagne had been consumed by a piercing, relentless desire to catch the person who harmed her only precious son.
Though she often played the delicate noblewoman, her involvement in her husband’s money-laundering business meant she had no shortage of connections and influence. She was far from a mere idle housewife.
Born and raised in the pampered upper city, she was a refined young lady.
Her husband, Charlemagne, came from humbler mid-city roots, a “climber” who worked his way up to the upper city.
Initially, her parents disapproved of their marriage.
When Xiao Jin was born, Charlemagne’s weaker family background meant no help from her family, and he was assigned to work in the lower city for years, suffering in that wretched place.
Even Madame Charlemagne had to take their son and buy a place in the mid-city to make it easier for him to come home and rest.
It wasn’t until Charlemagne connected with Interest Company, becoming their celebrated “cover figure,” that he was transferred back to “White Shield” headquarters in Yatebo District.
Only then did her family start to warm to their newly minted noble son-in-law.
During their mid-city days, Madame Charlemagne felt her son had suffered greatly and naturally cherished him like a treasure.
Over the years, she was well aware of the evils he’d committed.
She didn’t care.
The lower class was pitiable, but was their misery her fault? Her son’s fault?
They were simply born unlucky.
Ending their inevitably toilsome, mediocre lives early might let them reincarnate as pretty upper-city girls.
On the afternoon her son was sent to the execution chamber for the second time, Madame Charlemagne thought this as she sorted unopened flower buds.
When Xiao Jin returned, those flowers would bloom.
Now, every single flower had rotted in the vase.
Because her useless husband, to preserve their luxurious life, had personally destroyed their son’s face.
In her lavish villa, Madame Charlemagne lay in bed, replaying over and over the footage of her son, poisoned, writhing in agony, crying out for his mother.
She forced herself to endure this punishment daily.
Because it was the last time Xiao Jin called for her, begging her to save him.
She had to do something.
She had influence within “White Shield” and could pull strings.
But her husband was now a target, watched by countless eyes, and the people they’d relied on were no longer usable.
So, Madame Charlemagne thought of that mercenary.
The one the butler had highly recommended—clean, experienced, efficient, and unconnected to them.
Her husband’s repeated dissuasion made it clear he didn’t want her involved.
So, Madame Charlemagne took matters into her own hands and sought out Asen, who’d been sacked by her husband for incompetence.
After being fired, Asen lost his B-class citizenship, becoming a lowly vagrant. All the privileges and comforts he’d enjoyed vanished instantly.
Having tasted the good life, losing everything was worse than death.
When Madame Charlemagne offered to hire him again, Asen was ecstatic, loyalty be damned.
Asen, under the alias “Rosen,” had previously dealt directly with Ning Zhuo for transport arrangements, so she easily connected with him.
At the time, Ning Zhuo was under review, having just nailed the butler’s hand through.
Madame Charlemagne sent Asen to meet him.
But Asen, who’d been high on “Dionysus World” during their last encounter and mouthed off, got his head bashed bloody by Ning Zhuo. He refused to face him again.
Asen warned her repeatedly that Ning Zhuo was a barbarian.
Wary of complications, Madame Charlemagne opted for a call.
Cautious and cunning, she set the call to “unrecordable.”
Posing as a fervent Raskin fan, she offered a hefty sum to investigate his death.
To her surprise, during their talk, she found Ning Zhuo’s cold demeanor paired with clear, logical speech. Hearing her request, he paused briefly, then calmly explained how to investigate and proceed without excess words.
Ning Zhuo advised her that to uncover Raskin’s cause of death, she should start with the footage.
He said, “I’ve seen the public video of the criminal poisoning ‘White Shield.’ I suggest you look into these points.”
“First, he’s extremely familiar with ‘White Shield’s’ security system. That’s his confidence for infiltrating.”
“Second, he’s connected to the black market, with access to a mold of Jin Charlemagne’s face.”
“Third, he has the means to swap face molds and the skill to make poison himself. Behind him must be a vast, stable financial network.”
“Fourth, before poisoning with Jin Charlemagne’s face, he touched the box and made a few gestures—those seemed unnecessary. In a moment where a second’s delay could ruin everything, that stood out.”
At this, Ning Zhuo added coolly, “I’m an outsider to ‘White Shield’ matters and can’t get involved. You’ll have to take it from here.”
After the conversation, Madame Charlemagne was nearly in tears.
These were the most valuable words she’d heard in days.
Not the useless “my condolences” platitudes, but Jinen advice to find the true culprit.
Following Ning Zhuo’s guidance, she quickly zeroed in on Vice Professor Xue Liu, even before Lin Qin.
Because of her son’s first crime, Madame Charlemagne had helped hide and bury the body.
She knew Xue Liu had a motive.
But after thinking it over, she felt he didn’t meet Ning Zhuo’s conditions.
First, despite his high social status, he wasn’t wealthy. Whether hiring someone or acting himself, his meager resources couldn’t support such a grand scheme.
Second, his daughter had been missing for years, yet he showed no strong reaction, going to work and leaving on time, neither raging nor grieving.
Madame Charlemagne, putting herself in his shoes, felt Vice Professor Xue didn’t love his daughter much.
Then, bypassing her husband, she obtained internal information from “White Shield.”
The poisoner had written Motobu Takeshi’s prisoner number on the box.
But in the official public footage, this critical detail had inexplicably been altered.
Madame Charlemagne didn’t know that “White Shield” swapped the footage to avoid stirring public opinion before the investigation was clear, preventing added complexity and renewed outrage over judicial unfairness.
Her thoughts veered off track.
To her, this was deliberate protection, an attempt to downplay Motobu Takeshi’s presence, to sweep it under the rug.
The more they tried to obscure, the more suspicious it was!
After days of investigation, Madame Charlemagne tentatively identified her son’s killer:
Motobu Takeshi.
He had money, knew “White Shield’s” security system, was skilled at face-swapping, connected to the black market, and was audaciously reckless—everything matched Ning Zhuo’s criteria perfectly!
As for his alibi, she scoffed.
Everyone knew First Prison’s high-security district was a cozy haven where elite prisoners came and went as they pleased!
He dared write his prisoner number in the footage—a blatant taunt.
After all, everyone knew he was in prison, untouchable by investigations!
When she contacted Ning Zhuo again, she was stunned to find he’d independently zeroed in on Motobu Takeshi.
He said he’d obtained the original surveillance video, confirming the poisoner wrote Motobu Takeshi’s number.
So, he’d asked a contact to help him get close to Motobu Takeshi.
Madame Charlemagne was amazed by his efficiency but faintly suspicious.
She dug deeper but found nothing amiss.
Records showed Ning Zhuo was jailed for openly stabbing a B-class citizen.
She didn’t know her dear husband had orchestrated it, altering the records to list the injured butler as a nonexistent B-class citizen in Silver Hammer City.
After the stabbing, the butler “disappeared,” existing only on paper.
No one would brag about sending Ning Zhuo to the high-security district or reveal who’d arranged it, so it became a murky affair.
Finding no red flags, Madame Charlemagne agreed to work with Ning Zhuo, coordinating inside and out, while planting her own mole in the September 30 task force.
Everything was ready.
She just needed Motobu Takeshi’s motive for targeting her son.
She arranged for a chef to lace Motobu Takeshi’s food with finely ground glass.
The thought of her son bleeding from every orifice while Motobu Takeshi lived, eating and drinking lavishly, made her boil with rage.
From autumn to winter, this devoted mother had become a blood-eyed she-wolf.
A week ago, her mole in the September 30 task force sent her footage.
Motobu Takeshi had escaped and swapped faces, giving him a motive for poisoning her son.
Logically, she should’ve noticed her wayward son imprisoning a girl and providing for her was out of character.
This was what Ning Zhuo feared might unravel.
But Madame Charlemagne, who’d tolerated her son’s evils for years, had mastered self-justification.
Why didn’t Xiao Jin touch the girl?
Simple—he must’ve loved her.
So, when Motobu Takeshi targeted the girl, intending to turn her into a “Barbie Doll,” it hit Xiao Jin’s sore spot.
He released the footage from her prosthetic eye as revenge for her humiliation.
He sheltered her but never showed his face, not wanting her to see him.
His identity couldn’t be exposed.
Xiao Jin had moments of kindness; he set her free before his arrest, probably out of genuine care.
With the motive secured, on the day Motobu Takeshi requested roast suckling pig, Madame Charlemagne decided to close the net.
She sent an assassin android disguised as a chef, working with Ning Zhuo to scare Motobu Takeshi out of prison.
Initially, she planned to kill Ning Zhuo to tie up loose ends, as she’d done with Asen, turning him into fish feed after getting Ning Zhuo’s contact.
But when the first strike failed, she couldn’t act again.
Her identity remained hidden, after all.
Despite countless agonizing days and minor setbacks, she’d successfully cornered the murderer.
Motobu Takeshi clutched his head, his eyes swelling rapidly from the beating.
Straining to see Madame Charlemagne, he could only make out a gaunt, sickly shadow.
Trembling in pain, he gasped, “Who are you? …Who’s your son? I don’t know!”
Madame Charlemagne knew he wouldn’t confess.
She signaled her subordinate.
Understanding, they grabbed Motobu Takeshi’s jaw, forcing his mouth open, and hooked out his tongue with a sharp tug, leaving it a bloody mess on the ground.
“You’d say you don’t know, and I don’t expect the truth.”
Her eyes burned, voice thick with grief. “Even if I hand you to ‘White Shield,’ with your dear daddy’s backing and your mental illness history, you’d get a light sentence. Who pays for my son’s life?”
Motobu Takeshi, overwhelmed by pain, passed out.
Madame Charlemagne tossed down hemostatic powder for her subordinate to apply.
“I hear you like playing with women, reshaping them to your liking.”
While waiting for him to wake, she spoke softly, like a venomous snake hissing. “Sounds fun. I want to try it.”
