Little Constable was furious and reached out to block them: "This is a crime scene, sealed off by the authorities. This isn't some flower-and-bird market, idle people are not allowed..." Before he could finish, Brian Carter shook his head and interrupted, "You're being foolish. Lord Wright and his companions are well-traveled and knowledgeable; they might be able to identify the origin of the murder weapon, which would be a great help to the case. Usually, we couldn't even invite them if we wanted to, and now you're stopping them." As he spoke, he pulled Little Constable aside. Little Constable considered using a grappling move to throw him, but after thinking it over, she held back.

Samuel Wright nodded to Little Constable and said, "Don't worry, I'm just here to take a look. I won't disturb the scene, and if I happen to discover anything, I certainly won't keep it to myself." With that, he led his men into the Yin family inn, passed through the front hall, and was about to enter the murder room when Brian Carter suddenly remembered something and asked, "Lord Wright, did you bring any dry rations with you? Heh... If you did, I'd like to ask for some."

Amid the stench, Samuel Wright looked at Brian Carter in surprise, then gestured to his men. A young man took an oiled paper packet from his bag and handed it over, saying, "I bought these steamed buns this morning before we left. They taste pretty good, but here... I don't know if you can stomach them."

Brian Carter couldn't eat, and he wasn't asking for himself. He opened the oiled paper, took out a bun and looked at it, then smiled, "Looks good!" and handed the packet to Little Constable.

Little Constable had a natural condition: when she was tired, she'd fall asleep immediately, and when she was hungry, she absolutely had to eat, or else the hunger would burn inside her, making her feel far worse than most people. By now, she had already felt so sick from hunger that she'd dry-heaved several times. When the oiled paper packet was handed over, her eyes changed, but buns could be considered a "bribe," so she gritted her teeth and shook her head.

Brian Carter gave her an idea: "Then pay for it. Give the money to Lord Wright and you can eat."

Little Constable was on the verge of tears: "I left in a hurry and didn't bring any money."

Brian Carter coughed and laughed, "That's fine, I'll lend it to you. I have money!" With that, he fumbled in his clothes, but instead of the two silver ingots he'd just earned, he pulled out a few copper coins and handed them to Samuel Wright: "This is for his bun, Lord Wright, please accept it."

Samuel Wright didn't say much and accepted the coins. Brian Carter turned to Little Constable with a smile: "Eat up!" She barely managed to suppress the cheer that welled up from her heart, muttered "I'll pay you back when we get back," took out a bun, and took a big bite.

Brian Carter didn't follow Samuel Wright into the room, but instead watched Little Constable with a grin: "Is it good? Let me try? Just a little, I just want to taste it."

Little Constable broke off a piece for him. After tasting it, he nodded, "Not bad, very fragrant!" Little Constable, on the other hand, muttered in annoyance, "My nose is stuffed, I can't taste the flavor."

While she was wolfing down the food, Samuel Wright had already stepped into the murder room.

By the light of the lamps, the blood splattered everywhere, the gruesome state of the mangled corpse, the posture of the deceased, and the countless knife marks left on the walls—all of it made Samuel Wright's expression grow colder the more he looked, but his eyes, in contrast, grew increasingly heated. No matter how much more brutal a murder scene, Samuel Wright wouldn't care; what truly caught his attention was that everything Brian Carter had said was true—there really was such a weapon in the world!

A device that could be carried on one's person, instantly shoot out hundreds of blades, and be nearly invincible at close range—even if Samuel Wright were dull, he could understand what possessing such a weapon would mean for himself and for his clan. He was even thinking that, after obtaining this device, he could try to dismantle and replicate it... As he thought about it, Samuel Wright felt his body grow a little feverish.

Brian Carter followed behind the man named Rong, "dutifully" and incessantly explaining the case and the scene, while every change in Samuel Wright's expression was completely taken in by Brian Carter.

After lingering for a while, the group returned from the murder room to the front hall. Little Constable had already eaten three buns and was contentedly rubbing her stomach. Seeing them come out, she asked, "Did you find anything?"

Samuel Wright shook his head and asked in return, "Any clues about the killer's whereabouts?"

Since she had paid for the buns, Little Constable didn't feel "indebted" after eating them. She curled her lip and said, "We were hoping you could spot something, but instead you're asking us."

A subordinate behind Samuel Wright spoke coldly, "If there are clues about the killer, then there are; if not, then not. Just answer what my boss asks. You're just a lowly officer..."

Little Constable immediately turned hostile. Since Brian Carter had "accepted" their favor, he quickly stepped forward to smooth things over, blocking Little Constable and smiling at Samuel Wright: "There aren't many clues, but there will be an opportunity soon. Maybe we'll be able to find the killer."

A flash of joy flickered in Samuel Wright's eyes, but he first turned and scolded his subordinate for being rude, then smiled at Little Constable: "When it comes to solving cases, officers like you have far more experience than we do. But if you find out where the real killer is, when it comes time to catch him, we can lend a hand. Even though this is Nanli and we're from Yan, the phrase 'see injustice, draw your blade to help' is always right, no matter where you are."

With that, Samuel Wright stepped back, leaving behind a pair of clear footprints where he had been standing. Amidst the casual conversation and without any sign of effort, he had pressed half-inch-deep prints into the flagstone floor—such skill was many times greater than smashing rocks with a fist.