Chapter 58: The Shortest Detective Story in History

At this moment, Zhang Chu had no idea what exactly his father had said during the interview. He sighed, popped a handful of freshly washed grapes into his mouth, and spat out the skins and seeds.

"Forget it. The sooner I die, the sooner I’ll be reborn. Let's see what people online are saying."

He navigated his computer to the education section of Xinlang, only to find a headline blaring: "Father of the Top College Entrance Exam Scorer Blasts Mystery Writer, Claims He's All Fame, No Substance!"

This was clearly designed to stir up trouble!

For the news media, interviewing the father of the top exam scorer about how he raised his child could never compete for clicks with the spectacle unfolding now. With deliberate misquoting and sensationalism, Zhang Chu’s father, Zhang Bowen, was portrayed as an arrogant man; the reporter hadn’t included the full interview at all.

Now, the news and the microblog comments were integrated, and there were already thousands of replies below—by far the hottest topic in the Xinlang education channel!

"Did the top exam scorer’s father really say this? It can't be fake news, can it?"

"His parenting is questionable!"

"Pah, what right does he have to criticize our Qin Mu? He's just a book peddler."

"To the commenter above, perhaps it’s precisely because he sells books that he’s qualified to speak..."

"'Detective Sherlock' counts as a mystery novel? What a joke!"

"What kind of mystery could Zhang Chu, a kid wet behind the ears, possibly write? Stop being ridiculous."

"Shameless."

"I bet the reporter is up to something. Waiting for the plot twist!"

"A top scorer acting like a clown—how ironic!"

"Honestly, I think he makes some good points. What Qin Mu writes hardly counts as mystery anymore; he’s just chasing money now."

Though mystery novels have few readers, those who do are diehard fans, and Qin Mu’s supporters had already tracked down Zhang Chu’s microblog.

Clearly, Qin Mu had been the first to criticize Zhang Chu, but now the blame had shifted entirely onto Zhang Chu. The logic of rabid fans was always so peculiar.

"Just because you’re the top scorer, you think your novels are good?"

"What kind of nobody wants to ride the coattails of Qin Mu? When he was writing mysteries, you probably weren’t even weaned!"

"Petty and pretentious."

"Seeing you, I finally understand what arrogance means."

"Get lost! You’re not even worthy to be compared to Qin Mu!"

"'Detective Sherlock,' what kind of book is that? Don’t you have any sense?"

"You don’t even know what a mystery novel is."

"Just a small bookstore owner, pretending as if he runs a national chain."

Zhang Chu scrolled back and carefully read the reporter’s interview. In truth, Zhang Bowen hadn’t used such harsh words; he merely said that Qin Mu’s works were not as good as before and were moving away from the genre. Yet the reporter deliberately twisted his words into an accusation of being all show and no substance—a classic case of clickbait. But the fans didn’t even bother reading the interview, launching straight into attacks.

The microblog had become a chaotic mess, with a flood of criticism and doubt. People questioned whether Zhang Chu’s fan fiction even counted as mystery, or if he was capable of writing in the genre at all.

Most of the onlookers had no idea what it took to write a mystery, but when a titan clashed with a newcomer, the majority inevitably sided with authority.

In such a short time, Zhang Chu couldn’t possibly produce a new article, unless he used the system’s external assistance function to pull out a work unknown in this world. But that would require typing, and it hadn’t been properly localized—hardly ideal.

He needed something immediately comprehensible, and if it was too long, it would deter readers. The phrase "too long, didn’t read" was no joke.

Expecting readers to patiently engage with a mystery novel—he certainly didn’t have that kind of charisma yet.

"Wait, I recall there’s a so-called shortest mystery story in the world—how does it go again?" Zhang Chu knocked his head, unsure if the saying existed in this lifetime.

He typed the phrase into the search bar and found that no one had written about it, so he posted it directly to his microblog.

...

Unlike his friend Qin Mu, Xu Hao actually admired Zhang Chu’s "Detective Sherlock." Xu Hao was both a mystery novelist and a television screenwriter.

In his view, the novel had vivid imagery and a brisk pace, perfect for adaptation to the screen!

When his friend criticized Zhang Chu, Xu Hao didn’t join in, opting for silence—after all, loyalties differ.

"This kid posted something on his microblog that’s got everyone up in arms?"

Xu Hao was the perennial lurker in the mystery writers’ group, rarely speaking up, but occasionally checking their discussions when he had time.

Now, the entire group’s conversation revolved around Zhang Chu, piquing his curiosity.

"He’s done it—who knew you could write a mystery like this!"

"This kid’s got something."

"It’s definitely a mystery story—who would dare say otherwise?"

"Has he put all his talent points into wit? To come up with something like this!"

"Indeed, it’s short. Old Qin, this kid seems interesting. Why are you so hard on him?"

Xu Hao’s curiosity grew; he found Zhang Chu’s microblog and saw the latest post contained fewer than ten words.

"He died, so he must have once lived."

It truly was brief—possibly a contender for the shortest mystery story ever. But it seemed like nonsense!

Who the hell doesn’t know that if someone died, they must have been alive?

Yet, as the writers’ group said, despite being nonsense, it was undeniably a piece of deduction.

"This kid is quite the character," Xu Hao muttered to himself. He promptly shared Zhang Chu’s post and commented: "He lives, so he’ll surely die!"

Qin Mu had been refreshing his microblog constantly. Seeing that Zhang Chu’s post was met with endless praise and wit, and now even his friend had shared it, he was nearly beside himself.

Many commenters applauded, calling it ingenious.

"Brilliant, mad respect!"

"I’ve never seen such a short mystery story—well done!"

"Though it’s practically meaningless, it’s flawless."

"I’m dying of laughter. If this is the shortest mystery story, what are the shortest romance, martial arts, fantasy, or science fiction stories?"

"Damn, how do you even praise this level of wit?"

"I still want to see a long novel—these super-short ones aren’t satisfying."

"Short and punchy, you really know how to write mysteries."

"Oh my god, now my mom never has to worry that I can’t write mysteries. Today, everyone is a detective!"

Xu Hao couldn’t bear to see a promising newcomer clash with an established master. He wondered if he should nudge his boss to buy the TV adaptation rights to "Detective Sherlock" before it became truly popular, so they could snap it up at a bargain.

*************

A belated National Day blessing, here’s an update.

Asking for recommendation votes and favorites—got to hold on for these last few days of the new book rankings!