Chapter 17 The Eight O'Clock Revelation

At that moment, the expressions of all three changed drastically. Feng Bujue caught every subtle shift on their faces, and the information hidden in their eyes... the fleeting, barely perceptible details.

"Heh..." Two seconds later, Feng Bujue chuckled. "Alright, I've said my piece. You may leave."

"What?" Aside from Brother Jue, the other four people in the room simultaneously and instinctively blurted out this question.

"Wait... what do you mean?" Powell asked. "What do you mean, 'You may leave'? You called us here, told us one of us is the killer, and now you're telling us to leave?"

"Yes," Feng Bujue replied. "I will reveal the true killer in about eight chapters... oh, no, I mean, I will reveal the true killer around eight o'clock."

"Er... Mr. Feng," Schofield interjected. "May I ask... why do we have to wait until eight o'clock?"

"Ah~ As the saying goes, deduction should be done after dinner," Feng Bujue replied.

"What kind of saying is that... I've never heard of it before... you're making it up, aren't you..." Schofield cursed inwardly three times, but on the surface, he still didn't dare to show it. He still couldn't identify the killer himself, and he had no evidence, so he could only rely on this eccentric famous detective for help.

"Ha... haha... good... alright..." Schofield continued to wipe the cold sweat with his handkerchief. "Then we'll do as you say..."

"This is too strange!" Powell said. "If you know who the real killer is, you should bring them to justice immediately! Letting a murderer stay in the same house as us is dangerous for everyone, isn't it?"

"With four police officers here, what danger is there?" Feng Bujue replied casually. "Besides, you should be very clear... before I said the words 'the killer is among the three of you,' you had already been under the same roof as the killer, hadn't you?"

"But now that you've said it, the situation is..." Powell said nervously, his eyes constantly glancing in Barton's direction.

Feng Bujue interrupted him. "You don't need to say any more. I've seen plenty of these attempts to hide the obvious." He paused. "Doctor Powell, are you reacting so strongly, looking so worried, to pretend to be innocent and avoid suspicion?"

"This..." Powell was speechless in the face of this accusation.

Henderson and Barton also cast suspicious glances at him, and the atmosphere became very strange.

Feng Bujue only sneered at these guys' actions. He turned to Schofield and said, "Detective, please gather these three, as well as Carol, Colston, Jack, and Nancy, whom I asked earlier, in the dining room before dinner. This will make it easier to monitor them." As he spoke, he walked past the three people in front of him and headed for the door.

"Where are you going? Mr. Feng," Schofield asked.

"The kitchen," Feng Bujue replied, and then he opened the door and left.

Leaving the four people in the study, looking at each other, extremely embarrassed.

...

The kitchen in this villa was quite good, almost on par with the layout of some small Western restaurants.

The kitchen door was naturally a double-leaf sliding door, which could be easily opened with a touch of the hand, foot, or cart, making it convenient to carry food in and out. After Feng Bujue pushed the door open, what came into view was a spacious, clean, and beautiful environment.

For a home kitchen, the equipment in this place was astonishingly complete... cabinets, grills, ovens, barbecues, fryers, stoves, shelves, worktables, fresh-keeping tables, freezers, mixers, meat grinders, slicers, egg beaters, and so on... except for the extreme configuration of a stone-built wall oven, this place basically had everything, enough to hold a cooking competition.

"Oh, Mr. Feng, why are you in the kitchen?" At this time, Mrs. Odetta had changed into a long-sleeved, knee-length, plain-colored dress, and was wearing an apron, working busily in front of the stove with Grandma Oliver.

"To prevent you from poisoning everyone's dinner," Feng Bujue replied.

Odetta and Oliver stopped their actions, widened their eyes, and looked at Brother Jue in surprise and doubt.

"Hahaha... I'm just kidding, ladies," Feng Bujue said with a smile. "As a guest, it's only right to lend a hand in the kitchen, isn't it?"

"Oh, sir, your joke is not funny at all," Grandma Oliver was undoubtedly a straightforward person. She quickly went back to work on the counter. "We're already too busy, and you're saying scary things."

Odetta smiled politely. "Mr. Feng, are you sure you can help? Don't force yourself..."

"Afraid I'll make a mess? Hmph..." Feng Bujue's eyes were covered by the hair in front of his forehead. In the shadows, a fierce glint appeared in his eyes. "Naive... too naive... you won't understand unless I show you my great skills..." After his chuunibyou lines came out, he was stunned for a moment. "Wait, these lines seem more suitable for Jin Fugui to say... Never mind! In short..." He picked up a kitchen knife, grabbed a piece of red meat, and began to cut it at high speed. The speed of his hands was so fast that it produced layers of afterimages, and the sound of the knife falling on the cutting board was as dense as a typewriter. "Hoho hahaha... Let me taste this magnificent slaughter!"

The two ladies in the kitchen had never seen such a scene before. For a moment, they stood there dumbfounded, watching Brother Jue's performance.

Another characteristic of Feng Bujue, this weirdo, was... when he cooked, he would become unusually chuunibyou. If his usual chuunibyou level (don't ask me what this concept is, I don't know, anyway, it just appeared in my head) was around 250, then his chuunibyou level during cooking would explode to between 9527 and 10086.

Habit... is indeed a terrible thing...

After his parents died, Feng Bujue, who lived alone, naturally cooked often. He was not a person who pursued luxury goods and vanity, but when conditions allowed (depending on how much money he had in his pocket), he would try his best to ensure the quality of life. Therefore, this guy's cooking skills unknowingly became better and better... And in this process, he developed the habit of talking to himself and making various exaggerated gestures while cooking.

"First, spread a layer of oil and heat the pan," Feng Bujue said as he worked. "Cut the beef into thin slices and put them in a bowl, add salt, pepper, soy sauce, and mustard seeds, and rub them in carefully..." As he spoke, he picked up a stalk of celery and chopped it up like lightning. "Put the beef, liver, and celery together in a heated pan and stir-fry over high heat..." In a few minutes, he completed a colorful and fragrant dish.

"Hmph... The strength displayed by this mustard beef liver stir-fried with celery is enough to convince you, right..." Feng Bujue said smugly, wiping his hands with a rag.

Mrs. Odetta and Grandma Oliver each took a piece of beef liver and tasted it with suspicion. It was so delicious that it was unbelievable...

"Mr. Feng... were you a chef before you became a detective?" Odetta exclaimed.

Feng Bujue slowly walked to the side, took an apron from the wall, and tied it around himself. He smiled smugly and continued: "So... please leave the preparation for dinner to me. You two can just give me a little help." He paused. "By the way... please answer a few questions for me during this time."