"The matter entrusted by Mr. Zhang and Miss Zhang... must not be a small one, right?"

Jiang Yuming picked up his tea cup and stared straight into his father's eyes.

"Is it related to murder or crime?"

"Murder or crime?"

His father was startled, nearly spilling the tea from his cup.

I spoke first, "Well...

... actually, it doesn't belong to a murder case. It's just related to a few strange letters we've received recently. I want you to help me find out who sent them and what their purpose is."

"Strange letters? What kind of strange letters?"

"Letters that appear mysteriously, randomly placed in my home's mailbox. The envelopes have nothing written on them except for a single line."

"What line?"

"My father and I have received four letters so far. Each letter says, 'If so-and-so dies, you will receive a sum of money.'

"The first letter was for seven hundred yuan, the second for seven thousand yuan, and so on. By the fourth letter, it was seven hundred thousand yuan."

"However, the first three letters mentioned men's names, but the fourth letter had a woman's name—Yang Mengting. But we don't know any of these people."

"Oh? That sounds quite interesting!"

Jiang Yuming's eyes widened, a strange light gleaming in his brown eyes.

His father curled his lips, "I don't find it interesting."

"How soon after the person's death does the money appear? Is it all in cash?"

Jiang Yuming turned his head to ask me.

"Usually, the money appears in the mailbox the day after the person dies. The first two times it was cash, packaged in an envelope, but the third time, maybe because it was too much cash, it was a check."

"Did you cash the check?"

"Yes, I did. The check was real." I answered truthfully.

"This is indeed... quite interesting!"

Jiang Yuming gently stroked his chin, a smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

"Can you help me find out what the person sending me money really wants?" My father suddenly spoke.

"Sorry, based solely on these few clues you've mentioned, I'm afraid I can't draw any conclusions."

He spread his hands with a wry smile.

"If you trust me, I hope you can tell me everything you know, honestly."

"Hmm?" My father squinted his eyes, "What do you mean, you think I'm holding something back?"

"You have to know, in our line of work, intuition is often very accurate, and my intuition tells me that you haven't planned to tell me everything. Isn't that right?"

My father straightened his back and changed his sitting posture.

"Young man, it seems that if I don't tell you the whole story, you will refuse to take me as a client?"

He smiled and lit a cigarette.