The moment Baron Blackmist finished speaking, a brief, deathly silence fell over the banquet hall. Everyone's gaze darted between one another, mentally cross-referencing the age information previously shared.
Larry was the first to break the silence, leaning back against his chair as if a heavy weight had been lifted.
"That's a relief. I'm forty-eight. This clue directly clears me of suspicion. I won't have to waste any more breath explaining myself."
His tone carried genuine relief; after all, no one wanted to be viewed as a suspect.
Tyrone pushed his glasses up and let out a long breath. "I'm thirty-four, and Juan is thirty-three. We are both excluded as well." As he spoke, Juan nodded in agreement, the tension fading slightly from her simple, clean face.
In an instant, the three who had been cleared turned their collective scrutiny and speculation toward Byrne, Georgia, Alex, and Lei. Faced with several probing glares, Georgia was the first to lose her cool. She stood up abruptly and pointed at Alex, her voice urgent.
"I'm twenty-four, Alex is twenty-six, Lei is twenty-seven, and Byrne is twenty-eight. All four of us are within the range. But only you, Alex, are familiar with the Old District and work in real estate. You had the best opportunity to get close to the Red Maple Theater. Therefore, you are the prime suspect!"
"Don't you start!" Alex slammed the table and roared. "So what if I know the Old District? I'm not the only one in all of Phantom Sea City selling second-hand houses there. As for you, Georgia—you claim you were a junior back home spending every day in the library three years ago, but who can prove it? Just because you have a mouth doesn't mean everything you say is the truth."
Provoked by Alex's words, Georgia's eyes reddened with frustration. Unable to produce any evidence, she could only stamp her foot in defense.
"I told you I have photos! This hellhole just made my phone screen go black so I can't look at them. Besides, I only moved to Phantom Sea City last year. Back then, I didn't even know which way the front gate of the Red Maple Theater faced. How could I have started a fire?"
"Heh. Who knows if you scouted the place in advance and are just pretending to be ignorant?" Alex refused to yield an inch. The argument escalated again, with spit practically flying into each other's faces.
Seeing them fight once more, Larry intervened again. "Enough! There is no point in arguing over who is more suspicious right now. The Baron still has two more clues. Instead of wasting energy attacking each other, you should explain the situation on the day of the fire as clearly as possible. The more specific, the better."
Having said that, Larry looked at Alex. "Let's start with you, Alex. You mentioned earlier that you went back to your hometown on the day of the fire. Can you give us the details? After all, we are all grasshoppers tied to the same string. The more we know, the better we can judge when combined with the Baron's subsequent clues."
Tyrone and Juan nodded in succession, both agreeing with Larry's proposal.
Called out by Larry, Alex's chest was still heaving from the argument. He shot Georgia a fierce glare before speaking in a gruff voice.
"Fine, I'll say it. My hometown is a county town in a neighboring city. Three years ago, on the day the Red Maple Theater caught fire, I remember it was a Saturday. My mom called me the day before, saying it was my grandmother's seventieth birthday and that I had to come back. So, at six o'clock Saturday morning, I caught the earliest intercity bus and got home past ten."
"The house was full of people as soon as I walked in. Relatives were there to celebrate. We had three tables at a restaurant in town for lunch, and the party lasted until past four in the afternoon. At night, I drank with my dad and several cousins until midnight before sleeping. I didn't return to Phantom Sea City until the next afternoon."
He spoke with great conviction, detailing times and locations clearly. He even added, "By the way, that restaurant is called Trout Pavilion; everyone in town knows it. Grandma's longevity peaches were bought from an old-brand pastry shop at the street corner. It's just a shame this damn place doesn't let me check."
Georgia curled her lip, clearly still unconvinced, and muttered softly, "Hmph. Who knows if that's true."
After listening to this account, Larry nodded and then gestured toward Georgia.
Georgia said, "I was an advertising major. There weren't many classes in my junior year. That day was a Saturday, so I went to the campus library at eight in the morning to look up materials and stayed until it closed at nine at night." She paused, fiddling with the hem of her clothes, her voice growing softer. "The librarian knows me; I went there almost every day. But I can't contact her now..."
This time, no one responded to her. In this space governed by Rules, any external evidence was empty talk. Larry shook his head helplessly, his gaze moving past Georgia to land on Lei.
"Lei, your turn."
Lei looked up, his gaze somewhat distant. He pulled his jacket tighter, his voice still soft. "My day was no different from usual. I stayed up all night coding the night before. I slept all through Saturday and woke up after six in the evening. I ordered takeout and turned on my computer to keep writing. It wasn't until past midnight, when I was checking my backend messages and saw a news push, that I realized the Red Maple Theater was on fire."
His statement was so simple it was almost sloppy, lacking any supporting evidence. After finishing, he lowered his head again like someone with social anxiety, unwilling to be stared at.
Georgia frowned and immediately questioned, "That's too vague. You claim you were home coding without a single witness. What if you went out to the theater in the middle of it?"
Lei glanced at her. He didn't get angry, explaining in a flat tone, "My lifestyle rarely involves going out. After waking up, I ordered Braised Chicken and Rice with a note for extra spicy. The delivery driver arrived around 6:40. The building's entry system should have a record. Also, my writing platform has real-time update logs. From 7:00 PM to midnight that day, I wrote over six thousand words."
As he spoke, his fingertips unconsciously picked at the edge of the table. His social anxiety made him reluctant to speak, yet he provided all the details he could think of. "None of this can be verified now, but I have no reason to make it up. The shop is called Old Alley Braised Chicken, not far from my community."
Georgia opened her mouth to speak but swallowed her words. After all, her own situation was similar.
Larry turned to Byrne. "Your turn."
Byrne stated, "I was at the office rushing a design draft. The client was a teahouse in the Old District. I arrived at the office at nine in the morning, and the client came at three in the afternoon to review the plans. After they left, I continued revising drawings until past ten at night. Later, I saw the news online and found out about the fire. That teahouse is on West Street in the Old District. The client's WeChat history would still have our records from that day, but here, it's all just talk."
Once the four suspects had finished their accounts, Larry gave a light cough. "Alright. Now that the four of you have explained your situations for that day, let's wait and see. Hopefully, the next..."
Before Larry could finish, Byrne suddenly interrupted. "Wait a moment. The fifth suspect hasn't spoken yet."
Larry was stunned. He pointed at himself, Tyrone, and Juan, looking bewildered. "Byrne, what do you mean? I'm forty-eight, Tyrone is thirty-four, and Juan is thirty-three. All three of us are over thirty. The Baron's first clue already excluded us. Where is this 'fifth suspect'?"
Byrne gave a small smile. "Everyone, don't forget. What the Baron said was that the age 'does not exceed thirty'." After saying this, Byrne turned his gaze toward the head seat.
"Baron, may I ask you a question?"
The Baron nodded. "Of course. But if you wish to ask for a new clue, I can only say I'm sorry."
Byrne shook his head. "No. I only want to know: when you said 'does not exceed thirty,' were you referring to three years ago, or now?"
The Baron froze for a moment but immediately understood Byrne's intent. He replied instantly:
"It was three years ago."